Music Monday
Tagging @inafieldofdaisies @icecutioner @derelictheretic @shallow-gravy @voidika @socially-awkward-skeleton @shellibisshe @direwombat @strangefable @rhettsabbott @josephseedismyfather @josephslittledeputy @imogenkol @cloudofbutterflies92 @skoll-sun-eater @cassietrn @carlosoliveiraa @adelaidedrubman @g0dspeeed @wrathfulrook @afarcryfrommymain @strafethesesinners @aceghosts @turbo-virgins @raresvtm @softtidesworld @starsandskies @ladyoriza @la-grosse-patate @florbelles @titiagls @minilev @yokobai @thewanderer-000 @omen-speaker @justasmolbard @alypink @thesingularityseries @nightwingshero and @noodlecupcakes + anyone else who'd like to join.
Songs for The Silver Chronicles, Life, Despair & Monsters and Wings And Horns respectively. You can find the songs below the cut:
Elsa Omar is Silva's younger sister, they both managed to escape to America together along with an infant Persephone, where Elsa would have quite the reputation in Hope County, but they'd have around two or three years of peace before Elsa perishes in an accident. Ezekiel is Thomas Rush's future Captain in Security in Old Dusk, and has a rebel attitude towards authority he does not respect. However, back on the Archipiélagos, Elsa was the damsel-in-relative-distress lying and manipulating her piece of shit father as she shared info with the local rebellion about the Congregation's patrols and whatnot, while Ezekiel was an orphaned Tumultite street kid who looked up to the likes of Alvarich and Paul, despite being very anti-authoritarian in general. When these two first met... they hated each other. But hate turned to grudging respect. Respect turned to horrified crushing. Crush turned into deflecting by flirting. And that annoyed everyone else. Even 26 years after he last saw her alive, Ezekiel still yearns for his star-crossed love. And I think this song definitely describes how much their connection may as well have been fated, even if it was for a short time.
"I don't mean to be so uptight
But my heart's been hurt a couple times
By a couple guys that didn't treat me right
I ain't gonna lie, ain't gonna lie
'Cause I'm tired of the fake love, show me what you're made of
Boy, make me believe."
"Whoa, hold up, girl, don't you know you're beautiful?
And it's easy to see."
"If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, just let it be
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, just let it be
So won't you ride with me, ride with me?
See where this thing goes
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby if it's meant to be
So come on, ride with me, ride with me
See where this thing goes
So come on, ride with me, ride with me
Baby if it's meant to be."
"Maybe we do."
"Maybe we don't."
"Maybe we will
Maybe we won't.
But if it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be
Baby, just let it be ("Sing it baby")*
If it's meant to be, it'll be, it'll be ("Come on")
Baby, just let it be." ("Let's go!")
[*Changed the word to "baby" instead of leaving it as "Bebe"]
Cecil Royce is the daughter of Daemon Targaryen and Rhea Royce, conceived after a drunk night of hate sex. Cecil, unlike her cousins, does not hold any admiration towards her father. Throughout The Thorned Crown Of Iron Thrones, Cecil is particularly hostile towards Daemon, and pretty much rejects the Targaryen name and practices in favour of her mother's. Though after the "accidental" death of her mother, she is put underneath Daemon's care... and he honestly tries his best. Through many trials, and many errors, as well as very slow-paced bonding experiences and the apparent mutual agreement that Rhaenyra should be heir to the Iron Throne, they manage to get along, and find in themselves an actual father-daughter bond suited for two rogue Targaryens. Until of course Cecil learns from him that he murdered her mother... and unlike Daemon, Cecil actually loved and looked up to Rhea. A bond fractures and there's just this uneasiness between them that stays long after the first fic ends and the second fic begins. How does "Summertime Sadness" fit into all of this? While the song itself is a yearning for the loss of a lover, here the context is Cecil's conflicted grief and yearning after the loss of Daemon, when he buys her time to fight the Court King, where he is knowingly severely outmatched and slain in the encounter. Despite the fractures in their relationship, Cecil can't really get over the fact that, while Daemon was no where close to perfect, he was her father, and the bond they had combined with the sacrifice he made is something can't help but grieve over.
"Oh, my God, I feel it in the air
Telephone wires above are sizzlin' like a snare
Honey, I'm on fire, I feel it everywhere
Nothin' scares me anymore (One, two, three, four)
Kiss me hard before you go
Summertime sadness
I just wanted you to know
That, baby, you the best
I got that summertime, summertime sadness
Su-su-summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh-oh, oh
Think I'll miss you forever
Like the stars miss the sun in the mornin' sky
Later's better than never
Even if you're gone, I'm gonna drive, drive, drive
I got that summertime, summertime sadness
Su-su-summertime, summertime sadness
Got that summertime, summertime sadness
Oh, oh-oh, oh."
Wouldn't It Be Nice if Metatron and Xiang could just sit down and get along for a few moments while looking past their species prejudices and work on agreeing that something needs to be done about the Soulmate System, because it's definitely malfunctioning? Said by Azriel and Jezebel as they "fight" while their caretakers are getting deep into that steel on steel, sword on bullet action.
"Wouldn't it be nice if we were older?
Then we wouldn't have to wait so long
And wouldn't it be nice to live together
In the kind of world where we belong?
You know it's gonna make it that much better
When we can say goodnight and stay together
Wouldn't it be nice if we could wake up
In the morning when the day is new?
After having spent the day together
Hold each other close the whole night through
But happy times together we've been spending
I wish that every kiss was never ending
Oh, wouldn't it be nice
Maybe if we think and wish and hope and pray it might come true
And, baby, then there wouldn't be a single thing we couldn't do
Oh, we could be married (Oh, we could be married)
And then we'd be happy (And then we'd be happy)
Oh, wouldn't it be nice
You know it seems the more we talk about it
It only makes it worse to live without it
But let's talk about it
Oh, wouldn't it be nice?
Goodnight, oh baby
Sleep tight, oh baby
Goodnight, oh baby
Sleep tight, oh baby
Goodnight, oh baby
Sleep tight, oh baby!"
28 notes
·
View notes
Simon forgets how strong he is
18+ MDNI - cw: bruising - ~700 words
just some Simon Riley NSFW brainrot ♥︎ - part 2-ish, and part 3-ish here!!
Simon forgets how to be gentle.
When he's at war, fighting and shooting and killing day and night, all he knows is hardness. Brutality. Ruthlessness. His hands and heart grow calloused and rough in his months away from you. Using his unfathomable strength to survive is what he grows used to, it becomes second nature.
But it's your softness he remembers, to keep himself sane. It's all he thinks about. Dreams of.
The way the flesh of your hips, your ass, your breasts, your belly, pillows so deliciously between his fingers when he squeezes his handful - so warm, so supple. The way your vanilla-balmed lips graze his scarred skin so tenderly, however undeserved your sweetness is.
And when he finally returns home, after months of missing, craving you - when you stand in the door, honey thighs bare by virtue of the black panties you wore just to torture him, soft tummy peeking out from under your crop-top - he just can't restrain himself.
You greet him with your sugary smile, stretching up on your toes to curl your loving arms around his neck - your gentle voice, music; "Si, ah! I'm so glad you're okay…"
The moment your velvet skin touches his, his shackles crumble. Like a beast starved, he clutches you. Mammoth arms curl around you, constricting, gripping you eagerly like you might be a dream; liable to turn to a memory, to smoke.
His avaricious embrace lifts your feet from the ground, though he doesn't mean to - he burrows his nose and mouth into the crook of your neck, lets the curls of your hair smother him and fill his chest with the faint scent of your fruity shampoo. Fights every urge to take a bite, like you're a ripe nectarine.
Growls into your skin, through his jaw; "I fuckin' missed you, love. Christ, you have no idea how much I missed you."
"I missed you too, baby…" you coo into his ear, even your breathing is tender - he can't take it.
So he ferries you immediately to the sitting room, scoops you up like you weigh nothing, lets you coil your buttery thighs around his waist as he sits you on his lap on the sofa.
His wide hands take their greedy handfuls of your body - of your waist, of your hips, of your thighs, of your ass. Finally indulging the impulses he had dreamed about for so long - the very image he had fucked his fist to more times than he could count while parted from you.
With his teeth on your shoulder, tongue laving your warm skin; "So fuckin' soft," he grumbles deeply, and urges, "pretty thing. So soft. Fuck, I missed you."
His cock is hasty to grow boulder-solid under his trousers, and he chastises himself - but you answer with a cloying giggle, grinding your mound against its rigidity as if to torment him.
"Mm, you did miss me," you tease, little brat.
Then in an instant, all he can think about is the softness of your syrupy pussy, the gumminess of the inside of your cunt as its walls caress and milk his cock like it was built just to fit him.
You make him fucking ravenous, so voraciously eager to have you that he doesn't even notice his hands turn to vices around your flesh - fingers burrowing so deeply into the cheek of your ass that he might break through the skin.
"Ah!" You yelp, "Ow - Simon - you're hurting me-"
Your squeak of pain is enough to immediately shatter him - so he rapidly lifts you off of him, protecting you from his impulse. Stands you on your feet so that you're no longer victim to his inability to control himself.
"Shit, I'm sorry-" he grunts under his breath, "I'm sorry."
"It's okay, it's-" Your brows curl in worry, turning to look at where he had clawed you - and he sees the purple bruises where his hand had wrenched the flesh of your ass, the red lines where his fingernails had nearly punctured you. "Oh," you breathe at the sight, "…wow."
Drowning in visceral shame, he can barely bring himself to touch you again. But your soft hand caresses his hair, running through the sandy tresses - you, somehow, the one to comfort him.
"It's okay, baby, I know you didn't mean to," you purr fondly, and he leans forward to shamefully press as soft a kiss as he can into the bruise he gave you. Fucking monster.
"I'm sorry," he croaks into your skin, hoping his guilt will reverse his barbarity. "I just missed you."
"I know," you croon, turning to plant a loving kiss into his hair. "It's okay."
You guide him to lean back, mounting his lap again, letting your pelvis grind against the erection you were quick to reawaken.
His hands barely ghosting over your skin, he restrains himself, touches you carefully.
You whisper, into his stubbled cheek; "I'll show you how to be gentle again."
11K notes
·
View notes
One Call Away
[Wade Wilson x Female!Reader]
Synopsis: During one of his "jobs," Deadpool gets a call from his favorite gal [GIF Creds: jdsheart]
WC: 1970
Category: Fluff, Major Comedy {TW: Deadpool’s Humor/Nonfiltered Personality}
This man is so hard to write. I’m always stressing the noggin when it comes to planning and plotting 😔
『••✎••』
"And away we go..."
One neck crack and a couple of hip twists later, he was off like Aladdin and his fucktoy carpet, scaling the building similarly to a chameleon on LSD.
The only thing that was missing was some epic music.
He'd been chasing this baddie around the city for almost two days now. Some big-shot mob boss with ties to Hydra, or the Mafia, or the Yakuza, or some other three-letter-acronym organization. It was hard to keep track of them all at this point. They were all the same, except for the name.
They all had their own agenda.
Kill him, keep him prisoner, pay him off...
Wade never cared enough to listen because it was always the same. He just got hired to do the dirty work, and the pay was good.
The killing was better.
This one, however, was particularly good at eluding him. He'd been trying to get his hands on this man for a few days now. It wasn't as though he was trying to be stealthy or anything, either. He'd walked right up to his front door, knocked, and was greeted with a spray of machine gun bullets.
So, the usual.
But then the guy ran and didn't stop. It was like the fucking Roadrunner met Sonic the Hedgehog, and they decided to fuck around and find out.
Wade was getting real sick and tired of being a Roadrunner, too. He had a reputation to uphold. He wasn't known as the Merc with the Mouth for nothing. He was supposed to be the one doing the running and the killing.
Not the other way around.
Finally, finally, he managed to reach the roof where the guy was currently taking cover behind a small brick shack. The sun was rising, but it was still dark, and there were a couple of floodlights shining on the rooftop. It made him think of the night he'd had that heart-to-heart with Blind Al, even though all she really wanted was for him to bring her some of that special brownie mix.
What a night that had been.
But anyway, this monologue is starting to get too long, and we should probably move things along, eh?
Right.
So, the baddie.
His name was something long and non-English.
Salvatore, or Santino, or Salvation... Whatever the fuck it was, it didn't really matter. What mattered was that it was time to make him dead.
He stepped around the corner and was met with a spray of bullets, all of which lodged themselves into his Kevlar vest.
"Oh, come on!" he yelled over the sound of the gunfire. "This is real leather, you know. I'm tired of all the offscreen sewing and shit."
When the spray finally ended, he took a moment to catch his breath.
"…ow," he whispered to himself.
"You shouldn't have followed me here," the man said.
"Yeah, whatever," Deadpool replied. "Look, I'll make this easy for you. You drop down and give me fifty, and I'll let you keep that hideous mustache you're sporting."
The man's eyes widened in surprise.
"It's not that bad, is it?"
"Yes, yes it is," Deadpool assured him. "You got a squirrel living in it or something?"
"It's just a little bit of gray, you dick," the man argued. "What about you? What's with the mask? Are you hiding a mustache under there, too, or something? Maybe some acne scars?"
Deadpool shook his head and stepped forward, his guns drawn.
"Don't come any closer!"
"You know, this would be much more intimidating if you didn't look like a cartoon mouse."
"Stop it with the mustache!"
"Alright, alright," Deadpool said. "Enough with the mustache. But what is it about your hairline? I can't put my finger on it."
The man sighed in exasperation and pulled out his pistol, aiming it right at Deadpool's face.
"Hey now, don't point that at me," Deadpool scolded him. "That's not a very nice thing to do."
He ignored him and pulled the trigger, a loud boom ringing out as the bullet fired. It whizzed by him but missed its mark.
"You really are a dick," He grumbled before aiming his gun right between the man's eyes. And he was going to shoot, honest.
He really was.
But then his phone rang, and he was well-reminded of the current song playing through his head.
I'm a buff baby that can dance like a man. I can shake-ah my fanny, I can shake-ah my can!
Needless to say, he was distracted.
He lowered his gun and looked down at his pocket, where his phone was still ringing and still vibrating against his leg.
"Shit, hold that thought," He said to the guy, and he holstered his gun.
"Wh-what the hell are you doing?!"
Deadpool put his finger up to shush him before pulling his phone out of his pocket to answer it.
If you're an evil witch, I’ll punch you for fu—
"Heyyyy," he said in a sing-songy voice, "you've reached the phone sex hotline. For kinks and fetishes, press one. For booty calls, press two. For your favorite mercenary, press three."
"Ey, pendejo—" His opponent started, but he cut him off by snapping and raising his finger.
"Cut it, Tuco Salamanca. Breaking Bad called and wants its meth-cooking mustache back."
"Wha-I-you-"
"Anyways, this is your favorite merc speaking. Who do I have the pleasure of speaking with?"
"Is this a bad time?"
Wade's eyes widened in shock, and his jaw dropped open when he heard her voice on the other end of the line.
"Baby girl! Is that you? Oh, how I've missed your voice. It's like hearing an angel, or an angelic chorus, or a whole bunch of angels, but you're the most important one. Like, the lead singer or something."
"I literally saw you last night." Your voice was always drenched with the most amazing kind of sarcasm, and he'd missed it.
"And?"
"It's only been a few hours."
"And?"
"That's a short amount of time."
"And?"
You sighed, but he knew you weren't really annoyed.
"Anyways, you sounded busy," you continued, "so I'll just let you go."
"What?! No! Don't hang up!" He shouted into the receiver. "I've only fiddled with my pistols! Nothing interesting is happening right now!"
"Your pistols, huh?" You asked a hint of mischief in your voice.
"Well, yeah. They're the most important part of the mission, you know."
In the corner of his eye, he could see his target making his way towards the edge of the building. Quickly and efficiently, without dropping his attention from his conversation with you, he lifted his gun and fired a shot at the man's knee.
"Ah, fuck!" the man screamed in pain. "My knee!"
"Hey! Language!" Deadpool scolded him. "The lady of the house is listening!"
"Lady of the- what the fuck?!"
"I said language, you mustachioed rat!"
"Mustachioed rat?" You asked.
"Sorry, babe," he replied. "You know how excited I get when Downtown Abbey is on."
“There’s gunshots in Downtown Abbey?"
"Gunshots? Oh, no, no. That was… uh, a car alarm. Yeah, the neighbor's car alarm was going off."
"Uh-huh," you said, not sounding very convinced. And, of course, that was right around the time the guy's gun went off again, this time hitting him square in the shoulder. It made the phone fall out of his hand and clatter onto the ground, but the call was still connected.
"Dammit!" He yelled, looking at the fresh blood dripping down his arm. "That's gonna take forever to heal!"
"Who are you talking to?" The man demanded, his gun still aimed at Deadpool's face. "You're working with someone?"
"Hey, now, I don't remember giving you permission to talk," Deadpool told him, holding his bloody arm up to his face. "Look, I've gotta call you back, babe. I know it's been so heartbreakingly long—"
"Again, only a few hours," you said.
"—but duty calls. Love you, bye."
"Love you, bye."
With that, the line disconnected.
"Ugh," he groaned, his heart aching for the loss of your sweet voice. "I miss her already."
"Ey," his opponent growled, drawing his attention. He started speaking in rapid-fire Spanish, which Deadpool didn't really understand, but he didn't have to. The guy was just ranting and raving.
"Alright, alright, chill," Deadpool said. "Just calm down. It’ll all be over soon, little buddy."
"I am not little! I am a giant!" The guy protested, and Wade could practically see the steam coming out of his ears. "And I will not chill!"
"Well, can't argue with that, I guess," Deadpool said with a shrug, and he took aim. But before he could pull the trigger, the guy was running again.
"Hey, what did I tell you about running?!" He yelled, but his voice fell on deaf ears as the guy reached the ledge.
"I am a giant!"
"No, you're a giant asshat!"
"I will not be bested by some masked buffoon!"
"Buff? Me? Why, I never!"
"You're the biggest asshole I've ever met!"
"You know what? I am a big ass! A big, round, bubbly ass." He paused for a second. "Hey, what's your favorite flavor?"
"Fuck you, you red-clad imbecile!"
"You know, I'd ask you out to dinner first, but we're kinda past that now."
"Argh!"
"Alright, enough stalling," Deadpool said. "It's time to end this."
"Yes," the guy said, turning his gun back on Deadpool. "It is."
Of course, Deadpool being the smart-ass he was, he'd already taken a step to the side. As the bullet whizzed past him, he reached for his gun.
"Now, where did I put that thing? Oh, there it is."
He aimed the gun and fired, and the man fell back onto the ground. The bullet hit him right in the middle of his forehead, his blood splattering all over the concrete.
"Ha ha! Fatality. Deadpool wins!" He said, his voice taking on the deep, grounded tone of the narrator from Mortal Kombat. "Flawless Victory."
He stood over the body for a few seconds, reveling in his victory, before he felt the presence of another.
The gun on his right side got ripped from its holster, and the barrel was aimed back into his face, as it always seems to be.
But, he already sensed it was coming, so his fingers wrapped around his other and aimed that right in the golden spot… and let’s just say, The Golden Girls was a little less golden and a lot more crimson.
"Wow, this has got to be a record," He said as he bent down to stare at the new one’s anguish. "Two dead ugly mustaches in the same day. You can call me Sweeney Todd because shit… I just shaved you the fuck up."
He didn’t give the poor bastard a chance to even whimper before he fired another two shots into the man's head. All in all, this had been the easiest payday he'd had in a while.
He picked up his cell phone and slipped it back into its pocket before bending down and scooping up the mustache man's pistol.
"Ooh, lookie here, a nice, shiny new pistol," he said to himself. "Just what I've always wanted. Well, I don't actually need it. It's not like I have any other holes in my body, but you know what they say. The more the merrier."
He stuffed the gun in his holster and turned around, heading back the way he'd come.
"Time to get back to the good stuff," he said. "I have a date with my favorite girl."
He hopped up onto the ledge and looked down, his eyes locking on the window to his apartment.
And when he arrived, bloody and battered, you could only smile while holding up little ole Mary Puppins in all her drooling glory.
God, how he missed his girls.
1K notes
·
View notes