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Book recs: great, unique and creative worldbuilding in fantasy books
A note: this is very much a subjective list. I typically do not care much for historical medieval-esque settings (though seeing as I'm a big critical role fan, obviously there are exceptions), but rather prefer settings that mix up historical and modern, fantastical and scientific, and make up entirely new things and societal structures not based on our world.
Other book rec posts:
Really cool sci-fi worldbuilding
Mermaid books
Dark sapphic romances
Vampire books
Without further ado, let’s go!
The Unspoken name by A.K. Larkwood
Honestly there's so much going on in this one worldbuilding-wise that it's kind of hard to explain. Portals, flying ships, orcs, elves, creepy snake gods, cults, immortal evil mages who traumatize teens as their hobby. It's also very queer!
A Master of Djinn by P. Djèli Clark
Set in an alternate 1910's steampunk Cairo, where djinn and other creatures (among other things, creepy steampunk angels) live alongside humans. We get to follow an investigator as she races to catch a criminal using a powerful object to control djinn and stir unrest. Fantastically creative and fresh, and also features a buddy cop dynamic between two female leads as well as a sapphic romance.
Sunshine by Robin McKinley
Urban fantasy on a level of its own, where dangerous magic exists alongside humans. It keeps you guessing and much is left unexplained; if you want clear answers and explanations to everything you might be disappointed, but if you want a world that feels mysterious and dangerous and lived in you'll probably like it. It follows a baker who, after getting kidnapped by vampires, gets embroiled in a dangerous struggle.
Radiant (Towers Trilogy) by Karina Sumner-Smith
A strange mix of fantasy, sci-fi and post apocalyptic, Radiant follows a girl without magic in a world where magic is currency. Those with much of it live in magically floating towers, while everyone else scrambles to survive in the ruins of an old city left devastated from an unknown cataclysm. The setting is creepy and mysterious and leaves me itching as I want to dig for more. Also there are ghosts.
Three Parts Dead (Craft Sequence) by Max Gladstone
This is one of those books where you just kind of have to let go and go along as it throws you all over the place. I started reading it expecting an urban fantasy, but it is much more and wholly unique. It features a world where gods and magic are deeply enmeshed with society at large, and a base of much of its technology and progress. It doesn't quite feel historical, but also not modern, but rather like you took a fantastical world and let it develop naturally into its own contemporary era.
Strange the Dreamer (Strange the Dreamer duology) by Laini Taylor
One of my favorite things is when the mysteries of the world and how it works become part of the plot, with characters trying to figure out their own world. Strange the Dreamer is beautiful and complex and will hurt your heart. Personally I didn't care much for the central romance, but the wonderful characters, themes, mysteries and world make up for it.
The Dawnhounds by Sascha Stronach
Like Three Parts Dead, The Dawnhounds is a book where you just kind of have to let the story and the world wash over you. It skirts the line of scifi and fantasy, with a futuristic world of environmentally friendly mushroom houses and deadly fungi bio weapons next to literally god-given superpowers and near-immortality. It's really cool and unlike anything else I've ever read. Bonus: it’s also sapphic!
The Hundred Thousand Kingdoms (Inheritance Trilogy) by N.K. Jemisin
Another example of a world that feels wholly like its own organically developed thing, with societal structures developed around the magical aspects and a presence of gods and demi-gods, many of whom walk the streets and will smite you if you piss them off.
Dead Witch Walking (The Hollows series) by Kim Harrison
Okay, here we have an actual urban fantasy. While I got a bit worn out by the many, many love interests throughout the series, the worldbuilding is simply phenomenal and relies heavily on a well-developed alternate history. Basically, magical beings such as vampires, werewolves, elves, fairies, witches, etc, used to exist secretly alongside us, but when humanity delved into genetic research instead of the space race during the cold war, an engineered virus ended up wiping a good chunk of us out and the magical beings stepped in to stop us from going extinct. Now in the modern day, we co-exist but tensions remain. Our main character is a witch who, alongside her roommates (a vampire and a fairy) solve mysteries and crime and end up unveiling secrets about their world centuries in the making.
Elatsoe by Darcie Little Badger
Another urban fantasy, this one aimed at young adults and featuring indigenous mythology alongside creatures such as vampires and ghosts. We follow a young apache girl with the ability to raise ghosts as she works to solve the murder of her cousin.
Red Sister (Book of the Ancestor trilogy) by Mark Lawrence
Honestly, most of what I've read by Mark Lawrence so far could be featured on this list (special shoutout to his Broken Empire trilogy!). We follow a young girl training to become an assassin in a slowly dying world, where ice is overtaking the land and only a small band along its middle is habitable, kept alive by a mirror in the sky sharpening the dying sun's light. Question is, how long will this machine last, and what even is it? Very dark but very good.
The Fifth Season (The Broken Earth trilogy) by N.K. Jemisin
Listen, N.K. Jemisin gets to have two books on this list, okay, she is very good at what she does. In a world regularly torn apart by natural disasters, a big one finally strikes and society as we know it falls, leaving people floundering to survive in a post apocalyptic world, its secrets and past to be slowly revealed. We get to follow a mother as she races through this world to find and save her missing daughter.
The Spear Cuts Through Water by Simon Jimenez
AKA the book the killed me. Two boys travel throughout their land with the body of a god as her horrible, horrible children try to hunt them down. It's hard to explain more than that, but trust me when I say the narrative voice and literary techniques are incredibly unique in how they blend past and present, reality and story, lead and bystander. Truly an experience. Bonus: gay romance!
Wild Seed by Octavia Butler
Master of slightly fucked up romance, Octavia Butler knocks it out of the park in this story featuring two immortals struggling throughout the centuries. What do you do when there is only one other person remotely like you, and you simultaneously can't stand them and can't live without them? Apparently, you turn yourself into a dolphin for a while.
Birth of the Fire Bringer by Meredith Ann Pierce
Cards on the table, it has been a great many years since I actually read this, and just as many years spent meaning to read the sequels (I have a lot of stuff on my tbr okay, don’t judge me), but I do remember it making a great impact on me back in the day. Our main character is a unicorn! Fighting wyverns and gryphons! How cool is that!
Bonus AKA I haven’t read these yet but they seem really cool
The Surviving Sky by Kritika H. Rao
From Goodreads: This Hindu philosophy-inspired debut science fantasy follows a husband and wife racing to save their living city—and their troubled marriage—high above a jungle world besieged by cataclysmic storms.
High above a jungle-planet float the last refuges of humanity—plant-made civilizations held together by tradition, technology, and arcane science. In these living cities, architects are revered above anyone else. If not for their ability to psychically manipulate the architecture, the cities would plunge into the devastating earthrage storms below.
Clean Sweep by Ilona Andrews
Urban fantasy but the vampires are aliens? Sign me the fuck up
The Gaslight Dogs by Karin Lowachee
From Goodreads: At the edge of the known world, an ancient nomadic tribe faces a new enemy-an Empire fueled by technology and war.
#thanks tumblr for fucking me over and posting the draft before i was done#anyway its finished now sorry for the confusion#nella talks books#long post#book recs
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Art piece is by @lambpaca! Happy Leap Year to all you Lovers
Oh I love this. Friend, again, thank you, thank you, thank you
So there's a silly little tradition that was/is still practiced in several different countries. The tradition was, on the 29th of February, women could propose to men. It is still practiced today, more in jest than anything else, but in my own sphere, I have seen the Leap Year Day become a time when 'unconventional' couples of all stripes get together, both cis and queer.
I always liked this unofficial tradition. My partner and I actually made our plans to get married last Leap Year, in 2020, over text during lockdown. Sitting here, now married to my best friend, I still have a copy of this original print on my phone to remind me of the joy in that moment, as this picture was the thing that started that conversation.
So it's got a lot of sentimentality for me
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The above was drafted before news broke that Tumblr would be partnering with Midjourney and Open Ai. As such, this beautiful art is now protected by the brilliant people of Chicago University and their relentless work to combat scrapping with Glaze and Nightshade.
There is a certain poetics, to me at least, posting this work now. The whole concept of Leap Year engagements was to go against the norm, pushing back against expectations and current reality as we strive for something better. The reason the tradition is no longer mainstream is because many of us have reached a point in our existence where we do not have to wait to be free.
Many, but nowhere near all. The fight is not yet done. As such, we will continue on until it is, in fact, all of us.
This goes for all aspects of personhood, but now, in this specific case, it also means joy in the freedom of art and artistic expression directly in spite of the companies that would seek to try to steal that from us and profit off of its corpse.
In short, fuck the concept that what is happening is normal. Fuck the concept that we are powerless to change it. Love is Love. People are People. Art is Art. Joy cannot be minted in artificial hands, be it those of societal dictation or designed machine. No matter what happens, the human spirit will prevail, and we will break any shit that stands in our way of achieving happiness.
Thank you again, @lambpaca - This means more than words can say.
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Hiii i saw your requests are open. So i have a little something. So, I've had this daydream about post-war levi, where he has a cozy little tea shop. The reader, who is a law student, goes there to study quite frequently. She basically went there for the ambiance and kept going for the owner, if you get me :p. So yeah, it is obvious to lev that she has a crush on him, and you know you know, they talk and all that and one thing leads to another. I hope this isn't too detailed. You can let out anything you're not comfortable with, of course. Lots of luvv ~~
bruh i seriously i have an issue with tumblr. they deleated my draft i had for this. BUT ANYWAYS HIIIIIII, you’re the first person to have a request everrrr! Im so happy someone finally submitted something! I hope this is something that you like, i wish i could’ve wrote more but i am busy with finals (fucking kms). I hope i can expand on this soon though:)
nothing nsfw for now but hopefully we’ll expand on that as well 😏 Also mind the grammar or errors of any kind, I am not an english major for a reason.
You sat in a chair at a small table against the window of the little tea shop in town. Your books scattered around the table, but with no actual work getting done though however. You’re attention was on the man behind the counter with his back facing towards you making a tea for a fellow customer.
This isnt isnt the first time you’ve been at the tea shop. You started coming just to study and enjoy a tea or two. Now you stay for a completely different reason, or well person. You couldn't help put stare at his defined back, his sleeves rolled to his forarms and hands moving with skill.
Unknown to you, Levi could feel your stare, and has been feeling them for months. He could feel you staring at him right now, he tries ignoring it but in the end he always turns around and makes brief eye contact with you. You quickly looked away, breaking the eye contact and pretend to work on whatever was in front of you.
You keep working, sort of, while stealing quick glances to the man. This goes on until it starts to get dark outside and you can tell the owner is starting to clean up the shop. He slowly finishes wiping down a table next to yours and you try not to stare by pretending to work. He slowly makes it to your table now and clears his throat looking at you.
You peek up through your eyelashes before he starts saying something.
“Miss, the shop is about to close.” He says softly, looking into your eyes.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll clean up and get out of your way.” You replied back to him, starting to pack up your stuff into the your satchel. He nods at you as a thanks, but not before setting something on the table. Confused, you pick it up.
‘come to the shop on Sunday, 6 o’clock’
You think for a second, wondering why you might have gotten this. Then your brain clicks, the shop is closed on Sundays. Heat starts to rise to your face as you look over to the man again, he’s back behind the counter, back to you cleaning tea cups. You grabbed your satchel and walk over to the counter, this time your the one to clear your throat.
“Um, can I ask you your name sir?” You ask him politely. He turns around, cup and rag in hand.
“It’s Levi.” He responds, while still cleaning the cup. You nod your head at his response, shifting on your feet nervously.
“Can I ask why you left this note Levi.” You prompt him, saying his name with a soft tone. This time he sets the tea cup down and leaning on the counter slightly.
“Well I was hoping I could see the pretty girl thats always in my shop, but on her own.” He replied with a bit of red on his cheek as well. You hum at his answer, thinking about what you’re going to respond with. After a moment of silence Levi opens his mouth,
“If you’re not comfortable-“
“Ok, Mr. Levi.” You interrupt him before he can get his full sentence out. He stares at you for a second and nods his head.
“Ok then, I’ll see you sunday then?” He clarifies.
“I’ll see you on Sunday Mr.Levi.” You smile at him, a small blush on your face. You turn around and start to walk out the door, the little bell atop it chiming when it’s opened. You turn your head over your shoulder one last time and wave at him. Levi gives a small smile back, hands returning to clean tea cups. Walking out with a blush and a smile on your face you have one little thing on your mind now, nothing related to school work.
You have a date this Sunday.
#levi x reader#levi ackerman x reader#levi ackerman#attack on titan#attack on titan x reader#levi aot#aot x reader#post-war levi#livanswers#ily
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Okay, I have to get this off my chest, or else I’ll combust. Thank you all for the love on the recent Price’s Surprise Cake fic, but truth be told, it was posted by accident, and it was too late when I found out. 🫣
And if you happen to ask how something can be posted by accident, I’m here to tell you that either Tumblr decided to act out, or I absentmindedly placed it in queue rather than in drafts. Since I don’t like blaming my shortcomings on others, I believe it’s the latter. I’ve started using the queue on my main for reblogging art, and I think my brain acted similarly in this case.
Although the story was finished, it needed some minor editing (that I’ve already done), adding a title or a description, and, most importantly, fixing some inaccuracies that still bug me but can’t be altered cause they’re part of the fic now.
So, instead of crying over spilt milk, how about I present you with the inaccuracies so you and I can laugh together: 😅
I wanted to change the fruit tart to apple pie or something that doesn’t need to be refrigerated because who the fuck leaves a fruit tart out of the fridge for so long apart from the part where you get to eat it? Fruit will go bad (you know how already cut fruits taste/smell when you leave them out for too long), tart (that bottom/biscuit part, I don't know; I’m not a baker) will get soggy, not to mention how candles don’t sit upright when you place them in the cream.
Candles. Where are the candles?? Although we do know Price’s age, I wanted to include a sparkly question mark candle that the reader would hand to Ghost along with the box to hide. I thought it would add more to his irritability by seeing that 👇
The timing, omg that still bugs me. Price wants to meet in an hour, and Ghost tells the reader to return in half an hour FOR WHAT?? Why hide the cake in the first place if it’s just for an hour?? Might as well lock yourself in the broom closet with the cake if it’s for thirty minutes. Not only that, but if the reader were supposed to pick up the cake in half an hour, that means they would have to take it with them in the briefing room and therefore ruin the surprise. They’d either have to do it BEFORE the briefing or AFTER, where the reader would run down to Ghost’s office to pick it up.
See? The maths. They don’t add up.
Phew 😮💨 Now that I let everything out of my system, I can relax.
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WIP Wednesday
thanks y'all for the tags the last few weeks for wip wednesday, seven/six sentence sunday, last line, inspiration weekend !!!! ❤️ I've been a lil bit inactive here (and also on the rec blog whoops 😅) because life! responsibilities! lame irl things! but the tags make it so easy for me to catch up and reblog things 😊 ty ty ty
also!! I finished the first very rough draft of my vampire henry fic 🥰 fingers crossed I can finish & post it before I go on holiday next week ahh 🤞🏻 So instead of a vampire fic snippet, here's a lil bit from a 5+1 that started as a drabble but grew into a full fic and I'm determined to finish it after vampire fic is done 😌
“Liammmm,” Alex whines from the floor. Liam grunts noncommittally, eyes laser-focused on his computer screen as he types furiously. Alex takes it as a sign to continue. “I’ve been dropping hints for weeks. I tried being subtle to get a feel if he’s even interested but he’s given me nothing!” Liam offers him another grunt. “I even outright kissed him on the cheek on Valentine’s Day and he didn’t even blink!” This time Liam mhm’s in response. “I just–” Alex sighs. “I don’t know what else I can do to show Henry I want more than friendship.” Liam stops typing abruptly, turns around in his seat and shoots Alex a deeply unimpressed look. “Firstly, it’d probably help if you stopped making a big deal out of him being your best friend.” “What! I don’t!” he protests, sitting up so fast that his head spins. “Alex,” Liam deadpans. “You talked incessantly for weeks about your upcoming best-friendaversary. I mean who the fuck even celebrates a best-friendaversary?” Alex’s mouth drops open in indignation. “What’s wrong with celebrating our best-friendaversary?!”
For once I'm beating y'all to the tags because I live in the future and it's already Wednesday arvo here !! excited to read all your snippets over my lunch tomorrow 🌞 @kiwiana-writes @myheartalivewrites @cha-melodius @leaves-of-laurelin @happiness-of-the-pursuit @inexplicablymine @anincompletelist @sherryvalli @cultofsappho @affectionatelyrs @heybuddy-drabbles @read-and-write- @rmd-writes @suseagull04 @hgejfmw-hgejhsf @welcometololaland @tintagel-or-cockleshells @14carrotghoul @zwiazdziarka @alasse9 @littlemisskittentoes @adreamareads @indomitable-love + open tag for anyone who wants to do it (srsly tag me because I barely have time to scroll tumblr anymore, I consume posts via tags these days 😬)
#this isn't vampire fic but I'M ALMOST DONE VAMPIRE FIC#also alex is an idiot in this but what's new#wip wednesday
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Screw this bitch, absolutely god damn it. Two days ago, I mentioned to @vespersposts that I was working on a book with my mom but we only managed to complete chapter 1. I just deleted that chapter because of the conversation in between my mom's break that we just had. It started perhaps 2 years ago, with my mom saying she wanted to write about her experiences in the 90s. She was the cleaning lady of a brothel back then. Amsterdam brothels back in the 90s were the peak of wild so I agreed to help her because that's certainly a book with potential. After a year, she finally had a finished draft for chapter 1. Now, because of my mom being in that setting but also the content of the stories itself, it wasn't my most comfortable thing to write. I mean, chapter 1 was about prosititute who was so far gone on drugs that she comitted beastiality with a rabbit. I definitely needed a break in between writing chapter 1 because I found that scene so icky. But as I mentioned in that post a couple of days ago, she's now working as the cleaning lady at the police station and hears various juicy stories about the people brought in. So now she decided to write about that and told me chapter 2 wasn't going to be about that time that a couple of working ladies managed to lock up a police officer that they essentially robbed but about the police force instead. But I, as the person who's studying writing knows that those two whilst similar, still were very different settings and places at heart. You can't just combine those two without making a connection between those two, like having the prostitutes mirror the actions of the people arrested in modern day or holding them up against one another to make a statement about crime of the 90s vs modern day era, etc. My mom barely reads and writes, she likes to joke she's illiterate. So my mom doesn't understands these basic writing principles. It's why she approached me to help her- as to this day I have to do things like rewrite her emails because of her mistakes. Like even though I told her once or twice, she has a habit of writing locatie (location) with a K, that sort of stuff. So I tried to butt in and point out that's not the book we agreed to make and before I could even explain how the way she's going about it is going to make the book feel all over the place and how a book about the police force would be better as a sequel knowing my mom's writing weaknesses, she dared to tell me it was 'her book'. No it wasn't. Even during the earliest days of conception, my mom always spoke of this as 'our project'. We agreed to write together, we even created a psuedonym as she wanted it to be published under my name but I didn't. Because back then she could see that I was doing most of the heavy lifting of the writing and that I was going to be the one to bring it to the publisher. We even agreed I would get the majority of the profit because I put in the most work. I feel so hurt, because this is such a pattern with my mom; going to me because she's terrible or downright incapable of doing a certain something, telling me that she needs me and praising my skills and then I do it. Only for her to turn around and be like, "Please, what did you do?" And then I start crying, and then she's all surprised, wondering why I am upset. Rinse and repeat. She can re-write chapter 1 herself, make her own Tumblr (she actually wants to write on here as well and of course she was relying on me to make it), go to a fucking publisher herself. I am done doing all the hard work only to get spit in the face instead of getting even as much as a 'thank you'.
#tetsutalk#ungrateful people#i hate my mom#i deserve a thank you#i deserve someone who notices the shit I do for them#i hate being cinderella#where's my prince?
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do you have any headcannons or behind-the-scenes for "it's something new (because of you)"?
oh DO I
for starters i'm sorryyyyyy for letting this sit so long I have no excuse other than life and brain chemistry are Nuts.
BTS-wise, this one-shot within the universe was inspired by a photoset I stumbled across here on tumblr, and I thought: "that could be my blorbos" and lo! it came. I started drafting it while at was at my folks' for christmas, and then it sat in google docs in purgatory before I summoned the spoons to complete it. which at the time I thought was odd, because my general technique with smut is to write it all within the space of a couple days--they just flow differently than things with, ya know, plot, but this one incubated for a while, and I think it served it.
HCs-wise, I've jotted down a few about this universe and specifically the beginning of dair's marriage within it :)
this is how Dan & Blair (mostly Blair) announce the wedding:
Epperly guest writes a post for Blair Necessities covering the event/interviewing Blair
The morning the post goes live, Blair & Dan each post one (1) thing to their accounts
They each pick a photo from what their photographer sent them (both candid, because they look stupidly in love in those)
Dan’s caption is from the Auden Blair quoted in her vows to him: The years shall run like rabbits, / For in my arms I hold / The Flower of the Ages, / And the first love of the world.
Blair’s is a quote of a different kind: Reader, I married him.
They make their posts from a sidewalk cafe in Firenze then shut off their phones.
And the internet goes WILD
immediately there’s all these buzzfeedesque articles like “Blair Waldorf, Former Princess of Monaco has remarried,” and “Blair Waldorf’s New Husband Is Hot” and “Who Is Mr. Blair Waldorf?” and “Blair Waldorf Totally Won Her Divorce”
Just to fuck with everyone Blair posts another pic of Dan a couple days later. it's of him sitting at the window in their tuscan villa, pretty much the view Blair wakes up to in the beginning of it's something new. Caption: my huckleberry friend
They don’t see any of it til they check their messages over breakfast the next day. Dan loves the nomer “Mr. Blair Waldorf” and immediately adds it to his profiles (which he only made bc his agent made him). Sherri, said agent, almost makes him change them back before she sees the spike in his book sales. He was doing well enough on a debut, but now he’s doing really well.
Thanks to his family’s caution (and the NDAs signed by the wedding vendors), no photos of Milo surface, he’s mentioned by Blair in her interview of course, and outside of W he’s only known as “Humphrey’s grade school-aged son”
Nate has a good laugh at it all, which he calls payback for all the good natured ribbing he and Serena got in the summer with “Serena van der Woodsen and Nate Archibald Eloped, Apparently”—a headline that spurred several never-ending phone calls from a horde of van der Bilts, and one—as Serena calls it—“ugly-ass gravy boat” (and yes, she did have to contribute to the swear jar for that)
I actually have MORE mostly about the work after something new, so don't mind me if I share those too ;))))
Speaking of Serenate, they’re on the move a lot and bring Sophie when they can, but she’s old so long haul trips to LA that are only a few days aren’t ideal. So they ask the Humphreys to dog sit a lot. Dan always outright refuses, because he knows that dog-sitting is only one degree of separation from “Why can’t we get a dog, Dad?” and he just cannot have that conversation. Again.
There’s a lot of anxiety from all parties when Blair gets pregnant. There’s her traumatic history which flares up when it is most inconvenient, plus Dan’s trauma coupled with the fact that he hasn’t done this part before. He missed almost all of Georgina’s pregnancy, so he doesn’t really know how to be.
Milo expresses a flicker of concern because he knows on some level that the upcoming baby is genetically connected to his parents while he isn’t and he needs reassurance.
Dan consults his brother Scott, who lived through a similar situation being an adoptee, and being an adoptee with a younger sibling that was born to his parents, and his perspective helps.
They move from the loft to a Park Slope townhouse just after the New Year and just shy of the beginning of Blair’s third trimester. She’s not allowed to pick up anything, so she just stands in the center of the first floor and directs the moving until Dan makes her sit on the first chair they bring in (the one from his home office). A joke about a sedan chair is made, and then Dan immediately regrets it when she looks like she’s considering it. Milo’s her assistant when he gets back from school. It’s adorable.
It’s more house than either Humphrey boy knows what to do with, but they follow Blair’s lead in putting it together. Her nesting instincts kick into overdrive—it’s quite a thing to witness. Dan acquiesces to hiring Dorota full-time so Blair doesn’t do too much.
The fetus of when everything else changes is male, despite Blair and Milo’s good vibes. After he’s born Blair—hopped up on drugs—is like “A boy? I don’t know anything about boys. How do I raise a boy?” Dan gives her a funny look and reminds her that she’s been successfully mothering a son for a few years now, actually.
I haven’t an earthly idea what that baby’s first name is (Otis? — I’m KIDDING) but his middle name is Nathaniel.
Blair and Milo are very precious and anxious and fussy when the baby comes and Dan is much more chill. He jokes that it’s because he’s Blair and Milo’s first baby
Dan becomes a stay-at-home dilf, fulfilling his potential ♥️
Rufus leaves the decision of what to do with the loft up to Dan and Jenny, and they can’t really bear to part with it, so they keep it in the family. It becomes Jenny’s crash pad when she’s in NY, and eventually morphs into her makeshift atelier, where she works while she’s in NY.
#stars I LOVE you for asking this I am always down to talk about this series <333#asks#gg hcs#insistonyourcupofstars#miloverse#milo humphrey
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(Sorry if my english isn't very good, it isn't my native language) But you have single-handedly changed my entire life with that bachira fic, it was so good that I had to share it with my closest friends who don't even speak English.
The way I was waiting so patiently for the fic to be published, I was so excited to wake up at 6:00 am sharp to see if you had uploaded it. My whole body was shaking with excitement as I read through the whole thing, the way I hadn't felt like that in such a long time even though I'm a bookworm.
I usually read really fast as I'm a law student and I have to read really long books weekly, but this fic made me feel as if I was witnessing the making of the bible, the analysis I went through as I read the whole fic was astonishing.Not ever in my life had I ever saw such a good characterization of a grown character who's originally a teen, and the way the reader's development was so we'll executed. GODDAMN AND I'M NOT EVEN TAKING IN CONSIDERATION THE MATING PART WHICH IS ANOTHER WHOLE FUCKING MASTERPIECE.
To be honest, I have never been interested in following creators on Tumblr, and I haven't even done an ask before, but this bachira fic is just- the best thing I have ever read. Is true that the way I'm expressing myself I kinda of a joke but SERIOUSLY, I ACTUALLY FEEL LIKE IF MY NEURONS HAVE SHIFTED AND 1000% OF MY BRAIN HAS BEEN USED.
Thank you for your service, thank you for supporting Gaza, thank you for this amazing fic and thank you for existing 🤗
your english is perfectly fine dw at all!!
FIRST OF ALL THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR READING!! im honored u liked it enough to WANT TO SHARE ?! i dont know something about being reccomended that way makes me very excited!! like u liked it enought to tell someone that is so huge.
IT'S SO NEAT THAT U ARE A LAW STUDENT. im very flattered by the idea you were waiting on the fic to release it means a lot to me especially bc i am insane and was posting at ungodly and unusual hours. i admire how much you read btw sdkjsjkaskj i write so often but finishing books feels impossible for me at times despite how much i write. my toxic trait f
EXECUTION OF THE BIBLE AJDKHAJKS. its very good to hear my bachira characterization felt inline through his adulthood and that readers development felt good as well. i feel like i struggle with developing characters over time a lot. HAPPY TO DELIVER ON THE SMUT AS WELL
!!!!! THE FACT THE FIC MADE U WANT TO GO OUT OF YOUR WAY TO FOLLOW AND DROP IN IS SO MEANINGFUL AS WELL.... silliness aside your kindness is what keeps me motivated as a writer and makes my day. i hope it was been wonderful !!
thank YOU for reading and all the people who helped fundraised this fic. i hope to do this for other drafts soon after a small break to keep the momentum going for as long as we can.
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20 Questions for Fic Writers
@duquesademiel making me do words on Tumblr instead of writing fic (love you!!! 😘)
1. How many works do you have on AO3?
I have 30 posted, 1 complete in drafts, and [redacted] anonymous 😈
2. What’s your total AO3 word count?
according to the stats page, 440k! (but the one I have in drafts will get me over 500k and I'm thinking about doing a giveaway when I hit that milestone?)
3. What fandoms do you write for?
Formula 1 RPF!!
4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?
I’ve Got a Feeling That I’m Not Complete Anymore, Take Me With You, The Boy With the Storm-Colored Eyes, Another Deep Dive All The Way Down, Croissants in Aub Dhabi
5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?
Very very rarely. I use comments as a metric and adding my own makes it feel like I'm artificially increasing the count. Plus, if I start thanking one person I feel like I have to thank them all and then that spirals out of control. (Not to mention I have so much anxiety over reading comments and sometimes the brain just goes eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee)
6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?
I tend to prefer 'angst with a happy ending', but probably Another Window To Break Out from my 1016 week fics.
7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?
Probably With You Around Me It’s Just So Easy To Be In Love. This whole series is just fluff. Everything else tends to have some angst along the way, though I think the series A Nymph's Heart also has a stupidly happy ending.
8. Do you get hate on fics?
Yeah, I got some on I’ve Got a Feeling That I’m Not Complete Anymore, but it's also my most-kudos'd (at least, until I get 3 more on Take Me With You) so I kind-of assume those were anomalies? It definitely sucks that I can't go back and read those comments since I haven't (and won't) delete the bad ones and I know there are lovely people who left me nice comments.
9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?
Yes. The sort of smut that has too much exposition, plenty of aftercare, and frequently bondage. There has to be feelings involved with my smut and, in my opinion, that's the best part of the smut.
10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?
Nope!
11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?
Nope! (I hope...)
12. Have you ever had a fic translated?
Nope!
13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?
Well...technically there's one in-progress but my co-conspirators are too busy and have too many other projects so it's on the back-burner and I'm too shy to ask them if it's ever going to get done but I'm sure it will someday and I'm patient and I don't want to bother them about it and I'm perfectly happy posting my own stuff and...
14. What’s your all-time favourite ship?
That is so difficult to answer. In F1 RPF it's easily Piarles. I used to read a fuck-ton of Drarry but Harry Potter anything gives me the ick these days, even fanfiction. If I had to pick an All-Time favorite, it's probably SuzaLulu from Code Geass. (Honestly I haven't touched the fandom in years but I might go check what's on AO3 these days hmmmm.....)
15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?
I'm good about finishing my WIPs...eventually. The good thing for anyone who likes reading my stuff is that I do not post unless it's finished so you'll never have an unfinished work from me!
(That being said, I was writing some [redacted]!Charles and it was hitting a little too close to home so I might not go back to that one...)
16. What are your writing strengths?
Fantasy worldbuilding. I love the setup and introducing a strange new place. Actually probably worldbuilding in general, fantasy or not.
17. What are your writing weaknesses?
Resolutions. I often *hand wave* over an ending and it's just...yep! everything's good here! all done!
18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?
I am hopelessly monolingual so I will not. I will use commonly-known endearments (Calamar, mon amour, schatz, etc.) but no actual dialogue.
19. First fandom you wrote for?
You will have to pry that information from my cold, dead hands.
20. Favourite fic you’ve written?
Bittersweet, That Glitter and it's not even fucking close. It's just...everything to me. The world, the characters, the story...it's so fucking good.
I have exactly zero clue who else has answered this already so @golden-fairylights, @hrhgeorgerussell, and @your-littlesecret if y'all haven't and want to play along??
#do I talk about Dragon!Pierre enough?? No???#sol gets warm blankets and hugs instead of soup#thank you for the tag 🥰#(would anyone even be interested in a giveaway?)#(I have like...no idea if anyone would even want that??)
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Author ask tag game
Thanks to @rickie-the-storyteller for tagging me in this one! I'm answering for Spin Cylinder (the sequel to November Breaks)...
What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?
I know I should say something deep and meaningful for this, but if there's a lesson in it at all, it's just "It's fun to make up some guys and then make them do fucked up shit"
What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?
Both Spin Cylinder and November Breaks are set in and around an unnamed every-city. Some of the locations are based on places I've been, like the cafe, Alchemy, which is based on a bar that no longer exists next to the beach in Edinburgh. Brett and Noah's house is pure wish fulfilment though. It exists in my head in so much detail and is basically what I would want from a house if money was no object.
What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, and help readers grow as a person?
There's a lot about identity going on, a lot of "Who am I without external expectations and this job that defined me for years?" The characters are also adjusting to a state of obsessive togetherness that they both fell into after being aggressively disconnected from the people around them for most of their lives. Please god do not let anyone be inspired by them. They are literally criminals and murderers. They are not supposed to be inspirational. They wouldn't know forgiveness if it shot them in the face. No-one is growing as a person as a result of reading this book. I'm just having fun writing their story and offering it up to anyone who enjoys exploring the dark side of human nature in a fictional sandboxed environment with lots of weather symbolism and expensive coats.
How many chapters is your story going to have?
I have absolutely no idea. I don't know if it's going to be a novel or serialised/episodic fiction. I'm still discovery drafting so it'll figure itself out.
Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?
It's original content and I'll be posting it here on Tumblr.
When and why did you start writing?
I missed this question first time round so I'm back to answer it now. I honestly don't remember when I started writing. Forever ago? As soon as I could write? I've always loved fiddling around with words for creativity and escapism, so I've always done it. I wish I had a better origin story, but I don't. It's very boring. I started writing novel-shaped things a few years ago. Before that it was short stories, creative non-fiction, and poetry. I worked in marketing and online comms for a while, so the word fiddling ended up being useful for that too.
Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of writeblr?
Is that meant to be words of encouragement? I'm going to assume it is. So. Write what makes your soul sing. If you love it, someone else will love it too. Creativity is not a one-size-fits-all pursuit. Make sure your goals are authentically your own and not other people's recycled expectations. Stop shoulding all over yourself. Have fun.
What other writers on Tumblr do you follow?
SO MANY AWESOME WRITERS!! I struggle to list people because I feel like I always leave someone out by accident. Look at the names that crop up regularly in my tag game posts. Those are good humans.
Tagging @leebrontide, @lunarmoment, @magic-is-something-we-create and @manathen if you'd like to do it, with an open tag for anyone else who wants to join in. Questions under the cut 💜
What is the main lesson of your story (e.g. kindness, diversity, anti-war), and why did you choose it?
What did you use as inspiration for your worldbuilding (like real-life cultures, animals, famous media, websites, etc.)?
What is your MC trying to achieve, and what are you, the writer, trying to achieve with them? Do you want to inspire others, teach forgiveness, and help readers grow as a person?
How many chapters is your story going to have?
Is it fanfiction or original content? Where do you plan to post it?
When and why did you start writing?
Do you have any words of engagement for fellow writers of writeblr?
What other writers on Tumblr do you follow?
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fic writer asks!! i’m really curious about these three:
🤲 what do YOU get out of writing?
🌈 is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with?
☯️ how do you think engaging with each other through tumblr, twitter, comments, kudos, creates healthy fandom experiences? How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?
thank you!! ♥️
Hello there!
🤲 what do YOU get out of writing?
Keeps me sane. I think it's something I'm good at and something I enjoy doing, so I think I should do it if I feel driven to do it. Balance is important of course. Also, I can write, with some stuff, scenarios or character studies and relationships that I'd like to see.
🌈is there a fic that you worked *really fucking hard on* that no one would ever know? maybe a scene/theme you struggled with? Let me have a look. Not really, no. For me, anyway, fanfiction is easier than original fiction. I try to write well, but I'm more likely to possibly be happy with a scene with fewer drafts than I might in original fic. I want it to be, basically, not stressful, even when I'm writing dark stuff. As a matter of fact, fanfic can be an avoidance strategy for me, so I'm more likely to write it when I'm a little stressed, than it actually stressing me. I have deleted and re-uploaded some of my dark fics (and even non-dark), a few times because I felt I didn't have enough confidence to deal with any potential backlash, and I get insecure sometimes (that was probably in response to crickets. Haha).
There are probably a number of scenes in my fics that I worked hard
at and it's good if the seams aren't showing. I don't know that anything was a struggle. I find if you're really struggling with something it's good to go on to a later scene and come back to the scene giving you trouble later (if it's a multi-chap), or write an 'and-then' draft, where you just get a big pile of prosaic sketching, really, on your page. And that's hard, cos' it can be kinda tedious, but once you've got that, you can really dive in and have fun with character, scene, dialogue, etc. I'm not discounting anyone's writing struggles. I've been there. But probably fanfiction has struck me this way.
Like, there is no such thing as a filler chapter, dudes. If you're bored with the final result, probably your readers will be too, so sometimes you've got to knuckle down, isolate, pick apart, put back together, and proceed. And nine times out of ten, I end up loving those paragraphs/ sentences / chapters. I don't think I answered the question, but there you go!
☯️ how do you think engaging with each other through tumblr, twitter, comments, kudos, creates healthy fandom experiences? How do you deal with that if you're not a social person/experience social anxiety?
Interesting question. I can only speak for myself. I joined tumblr after maybe 3 years of writing fanfic, and I wasn't on twitter or discord. I belonged to a fanfiction subreddit, but I think the sub-reddit served to make writers more nervous of social media than not.
I was pleasantly surprised. tumblr and twitter helped me to see how much of fandom occurs away from AO3 or FFN, for one (most of it). And some story links I've posted haven't done badly in notes (which, let's face it, for fanfiction is when it goes into the teens), but people have also left comments on my work saying they saw my post on twt or tumblr, and even it my post didn't get me any notes, etc., it did get me some readers who left really nice comments, which was excellent, so it served its purpose.
People must curate their own experiences. I've banked a lot of self-worth on whether I get kudos or comments, and I'll still have dips, but the thing is, that for most people (not all), getting some traction is a bit of a long slog. Like, it was probably 6 months to a year before I really connected with anyone over my fics, and lots of good stuff came well after that.
But, although I do think it's important that community members support one another if the community is to be sustainable, individuals in that community need to know what they can or can't do. And there are different personalities, so different horses for different courses. Even stuff like these ask games can sometimes do a lot. Plus, I think lots of folks in fandom have a very intense attention span of a fly. So I'd also advise not to get too attached. People come and go.
Also, I don't think it hurts to research (like, I didn't!) on the fan fiction platform before uploading. If a writer's fic is OCxOC take a look and see how the OC fics go in the fandom, and tether expectations to that. Even if someone as a reader reads outside of the box, once they become a writer, they might want to realise that if they're writing what they like to read, it's no less valuable, but it might not be as popular as the more common tropes etc.
And really, if , say, you're flooded with antis or negativity, etc., on tumblr, twitter, etc., use the block/mute button. Delete where you can, and interact with folks that you vibe with and cruise along. If the social anxiety is too high, just stick to posting fic and disengage.
Thanks for the ask!
I've answered ✨ 💫 📡 , 🤲 , 🌈 , ☯️ and I'm about to answer: 🎈💥🎀 (way-hey! They look so bright in my inbox!!). The ask is here if anyone else wants to ask!
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GET TO KNOW THE AUTHOR.
name: char 'cause i never considered lottie being a viable nickname of charlotte like a dumbass lmfao
pronouns: she/her but really i do not care <3
preference of communication: discord only 'cause i'm never logged into mobile tumblr longer than enough to check for replies, draft them, and give the dash a quick scroll before fuckin' off to tiktok or whatever app. but i'm always logged in via discord mobile, plus it's just easier and we can pin important shit or not important shit. too long of an answer for this rip sorry.
most active muse: currently hyperfixated on all of my yj muse's, but i'd have to say it's a toss up between misty and van ( found over on the multi @ darkconsumed ) but literally could shift with the wind at any given moment. let me yell about them all.
experience/how many years: eleven years ( i've seen some shit on this site okay... ) as of feb. of this year. i'm old as hell, even more tired, and i just wanna vibe and write with y'all. all spent on this site mind you; started off in various RPG's before switching to indie in late 2012, early 2013.
best experience: honestly this fandom has been a great way to get me out of a writing funk/block that i had been experiencing for like...months before i finally watched yj. you all have been great and welcoming and put up with listening to me ramble and defend this cute lil blonde nerd. i've had the most fun in this fandom than i have in a long while and that's saying something as i've been in many fandoms over the years. but yea...this fandom has felt like coming home after a long trip <3
rp pet peeves: i'm old RP wise so i got me a good...500 mile long report of pet peeves lol but the biggest are no rules page, no information when it's a oc(s), flat out not reading my own rules 'cause i can tell when they have not been read ( folks with -0 information on their blogs and or no links leading to said information like...tell me you followed without reading rules without telling me ), i don't know why it's still such a thing in the year of our toad 2023, but vague posting. it just makes all the vibes go to shit real quick and no thank. there are many more but i will keep from sounding like an old person on their porch yellin' at the wind.
plots or memes: both? both is good. i don't know what it is with memes, but i tend to have a habit of basing a plot off a meme and wind up with a bitchin' plot that makes sense. memes are also, in my opinion, a great way to break the ice and get everyone involved relaxed enough to reach out. also i hoard memes for the days drafts are a big no and my brain is mush, but not mush enough to do memes. if that makes sense lol
long or short replies: i am go with the motion of the ocean kinda gal. if you give me semi-para, i'm gonna give it right back. sometimes i can word vomit ( sorry not sorry joey ) 'cause the muse be takin' over. but i also don't mind doing shorter replies / one para replies. so long as it's more than like two complete sentences, i'm chill.
are you like your muse: i could lie and say no, but i am. not completely, but there are bits and pieces of misty that are also very much char. it's part of the reason why i picked her up as a muse because i was able to relate to her ( struggling to make friends, not knowing how to go about it, feeling like an outsider even though technically apart of a team, etc. ) it's also why i try to give her a loud enough voice to be heard and listened to over the others. because i can acknowledge her faults and in some instances, so can misty herself, but there's also well, what would you have done? in there as well. like...she's fucked up and flawed but so are the others who tend to think they're above her and the things she's done when in reality they're not. and i don't know but there's just something about that that is so relatable that i can connect to at some degree. but also including the multi, i'm very much like van like...i will yell about movies and pop culture bullshit if ever given the chance.
tagged by: @enr4ged tagging: @dogtccth / @fullrigor / @wildernesslost / @antlermotifs / @crosseddestiny & anyone else <3
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Frostmas Year Nine: Behind the Scenes
Prologue | Y1 | Y2 | Y3 | Y4 | Y5 | Y6 | Y7 | Y8 | Y9 | Y10 | Y11 | Y12
(in Kermit the Frog voice) Let's begin!
I straight up thought this chapter would be fairly short, because when I wrote it out in point form the events didn’t seem like they’d have a lot of action. Then I began writing it, and I was DEAD wrong
I listened to the opening scene of the North Pole Resort SOO MANY TIMES to hear the lyrics to the song perfectly. I had to ask my wonderful housemate to take a listen to try and figure out the “santa t-shirts, santa ties” line and WHEN I FINALLY WATCHED IT ON DISNEY WITH SUBTITLES, HEARD THAT I GOT IT W R O N G! It's Santa SIZE. I'll have to change that up lol
FUN FACT! “at this point I’ve adopted a stance of the less I know, the better” is my family’s motto up until recently
“I like the cut of your berg” is one of my FAVOURITE frosty-fying slang lines I’ve ever done! It’s a frosty version of “I like the cut of your jib” which was used in sailing in the 1700s ish to describe if an incoming ship was frens or not frens
-> I originally thought it was just some funky 20s slang, then googled it to make sure I was right and learnt the above!
-> the berg is short for iceberg--B likes the cut of Jacqueline’s iceberg, being the idea to maybe get rid of the awful recordings :)
Sometimes I’m like ‘these things don’t really need explaining’ but I get excited about my own work and then have to share how I got the ideas with everyone so ONWARDS I SUPPOSE
Man I miss multi-level lists! this Frostmas BTS has been in my drafts for FOREVER, and was the last one I did before tumblr switched to the new post editor
WHICH DOESN'T LIKE MULTI LEVEL BULLETED LISTS!
So it's kinda all over the place. My bad lmao.
LET'S KEEP ON KEEPING ON
Jacqueline realizing that she hadn’t updated everyone on what the elves thought of her nonsense was a BLESSING because I realized that I hadn’t addressed it, so thank you for that opportunity, Jacqueline
Archie's Guide to Important People in the North Pole: Big Man->Santa. Boss Man->Bernard.
I would like to take this moment to credit @shittyelfwriter with Archie’s existence in those few chapters of ROE, because I love him and always picture him as the elf playing the piano and going UGH and facepalming during Jack’s rendition of North Pole, North Pole (pictured below). THANK YOU FOR NAMING THE BOY, ANA!
The conversation between Jacqueline and Archie, that dripped sarcasm, was my favourite thing to write this chapter :D
The scene with Chrys give you weird vibes of all manner? Yeah, that was intentional. "Perfection" can be unsettling, after all
Bernard is definitely so DONE this year and it SHOWS -> That is exactly what I was going for, especially since I know that he's not normally
Okay so. Let's Talk About Chrys. TW: Sexual Themes
very embarrassing, but I got the concept from a series of fantasy erotica novels and I wish I was joking
(they’re called the World of Hetar series, very good, very very VERY smutty. I’d say it’s 60% SEX, 30% PLOT, and 10% SEX DRIVEN PLOT)
(I know people who know me are like YOU READ SMUT? YOU?? AN ACE??? and yes, I did, I read exclusively smut from the ages of 12-17 because my Dad worked for "Trash Romance Novel Company" and brought home books for free every month, and the books were, in fact, mostly if not totally smut)
Erotica aside, I quite liked how the author had built up the magical world, the beings, and how magic works in it
In the third or fourth book, called “The Twilight Lord”, the fairies ally with the desert princes who are some kind of magical fae themselves, and they create the Perfect Wife for the corrupt leader of the neighbouring continent to distract him from starting a war
She was a mix of his current 2 wives and the things he liked about them, and looked like the protagonist, Lara, who cursed him to not be able to fuck I shit you not and who he ALSO had a big huge thirst for which was GROSS because he was old as fuck and even though she’s half fairy, she was like. 12 or 13
And this new wife is able to GET IT UP with him, hence how he’d be distracted--he really liked sex (reminder: this is an erotica series)
So he’s too busy fucking her and then on top of that, she would divide the other two wives and basically bring the house down from the inside, neutralizing the threat of this corrupt sex loving mofo
And that’s where the idea of Chrys came from!
So basically tl;dr: Chrys was inspired by a spell a sexy bunch of desert princes in an erotica series did to make the perfect wife for their enemy and knock him right tf down :)
How this works with Cheri’s magic: same concept, less sex
Chrysanthemum is a Perfect Being, who is bound to a specific magibean. Chrys’s purpose is to be Jack’s Mrs Claus, and because she was made with dark magic she drains energy of those around her (except for jack’s energy bc he’s the person she’s bound to) and magnifies bad ideas
spoiler alert: in the long run, Chrys will be TOO perfect and TOO agreeable for Jack and he’ll grow tired and it adds to the whole “I thought this would get me everything I’ve ever wanted but it didn’t” long term theme I have going for Jack as Santa
but yeah
end tw for sexual themes. away from chrys we go!
battled with the “cultural appropriation” bit because I felt as though it may be insensitive but then I wrote it anyway because that’s what it is at it’s base :\
it was supposed to be a stand in? I'd go back and change later? then I didn't. We're rolling with it now lol
Have you ever heard Elf’s Lament by the Barenaked Ladies?
Because it’s where I got the Union Comment from
Then I was like “but DO THEY HAVE UNION???!?!” and remembered the “accident or design” thing and realized “OH they ARE their own union” and figured that in terms of a Santa like JACK, The council would step in (which they’ve done. and tried to do stuff. but haven’t had luck bc PLOT)
god Frostmas is exhausting. Villains are underappreciated for all the effort they put into for being on TOP of things
(in Korvo Solar opposites Voice) what fucking scene are we on. why are these so long. why did i do this to myself. FUCK
ANYWAY CIRCLING BACK TO THIS MESS OF A BTS!
This uniform thing was unplanned/meant to be just a footnote. Then. Well. THIS.
It is a decent feature of the Resort in the movie so, I guess it works out :)
FUN FACT: I was playing a very good dnd campaign at the time! And that's how Davian got her name, lol. One of the amazing NPCs was named Davian, and we had a really good session with them and the name stuck and boom! Into Frostmas it goes. Once again, Frostmas is proving to be a time capsule reminding me of wtf I was doing while writing these bad boys :)
I miss my friend's campaign ):
And yeah, this fight is one Jacqueline cannot win. this is on the elves. So what does she do? Goes back to her hyperfocus of destorying SantaJack
How? By figuring out wtf Chrys is >:)
STUPID DUMB CHRYS
Alright. Scene subheadings are back! Right on.
"Myles would be proud AND would probably have been able to connect the dots and figure out what was up, and then place it on a neat presentation board, to boot."
LEGATE DROP! Myles is Tooth Fairy's Legate! He's v sweet, a lil bit clumsy, SUPER into conspiracies--hence Jacqueline being like "MAN I WISH THAT KIDS WAS HERE, HE'D KNOW WTF IS UP"
So let's talk about BLINTER. Just to clarify: THEY WERE NOT ABOUT TO GET IT ON IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DEN. This is just a typical post work day for them: start a fire, make a blanket nest, be cozy until kid 2, 3, or 4 come to harass them
Blaise is pouty bc they didn't even get a single cuddle in before Kid 2 came in like
And I was 100% referencing the meme lmao.
god tumblr killed the quality. I'll post it separately. ANYWAY
the Blinter and Jacquie scene was fun to write! This is one of the scenes where I was dropping very strong hints that Jacqueline was freezing--and Winter AND Blaise were noticing. Winter'll explain it all in Y11 ;)
FINAL RESORT
"You could really tell that graphic design was Chrys's passion"
another meme reference:
I think we, as a collective people using slang, should bring back "gag me with a spoon". Also some older slang! I try to sneak those in when I know of some to show. Y'know. AGE.
This whole scene with Jack and Chrys actually was me laying the ground work for FINAL RESORT. Trying to get in all of the booths we see, the petting zoo, and the different announcements about various activities set up before the double digit years! That was my goal :)
THE ELVES UNION AT WORK
Ah yes. the walk out. God, this uniform thing was meant to be small, but lord did it EVER go big. I'm actually okay with it--my y9 notes were so lacklustre, I was concerned it would be (you'll laugh I know) TOO SHORT lmao
No. Fr. Look at them.
"Because those outfits are a joke, and you wouldn't catch me dead wearing those."
Sassnard. We Stan.
"I'm so proud of all of my crew," said Davian. "Crimes against fashion should NEVER be tolerated!"
"And the break from the constant ruined showtunes, what a relief!" said Archie, leaning very far back in his stool."
The elves have their priorities lol. I Bet Archie and Davian are biffers.
Curtis on damage control was A) a stroke of genius on my part and B) the way I decided to start laying the groundwork for Customer Service Sales Person Curtis we see when Scott gets to the Resort! God, there is SO MUCH GROUND WORK FOR VARIOUS ITTY BITTY BITS WE SEE IN THE MOVIE, IT'S ACTUALLY INSANE. No wonder you all dig Frostmas so much. good lord
And then, we have it! Final Resort. Wholly heckeros! And yes, I did indeed name the Fire Marshall. Marshal. I'm a genius 🙃🙃🙃
""Course! It's lunch. I doubt anything will happen during lunch."
Famous last words, B-Man. And yes, I did that on purpose >:)
CHRYS UNMASKED. AND ALSO, IT'S CHERI!
Cheri's...interesting
While she is master of the dark witch arts, she isn't evil? Very chaotic. Kind of lets it slide a lot of the time when Witches use "dark" magic. Everything has a price, blah blah blah, it's not her place to tell people off about it--that's the other Grand Witch's place, Gwen, aka, Glenda, master of the light witch arts
And also, dark magic will take what it needs in response. She just makes sure people don't use it SUPER illegally. Otherwise she kills em. It's her favourite part of the job :)
Lawful Evil?? Idk.
FUN FACT: She gave Gwen the nickname Glenda, like the good witch in The Wizard of Oz (derogatory), and Gwen went, "oh! Glenda, like the good witch in The Wizard of Oz (affectionate)? you're such a sweet sister I'll take it :)" and now everyone calls her Glenda much to Cheri's (dis)satisfaction.
Cheri is very not serious and hates being called in for business unless murder is involved. She does NOT ignore any summons, ESPECIALLY from Mother Nature.
Hence why Tara had a easy enough time getting her in
But Cheri does NOT make things easy for people, nope!
"Hay, Jacquie" a la Catra going "Hay, Adora". I was watching SPOP at the time. It's a DAMN good show, Catra/Adora my BELOVEDS
FUN FACT: Only recently decided how Warlocks worked in my universe! They know everything and can guide ANY castor. It's like a reverse of Warlocks in DnD. They don't need a patron; they ARE patrons!
By RETIRING Cheri means that a lot of Warlocks went into Rosehaven with the Call. They were making BANK on the feuding fae factions.
Petty vengeance->one night stand with Jack where he said he'd call back, and didn't, which Cheri expected but any excuse for petty revenge is a good one! Good karma->Cheri explains it herself: if it helps the "good" forces, and she contributed to it, she gets a bit of a pass on being The Worst :)
OH SHIT I FORGOT ABOUT THE SNAP BACK INTO THE PRESENT
this was an idea I had had since like, the BEGINNING. Halfway through or so, Jack would bug Jacqueline in the proper timeline, to check in and also let her know that he'd like a turn and also, as a plot device so I could remind everyone it's a story of the past being told from the future, and plant the seed of "wait, is Jacqueline going to forget it? Or is she going to remember it?"
Is she? Well, you're not finding out until the Epilogue :)
It is just as jarring as I had hoped it'd be, especially since I forgot all about it! I was ready to title this section THE END and talk about Bernard's amazing exit.
But yeah, it was a fun reminder that this takes place POST redemption, TECHNICALLY, which is a lot of fun! And that was so pleasantly jarring. I'm pleased >:)
anyway
THE END: BERNARD'S STELLAR EXIT
if you listen to this version of the halo theme song on loop, you may enter the space I entered when I wrote this bit
anyway. i love Jack. He is. the Blorboest Blorbo EVER. But he did, in fact, steal Christmas for his own holiday and turned the park into a Resort. Implying that there is an overnight stay. Especially with a pamphlet THAT THICK. It;s not even a pamphlet. It's a fucking guide book. FUCK.
And like, there were no hotels that we saw. Maybe there are inns! I mean, the Winter Wonderland has rooms. But I digress.
REGARDLESS, something needed to happen to really get B-Man, well, GONE. And this was the final straw: Elf's houses for you to stay at, with your own personal elfsisstant!
It HURT to SUGGEST Jack would make the elves like. SERVANTS so I tried really hard to avoid that sort of thing--but yeah, they'd be like hotel staff but live in. Imagine being an elf and having to NANNY HUMANS?! FUCK
"That's what your emotional support sprite is for," I said.->Meme alert! "sir this is my emotional support x" meme lol.
Jacqueline gets to kick down doors, once again. Idk why she slams doors open so much? She just does lol
"...It's perfect," Jack said. "It's everything I've ever wanted." I tilted my head. There had been something about the way he said that that made me think that he did not believe that anymore"
I'M LIKE, DROPPING HINTS NOW AT JACK'S ENDGAME FOR FROSTMAS (since we already know Jacqueline's)
AND JACQUIE IS PICKING THEM UP!
I wanted to avoid "servant" related words, but B-Man is way more blunt than I am and we thank him for it tbh
"Really? Cause this is me, walking away."
SO THIS RAW ASS LINE WAS GIVEN TO US BY @shittyelfwriter YET AGAIN! WOMAN'S A GENIUS! We were chatting about BMan's exit and she sent a snippet with that line and I went "Ou. Yeah. That's GOOD" and did a bit of "do it different so they can't tell it's copied"
but credit is given where credit is due lmao! Ana's mind is like, BIG BRAIN when it comes to writing and connecting dots n shit :)
and there we have it! Frostmas BTS: Y9. Y10 coming to you SOON I hope! I'm clearing out my drafts. They're all just. Frostmas BTS and wips that have yet to see the light of day :3
#dani speaks#frostmas#the twelve years of frostmas#frostmas behind the scenes#frostmas bts#frostmas bts year 9#CLEANING OUT MY DRAFTS! MAYBE Y10 WILL MAKE IT'S WAY TO A DASH NEAR YOU THIS NOVEMBER#WHO'S TO SAY!
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-> with the band chapter 5
tell the truth (part 1)
warning: minors DNI due to a little bit of smut in this chapter and a lot in others. in this one: people pleasing behavior, anxiety disorder, codependency.
A/N: this is a story about a girl with anxiety disorder learning to thrive. it’s the fifth part of my first story post on tumblr, first attempt writing a book of any kind.
thank you so much for reading. i love any feedback or input. this is a love on tour au, harry styles au, slow burn romance.
word count: 4.61k
New York City didn’t know it was September. It was so hot that the tarmac felt soft under Izzy’s shoes.
She left the plane with only what she came to the concert in: her fanny pack with her phone (no charger), a chapstick (now empty), and bandaid wrappers (used up). Airport workers milled around her, grabbing bags, as Harry and the band spilled out of the plane like colorful ribbon onto the asphalt. He had changed into a cream suit with pink slacks. Lydia ambled off the plane, as relaxed as if she were getting into a pool.
Harry opened his guitar case on the ground, inspecting it for damage, running his hand along its body. Izzy didn’t know where to stand or what to do. She hadn’t been on a plane since she was a kid, and now she was in some weird, private part of the airport in a city she had never seen before. With people who had done this hundreds of times.
“Lydia,” Izzy said. Lydia finished typing on her phone, then looked up.
“Mmm??”
“I don’t have a toothbrush,” Izzy complained. “I’m in a city where I’ve never been and I don’t have a toothbrush.”
“You’re in a city where you’ve never been and you don’t have a toothbrush!” Lydia sang back.
“I have no clothes,” Izzy said.
“You get new clothes!” Lydia echoed in a brighter tone.
“I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing here.”
“You can do anything here!”
Harry smirked; he thought Lydia was being pretty funny. “There’s a bunch of stores near the hotel. And there’ll be a toothbrush in your room, Izzy,” Harry said. His hair was just falling over his eyes and his stubble somehow made him look better, not worse. Izzy yanked her eyes away; she had been staring. Harry caught her eyes and grinned. Izzy felt like an idiot, still in her green dress. Everything about Harry made her angry: it wasn’t fair that he could look so good getting off a plane.
She could call her mom and use her savings to fly back; she was already at the airport. But it was September, back to school time, and for the first time in five years Izzy felt excited about it. Since she had to go to school locally and live at home, September was always a time of dread for her: the long commute to class, scrolling through posts from house parties while sitting at home alone.
This September would be different. She’d make it different.
A van pulled up—it wasn’t labelled, but it was obviously theirs, painted on all sides in a riot of color.
Harry, most of the opening band, Eddie, and Lydia piled in, Eddie and Harry bickering about the opening song. Izzy checked around her for George—the other plane still hadn’t arrived. There weren’t any seats left in the van.
“Sorry, is she on crew?” the Starer asked from her seat.
“Yeah, she’s with me,” said Lydia, scooting over so Lydia could sit beside her.
“That moron hired two influencers?” Harry said from the back, briefly breaking from his bickering with Eddie.
“Where’d he get the money from?” Lisa asked. Izzy hovered outside the van awkwardly, wanting to crawl out of her skin. Harry’s eyes flicked from the Starer to Izzy; Eddie started in again on his set list in imploring tones, and Harry turned away.
“She can make anything go viral. She’s a magician,” Lydia said. “And she’s just here for the weekend, anyway.”
“Fine,” said the Starer. “You guys are supposed to post three times today, according to that plan you drafted. Let’s see it. If she’s really qualified, she can stay for the weekend.” Who the fuck died and made you queen of everything, Izzy thought.
Lydia slid over and Izzy climbed in, shooting daggers at her. Lydia shrugged and returned to her phone.
“Ryan doesn’t let anyone stay unless they earn at least their room rate,” Olivia said. “I’m sure you’ll do fine. You’re calm, you’re relaxed. ”
Izzy felt panic rumble her stomach. She didn’t know anything about going viral on social media. She frantically started Googling, with her phone at 10% battery. Izzy was normally a terrible backseat driver—being on the road made her anxiety spike. But she was too distracted now. Not just by the sight of Manhattan coming into view, a cluster of glittering skyscrapers bigger than any buildings Izzy had ever seen—if she didn’t figure out a way to turn all of this into social media success, she was done.
Harry’s phone rang at least ten times over the course of the drive, and he complained about everything, getting more and more agitated: the drive was too long, the van was too small, the hotel they picked was for assholes. Izzy agreed with all of it, but she would never say any of that out loud; like Harry, she also felt like she had been kidnapped, and had no control over her situation. Izzy’s clumsy search, “how to make social viral” turned up millions of results, most of them useless. She read up on hashtags, data-driven content strategies, trending topics, scheduling. It was all so fake, and staged, and carefully calibrated. This is what Lydia did for a living now? Izzy downloaded several analytics and AI apps to her phone. Lydia handed over her phone and Izzy checked the opening act’s social accounts: they were called Jess Harper, named after the lead singer. The Starer’s name was Jess. Izzy decided she would continue to refer to the Starer as such internally, as it was a much better fit.
Harry and Eddie’s bickering was just a warm up for the scene he pulled once they arrived at their hotel for that set of shows. They had pulled into an alleyway to go in through the back.
“I’m not a fucking circus clown here to perform tricks for people! I control my set list,” he boomed from the backseat as Eddie tried to get him out of the car.
As Izzy was about to get out of the van, wanting to get away from Harry, Lydia pulled her back in. Apparently, they were going to meet George somewhere for a shoot.
A few people on the sidewalk recognized the vehicle, and a couple had started to follow it down the alley. “The band wants this too, it’s not just me,” Harry said. “It’s like he wants to kill the whole album.”
Eddie rubbed his forehead, exhausted. “Come on, let’s get out of the car. We can talk about this upstairs.”
“Do you work for Ryan now? What the fuck is going on?”
Someone started filming Eddie with their phone.
Eddie sighed. A photographer with a bigger camera, a serious camera, ran toward the scene.
“Let’s just get inside,” Eddie said.
The cameraman pushed past Eddie, nearly knocking the hungover man to the ground. He stuck his camera into the van, aiming it backwards at Harry. Izzy put her hands up in front of her, mortified. Harry leapt forward and swung the door shut, crunching the lens.
“Jesus, Harry!” Izzy yelped from her seat.
“Drive,” commanded Harry. The van peeled out, and the camera slid down the gap between the door and the frame, before it fell out and clattered onto the asphalt. Izzy pulled the door closed and looked out the back window to see the photographer yelling at them. Eddie was approaching him, taking his wallet out of his pocket.
“We’re going shopping,” Lydia said, totally calm. She was on her phone, as usual.
“Shopping? We have to take some good photos or I’m off the tour, remember?”
“Meg’s at the hotel, asleep. You can chill. And George is meeting us,” Lydia explained.
“Let me off here,” Harry said. The car stopped suddenly.
“You don’t want to dress up and take some photos with us?” Lydia offered.
Harry said nothing and stepped out, leaving his sequinned vest behind. He looked almost boring, in a sweater and pants. He grabbed his leather jacket and closed the door gently behind him, letting his palm linger on the side where the camera had scratched it. Izzy noticed what looked like a flicker of regret across his face.
The van lurched forward and Harry left the sidewalk through the gates to a park. Central Park? Izzy recognized it from TV shows. They were way uptown. It looked so cool and quiet.
Izzy gazed back through the rearview at the trees. Harry slung his jacket over one shoulder, disappearing into the green. She wanted to curl up on the grass in the shade and take a nap.
“Lydia, I want to stay for the weekend. I want to stay,” Izzy said.
Lydia clapped her hands.
“So when we get to wherever we’re going,” Izzy continued, “we’re posting something unique and never before seen, using the trending hashtags, sending the photo fifteen minutes after we get there—midday is an optimum time apparently—and…” Izzy looked down at her phone, reading from it: “…leveraging emotions to connect to people, like joy or fear. Okay, maybe not fear, but we’re not going to wing it.”
“Oh Izzy,” sighed Lydia. The van slowed to stop. Izzy’s jaw dropped when she saw where they were: they had pulled up in front of Gucci.
Izzy tried to close her mouth as she entered the store. But it wasn’t easy. The store was like a field of flowers—so colorful. She recognized many of the pieces as similar to the things Harry wore on stage; it was like his entire wardrobe came from here. The store sparkled. No dust or synthetic brown ruffles in sight.
George raised a champagne flute in their direction from a plush seating area. He wore a sheepskin coat over his bare chest, and new pants and shoes, tags still on.
“Is this really you, though, George?” Lydia asked him, taking another flute from the glass table his feet rested on. Izzy felt frozen again. A group of saleswomen by the register looked her up and down.
“Gucci? It’s what the people want, apparently,” George said bitterly, taking another drink. Lydia frowned. Izzy wondered if she could get away without picking up a glass; she couldn’t imagine drinking while this hungover.
“Could I… could I get a shot of you?” Izzy asked. She wasn’t sure what they were or how to talk to him, after last night. Not that I was sure beforehand, she thought.
She sank down beside him on the couch, just like he did the night before. He put his arm around her. His blonde hair tickled her shoulders; the lamp behind him made him almost look like he had a halo. He put another glass in her hand and she took a deep drink.
“Wait, hold on,” Izzy said. She gestured for Lydia’s phone and snapped a photo, framing George’s side profile in silhouette, a Gucci sign just faint behind him. Lydia was already logged into his and his band’s accounts on all her apps.
Izzy checked an analytics app on her phone and added a list of hashtags that were popular, captioning the photo “stay up #blessed #nature #instagood #photooftheday #follow #model”. She put the most trending song on the platform in their target demographic—which, Izzy assumed, was people their age—behind the photo, giving it a spacey techno feel. It seemed cool. The analytics told her it was cool, at least.
Lydia took her phone back and inspected Izzy’s work. She wrinkled her nose.
“It’s not like anything else on his feed,” Izzy said, excited.
“Exactly,” Lydia said. “It’s a lie.”
“Do you want to take another one? What do you think we should do? If I don’t seem like a real social media assistant today, I’m gone.”
“I need a nap,” Lydia replied. “It’ll all work out if it’s meant to work out.” She lay down on the couch, putting her head in Izzy’s lap.
“You need a nap?”
“And you need some tour clothes, am I right?” George asked.
“What?” Izzy asked.
“Jess mentioned that you were new. Didn’t pack a bag, did you?”
Izzy shifted uncomfortably in her dress; she had been wearing it for more than 12 hours.
“I was just going to pick some things up near the hotel, like a t-shirt,” Izzy said. When she was nervous, she sometimes talked really fast. “I’m not staying longer than this weekend. I have to get back to work at the store, my mom’s store. Just helping Lydia out until then,” Izzy explained, making up her plan as she said it out loud.
“That’s really rad. You’re part of a fashion dynasty? How many stores does your family own?” George asked, standing up. He went over to a rack of blouses and pants that likely cost more than her family’s car.
“Thousands,” said Lydia sleepily. George didn’t seem to catch her sarcasm.
Izzy didn’t know what to do. She checked her phone; it was dead. She took Lydia’s phone out of her hands, and hit post on the photo she took. She put it down, too nervous to watch the likes come in (or not come in).
Just then, a shirt landed on her head. She peeled it off. The fabric felt like butter. Another landed in her lap, so slippery it slid off and pooled on the floor. George was throwing them at her from the racks, making both of them laugh.
“Try them on. Try them all on,” he said.
Izzy gathered them up, at least ten pieces in total. Including underwear. It seemed ridiculous to her to buy underwear here, when it was just cotton. She gaped at the prices: $1,150 for a black bra and panties in a diamond mesh, $1,000 for a bustier made of literal rubber. Two salespeople appeared, dressed in much nicer clothing than what she was wearing. They picked up the clothes and took them to a changing room with onyx walls, cut so thin they were slightly transparent.
George grinned at her. “You like those?”
“I’m not buying these,” Izzy said.
“Try them on.”
In the dressing room, Izzy was careful not to inspect herself in the mirror, 24 hours since her last shower. She put on a minxy black slip dress with a red dragon on the front, and came out.
Lydia was fully asleep. George had playfully wolf-whistled at Izzy. “Yeah, that one.” She tried to protest, but George wasn’t having it.
The salespeople brought her to and from the changing room, and she modelled a variety of looks with mesh straps that cut into her shoulders, or rubber that felt like it suffocated her skin. She reflected George’s excitement back at him, lighting up when he liked something. It felt like she was being sprayed with champagne; the validation was intoxicating.
She found a cardigan she liked, fuzzy cashmere almost an inch deep, and cute sneakers that were sequined in rainbow on all sides, reminding her of her favourite childhood pair that lit up when she walked.
And there was this one petal pink dress. It felt like water on her skin. When she finally looked at herself in the mirror, she was stunned. It brought out all the pink in her lips and cheeks. The dress almost made her look like an actual adult. It felt so easy and natural. In the dress, she looked like that girl. She felt like that girl.
But it was all playtime. She couldn’t afford any of this stuff. She carefully put everything back on the hangers, right side out, afraid to snag something and get hit with a multi-thousand dollar bill.
Just then, the door of her change room slammed open. Izzy was in her bra.
“What are you doing in here?”
George covered his eyes with one hand, smiling.
“It’s time to go back to the hotel. Have to be back stage at five.” George reached out in front of him, letting his fingertips graze her waist. Izzy jumped at his touch. He kept his eyes closed.
“Don’t look,” she said. It was a reflex, something she had said to Roger, too. The lights in the store were so bright.
“I’m not looking,” George replied. He brushed his lips against her jawline, then opened them. Izzy closed her eyes, feeling his tongue on her neck.
From inside the change room, Izzy heard Lydia’s phone buzz.
“It’s actually working,” Lydia said, not trying to conceal the surprise in her voice at all. “For a start, anyway. It’s getting more traction than the other posts usually do at this point.”
George bit Izzy’s neck and stumbled out of the change room, bumping the door frame, eyes still closed. They laughed.
A middle aged customer at a display case in front of them looked up to see Izzy in her underwear, change room door open, and frowned disapprovingly. Izzy suppressed a giggle and swung the door closed.
The words she had said to Meg last year, standing outside the store, echoed in her mind: sometimes I think love is for other people. Maybe, just maybe, she had been wrong.
Soon, she was back in her green dress and they were back in the van. Lydia had a bright new key chain or purse charm—Izzy didn’t know the word from it. It probably cost $400. Izzy pointed to it, about to say something, when Lydia cut in: “OnlyFans.”
Izzy’s mouth dropped open.
“Just kidding!” Lydia laughed.
No crowd formed when they pulled up in front of the hotel this time, though George looked around for one.
The lobby was all glass and matching furniture, with winged chandeliers soaring at least twenty feet above them. The curated calm of the room was cut through by a familiar voice ricocheting off the walls.
Eddie stood across from the suit, Ryan. The suit was wearing a new suit, and had two assistants behind him, also in suits, with headsets and clipboards. Eddie looked like he had never made it upstairs.
“I looked at the numbers on it, and it’s not a hitter. Sorry,” Ryan said. His assistants nodded.
“This isn’t moneyball, Ryan,” Eddie said, loosening his tie. “And even if it were, you’d need the star player for it to work. And he is currently missing.”
“He’s a performer. He wouldn’t miss a show.”
“He would,” said Eddie. “Trust me.”
Ryan seemed to be the one in charge. Izzy swallowed hard and turned to George and Lydia.
“How’s the post doing now?” she asked.
Lydia glanced at her phone, then put it away.
“Lydia?”
“It flatlined. Lower than usual. I told you,” she said gently. “I think it… came across as desperate.”
“But I am desperate,” Izzy said. This was the danger in going after what you want: it always seemed to doom Izzy to not get it. Maybe I was right all along and it is better not to try, she thought.
“I need a nap too,” yawned George. “We have to be backstage in two hours.”
“Can we… can we do one more now? Maybe…” Izzy searched around frantically for ideas, eyes settling on the van.
She posed George carefully to hide the new scratch down the side from Harry’s tantrum. Lydia watched, wincing. Izzy tried again, using fewer hashtags (but still trending ones). She copied the format and pose from something that was blowing up on TikTok. Surely, that would work? Drafting off what was already going viral. George smiled and the smile looked real, like it always did. Genuine joy, the colorful print of the van in the background.
Izzy refreshed the page constantly, following Lydia to the elevator.
“You’re Lydia’s assistant, right?”
Izzy turned to see Ryan, just inches from her.
“Yes,” Izzy said. His gaze was piercing.
“We only budgeted for one extra marketing person,” Ryan said. “You can share at this stop but we won’t have room at the next one.”
“Would you chill out?” Lydia said, tugging Izzy away. “Just look at Eddie. Be more like Eddie.” Eddie was sprawled out, talking into his phone, on one of the lobby sofas, looking totally spent. The elevator doors closed in front of them.
Izzy kept checking the post as she and Lydia soared up to the top floor. She followed Lydia down a long corridor, not really paying attention to where she was going. George had disappeared again.
Lydia opened the door to the fanciest hotel room Izzy had ever seen, all shimmering glass and lucite. Izzy barely noticed: she was greeted by Meg, who threw her arms around her neck, with a loud, reassuring “Izzy!”
Meg had gotten on the other plane and passed out at the hotel when they arrived, knowing that Izzy was with Lydia. She was more sober than the two of them at the party, and Lydia had apparently told her she could join for the whole weekend too. She was in a bathrobe, fully refreshed.
“You’ve got to shower and then you can get into some of your new clothes. We have to be at the new place in an hour,” Meg said. “Were you with George?” Meg touched Izzy’s neck.
“Yeah,” Izzy said.
“You really like him,” Meg said.
“I guess,” Izzy replied casually, hedging her bets. She felt as afraid of saying it out loud as she used to, but maybe this time, admitting that she liked someone wasn’t a curse that meant she would lose him.
“This is so good,” Meg said, gripping Izzy’s hands. Izzy could never really hide from Meg and Meg knew how much she liked George. “I can’t wait to do this for the whole weekend! Unexpected vacay!”
Lydia flicked on Lana Del Rey, playing vintage tracks from one of her early albums.
“Well, I’m not sure if we can actually stay.” Izzy said, surveying the plush and undoubtedly expensive room. “Wait. What did you say about new clothes?”
Meg gestured to the bed, covered in shiny bags, some bigger than her entire body, all from Gucci.
“Can we look at them now?” Meg asked, jumping up on the bed beside the tallest one. “George bought these for you?” Lydia went into the bathroom and closed the door behind her.
Izzy and Meg tore the bags open, sending tissue paper flying above them and around the room. They drew out bright dresses and skirts and tops. Meg put on some of them, and Izzy changed into the funny rubber bustier and its matching skirt.
The smallest bag had two lingerie sets. When she saw them, she felt the Boulder land in the room, threatening to crush everything. Meg had Izzy throw them on over her clothes, and she did the same, laughing. They looked ridiculous. Meg turned the music up and colored paper floated around them.
“He really likes you!” Meg said. Just then, George appeared at the door, dressed in his outfit for his opening number. Olivia, Lisa, and Tara passed behind them, greeting Izzy as they walked by.
“George… what is this?” Izzy asked, gesturing around the room. She was embarrassed that she had torn open the packages. But her smile betrayed her; she loved it.
“It’s all the stuff you liked,” George said. “Now that you’re with the band, you’ll need a few things.”
“This is way too much,” Izzy said. “We should return it.”
“You. Look. Gorgeous,” he said. “Don’t disappoint me.” Izzy said thank you and that it was way too much, but he was already gone.
The rainbow shoes, soft cardigan, and pink dress weren’t there. Izzy pulled the other items out of the last bag—mesh, plastic, scary dragon dress—barely able to move her arms in the stiff rubber bustier. She got to a piece of paper at the bottom.
It was a receipt. Total: $35,214 dollars.
She said it out loud, not sure that it was real.
“How much?” Meg asked.
Izzy kicked the shoes off. She felt gross. It was way too much money.
“He must be loaded,” Meg said. Izzy thought about what her family, or any regular family, could do with that amount.
“I guess,” Izzy said. “The tickets to the tour are so expensive. They must be making bank.”
“There are three of you now?” The voice was unmistakable: the door to their room was still open, and the Starer had appeared.
“She’s my assistant’s… assistant,” Lydia said, coming out of the bathroom. She wore a towel on her head and nothing else. Compared to last night, this didn’t shock Izzy. The Starer didn’t even flinch.
“Those two posts were the worst performing on our band’s profile this year,” the Starer said, looking Izzy up and down. The Starer continued: “I doubt you can fix it now.”
“It’s no extra cost,” Meg said. “We’re just staying in Lydia’s room.”
“Food,” the Starer said. She surveyed at the three women, ankle deep in Gucci tissue paper. “Clothes, apparently. Ryan counts every penny.”
“George bought this stuff for me,” Izzy protested.
“Lydia would need a room anyway,” Meg continued.
“Really? She would?” The Starer asked.
“We still have two hours until the show,” Lydia said, rushing to close the door. Even she seemed stressed now. Izzy frowned, not understanding. Did Lydia get this job by sleeping with someone in the band? She seems so carefree, but is she okay? Was it Mitch? Elijah? Oh god, Harry?
Izzy pulled up two posts she made. They had flopped. The Starer had seen right through her. Izzy wasn’t a social media assistant. She wasn’t a creative person. She belonged at her mom’s store.
Meg started picking up the tissue paper. Izzy struggled out of the lingerie she had thrown on top of her clothes, and caught sight of herself in the hotel room’s mirror. She didn’t recognize herself. The rubber bustier cut into her shoulders, and the skirt was way too short.
“Lydia, we only have one post left. What do we do? Could you put some clothes on?”
Lydia picked up the black dragon dress and slipped it on. She looked totally at home in it.
“Izzy,” Lydia said, “all you need to do to connect to people is to tell the truth.”
She disappeared back into the bathroom.
Izzy made an excuse about needing a break, and meandered back down to the lobby and down the street, taking Lydia’s phone with her. She checked it constantly, but the numbers weren’t moving. The show was supposed to start soon and she had nothing. Oh god, she wanted to stay.
She thought about Lydia’s words. Izzy knew that she did lie, all the time. Not just today. She told the truth so rarely; she cared what everyone though too much. Talking to people always felt like an emergency, when lying to get people to like her was not just allowed but necessary. Rejection was just too painful. But maybe the life that all the lying was leaving her with was worse?
She rarely felt like herself. She barely new who that person was, outside people she could be honest with, like Meg, and the three secrets that had landed her here.
Izzy found herself in front of the gates of the park. She wandered in, feeling her shoulders relax as the shade from the trees wrapped itself around her. A wide asphalt path cut through a set of big, open fields, dotted with people having picnics and taking photos. Izzy thought she heard Summertime Sadness on the breeze, playing from someone’s phone turned upside down in a plastic red cup.
Izzy stepped onto a desire path, worn to dirt, that disappeared into a cluster of trees.
Izzy followed the path along a stream, and it was suddenly like she was out of the city entirely. The wind through the leaves hushed the noises from the street. She inhaled deeply. She missed this. She had spent seven days a week for the last few years in the store. The fake plant by the register was the only sign of wild, real life.
The heat in the air of the city was gathering into water. Everything in the park glistened in the humidity.
A touch of pink winked at her from behind an old tree with thick, winding roots. She walked over cautiously. Sitting at its base, leaning back against the roots, was Harry.
“Elisabetta,” Harry said.
“Harry.”
Izzy sat down beside him. “It’s nice here,” she said.
“What the fuck are you wearing?” Harry asked, sitting up.
“Nothing I like,” Izzy replied. Harry leaned back again and closed his eyes. She had never seen him look so peaceful. He seemed damp, maybe from the heat; water seeped through his sweater at the base of his chest.
“Some people are looking for you,” she said.
“I have to open with that stupid new song. I didn’t write it. They won’t let me do anything from the new album.”
“That’s awful,” Izzy said, genuinely.
“Eddie lost,” Harry said. He threw a stone into the stream.
Sunlight filtered down through the leaves and danced on the water. It was at least ten degrees cooler here than back out on the street.
“I think I might have to leave tonight. Can I hide here with you for a while?” Izzy asked. She couldn’t face the show, the Starer, Ryan, the bus back home, the store.
“Sure,” Harry said. “Why’re you leaving?”
“I’m not a real social media expert. I work at my mom’s store, a failing store.” She felt suddenly guilty for calling it that out loud. “My mom is an incredible tailor, but it’s a little… old fashioned. My pictures from today bombed and no one’s buying me as Lydia’s assistant. Ryan’s going to send me home.”
At the word Ryan, Harry scowled.
“Do you want to take my picture?” Harry asked, cracking an eyelid and looking up at her.
Izzy raised Lydia’s phone. Harry relaxed back into the tree. Izzy took a video, with the wind ruffling Harry’s hair and sunshine dancing across his shoulders. The music playing from the park just barely wafted in. I feel it in the air... She hit post.
Then she leaned back against the tree, feeling calm. She took off her ugly new shoes and dug her bare feet into the soft leaves.
Lydia’s phone rang. Izzy picked up.
“That’s cheating.” It was the Starer, sharp voice unmistakeable. “It was supposed to be for our account.”
“It’s blowing up, Izzy,” Lydia said in the background.
“Fine, fine,” Izzy heard Ryan said. “The numbers don’t lie.” Some clambering, and then Lydia was the one on the phone.
“I can stay?” Izzy asked, shocked.
“You’re staying, Izzy,” Lydia said, unfussed. “See? Nothing to worry about. Bring my phone back, we’re about to start. And George wants to talk to you. Do you want to stay in his room?” The line cut out suddenly.
Harry stood up and stretched. “I’ll have to put up with more of your terrible playing for a bit longer?”
“That’s right.”
“You’re welcome,” Harry said, grinning.
“You think that was all you?” Izzy joked back. Thunder rumbled in the distance. Izzy thought about what was in front of her: she wasn’t going home. What did staying mean? What did being with the band mean? Could it be for more than a few weeks?
“It was obviously me.”
“Obviously.”
“Only a true content creator could turn this place into marketing,” Harry said, a bit of venom in his voice. God, he’s irritating, Izzy thought. Harry put on his jacket. A rain drop hit his shoulder.
“It was your idea!” Izzy protested. She followed him back up the path.
“I can’t stand all that bullshit,” he sighed. “Jess is lucky it’s just you two. I have a whole team.”
“Poor little rock star,” Izzy said.
Harry watched Izzy pause at the edge of the stream before the path merged back with the sidewalk. Harry was happy she would be around, but his brow was creased with worry. He had to keep her away from George.
Izzy held her arms out, closing her eyes to feel the rain hitting her skin, the inside of her wrists. She had never felt so relieved. She could stay.
chapter6
#fan fiction#harry styles#harry#styles#hslot#love on tour#love on tour au#love on tour fanfic#harry styles fanfic#harry styles au#nyc#hslot new york#gucci#worryingamountsofgucci#dogsofinstagram#izzywiththeband#romance readers
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Claws of Carnality | jjk (7)
Pairing: alpha jungkook x omega reader
Genre: smut, fluff and angst, abo/werewolf!au, soulmate!au, fantasy!au
Rating: 18+ / nsfw
Word Count: 7.4k
Summary: When you and your alpha rivetingly reunite for the Offering Ceremony, you are thoroughly twitterpated in his display of intent to you that colors your entire being with affection for him, but you will soon find that he isn’t the only one that has his sights set on you...
Warnings: alpha!jungkook, possessive!jungkook, jealous!jungkook, dom!jungkook, sub! reader, omega!reader, mentions of breeding/ruts/heats, mentions of blood, mentions of a mark, slick and pre-ejaculatory production, scenting, mating rituals and hunting
A/N: What a ride this chapter has been. From the many drafts I had of the original version that went through various reworks before I initially posted and then onto the deletion of that from Tumblr only for an alternate version to be made in my efforts to better guide understanding of the story, this chapter has started from one destination and landed somewhere across the other side of the world.
I hope that this version is easier to digest after the heaviness of the original and much work has been done to ensure that. All feedback that was given to me on the previous rendition of this chapter was greatly appreciated even if some of it hurt, so those who reached out, I thank you. I hope that you all will continue to let me know what your thoughts are as I thrive on comments and feedback that show to me what you guys really think about my work. Please make me a happy author and share your feedback with me on this revised version that I made just for you guys!
Also, you will notice the gif I used this time is different. That is because that look is what Jungkook has somewhere in this chapter (because lbr here I am a slut for Black Swan Jungkook). There might additionally be an insert that looks somewhat familiar to something we have all screamed over, so that will be interesting to see if anyone catches what it is.
For my readers that enjoy auditory stimulus while they read, I wrote this chapter entirely to Jungkook’s “My Time” and I implore you to listen to that while you read because it really sets the mood and perspective I had in the sentiments that I wanted to convey for this part (not to mention I fucking love that song like a child adores their favorite toy). You may find while listening that a certain part resonates especially deep with it. Bonus points to anyone that catches the special allusion!
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 8 Part 9
Suffering in silence amid the agonizing absence of your alpha, every second spent without him is dragged on by cruel hands of time that languidly pass with lethargy in the wake of the sun’s slumber.
Despite the powerful paroxysms that wrack every fiber of your being, your heart paddles agog with anticipation while you wait anxiously for your alpha as your irises sweep like a whirlwind through the woodland in the distance in their frantic frenzy to find under their storm the bringer of the tempest of emotions that rain over you.
The knoll erected just before the greenwood is certainly an insolent impediment that blocks and bars your sights from penetrating pervasively into the forest’s opening as you whimper in the damned denial of your mate.
You hardly notice the profoundly proliferating mound of quarry in front of you that the same beta tugs and tows from the forest in an accumulating aggregation that far surpasses the small, sad excuses for the other piles of game that other betas pull from the forest in their lugging of the conquered prey of each alpha that they serve.
The name of this particular one drifts away from your comprehension in the turbulent gusts that your alpha spews over you even in your separation that cloud your mind of all but him.
By now, the sun has lain itself to sleep below the horizon and, in its place, the moon has awoken augustly from her own chamber to seat herself atop her throne at the sky’s crest. This night, she is tainted red with the crimson of the lifeblood within all creatures under her care in a rare occurrence that is otherwise known as the Blood Moon.
Occurring only twice a year among the winter and summer solstices, the striking shade is symbolic of the wild impulses that drive all living beings and even the stars pulse like veins through the sky’s soma in their own frenzied palpitations.
The moon’s subjects of omegas, alphas and betas all throng tightly together in clusters behind the garden of newly presented omegas that have blossomed with maturity, the cheerful chattering of all the wolves of your pack blooming around you in the warmth of excitement that spouts from them like water. You are rooted like a flower to the ground amidst the field of other omegas that have recently presented, your limbs planted there by the elder who had brought you from the woods.
It had been an onerous omission on your part to abstain from hissing at her when her bony, knuckled hands had grasped your arms in the utter dissatisfaction that had erupted like a volcano within you in the urge to tear her off of you in the lack of heat that her touch- which had been so definitively and determinately not your alpha’s- had been incapable of warming you with.
It had been so unlike what your alpha easily instilled upon you in his calefaction that rolled off of him in waves and, in wanting only your alpha’s hands on you, you’d had to bite down on your tongue to keep from releasing the noise of dismayed dissatisfaction and risk being begrudgingly berated for an unruly display.
Once she’d ambled away, it was your secret that you’d pulled the furs your alpha had given you closer around you to bask in his scintillating scent, the pelt closing comfortingly around you to offer you some much needed incalescence while some, but not all, of the tension pressing down on your shoulders had lifts away.
Niva, who stood behind you, had giggled as she asked, “Are you that gone for him, darling?”
Your cheeks had reddened in embarrassment before you’d looked back at her to quietly mumble, “I am. Irrevocably and unequivocally.”
You watch with bated breath as alphas begin to ascend from over the hilltop that stands to attention just before the woodland as you all but tremble in anticipation to find your own among them.
They are all cleaned of the blood, sweat and tears from the prey they slayed and most are dressed in exorbitantly expensive threads that have likely never before been worn before today.
They are donned under furs from which the alphas acquired in hunts years past in the aged, tanned colors of them all that are draped over each wolf’s shoulders as they come to stand in front of their designated deposit of game they have proudly procured in effort to offer it to their desired partner amidst the line of omegas that have been arranged opposite of them.
It is tradition that the sins of death be wiped away from them before an omega's virtues of life can fully cleanse the alpha that would receive them.
Incurring impatience is what has you whine out for your alpha that still evasively eludes your visage as you searchingly seek him while your wolf cries for the only one that could possibly quiet it as a familiar figure separates from the amalgamation of agglomerated elders that have accumulated along the west and east sides of the stage before she takes her place on the beamed boards that circularly coalesce into the timbered stage.
Amidst the jovial jabber that percolates through the air, the lead elder, who is also your grandmother, raises her hands over her head so that the moonlight drips down onto her upturned palms as she shouts, “Children! Tonight, we commemorate the adulthood that our blessed mother of the moon has acknowledged in these youth before you,” the lead elder lowers both arms to gesture to you as fondness showers over her before she softens, “And among them is my beloved grandchild, Y/N, who hails from the purest of bloodlines and who has been the sole caretaker of our pups and livestock in her dutiful and devout service to her pack since her very juvenility. Let us commend both her and those she was raised alongside in this momentous moment!”
There is a thunderous applause that bursts roaringly around you as exhilaration energizes you anew whilst every wolf in attendance animatedly hoots and claps with a delighted dynamism that has you smiling happily as the sounds bound through you with the liveliness of a sprite.
It leaps through you ceaselessly and when you breathe in to give it more room to prance around within you, that’s when your lips lift in gratified gaiety in the unmistakable undeniability of the scent of myrrh that skirrs insatiably forth until it has found and enveloped you in its mighty musk as you sigh with satisfaction at the realization as it wantonly wafts around you.
Jungkook, your precious mate, must be close by.
The knowledge has your heart skipping a beat as your wolf bays amidst the kindles of joy that light themselves within you in the rapid recognition of the presence of your other half somewhere in the distance.
In the cesspool of odors of all the other wolves that odiously stink and reek through winds around you, it is a taxing task to attempt to locate the origin of the aroma you have come to adore ardently.
All you can do is readily revel in the piquantly pungent incense that incites your baser being with inclination to rejoin with its mate and to find solace in the euphoric utopia of his waiting arms once more.
Some of the lead elder’s words are lost to you amongst your alpha’s essence that wraps willfully around you in a brume that brushes eagerly against you while the ovation that, somewhere along the way, has gradually quieted while the last of the alphas have found their allocated allotment next to their corresponding heaps of seized, slain prey.
They are organized according to rank with the first place that heads the row of alphas belonging to the wolf boasting the highest station amongst his dynamic as their chief in charge of them all through the title afforded to him through his strength, power and bloodline.
Such were no match for any other alpha that had been unwise and unfortunate enough to face and bear the brunt of his sharp claws in battle that ended in loss to any that opposed him as the rightful pack alpha.
It is Jungkook’s locus at the vertex of the line that is empty and while the sight should distill doubt’s inklings within you, your alpha’s reassuring redolence is there to caress you in the swathing surety that he’s near. In your endeavored expenditure to catch a glimpse of Jungkook, you fail to detect that there is not one desolate domain that is devoid of an alpha in front of you, but four.
Still, you’re hardly at the liberty to discern that within the olfactive haze of your alpha’s pheromones that effervescently enfold you in their pleasing particles.
When your irises chase the lingering trace of him that is everywhere and nowhere at once to no avail yet again, you pout and, in the distance, a pair of golden eyes glint with mirth at the spectacle of you that is so incredibly and charmingly cherubic to their beholder.
A knowing expression momentarily crossing the lead elder’s face, your grandmother steps back before smiling fondly at you before her eyes carry their focus across the line of omegas that have been bestrewn along the grasses to your right before returning to you as she proclaims, “My dear grandchild, I welcome you and your fellow omegeans to the maturity that the wolves within you have flourished so beautifully with. May the most worthy of alphas earn you this night under the approving nod of our maternal moon that shall watch us from above,” she gives a revering salute to the celestial body above as she crosses her fingers over her heart in a spherical motion before bowing and when she stands once more, she trumpets, “With that, let us begin the Offering Ceremony!”
Upon her final words, she hobbles haltingly back down the wooden stairs connected to one side of the stage with some aid from the other elders in the age that has stolen away the strength of her feeble, frail ligaments as another round of applause fiercely flies through the land on the wings of the air that carry it as good-natured gossip joins it.
The stage is emptied but for a moment before an alpha emerges from the arched lumbered and logged mouth opening onto the platform, the tongue of timbered planks spanning outward in a circlet as the wolf takes his starting position for his celebratory dance before a flurry of flutes cast their music from the forelimbs of the wooden body under the deft fingers of the pack’s musicians.
You do not recognize this wolf and it takes only a second for your attention to sway elsewhere as your alpha’s scent draws you back to him when its mists cling in their sedulous sumptuousness to you.
It is tradition that all ceremonies and events initiate with performances meant to embody the heart of the occasion. Through their artistically aesthetic displays, tangible forms are given to the impalpable sentiments that the pack amasses in its harnessing of sensibilities toward such a jovial jamboree in the dances that are done to reflect those avid attitudes of each wolf imbued innately with such enthusiasm.
Following this, alphas are the first to proffer a present to their desired partners in declaring and dedicating the winnings of their hunt to their chosen omega. In exchange for the bounty, the omega then gives something of their own to their alpha as a symbol of intent to be paired exclusively with each other.
If there are offerings that exceed those of a single alpha for one omega, challenges or duels can be instigated and thusly proctored in official matches in their efforts to win an omega.
Such battles end either through submission or when one wolf is left incapacitated in the incapability to rise from the ground through the wounds that always leave their bodies in tatters through the violent nature of the fight for a mate.
The losing combatant forfeits their rights to claim an omega if they are bested by their opponent and the omega is not given a choice to accept the victor even if the alpha that wins them is not the one they had hoped to have, for it is a rule that the superior wolf who dominates another and exhibits that they are the more capable provider to the entire compound is the worthier being in their ability to protect their omega.
Following this, an intended pair of wolves each bestow matching marks that they paint onto each other in the blood of the strongest, most fearsome prey that an alpha robbed of its life in the honor of their omega.
After that, they are free to depart to a den the alpha is to have carefully crafted in preparation of his mate where the two are then meant to consummate their bond that will seal them together forevermore, for the brand of tooth marks that the two leave on each other through the throes of rapturous ecstasy would bind them to one other until the end of their days in the ultimate deed of giving themselves to each other through such an intimate act.
Daedal devotion linked the delicate affairs of courtship that you had always thought was so romantic and you can’t help the thrilling sensation that cascades over you at the prospect of what is to come alongside a particular alpha that has captured your mind and soul in his very palm.
His scent swirls enticingly around you as your irises, once again, flick along the endless expanse of the forest beyond while you squint as if that would help you to better see into the greenhood that grasps him away from you. Try as you might, you still cannot glimpse the apple of your eye from the fanning ferns careening from the underbrush as you whine once more in his hedging of you.
As his tang drapes itself over you, it stirs in its insistence his voice that echoes through your mind to remind you, “I will return for you and when I do, I will make you mine forever.”
Your anxiety is quieted in his quintessence that settles like a blanket over you to warm you in his stead as you continue to scour scrupulously around you for any smidgen of him that might deliver you to the truth of his whereabouts, your focus narrowed now in the thin beam of light that luminates your mind only with the purpose of finding him.
Lost in your fossicking forage for him as you are, the first wolf that had arrived on the stage is replaced by another and after that, two more.
By the time that six have gone, you’re no closer to illuminating your vision with his candescent luster as you peer longingly at the vacant spot that parallels your own where your alpha should be standing as yearning pulls at your heartstrings in his devastating absenteeism as you tug his pelt tighter over you.
When the yakking and chatting of the wolves behind you is blown out like a candle in the current that sweeps them through in awed astonishment at the same instant that the pheromones lacing over you thicken in headiness in their willful wiles, that’s when your irises are whisked away, lured as they are to the baited source of it all.
Your breath hitches when golden eyes pierce your own, fiery fervor flashing in them amidst the ferocious flames that lick hungrily at him from all directions in their passionate parchedness to welcome him into their warmth.
His irises rove ravenously over you, heat coiling low within you as your wolf preens at the attention while you do the same.
Covered in the color of soot, Jungkook’s lower half is ashen with cindered linen that clutches with cohere to him in every slew of thew cording his legs. Adorning his middle is a blackened buckskin belt that bears a perfect hourglass shaped waist and already your salivary glands are fructuously fertile in their gushing of spittle within your jaw that drops when you drink in the overtly obscene shirt that is provocatively provoking in its transparency that elicits the subsequent swoons of omegas around you.
It leaves nothing to the imagination and, like a second skin, vaunts every delicious dip and ridge of his mouth-watering musculature.
It is decorated with patterned patches in the shapes of burned brambles that are woven across the material meant to inspire illicit impurities in all that are fortuitously fortunate enough to behold your alpha in how it sinfully sticks to him. Encircling his neck like a thick collar, the shirt bands around him and over it, a blazoned blazer engulfs him. Like it has been seared through by fire, it is open to reveal his clothed chest in its entirety.
Tendrils of dark hair fall over his face in dangerous, wild wisps that curl amidst the humidity that overtly obsess over them.
You can hardly contain your own ire of want that simmers through you at the sight all of that and, when you trail your visage back up to his eyes, they are brightened with amusement while he dares to flick a sculpted brow as if to tease, “Like what you see?”
You lick your lips as a whimper traitorously escapes you while a wolfish grin lifts at his own before the symphony of flutes and lutes harmonize in the opening notes of their song and they sing soulfully for a few meters.
When your alpha begins his damning dance to the thrumming tempo of the waiata whispering through his ears, you already know you’re going to fall even more for him in an impossibly irredeemable descent that you have no wish to ascend away from.
Your alpha sidles forward with purpose pervading his slow movement, his irises burning torridly into your own with the finer feeling that fully fulgurates them before he spins on one foot while the chords of both instruments twirl together with him as he whirls around to face you once more.
The melodic music is, like your alpha, insistent in its eagerness to call commandingly to you in the way that its trill lowers and soon deepens with the same tantalizing temptation into his darkness that captivates you to him in your pure light.
In his meticulous motion, his fingers close around the end of his jacket that he’d caught in an open palm upon completion of his turn only to strum his fingers through the air with the other hand as if he were stroking the strings of an invisible lute between his arms.
He draws his free hand backward before smoothly and flowingly sweeping it forward only to then arc it behind him in a circular kinesis, his chin following his hand like it is tied around his wrist by twine. He repeats this once more, his eyes never straying from yours in the heated intensity that warms your very being as he stares only at you the entire time.
Like a match being struck in various vertices over him, every movement sparks the flinted flicker of white that births from it the embers of an inferno amidst the small moonstones that have been adroitly added over his blazer.
When he steps forward to be bathed by the scarlet rays of the moon that color him in the passion that he dances with, that’s when he vocalizes the sentiments for you that move him in a lyrical lilt that is in sound synchronicity with the instrumental tune he’d written himself.
As he takes in the way that you melt under the smoldering charcoal of affection for him, he can’t help the words that fall freer than rain on a spring day as he allows his emotions for you to pour out of him while you thaw him with your own rays of radiance that glisten in your eyes and in the way that you fondly look on at him like he’s the only one that exists in your world.
His baser being demands that he show to you what you mean to him and so he does.
He sings how rapidly his life had gone by and how lonely with lorn he’d been in his wait for his mate in the incertitude of whether he’d been correct in his way of living without you while his arm lifts so his fingers point toward the sky that, through its unstopping hands, had turned the cogs of time.
“Oh, I think I was in yesterday ‘cause everybody walk too fast, don’t know what to do with, am I livin' this right?”
He chants to you about the time that had been stolen sufferingly away from you both in your childhood and adolescence that had barred you both from each other in the forbidding rules of the compound that outlawed with onus your unavoidable union.
“Why am I alone in a different time and space? Oh I can't call ya, I can't hol' ya, Oh I can't…”
He proclaims the struggling strife that had wracked him in being forced to remain apart from you for so unbearably long in his cover behind the trees while he’d watched over you as his soul had cried for the only one that could complete it in the days he’d spent following the orders of his father.
“Sometimes when I’m gasping for air, I wear my hat low and keep running, yeah, I don't know where I go, even if it's opposite of sun…”
He chronicles with vivid verve the verdict that he has brimmed blisteringly with in your brilliance that shines as bright as the stars above while he pumps his closed fist gently against the heart that thumps only for you as he continues, his hand dragging through the hair you’d pulled on in effort to induce his mercy in the wood before he runs his other palm along the thigh he’d watched you so beautifully pleasure yourself on while he’d been blessed with the view of your damned delight atop of him.
“One time for the present and two time for the past, I’m happy that we met each other now til' the very end…”
He declares to you that you are, after so long, the Eve that he will always escape into the verboten oasis to find as he jumps high in the sky, his spirits soaring for you as he watches you reach dotingly for him before he lands to extend a hand of his own to you before spinning in a circle like a clock to once more face you.
“Oh, I will call ya, I will hol' ya, oh I will and yes you know, oh yes you know that I will...”
Enraptured in ardency’s hold over you, Jungkook’s gleaming gold irises are streaked so profoundly with earnest elan that, as they sink into the riveting depths of your own, they scintillate with silver like the genial moon that you are to him as it washes over his eyes the farther that he descends into your deep devoutness that floods you for him.
In the irrefutable irrepressibility of your own sentiments for him, your own eyes dye themselves gold like the sun that is your alpha to you.
His dulcet words phosphoresce the burgeoning seedlings of affectionate attachment to him as he nears you along the lip of the stage that is speckled with candles that cast their light over him like sunbeams themselves that, through their heated kisses, leave him shimmering in an ethereal golden glow that radiates out into the night that has befallen you.
You do not know if a more mellifluous voice exists in the world than his own with the way the chords of your own heart are struck with each soulful solfege that is uniquely and undeniably him as his eyes seek nothing but you, who has brought so much lustrous light to his sky.
Neither of you pay any mind to the collective series of shocked gasps or astonished huffs that are emitted from the converged crowd behind you.
In the stuttered stupefaction that fastens itself to them like moss to a tree, all eyes are on you and your alpha that take notice only of only each other amidst the mutated metamorphosis that had transfigured the irises of both of you to match those of the other through the gift of sight that marks two soulmates in their belonging to one another.
Such an ocular occurrence had not been recorded for over seven thousand years in the rare paucity that the moon granted with the declining diminishment of purebreds descended from the lupi antiquis.
Thus, in the episodical exceptions where the celestial body did bestow such an innately intimate connection between two wolves, it was said that their zealous zest for each other would guide them in their reigned rule over the other wolves that would bring prosperity and peace for generations to come under the moon’s favor.
Yet, under the music’s metrical melody, its sonorous spell casts a coddling cocoon over you and your mate until the silken thrum hums around only the two of you as its fibered filaments shield everything but the both of you from each other’s vision.
Your mate’s vociferous voice fades after the chanted crescendos ravel into decrescendos until the collection of euphonious sounds wrap wholly and completely around you as his body moves with the beat of the organ that pumps only for you within him.
He plants both feet to the floor before a hand trails down his body in a vinelike display while one leg is uprooted off the wood beneath him to swing in front and behind him as if he’s embedded into it and can’t bear to relinquish himself from the earth that grounds and supports him like you do.
Like the celestial bodies whose hands that turn time, he easily epitomizes this when he steps forward, his arms turning in a spherical motion akin to that of sun’s path through the realm above during the days it brings before the moon journey in her brother’s stead as the siblings of the sky steal away the lost moments that had been wracked away from you both amid their ceaseless passing.
His wrist then flicks outward as if he’s trying to halt the spindles of a chronometer from ticking precious time away from him as his irises flare frenetically into your own with the fervor that flecks them.
You whine for him as he moves, his fervent feeling made so precisely palpable with the way his shoulders roll in circles along with the crux of the heart sitting in his chest that hastens its already quickened pace as he glimpses the tender smile lifting along your lips.
It sets his very soul afire with contentedness before one and then the other hand pounds against each pectoral only to then sweep upward to tangle through his hair as his legs splay outward so that each thigh bulges boastfully against the fabric while his wolf howls when he hears you suck in a breath.
It is one that sputters with a stammer from your lips in the emotion he’s nurtured inside you and drawn forth from the deepest recesses of your body that wails needily for him, your wolf baying with want to be closer, nearer and together.
The sound you make lathers itself like honey over his ears and he’s sure he’ll never tire of that with how breathlessly bewildered you had seemed all because of him.
He’s swiftly besieged by his baser being to show to you how much you affect him and to display to you what you do to him in his deep-seated desire for you and, never one to bypass his urges, he does not cage it.
Once his hands have streamed through his luscious locks, he trickles them over his face, irises still settled along the substrate of your own as his fingers drag downward to collect the lapels of his blazer before, in one fluid motion, he sheds it from his shoulders as a loud whimper dribbles from you while you absorb attentively the salacious sight before you.
His hair has fallen crazedly over one eye in curved, thick tufts as an iridescent iris dappled in the chroma of the orbs that oscillate through the sky during the night and day. Through his continued movements, the mingled union of a silver and gold buries itself as deeply as it can within your depths as the offending piece of clothing trails lower until it pools at his wrists.
With a devastating grin, he puffs out his chest with proud pride, a sheen of sweat shining under the thin material amongst dark, dusky nipples that nip against it in protest of its tautness that chafes against them.
Instantly, your legs are rubbing against each other without your mind’s notice as he smirks when your essence that is spawned by your sex spumes over you before its titillating tinge rises in the air to collect under his nostrils.
Your rousing spice seasons every recess of his body in the relish that causes his pupils to dilate in craving, his member growing hard within his trousers for you as he pulls his lip between his teeth with a growl before gyrating around and when your irises meet once again, he pivots to the side at the same time his fist opens and closes while he outstretches a hand for you.
Your limbs are slowly sapped of their strength with each measured movement that he makes and when he runs toward you until he’s dangerously close to the edge of the stage, you think he might reduce you to a puddle on the ground beneath him when his hand returns to the corpulent collection of muscles cording the crus of his leg as he whisks one palm along his thigh while he rotates his ankle inward to have every tendon jump in a torturously teasing sight while his free fingers curl inward before him as he repeats it all with the other.
Saliva pools in your mouth as he sleekly and confidently moves with the impressively intricate series of footwork that he glides impossibly closer to you with and with one final twirl and fatal arch of a brow, he shirks the blazer off him entirely while his ligaments lower him down to one knee in sharp, quick movements that have his chest caving in and out while he descends, his head tipping back to bare a neck sluiced with sweat in a sight that has you drooling in want to touch and feel him against you once again.
Jungkook leers longingly at you when he slides forth onto his other leg with one bent underneath him while the other is jutted out like the perfect throne that you’d gladly fall to your knees for.
He looks like a god that you would readily worship and yet, he dances like a demon.
It is with a lethal dark flash of his eyes that he snaps the fingers of one hand to the final strum of the lute while the other trails damningly along his chiseled body until it settles over the swelling cock throbbing for you that you whine with the unyielding yearningness that has captured every inhibited iota within you under his command.
You are utterly enthralled as his lips move to mouth, “All of this was for you, my omega. Now that everyone knows what we are to each other, no one will dare to keep you from me,” he watches with interest the way that your lips part in his effect on you and curses in how far away you are from him as he utters, “Come to me once I’ve gone away from here, pretty. Your alpha requires your presence after being denied of you in the forest. I will be waiting anxiously for you.”
When he stands to sink into the shadows behind him that the light cannot permeate, your high-pitched warble still has not dissipated.
You only realize this when a spindly, bony hand is laid over your shoulder to pull you back and away from the pack of wolves around you while the familiar and oldened voice of your grandmother tries to break through to you in the stupor set by your alpha.
When you don’t respond to the many redundant repetitions of your name, she squeezes your shoulder to throatily call out, “My, my, my… you are besotted with that alpha that names himself Jeon Jungkook, my dearest granddaughter. I hadn’t the foggiest idea before on why he asked me to allow him to dance, but now I see that it was for you. I suppose that is to be expected, considering everything."
It is the mention of your alpha that grapples your attention away from where you’d last seen him as you tilt your head in question before you quietly squeak, “I am very taken with him, but what do you mean by that?”
She laughs, “Grandchild, these eyes may be old, but I saw within you and he the gift of sight that the moon mother above bestowed to you both that, by her blessed design, declares each of you as the other’s soulmate. Even the gift of olfaction was there, for this nose can still smell the taint of sex that he, along with you, produced during his performance.”
Your eyes widen and your cheeks burn in embarrassment while you stutter, “Grandma, h-he made me do it. I c-couldn’t help it.”
She only pats your head to say, “It is nothing to be ashamed of, grandchild. The moon chose him for you. It is only natural that you respond to him in such a way. Incidentally, what did he say to you at the end of his dance?”
Mortification has you worrying at your lip before as you fidget as you shyly whisper, “He asked that I go to him. I believe he wishes for us to have some time alone together before the offering.”
Your grandmother nods in understanding and instead of finding any trace of dissenting disapproval in her countenance, she encourages, “Then go and join him, my granddaughter. You must be swift, though,” she steps back to gesture to the row of alphas that stand before the stage, “There are only a few performances left before you and he must return for any challengers that may wish to win you from him, though I don’t see how that will be possible as smitten as you appear for that alpha that you call Jungkook.”
Gratification steeply swills over you as you embrace her, “Thank you, grandmother. We will be quick as the wind, you’ll see.”
She waves you off as you scurry with hurry beyond her toward the wooden dwelling that houses the elders, for it secondarily serves as the temporary domain of the dancers that begin the performances where they are allowed to change clothes and prepare in the spare rooms that are located along the first floor.
You do not notice the shift of silhouettes in the distance as you scamper along, your mind swimming in the waters of your alpha that have soused you so.
It is only when you are scuttling along the steps that lead up into the den that you hear the whistle behind you before it is followed in a voice saturated far too saccharinely with sweetness that has your tongue souring in its wake as it muses, “Damn, Taehyung. You weren’t lying. She really is such a divine little thing.”
In the hormones heaving through you, they insistently incur your instincts that are stirred with stimulation only for your alpha and in simultaneous sequence, the repellant revulsion of any wolf that is not him in your baser being’s acknowledged acceptance of Jungkook as your mate.
Your wolf kecks under the miasmatic fumes of malodors that are bitter and acetic as they burn your nostrils, the stench of alphas heavy in the air as you remain in your place with your back to them while you try to stifle the gag that sits low in your throat as you manage, “What do you want with me? Why are you here and who are you?”
You recognize one as Taehyung’s, but the other is unknown to you.
There’s a mawkish chortle that bellows, “You do not know of me? You will, omega. Soon enough, you will. All of you omegas eventually do.”
The words lift the hairs at the base of your neck in the cloying sugariness of them that clump heavily together in their mission to rot your insides as the swish of grass grows louder in the closing distance between you and the stranger that is an obstructing obstacle between you and your alpha.
The unabating advance does not terminate and when you furtively glance over your shoulder to see a hand inching toward you, you cringe with the trace of a hiss tinting your voice, “Do not touch me. My alpha is very protective of me and will not be merciful if you toy with what is his. Your friend over there,” you flick your chin back toward the source of the foul odor that you know to be Taehyung’s, “he was not so lucky when he felt it just to try to take me from my alpha.”
The stranger makes a sound of consideration, “Hm, a creature with some bark to her bite. I like that.”
It’s as though you’re being backed into a corner, your wolf yelping in protest as you try to rein in your emotions that beg you to beseech your alpha that is so close, yet so far away from you right now. If he does not come for you, it is only a matter of time before your claws will come out in defense.
Fingers stretch toward you and before they can make contact with your skin, you bare your teeth to sibilate, “It seems you do not understand. It was only I that could calm Jungkook- who is bound to me and I to him by the moon above- through the rage that overcame him when he was ready to maim Taehyung for foolish disobedience,” you turn to pierce your perpetrator with a cautionary glare as you forewarn, “The wounds that were left in Taehyung’s shoulder are but minor lesions of what my alpha will scar you with should you dare to incur the wrath of my mate.”
In a momentary lapse of an instant, you think that you derive in your detection the distinct aromatic attar of your alpha nearby, but it is fleeting as are the contours that are casted of a darkened outline that, so quickly you think it may have been a trick of your eye, briefly block the light filtering past the opaque aperture of aged glass next to the entrance of the den.
They disappearingly depart almost as soon as they arrive with only a sliver of a scent that remains and without a doubt, there is only one wolf it could belong to in its special singularity.
It had been Jungkook, your alpha.
You wish you could be with him and wonder if an elder had gotten to him before you could, but you’re not given long to ruminate on either of those despite the sudden stoutness that is spritzed over you in Jungkook’s oceanic presence that ebbs and flows faithfully alongside you.
In spite of it all, it is Jimin who stands before you when you look down on him. He is clad in bloodred silks that contrast clashingly with dark smudging around the sides of his eyes while pewter colored hair hangs loosely over his forehead with the oils that must have been used to carefully style it while he cheekily checks you out much to your discontented dismay.
“What you say is of little concern to me, Y/N. I always get what I want and you will be no different,” he says.
You have seen him only a few times before during his performances and had once thought him to be beautiful as a doll, but now you can see where his stitches have become loose in vainness that bursts at his seams.
You take a step back and away from him, your alpha’s presence pouring itself onto you through the remnants of his smell that douse his confidence over you as you cross your arms to chide, “It is a pity your looks have made you so conceited, Jimin. You have become spoiled and ruined by them, it seems,” you harden your gaze at him, “I am not like everyone else and I do not wish to have anything to do with you because I am already promised to Jungkook, who is your pack alpha that you must obey.”
One side of his lips lift up his irises hoggishly digest you from head to toe as he decides, “It’s precious that you believe any of that is enough to stop me,” he climbs one step slowly before ascending up the other until he is eye level with you, “Spend the limited time together that you can, little omega. It will be over soon enough when I reap you from him and harvest the most fruitful crop this fucking pack has ever had and plow you until you’re bursting with my seed instead of his.”
Your alpha has never spoken to you with such disregarding disrespect. It irks you with anger that reddens enflamed within you.
You grimace at that, disgust damningly withering your insides in its blight as you sneer, “Try it, Park Jimin. You will never win against him. When you lose to him like I already am assured that you will,” you lift your chin in defiance, “you’ll regret allowing that minuscule cock of yours to rule over your tiny, pygmy brain.”
That earns a titter from him as he replies, “What a little spitfire you are. No matter,” he gibs, “I will tame you soon enough.”
Obstinance consumes you in its angry wildfire as you scoff, “As if you ever could. Good luck with your attempts that shall only end in bitter failure, for I will never be yours. I belong to Jungkook and there is nothing you could do to change that.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Jimin smiles so wide it’s almost nauseating with how much his lips can twist as he backs away with a quip coming from between them, “When he loses to me-“
“He will not be defeated by the likes of you. This, I know to be true,” you narrow your eyes in certitude’s credence that your blood sings with.
“If I do not win you, then Taehyung will. Nonetheless, we shall see, little omega. We shall see,” his vexing voice dims in deliquesce as the moonlight regressively recedes while the two prowling wolves remit themselves into the shadows of utter umbra that swallow them from sight.
You stand for some moments counting contrived breaths hindered by your ire that had smoked and combusted within you to block your airway from effectively expelling the blazing emotion and it is only when your chest no longer aches with the stressed strain to contract that you set in motility once again to make your way into the elder’s den.
It doesn’t take you long to locate your alpha in the perceptible path of pheromones that lead you to him and there is no havering hesitation that stymies its stall of you from opening the oaken door before closing it as it groans in its senile senescence from the effort of such work.
Any negative sentiments that Jimin had left brewing immediately disintegrate within you as you ogle openly how, with his back to you, your alpha damningly divests from his body the shirt made of pure sin in its tempting taunt to you.
He pulls it from his middle slowly and torturously drags it up to reveal skin soaked by the sun and burned by the claws of combat, the serried slew of muscles lining his shoulders swelling savagely in his mannered motion and only when he lets it fall limply on the floor do his eyes find your own through the mirror he ostentatiously oxidizes you through.
Golden irises specked with silver sear into your own as one brow arches up only for him to rumble out, “Enjoy the show, pretty? I know I did.”
#werewolf!jungkook#werewolf jungkook#jungkook x reader#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#bts smut#bts fanfic#bts scenarios#alpha omega bts#alpha jungkook x omega reader#alpha!jungkook#alpha jungkook#dom!jungkook#dom jungkook#bts abo#jungkook#bts#bangtanarmynet#btsbookclub
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Jotaro x Reader NSFW
Anon said: “Saw that requests are open! Do you think I could ask for some Jotaro smut. I would love for him to just use me however he pleases.”
Fun fact! I was almost forced to write this twice because tumblr just kind of... took it? Maybe it’s some deity trying to have a laugh, but I could not find this in my drafts at all, but I could see it in the mass post editor tab and I could add more tags to it, but it was nowhere to be found.
Whether you’ve been good or bad, there’s one thing that your partner Jotaro always knows how to do. Fuck you until you’re stupid. There was just something about his demeanour and stature that made you give in to his every word. This time, he decides to bring a belt to the bedroom and you are weak.
Wanna know what I’m willing to write? Rules here!
Have a character, but no idea? Prompt list here!
Looking for more? Master post here!
WARNINGS: Belts used as collars, spanking, anal fingering, anal
Word Count: 1360
Jotaro stood above you, fully clothed with a belt in both hands. You were kneeling in front of him, naked and cold, though the only thing that made you shake was anticipation. Eagerly, you waited for either a command or for him to simply shove his cock down your throat. His bright blue eyes stared down at you, demanding and hard.
“Get on the bed,” he rumbled. Quickly, you sat up, perching yourself on the edge. “Turn around.” Again, you did as you were told. He towered over you, caging your body under his while he whispered in your ear. “Don’t move. I’m not afraid of leaving your ass red.”
You whimpered, barely able to contain your excitement. Carefully, he put the belt against your throat, looping it behind your head, turning it into a collar and leash. He buckled it, then tugged on it lightly to make sure it was secure enough. The moan you let out got caught in your throat as it pressed into your neck. It wasn’t enough to fully choke, just something you knew Jotaro would use as a warning unless you told him otherwise.
“Behave,” he growls in your ear before pulling back letting the belt go slack while his freehand started groping your ass immediately. He could feel his erection straining against his pants. There was nothing he wanted to do more fuck you senseless, but as tempted as he was and as rough as he wanted to be, he didn’t want to hurt you. Too much.
Jotaro’s thumb massaged into your asshole, watching it twitch when he spread your cheeks open, practically begging him to destroy you. The anticipation was killing you. You wiggled towards him, pressing into his pelvis. He glared for a second, then brought his hand down on your ass cheek, making you yelp. The belt was pulled back, forcing you to arch your back.
“Don’t move.”
You gulped, meekly nodding your head. Again, the belt was released, though this time he pushed you onto the bed, holding you in place. His finger was already brushing against your hole, making you whine.
“Spread yourself for me.” Almost as though you were on autopilot, you reached back, spreading your cheeks open. He hummed in appreciation, teasing your aching hole more before giving in. He pressed into you, slowly stretching you open. You cried out in a mix of pain and pleasure, then he pulled his finger back. Then, the process repeated again.
Gradually, he worked you open making you moan into the sheets. Finally, the full digit was inside you, curling into your sweet spots. You were used to the insertion when he tried putting in a second one, gently pushing against your hole while watching your reactions. He was very careful to not hurt you, but you were too tight.
You hear the sound of a bottle click open then the feel of something cold dripping onto your hole. Lube. Relief washed over you, though you were fully prepared for him to be a little more rough tonight, you were thankful he wanted to make this as easy as possible for you. You moaned as his thick fingers massaged into you, collecting little drops on his index and pushing them into your ass.
Again, two warm digits were pressed against your hole, slowly testing your looseness. Still pinned down by his other hand, you tried not to squirm under him, but the slow pace was agonizing. The stretch around his middle and fourth finger was simply delicious. You couldn’t help the moans that fell freely from your lips as he stretched you open along with incoherent begging for him to split you in two. He was only a knuckle deep, but you already felt spread out wide.
Jotaro slowly fucked his fingers in and out of you, seemingly undisturbed by your desperate mewls. Eventually, three fingers were added. You were openly leaking onto the bedsheets from both ends by now. He felt so good. You were so close, so fucked out. You just wished he would give you the “honour” of making a mess on his floor.
“Pleasseeee.” You whined out, letting your arms flop to your sides, tired from holding yourself open for so long. He stopped moving.
“’Please,’ what?” He stretched his fingers out, scissoring you.
“~AaaAah. Please, let me cuummm!” He pulled on the belt, arching your back towards him. You moaned. “Sir!”
The fingers were pulled out of your ass, leaving you empty. Once again he leaned over you, staring down at you. You were a mess. Lips were swollen from biting them so much with a little trail of drool at the corner of your mouth. Your hair clung to the sweat on your face. You were quite the mess, but he could make you so much worse.
Using Star Platinum, he undid the buttons and zippers on his pants, pulling them down. His cock bounced free from his boxers, finally free. Without looking, he lined the tip up with your now loose hole, watching your eyes grow wide realizing you were getting what you had been begging for.
Jotaro’s stand spread your ass cheeks apart while he pressed himself into you. You cried out, head hanging down. He tugged on the belt again.
“Look at me,” he growled. You stared up at him, tears forming at the corner of your eyes. You wanted him so bad. He continued to push into you, making your eyes cross. His cock filling you deliciously drove you wild to the point where you thought there was going to have some kind of brain damage.
He was only halfway in when he started thrusting into you, slowly at first to get you used to his size, but gradually he picked up the pace. You were in bliss being turned into his cock sleeve, bouncing happily on his dick. The more the fucked you, the more he was able to give you. Soon he was almost fully in you, stretching your insides in a way that made you forget your name.
“Jotarooo~” You moaned out over and over again as he rolled his hips into you, making your vision go white. Again, you were so close to your release, it was getting harder and harder to not push back into him, using him to finally cum. He would never let you, of course. He would probably walk away if you so much as bucked under him. Shamefully, the thought of him tying you down in this spot then leaving you turned you on even more.
“Unf~ fuck. You’re so tight.” He pushed you down onto the bed, leaning over you again. The new position just made everything that much more intense for both of you. Both of you groaned loudly while he plowed into you. It was as though your ass was pulling back in each time he pulled out. He had no choice but to push deeper into you while he chased his release.
Your eyes were rolling back into your head, voice rising in pitch as you got closer. You blurted out incoherent ‘please’s and ‘I’m close’s until he hit a sensitive part of you, forcing you to barrel over into your orgasm, crying out his name while you gushed out onto the floor.
Jotaro followed soon after, spilling his seed into your bowels with a loud groan. Both of you panted, hot and sweaty from the exertion until he gently undid the belt, calling Star Platinum to massage your neck while he pulled out. He grabbed the warm towels you had set on the side table earlier, softly cleaning up the mess as you slowly drifted off to sleep.
After getting you more comfortable on the bed, he opted to read a book while he waited for you to wake up. After all, he wasn’t quite done with you just yet. Though, he did check his phone to see how his picture turned out. Unbeknownst to you, he had briefly stopped time while you were mid-orgasm to savour the moment. He might share them with you after this, but not before taking just a few more.
#jotaro kujo x reader not sfw#jotaro kujo x reader n/s/f/w#jotaro kujo x reader n/sfw#jotaro kujo x reader#jotaro kujo not sfw#jotaro kujo n/s/f/w#jotaro kujo n/sfw#jotaro x reader not sfw#jotaro x reader n/s/f/w#jotaro x reader n/sfw#jotaro x reader#tumblr really testing my patience on this one#THREE TIMES#i almost lost this three times#the struggle is fucking real#jotaro prompts#not sfw
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