#there is now some punctuation but not enough i am afraid

[mullettaegi]

also about s1e9, i respect hunk being like a foodie and passionate about baking/ cooking and i love how he puts emphasis that food is something that brings ppl together but i feel like both the show and also a lot of fanon just reduced him to food. and its sweet that he is the one who would spend time baking with his family, i mean, he's a sweetheart all around, so you just know hes gonna be so lovely!

but like lance is talking about how he just nearly got blasted into space (sidenote: would blue have saved him if he did end up in space (ik he wouldve died as soon as those doors opened but it shows in the show that he didnt so lets say itd be like a split second thing for him to be saved in time) ?? ) and then hunk ends up getting the lines about oh food goo attacked me "The stuff of nightmares! It'll haunt me to my grave!" and its like,,, i get the overdramatic to make it funny but i feel like that was a lovely way for the writers to just like discard any actual seriousness about lance's near death experience, and out of the individual experiences they had lance was the closest to death like he was literally hanging onto the ship for dear life.

just clarification cause i really personify these characters but this is no hate to hunk he's my angel but a just my opinion of how the writers wrote this cause even tho ppl might try and say its just a cartoon its not supposed to be serious i just dont see why it couldnt have been a little more serious sometimes, especially for lance's sake.

[belovedmusings]

Am I Playing All Right Now?

Kento Nanami x You

Explicit Smut 18+ (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Kento Nanami has been your respectful, loving boyfriend for two months now. All you’ve done so far is kiss, and you want more with him. He refuses for your sake, warning of his roughness. So, you take matters into your own hands and convince him to put in ‘just the tip’. 

Relevant tags: just the tip challenge, dom! Kento Nanami, clothed sex, couch sex, clit slapping, brief use of leather belt, hard and rough sex, doggy-style, hair pulling, manhandling, big dick-Nanami <3, dirty talk, degrading, unprotected sex, creampie, I don't use "y/n" for immersion

Music recommended while reading: Dollhouse (The Weekend, Lily Rose Depp, …baby one more time (The Marias), Like U (Rosenfeld)

A/N: this is filthy and I love it, my first Nanami piece <3 enjoy!! (Read on Ao3 if you prefer!)

Read below cut:

The night had gone great. You two had a fantastic dinner at a fine restaurant, and now you’re at his house, getting hot and heavy on the couch. You’re sat in his lap, straddling his waist, the hem of your dress riding up your thighs as the fabric gives to accommodate him between your legs. Your hands are running over the muscles of his chest, only the thin layer of his dress shirt between your touch and his skin. His palms are on your waist, pulling you closer, pressing you so firmly against him that you can feel the blunt heat of his hard cock beneath the confines of his slacks. 

You can feel adrenaline pumping through your veins–tonight is the night. Every time you two get close to having sex, he pulls away, saying he isn’t ready, but right now it feels so different, so electric–

He hums, punctuating the kiss and pulling back, giving you room to breathe. Your stomach sinks, no, this isn’t what you want, you want–

“We should stop here for the night,” He murmurs, and you look into his eyes, a frown tugging your lips down at their corners. 

“But you’re hard,” You protest, “Kento, please…we’ve waited long enough, and you clearly want this…”

His jaw tightens as he takes a breath. “I do…but we can’t.”

Now you’re just confused. “...can’t?”

He sighs heavily, giving you no explanation, but nodding. “Now, let’s m–”

“No, hold on,” You interrupt him, “Kento, tell me why? I-is it me? Do you…not want…?”

“It’s definitely not you,” He dispels quickly, “It’s me, okay?”

“What about you?” You press, searching his eyes. “Is it…are you…worried about your performance?”

That gets him to widen his eyes a fraction in surprise. “N-no, it’s not that. It’s…alright, look, it’s…it’s that I don’t want to hurt you.”

It isn’t enough of an answer for you. “And…what do you mean by that?”

“You…you know me to be this nice, gentlemanly man, don’t you?” He asks, a sort of resigned weight to his eyes. “Which, I am. But not when it comes to sex.”

The wheels turn in your head. “So…you’re…?”

“I’m rough,” He finally states, “And it’s…it’s not everyone’s cup of tea. I’m afraid to hurt you or scare you away. Of course I wouldn’t do anything you don’t want, but…you just seem so sweet and–”

“Woah,” You stop him in the middle of his sentence. “Do you think you’re the only one with duality? You don’t think I can be different in bed? Do you think I’m some porcelain doll you’ll break if you’re not careful?”

He considers this for a moment before sighing. “You don’t understand.”

“So then make me understand,” You challenge him, running your hands up his chest. “Please, Kento. I can take it.”

“No,” He denies, “You don’t know what you’re asking for.”

Seeing his hesitance, you decide to switch tactics. You reach for his hands on your waist, taking his wrists and raising his palms up to the front of your dress. You guide them to rest over your breasts, allowing him to touch them through the thin cloth. You’d decided not to wear a bra for the night since the article had thin straps, and he immediately can feel that, a flash of desire flitting within his eyes.

Riding the wave of his interest, you tell him, “I want you bad, Kento.”

He inhales forcefully, allowing himself to knead the soft flesh beneath his hands. His thumbs graze over your hardening nipples, your teeth dragging over your bottom lip instinctively. To drive your point home, you grind down on him, the only thing on beneath your dress being the panties you’d hoped he’d see when you had put them on earlier in the day.

“You’re playing dangerous,” He warns, voice thin and strained. 

“Maybe I want dangerous.”

He finally lets out a groan, surging forward and capturing your lips in another kiss. It’s more forceful this time, and all you can do is give complete control to him. 

He flips your positions so smoothly, you hardly feel it; you just suddenly feel your back hit the cushion of his couch, a gasp pushed from your mouth. His hands make quick work sliding up your dress, fingers hooking underneath your waistband.

Kento speaks against your mouth lowly. “Lace?”

You swallow hard, nodding. “Yeah.”

“Expensive?”

The question catches you off guard. “Uh, no, not r–”

A swift, harsh tug and the sound of fabric ripping later, he holds the scrap lace in his hand, now mangled and unusable. He just tore them clean off.

“Holy shit,” You breathe, now suddenly aware of how bare you are beneath your dress. He must become aware of that fact too, because without a moment to spare, he’s pushing the article up to your waist, exposing you to his eyes. A rosy flush spreads over the bridge of your nose as he looks at your naked lower half unabashedly, a type of hunger you have never seen before nor known he was capable of in his eyes.

He tosses your ruined panties to the floor and fiddles with his belt, undoing the buckle. Your gaze follows his movements, watching his hands expertly tug the leather strap from its loops in his pants.

Then, he surprises you by holding the edge without the buckle and running it along your inner thigh. You shiver, observing him and wondering what his next move will be. He runs it all the way up, reaching the apex of your leg and placing it right over your mound. The cool leather feels unfamiliar there.

“Can I?”

Your attention is pulled to his voice, and for a moment you aren’t sure what he means. Then it dawns on you.

Oh.

No one’s ever done that to you. But…you aren’t opposed. You’re curious.

You nod.

“Words.”

Oh, damn.

“Yes, you can.”

“Good girl.”

You don’t have time to pay attention to the rush of hormones that praise gives you, because a harsh sting of pleasure suddenly hits your senses as he brings the end of the belt down, slapping your clit with it.

“Ah!” You jump slightly, shock, arousal, and fascination flooding you all at once.

“How was that?” He asks, watching you carefully. You take stock of yourself…and are intrigued to find that you liked it. As soon as you realize that, you understand that Kento is about to show you an entire new world previously unexplored to you.

Your eyes lock with his. “It was good.”

A mixture of relief and desire swarm his gaze. “You liked that?”

“Yeah.”

Without warning, he does it again, a little harder, and you cry out this time, unused to the strangely welcome sensation.

“Still good?”

“Yes.”

“Good girl.”

Your next breath is shaky. “More.”

He wastes no time in delivering exactly what you want. Over and over again, until your pearl is red and swollen and the folds beneath are glistening with need, belt shiny with a bit of it. He stops once you reach this state, making sure you see as he licks it off the belt. Your lips part, entranced, and he drops the accessory, instead moving to undo the front of his slacks. Your heart begins racing–but then he pauses, seeming to deflate slightly.

“I’m not gonna go all the way,” He states, “I don’t have condoms.”

“What?” Your voice is more than a little indignant. “But…how?”

“I wasn’t planning to do this tonight.”

He pulls his cock from its restriction in his briefs, pushing his waistbands down to the tops of his thighs, and the sight of the thick, red shaft as your mouth watering and your core pulsing around nothing. 

You think he’s changed his mind as he lines it up, but then he just glides it against your folds, coating it in your essence and using it to rub against you, the feeling intense due to the sensitivity of your previously abused clit, but not what you crave.

“Kento,” You whimper, watching him rub himself off as he plays with you using his cock. “Please…”

“We’re not risking a pregnancy,” He maintains, “It’s not wise.”

You are beyond frustrated at this point, entrance weeping for attention, and you swear the desire is so bad you can feel your entire core sore and empty, vying to be filled and stretched.

What can you say that will get him to do it, even just a little bit?

Wait. Just a little bit.

“What about just the tip?”

His eyes narrow. “What?”

“Just the tip,” it comes out needier than you had intended, but god damn it you’re horny and all out of shame twice over.

Kento takes a good look at you, at himself and the position you’re in, sucking in a controlled breath for the umpth time that night.

Then, he lines up again, cockhead pressing against your entrance. “You’re going to regret asking for it.”

Is he challenging you? Whatever. What. Ever. You’ve reached a point where if you don’t get his cock soon your heart may actually give out. 

“Let me decide that.”

His jaw sets tightly before finally, finally, he cants his hips forward, pushing the tip of his shaft inside of you. 

As soon as it’s in, your head falls back on the couch, hips starting to roll without your permission. Your body wants him all on its own, and you’re no longer in command of it. He groans, pulling out and then pushing it back in, only the tip again, and you whimper in half bliss and half frustration.

You want more. 

You understand the true meaning of temptation now. You’ve had the first bite of the proverbial apple, and it’s shocking how eager you are to devour the rest to its core.

Everytime he pushes in, never going past the smooth head of his cock, you moan, wordlessly begging for more. There’s a worry in his brow and a tenseness to his jaw that indicates just how much self-control he’s exercising, and as you look up at him, you realize he’s still pretty much fully clothed—his tie is pristine around his neck, shirt fully buttoned up, only his dick out and vulnerable to your eyes. 

It’s unfair, and you seek to change that.

Your hand loops into his tie and yanks him down by it, taking him by surprise. He has to catch himself on his hands to avoid falling on you, a grunt escaping his lips as it causes him to slide further into you.

In a lowered hiss, he asks you, “what do you think you’re doing?”

The tone is so vindictive it has any words dying on your tongue. All it takes is a moment before he’s forcefully breathing out and lifting himself off of you, cock withdrawing from between your legs.

You open your mouth to protest, and that’s when your world spins. 

You were face up, but now you’re on your hands and knees on the couch, having to brace yourself as he manhandles you silently. There’s not even a moment for you to acclimate to your new position before you feel his fingers loop through your hair as you’d done to his belt, and in one motion, he grabs your hip with his free hand and slams all the way into you, pulling your hair back hard to make you arch for him.

A loud cry splits through the air and it’s only when he starts repeatedly fucking hard and fast into you with the entirety of his monstrous size that you realize the sound was from you.

“See what happens when you push me?” His voice is hoarse and gritty, more like a growl than a whisper, a dull ache inside of you where he’s currently remolding the shape of your walls.

All you can do is make incoherent noises, and you aren’t sure whether they’re from pain, pleasure, or a mixture of both. His grip on your hair isn’t letting up and it hurts, but you’ve also never felt so completely out of control of yourself and somehow it just feels freeing to you. 

“Huh?” He asks, and it’s then you realize you never replies to him verbally. You muster up the strength to speak.

“Y-yeah…” it sounds breathy and whiney, completely foreign in the contours of your voice.

“You happy now? Happy you got me to fuck you like the greedy whore you are?”

The harsh word ripples through you hotly and you moan, nodding as good as you can. “Yes…”

“Yes?” He asks, breathless, and he lets go of your hair in favor of wrapping his hand around your neck from behind. “You like being screwed like a whore?”

Apparently, you do. This is new information to you as well. You nod, gasping as he grabs your hand and presses it over your abdomen, where you can feel the flesh rising and falling in tandem with his thrusts. 

“Feel that?” He asks, “that’s me inside of you.”

“Oh god,” You rasp, the knowledge of him so deep inside your body going right to your head. You can feel your mound weeping all over yours and his thighs, the wet slap tell-tale of just how much you’re enjoying this. Just the realization has you fluttering around him, a sensation that isn’t lost on him.

“Fuck,” he breathes, “You really do like this, huh?”

You nod. “Yes, yes, Kento…”

He groans, leaning forward and kissing the juncture of your neck and shoulder, brushing your hair out of the way. 

“Such a good girl for me…my good little slut.”

You shudder, eyes squeezing shut as he speeds his movements up, the hand that was pressing yours to your stomach moving down to the slippery mess that is your swollen clit.

The big palm of his on your neck slides the thin straps of your dress down your shoulders and dips into the neckline of it, grasping your breast as if to claim ownership of it. 

“Oh my god,” You breathe again, hips twitching at all of the stimulation, face hot, entrance thoroughly fucked open and sloppy, debauched by Kento like a destructive form of artwork.

His middle finger massages circles into your sensitive pearl as he continues the grueling pace of his hips, lips pressed to the back of your neck, and all at once it becomes too much.

It crashes into you like the unforgiving wave of the raging ocean, sweeping you into the depths of pleasure.

You cum so hard on his cock he physically has to stop moving, your hold on him so tight he’s locked inside of you. That’s the moment that he follows, spilling his pent up, heavy load into you with a hiss of pleasure. 

Your arms and knees feel like jelly. Your walls are sore and throbbing, completely exhausted from his ravaging. But all you feel is feather-light. Finally, finally you did it. And it was better than your wildest imagination.

Lips place a tender kiss on your shoulder, his labored breaths slowing back to regulation. You feel his cheek rest upon the skin of your upper back. Both of his hands massaging along the sides of your hips.

“I’m sorry we waited so long. I just figured it would be too intense for you.”

You shake your head, turning it to look back at him as he straightens up and carefully pulls out. 

“Don’t do that again.”

The corner of his lips turns up slightly. “Oh no, I won’t make that mistake twice. In fact…there’s something else I want to do now.”

“And what’s that?”

“I want to test your limits.”

__

A/N: here's my Nanami masterlist :) this is the first piece but lmk what else you want me to write for him! Hope you enjoyed.

[projectbluearcadia]

Now, Children, Fight Nicely

[ Trigger Warning - Intentional poisoning (mention) Reader Discretion Advised. ]

Green, crystal-like shards of magic shatter into the air, and Lucifer, in full demon form, bolts inside Barbatos' room, his expression twisted into a snarl as his foot comes flying into Barbatos' face at full force. The impact slams Barbatos into the opposite wall, his hair sprinkled with rocky debris. Blood dribbles from his mouth.

Lucifer: WHAT THE FUCK DID YOU DOSE HER WITH?!

Barbatos: ...

Lucifer: DO YOU THINK I WON'T FUCKING KILL YOU, BARBATOS!? AFTER DOING THAT TO HER?!

Barbatos: I anticipated that, and quite frankly, I'd rather it was you who did it. It seems fitting.

Tears start to streak down Lucifer's face.

Lucifer: How dare you... How dare you welcome death?! If you really feel so horrible about poisoning the love of my life that you came prepared to die for it, how could you do it at all?!

Barbatos: There are... futures that I'd rather not see. For her suffering, for yours, and for my lord's. Futures where she kills Lord Diavolo. Futures where the Devildom perishes in a sea of turmoil. And... futures where she dies at your hands.

Lucifer grits his teeth angrily.

Lucifer: You're fucking stupid for a person that can see the strands of time! I don't care if it's one possibility out of five billion! Step in and change it, you son of a bitch!

Barbatos: I can't.

Lucifer: WHY NOT?!

Barbatos: Ever since I was infected, I haven't been able to use that ability well, and it's been getting worse. I'm... at the point where I can't do much of anything.

Lucifer's expression shifts through several shades of frustration, and he grips his hands in his hair and screams in anger and despair. Moments later, Diavolo arrives in his nightclothes, disheveled but alert.

Diavolo: ...Barbatos, I am quickly becoming incredibly upset with you, and you have about five seconds to explain to me why you never mentioned what I heard from the hallway.

Barbatos: I apologize, my lord; I intended to solve this quietly, but I'm afraid... some things were simply beyond me...

Lucifer: God! Dammit! You're just like her! You always keep everything to yourself and it costs you everything!

Hello, Mr. Pot?

Lucifer's hair falls from his fingertips alongside his distraught tears. He crumples to the ground, picking up Annelie's head and letting his quiet sobs wrack his body.

Lucifer: Oh, Annelie... I'm so sorry... I'm so, so, so... hic... sorry... I promised, but I failed to protect you again, and now you're like this... I'm sorry... Please... I'll save you, so... Please don't die... please don't die... not again.... please...

I... can smell his tears, but I can't wipe them away... I hate this. He doesn't deserve this. Why am I always so...

Diavolo: Lucifer, stop blaming yourself. This isn't your fault. We'll find a solution... okay?

Diavolo looks like he's on the edge of tears himself as he squeezes his friend's shoulder.

That's an empty condolence and he knows it. Barbatos is too smart. I hate this.

Lucifer: ...is it going to be enough? What if she...?

I... hate this. I curse it. Future be damned; I curse it. This powerless self... I curse it and curse it with everything I have.

A black mist wisps around Annelie's body, sinking into her skin, and Barbatos, Diavolo and Lucifer all collectively wince. Diavolo sinks to one knee, gritting his teeth. Annelie's fingers twitch, and Lucifer latches onto them desperately, watching her face. Her black eyes open to reveal that her irises have turned a radioactive shade of hot pink, punctuated by serpentine pupils. Almost immediately, she grabs hold of Lucifer and hugs him tightly.

Annelie: I'm fine... I'm fine.

[giggles-and-freckles]

how about meeting at a party whilst drunk au with anakin and obiwan?? not ship tho please

from this prompt list

It’s so hot.

Which, given the amount he’s had to drink this evening, is no surprise. It’s a common joke between Obi-Wan’s friends that his complaining about the warm temperature of a room is the tell-tale signal that he’s crossed the threshold into drunkenness. 

He doesn’t feel drunk, though. Not entirely anyway.

Some fresh air is all he needs. 

It’s been several years now since those extended weekends here throughout his time at university. He’s passed out on just about every flat surface in the house. Everyone always coveted an invite to Padmé’s family's vacation home on Lake Naboo. Most uni students barely had a proper flat to call their own, while Padmé had a summer house. It was impossible to hold Padmé’s wealth against her, though. Not when she made everyone she met feel as if they were part of her own family.

Obi-Wan slips through the doors onto the large balcony that overlooks the lake.

“Oh,” he says, seeing he’s not alone. “I’m sorry. I —”

“S’fine,” the man says, waving him off. He’s holding a half-full flute of champagne and it sloshes to the rim as he gestures. “I’m…I’m just taking a break.”

Obi-Wan nods, and leans against the railing, placing a comfortable distance between himself and the stranger.

“I needed some fresh air,” he says.

The lake is frozen over, as it always is this time of year. Faint lines from morning skaters can be seen criss-crossing over the thick ice. Obi-Wan isn’t sure he even remembers how to skate anymore.

“I’m Anakin, by the way.”

Obi-Wan almost chokes. “You’re…”

The man gives a sideways grin. “Welcome to my lovely home.” The smallest of hiccups punctuates his quip.

“I…I shouldn’t be wandering around —”

Anakin waves him off again. “Please. I know you. You’re Obi-Wan Kenobi.”

“I am,” he stammers. “I don’t think we’ve met…”

“Nope. But Padmé talks about you all the time.”

Guilt overwhelms Obi-Wan. “I was sorry to...to miss the wedding.”

Anakin shrugs, then takes a sip of his drink. “Padmé was pretty pissed.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Got married right here,” Anakin says, swinging his arms around to showcase the veranda. This time, his champagne does slosh over the rim of his glass.

“I saw pictures. It looked like a lovely ceremony.”

“Do you smoke?”

“Pardon?”

Anakin hiccups. “Neither do I.”

Obi-Wan must be drunker than he thought, because suddenly Anakin is the funniest person he’s ever met. He snorts in laughter, then uses the sleeve of his jumper to wipe at his nose.

“Y’know,” Anakin says, “Padmé always said we’d be good friends.” He looks over at Obi-Wan and cocks his head. “What d’you think?”

“I’ve been told I’m agreeable enough.”

It’s Anakin’s turn to laugh. He doesn’t hold back in the same way Obi-Wan does, instead throwing his head back and practically cackling to the sky. “I’m pretty sure I’m the most disagreeable person ever.”

“That can’t be true.”

“Sure it can.”

“Well—”

“See?” Anakin grins. 

“How did you and Padmé meet? I’m afraid I…” Obi-Wan clears his throat. “I’m afraid I lost touch for a bit.”

Anakin rolls his eyes and downs the rest of his champagne. “Yeah. I heard.” He shrugs his shoulders. “What can I say? Padmé likes younger men.”

Obi-Wan chuckles. “How lucky for you.”

“Damn right.” He looks around and frowns. “Do you mind if I sit down?”

“There’s a bench just — oh.” Anakin has plopped down into the settled snow. “Alright.” He finds himself sitting down on the ground, too. His trousers are sure to be drenched after this, but he’s too intoxicated to care.

“So why’d you come?”

“What?” Obi-Wan questions.

“Tonight. Padmé’s been trying to see you for years.”

“Oh. Well…” Where to even begin. It was never Padmé’s fault. What happened to Qui-Gon, it…it was complicated. And, now, looking back, he wishes he had done so many things differently. He’d been hurt and angry and confused and — it had been easy to shut everyone out and disappear.

“It was time,” Obi-Wan says simply.

“One AM, I think.”

“What?”

“Did you ask —” Anakin stops, then throws his head back in laughter again, this time slamming the back of his head against the railing. “Never mind,” he manages through his laughter.

Obi-Wan begins to laugh, too. “So why are you out here? Instead…of —”

“I hate people.”

Obi-Wan lifts his eyebrows in surprise. “All people?”

“Most of them. Except for Padmé. You seem okay, but I think you’d be more boring if you were less drunk.”

“If I was less drunk?” Obi-Wan cries in outrage. “I beg your pardon, but —”

“Hey look.” A smile splits across Anakin’s face. “It’s snowing.”

[greenerteacups]

how do u manage the big big project of writing lionheart 😭 can u give tips on how u manage your life in general HAHAHA. i feel that u’re such an organized put together person 💖💖

aw, thanks! This is so sweet. The answer is that I've developed a specific method for writing long projects after a LOT of trial and error (and many, many abandoned stories, alas).

Start with idea. Concept. Thing you want to do. For fics: elevator pitch. Who is doing what to whom, and where? (The "why" can come later, but generally, if the "who" is strong enough, the "why" is answered on its own.) This should be like, a sentence, ideally.

Brainstorm. Write down every idea you have for the thing, throw it all together in a document, and just get it on paper. You will forget everything you do not put in this document. Listen to me: you will forget everything that you do not put in this document. You will think that you will not forget. "I am good at remembering things," you will say. You (I) are (am) not. Assume that you are writing the sort of list that you could use to reconstruct your idea if someone Obliviated you tomorrow and left you with zero recollection of any of it.

Close document, wait 2-3 days. Read a book, maybe. See if you can distract yourself from the project. If it works, abandon project. (You were going to do this anyway.) If it doesn't: congrats! You've got a demon to exorcise.

Now crack that bad boy open again. Organize all of your ideas. Put your set pieces and plot beats in chronological order. Space them out visually, try to get a feel for where your story's inflection points are. Once some kind of linear chronology emerges: congrats! That's your outline.

Keep going through, and start filling in the connections between the scenes that you pictured. These can have as much or as little detail as you need, but you should work through until your story arc/thing is finished. Write it like you're doing a treatment for a screenplay.

At this point, you should be reaching the point where you can throw in stuff like chapter breaks, scene cuts, maybe even little mini-scenes where you know you want the dialogue to go a certain way. I think of these conceptually as "macro-punctuation." What you're doing here is basically sorting out the pacing of your fic. How long are your chapters? How fast do they move? Does each one feel like a distinct narrative moment? Has each one earned its own place? If there's a place where you know you want a chapter break, but you aren't exactly sure, you can always just write down "2-chapter arc" or something to that effect, to make sure that Future You sees what the vision is. You'll want these notes later. Remember, you are 100% definitely certainly going to forget everything you do not write down.

The outline is finished when you can identify the number N, whereas N is the number of chapters that will constitute a "finished" fic. (This number will change, probably. That's fine. But knowing that you have approximately N chapters to go is vital for writing longfic. The alternative is like starting a marathon without knowing how many miles you have to run.) Save outline; open a new document. Copy/paste the outline of your first chapter. Start writing. Delete each note from your outline as you write it.

Reach end of chapter. Feel sense of accomplishment as you delete last bit of outline. Enjoy monkey-brain reward chemicals. Throw in a chapter break, grab a coffee, and then start the new one. Keep adding to the outline as you have new ideas; maybe make a playlist or something. Do a vision board, use Pinterest, I dunno. Don't beat yourself up for not writing. Don't let yourself go too long without doing it, either. Always stop when you feel like it, and don't make this a chore. Dread is the fun-killer. If you start to treat this like a job, you're done for, and this thing is never getting done.

As for the general life tips, I have a lot less practice, so my advice is un-inspiringly normal, I'm afraid. Make your bed in the morning; find a regular time to work. Routines are your friend. So are habits. Drink water, do stretches, and unclench your jaw. Using the Reminders or Calendar app means you can worry less about forgetting things. Answer emails as soon as you read them, because once you've said "later," Later You can also say it. Be kind to yourself; nobody's got a gun to your head. You're just doing your best. It's enough.

And write everything down.

[aching-tummies]

You instinctively try to remove my hand from your belly and continue moaning loudly and indistinctly, while I am holding the middle of your belly very strong. You keep burping.

Well, at least now I know that your belly really hurts, and that makes me smile delightfully. At the first moment I want to contunue tormenting your belly, but lately a better idea comes. I want to know everything about your bellyache to be absolutely aware of how to deal with you the rest of the evening. I release the pressure I put on your belly and gently ask you what is going on with your guts. Your weak whimpering voice as you tell me about the all-day constant stomachace is the second most arosing sound in the entire Univerce. The loug gurgling inside you is the first.

Everything is even better than I expected. The food you have eaten in the morning is definitely in your bowels now, so vomiting will just empty your stomach, but won't significantly help you.

The smile on my face becomes devilish.

Teasing your belly with my fingertips, I take my hand to your bloated round lower belly. Of course to squeeze it hard...

Your right hand is splayed over my belly, your other tugging at my clothing to stretch it over my little bloat of a tummy. I could shove you off…but I'm afraid that if I move too suddenly it's going to end in a baptism for our furniture…and the nastiness that's been brewing in my guts is not something I want to have to clean up…not to mention how much it'll burn coming up and out. My stomach hurts enough already--I don't want to add burning from either end to the list of pains I have to deal with.

"Phew…your tummy must really hurt, huh?" You use your left hand to fan in front of your face, finally getting a slight whiff of the putrid gases I've been fighting to belch out. As you lean back, I put my hands over your right wrist, trying to push your arm back to relieve some of the pressure on my gut. You aren't exactly center--you're pushing on my left side and upsetting all of the tender organs on that side of my digestive tract.

Your right hand jostles my stomach teasingly and you delight in the painful, abrupt, and very wet sounding hiccup that sounds like it started at my toes and moved through me like an electric current. I'm swallowing convulsively, desperately trying to keep the mess contained inside of me. The vile concoction bubbles angrily in my stomach and I feel very much like the cauldron of some nasty witch, like the ones straight out of a medieval play. Your hands are on the move, tracing teasing patterns over the slight dome of my belly. I swear, the vile potion feels like it is swirling in time with your movements. You're really stirring things up inside of me.

"So…what's going on in here?" You've gradually pulled back your massaging hands until only a fingertip is left swirling nonsensical patterns on my gut--not before gradually pushing my shirt up and out of the way and leaving my sickly belly bare. You punctuate your question by inserting your finger into my navel. Your pointed nail scores a perfect bulls-eye, jabbing straight into the sensitive slit at the base of my navel. You can feel my intestines around your finger as you piston it none-too-gently, feeling my innards convulsing around your fingertip.

It takes me a while to respond. My stomach rolls--desperate for the full-palm rubs you stopped giving it as soon as you managed to bunch my shirt all the way up. A sickly, long grumble reverberates and is the only sound in our apartment after your statement before it tapers off, upstaged by my equally grumbly swallowed belches. More and more gas is accumulating in my tummy as each new movement from you causes me to gasp or otherwise disrupt my breathing pattern.

In a matter of minutes, you transformed my intestinal distress into an angry, highly volatile sickness. You continue to piston your finger in and out of my navel. I only hope you don't push too deeply. "Vomit dispense button"--a phrase I saw in passing on the internet…you're going to make that a reality if you jab into my navel with much more force.

"Hello? Answer me." You whine, sliding your hand under the curve of my tummy and shaking it just a bit. Your actions dislodge a slightly larger burp and I swallow thickly against the vomit that nearly came up with it.

My stomach grumbles loudly, indignant at the treatment.

"Aww…are you going to tell me, Tummy?" You direct this at my stomach itself, leaning down to be closer to my burbling gut. "C'mon…you can do it. Tell me!" You coo at my stomach, delighting as it lets out all manner of whines and rumbles. You coax it, physically and verbally.

"I…I…nnngh…f-felt sick all day…b-breakfast…didn't…didn't digest. It's…s-still in there…s-still in me….Mmmmgh…" My brow furrows tightly and I cut myself off with a moan as my stomach cramps harshly. I curl up a little, my head grazing your chin as the cramp causes me to try and curl up. "Nnnggh…h-hurts…"

The words "still there" and "didn't digest" resonate with you. Oh yes…this is going to be fun. It's been more than 17 hours since breakfast. Knowing that something's been fermenting inside of me for nearly a whole day excites you. You wonder where in my system it wound up.

"Mmmph…i-it's been…m-my tummy's been a mess all day," My voice comes out like a whine and you can hear the pout just in my voice alone. I slide a hand over my grumbling belly, sliding my palm over it gently. "Everything's a mess in there. Did you know that stuff can actually travel backwards in your intestines? Ugh…it's so gross--uRp…ugh...nn...gross..." I cut myself off with a sharp belch and blanch at the residual nastiness it leaves in my mouth. You notice that I'm not listlessly rubbing at my tummy. My movements are calculated. My palm glides gently over the surface of my belly, barely making contact with the skin, and I'll gently press two fingers slowly into seemingly random points every so often. Each press dislodges a barely-there belch. If you weren't literally sitting on me, you'd never know…but from where you sit you can hear the sound each time something gurgles it's way upwards.

"Really? Backwards?" You hum, your hands teasingly sliding up and down my sides in some semblance of comfort. You're coaxing me into a false sense of security, trying to get me to abandon my own massage to make way for what you have planned. It works. Eventually, I take my hands off the goods. My bare belly is exposed--like prey that doesn't know it's doomed.

You slide both of your hands over my belly, applying more force than I did and leaving a trail of upset in your wake. I moan weakly, brow furrowing as I feel the trail of discomfort born from your palms. You start low, digging your fingertips into my belly, coaxing some digestive juices together. You move upward, following the feeling of tender tubes of guts and pushing the sick backwards through my intestines.

"A-aahh….ouch--urp!" You know you've succeeded when you hear an angry burbling in my upper stomach area. You managed to push something up. I moan as I feel the acidic addition force it's way into my duodenum, burning the whole way.

"Nngh...d-don't do that. Please? Ugh...y-you're making me feel sick."

You wonder where in my system the breakfast ended up. Then again, 17 hours is a long time. It's probably not solid anymore. The wet noises of my stomach excite you even more as you realize that if it's been in my system for so many hours, the ratio of acid to what-was-once-food is likely pretty skewed. You could do a lot of damage with that acid.

You slide your fingertips back down to the base of my belly, intent on coaxing absolutely all of that acid upward. It'll have to be in waves and you're fine with that. You wonder how many waves of that agony you can create and how much my stomach-organ can contain. This time, you pinch my lower guts between your fingers, squeezing harder when it feels like you've managed to trap a length of intestine between your thumb and fingers. The spasms between your fingers awaken something truly sadistic in you--like some frantically thrashing worm in a predator's claws.

"AH!" My sharp exclamation confirms that you've managed to grab hold of something painful. It took me by surprise and in that moment I feel something burning my esophagus.

[giggly-squiggily]

Do you have any advice for someone who wanna start writing but is too scared and don't know where to start

you seem really cool and your writing is truly amazing and I wish you a good day or night!

Hey anon! Firstly- thank you so much for the kind words! I appreciate them immensely, and I wish the same to you :) I'm not the best with advice, but I'll share what I've learned from my time here on Tumblr :3

Under the cut for length :3

Being scared is a completely valid feeling, especially when we're first starting out. Hell- it's still scary some days, and I've been doing this since October 2019 😅

I will say though- that fear gets easier to manage the longer you're doing it. What starts off as anxiety on whether or not people are gonna like your work turns into a feeling of excitement as you get ready to share your creation.

Does it make hitting the post button any easier? Sometimes. Are they're days where I wanna launch myself out a window after I press the post button and run Charlotte from Black Clover style?

You betcha! :D But when you love doing something, and you wanna do it bad enough, it's so worth it :) I think everyone here has felt those nervous jitters to some degree when we first started out in our little community (or whatever community you ultimately find yourself in), so you're never alone, anon :)

All that being said- there's never any pressure or time frame for when you're ready. Hobbies like writing are meant to be fun and relaxing, so if you know you're not ready to make your debut on Tumblr, you don't have to. When you are ready, you'll know- and you'll be able to hit that post button! All and all- I'm rooting for you, anon! I hope when you are ready to start writing here, you'll have only good times and an absolute blast! (And of course- if you ultimately choose to write for yourself alone and not post it- I hope that your writing journey is a fun one full of things you wanna write and see with your favorite characters and settings! :D)

As for where to start- that's ultimately up to you. I can't tell you how to start it, but I can give you some quick tips (And also- if anyone wants to hop into the replies and share their advice, please feel free to do so!)

1.) Formatting is key. It doesn't have to be anything fancy-shmancy; just be sure to space out paragraphs and use proper punctuation so your work is readable. Don't sweat over the occasional typo- I know my work is always littered with them ajejrajer; and if you ever need help with your writing- don't be afraid to reach out and ask :) There are plenty of us here who'll gladly help you out if you need it!

2.) Don't be afraid to interact with people. I've seen a lot of really cool peeps here in the community, and I can say for the most part we're pretty chill klerjkajkrjk I myself am fairly awkward in DMs but I don't bite unless you want me to (Jokes!...Unless 👀 karkekjlarkjlerkj) Okay but really- the best part about being in a community is having people around you who like similar things you do and to share ideas with. It can be a bit intimidating at times (especially if you're like me and have social anxiety plus you've been a fan of a lot of people prior to making a blog) but it's worth it. I'm truly grateful for the people I've met here in this community- both those who I talk to on a daily basis and those who I might only interact with on occasion :) It's a lot less scary once you get to know everyone here jkaekrjajkr :3

3.)The golden rule: Have fun with it. Highlight it, circle it, put Patrick Star in fishnets on it- this is the golden rule!!! Tumblr is a hellsite that can fall off the face of the planet at any given moment, so we might as well make our time here as fun as possible! :D

Going back to the whole writing for you thing- if there's fandoms you love and want to write for, do it! Is it niche? Write it anyway! Has anyone heard of it? Well, now they have, haven't they? Is there literally no demand for this fandom/character/setting? Well- if you want it, then there's your demand. Don't be afraid to change it up and make your blog/writing whatever feels best. Crack fics, serious fics, a combination of everything in between- whatever you feel like making, I say do it! :D As long as your having fun, that's all that matters!

Ultimately- how you go about your writing journey is your call, anon. I don't know if anything I said today helped, but I'm rooting for you and all the things you'll make. If you ever decide to make your writings public here on Tumblr, let me know- I'll gladly check them out! :D Take your time, have fun, curate your experience and kick some butt, friend!

[viaetor]

How exactly the letter has managed to reach Aether and Paimon is nothing short of a miracle - a miracle of organisation and information tracking, that only a few people in this world should be able to boast about. Perhaps the neat and crisp handwriting on the letter explains it all; who better than Sumeru's scribe to be privy to the comings and goings of the country's most celebrated outlander?

"Dear Aether,

By the time this letter finds you, I shall have resigned from my position as Acting Grand Sage - thus finally granting me the time to pursue more personal interests such as resuming correspondence, and returning to my delayed reading. I'm afraid this job has not left me much time to make progress on the books you and I discussed the last time you were in Sumeru City, and cannot express enough my satisfaction at relinquishing those responsibilities onto others. “One of the penalties for refusing to participate in politics is that you end up being governed by your inferiors" - now that Lord Kusanali has secured a new council of sages, more competent than the last, I am content to withdraw from the world of politics. My work here is done.

I am, of course, not writing to you for the sole pleasure of bragging about my newfound freedom, but to draw your attention to a recent publication from the Haravatat Darshan on ancient Khaenri'ahn. I know your knowledge of the language far surpasses that of most of my colleagues, but I do think this particular paper introduces a new and interesting nuance to some concepts related to the stars that may prove fruitful in your own quest for your sister. If not, at least it should make for an interesting conversation when you next return. Do let me know when you'll next be in Sumeru City or Port Ormos; I'll make sure to join you for dinner.

-- Alhaitham."

ㅤㅤ @maquiscursedㅤㅤ/ㅤㅤUNPROMPTEDㅤㅤ/ㅤㅤalways accepting!

ㅤㅤas if to contrast the adroitly written letter of rich paper and impeccable envelope, the reply the traveller sent back appeared a bit underwhelming to short-sighted readers, especially with how late it came in the mail. al-haitham, however, was sure to see through the seemingly initial sour disorganisation. for starters, the casing to precious penned contents was nonexistent, the only thing tying up all those different-looking papers together were a few rough strings that were clearly meant for camping structures and not delicate scripting. it also had far too many pages for what seemed like a simple response. was it because of the scribe’s friend’s untrained calligraphy? hmm, curious. aether had undoubtedly written alfresco, just after settling for the night, but right before his last meal. this could be attested by candle wax droplets that decorated some of the crumpled pages alongside some stains of sunsettia fruits. it was one of his very scarce free hours throughout his harrowing routine. even so, the outlander had made sure to try his best to keep his handwriting as concise as possible, despite his quill’s faint ink and his clearly exaggerated vowels and estrangement to regular spaces. it read:

ㅤㅤ“i hope this letter finds you well, al-haitham.

ㅤㅤyou must be happy to finally have a breather; the akademiya can be intense. but i think the work that you did was phenomenal. lesser lord kusanali couldn’t have chosen a better sage. she speaks very highly of you. thank you for everything you’ve done, you aided me in your own way, too. 

ㅤㅤas you can see, i think i made some progress with my handwriting. it’s still a little stiff and hard to read, i know, but your tutoring helped me. i find languages without punctuation and spaces much easier to read and write. but turtle baby steps. anyway, hopefully later we can discuss more of the books we talked about. me and paimon just finished reading a tale called moonlit bamboo forest. well, more me than her, really. she kept falling asleep whenever i’d read a sentence or two. have you ever heard of it? it’s not a scientific piece, but i think you’d enjoy the narrative. regarding your recommendation, i’ll be sure to get my hands on that paper as soon as possible. if not, would you mind saving a copy? dinner’s on me.

ㅤㅤi visited some ruins last week. sorry for not writing back sooner. but i took some pictures from some inscriptions and devices we encountered. i thought maybe they could interest you and your optics research. they seem to be ancient windows that function according to elements, but i’m not too sure. i also included some notes on the region’s terrain and monsters, alongside a minimap. i’d love to hear what you think.

ㅤㅤwhen you receive this letter, i’ll already be on my way to sumeru. let’s meet.

ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ— a.”

[riwrite-a]

✧.   get to know the author !

name : mo

pronouns : she / him

preference of communication : either discord or tumblr ims! whichever is easier for my partner/s

most active muse ( s ) : toya :) my baby boy my everything. tho even tho most of my posts are abt him rn i do really miss writing some of my other muses so PLEASE never be afraid to ask for anyone i dont talk abt much!! i love all my kids

experience / how many years : ive been rping practically since i first had free reign on the internet, so since abt the late 2000s? on tumblr specifically ive been writing since 2014 ( almost a decade what the hell )

best experience : idk if i can really pin it down to one experience, but honestly i think the reason im still here is bc of my experiences in the under/tale rpc in 2015/16. which sounds wild bc of the reputation that it has but i still think fondly of all my old mtt dupes from back then bc a whole group of us were friends. it helps mitigate the dupe anxiety i get now, too. and secondarily i also think a lot abt my time in the lozrpc on twi’s solo blog a few years ago. i feel pretty divorced from the community now due to having a multi but despite the downs there were considerable ups and i still love a lot of the people i met there

rp pet peeves : " let me write you a reply using the worlds smallest icon “ girl i cant SEE IT. also over - formatting tends to be really hard for me to read, especially overuse of spaces. like sure i like to add extra spaces to emphasize punctuation but if it’s like 10 spaces between every word then it’s incredibly hard for me. thankfully i havent seen as much of either lately as i used to

plots or memes : i never know how to answer this question bc? both? memes are a great icebreaker and great for shorter explorations of a muse and their character or their relationship to the sender. but plotting is best for longer, more in-depth threads! that said i feel like i don’t plot enough ( i am so shy and reaching out to plot is very hard 👍 ) and i think i need to do it more

are you like your muse ( s ) : well i have too many muses to give this a yes or no answer but uh. toya? yeah i relate a lot to his general mindset and the optimism with which he sees the world, and i think it’s largely a coping mechanism for both of us. plus maybe its bc i was realizing im autistic shortly before i got into pr/sk but he was the first character i looked at and said ‘ oh hes autistic isnt he ’ so i also share that w him <3 as for other muses um. spins wheel. ghirahim? no lol

tagged by. @evintide thank u!! <3 tagging. im usually too nervous to tag people in these so lmao if u wanna do it feel free to say i tagged u!!

[ohhalefire]

002 pleeeeeeease for Sterek!!! 😍

Omg this one's gonna go DEEP into this, so buckle up~ Under the cut because this answer is ENORMOUS. And I think I wrote a minific at the end there?

When I started shipping them: Oh, probably somewhere around the release of Abomination? Like, I saw their chemistry before then and thought it was cute, but that's not enough to make me start actively shipping a pairing - I have to get emotionally invested in the way they come together within the confines of the plot for that to happen. Even then, it wasn't like, my be-all-and-end-all, true-OTP, ship-to-end-all-ships ship until all the way to Derek's death and evolution. That look back that Stiles did? That ENDED ME and now I have never looked back ✨

My thoughts: Thoughts?! THOUGHTS?! This question has just casually asked me to write a novel 😂 tl;dr I loved the way Stydia came together (y'all know we stan Stydia on this blog here, too!), but honestly, if that relationship didn't stay stable long-term - and as much as I love them, I'm not sure it would - I imagine Sterek's eventual coming together in Stiles' like, mid-to-late 20s being a relief of long-held pressure, like a dam breaking. Somehow, Stiles and Derek seem stable together, like they could hold up each others' broken parts.

What makes me happy about them: See above. They seem like exactly the right people to support each other in dealing with their exact traumas. They both feel alone in very specific ways - and together, they don't have to be.

What makes me sad about them: That the writers (and/or the showrunner, and/or the network, etc) chickened out of, at the very least, explicitly using the word "bisexual" in referring to either of them, because, uh. That's clearly what was happening onscreen. 😂

Things done in fanfic that annoys me: Okay, so. This is absolutely petty. But tbh, I look for correct and/or deliberate use of punctuation? 🤷‍♀️ I'M SO SORRY TO EVERYONE. I just both read and write in a very rhythmic, musical cadence inside my head (maybe it's a musician thing?), and a lot of that rhythm in written content is defined by punctuation. If it's off in some way, I often find reading sort of... disorienting? It's like my eyes can't relax as I read. Even something emotional, deep, thoughtful, well-plotted or well-paced will still be sort of unsettling for me to consume if there are repeated, consistent errors in it. That said, incorrect punctuation used on purpose for the explicit reason that it affects the rhythm of the words is somehow fine? I AM SO SORRY i really don't wanna be that snob, but 🫣 obvs i fuck with punctuation for like tumblr jokes or whatever but that cadence my brain reads as almost a different dialect and also we do this for like one sentence at a time so it's not as bad

Things I look for in fanfic: That it's complete, doesn't have too many background friendships that aren't canon, and hopefully that it punches me in the chest with that sweet, sweet emotional pain 🧡🧡🧡

My wishlist: I just want a fully canon-compliant future-fic that gives them the ending they deserve? 😂 Most of the fics I've read that have come out since 2017 are AUs, and while I love me an AU, what my soul really desires is like, a well-resolved, plausible way for them to come together in-universe. Of course all of this gets thrown out the window once the movie drops and we'll all need to start again with all our headcanons but whatever

Who I’d be comfortable them ending up with, if not each other: Stiles with Lydia, obviously. Derek... Derek only has Stiles and Paige, and Paige is dead. So like. He'd have to get some character we haven't met, I think, to be truly happy without Stiles.

My happily ever after for them: Lying in bed, morning light streaming through the window in god-rays, catching the golden dust in the air. Both are awake, on their sides, looking at each other but almost afraid to touch, despite everything that's happened to get them there. Quietly, haltingly, as if unwilling to disturb the moment, they begin to talk through every missed connection, every "almost", every misread moment of longing since the very beginning. Together, at the same time, they work to help each other understand: I've wanted this for years. I just didn't believe I deserved you. And they have a lifetime ahead to convince each other that they do.

Send me a fandom/ship/character and I will tell you...

[loosiap]

Hi! I'm the same anon of this question :) (https://loosiap.tumblr.com/post/687656442968375296/heya-loosi-i-dont-know-if-you-take-requests-or), sorry if the question made you uncomfortable it wasn't my intention >.< Rudhira doesn't accept requests to add ages to her defaults and I'm pretty bad with Simpe honestly :S Although I do wish you could do some tutorial (preferably written) and sorry once again for making you uncomfortable! Have a nice day ❤️

Ok I changed my language setting to english for this lol. My brain and english is all over the place but I hope you understand everything. End result is quite messy and big but I think it’s good enough for personal use. You should be able to follow this little tutorial even if you’re afraid of SimPe

Step 1) If you play Sims 2 I’m pretty sure you have SimPe, if not then download it. Another program you need to download for this is Hair Binner: link. You also need to download CC hair that was used to make default you want to edit (you need mesh file and 4 natural colours).

Step 2) Make a new folder on your desktop and name it however you want but with _ or other punctuation mark in the front (so it’s faster to find in simpe and hair binner later). Put hair default and CC hair that was used to make it in this folder.

Step 3) Open SimPe and open mesh file that you placed in your work folder

In "Resource Tree" there’s going to be 4 categories: GMDC, GMND, CRES and SHPE. Click on first and in "Resource list" localize gmdc for ages you want to add. There should be information what age it is in name: for toddlers you will see somewhere in name pu/p/pf/pm; for children cu/c/cf/cm; for teens t/tf/tm and for adults af/am

Right click on chosen file then “Extract...” and save it in your working folder. Repeat with each category and each wanted age

Step 4) Open Hair Binner

Now you need to click check next to ages you want to add and next to “decustomize” option (both hair you want are base game so don’t change anything else). Then click “...” button next to each colour and find coresponding colour from cc hair that you saved in your working folder. Once you do this click “Bin” and let program do its magic. When program will open another window that says that it’s done binding click ok and close program.

Step 5) Open hair default in SimPe. Click on "Property Set (GZPS)" from "Resource Tree", then in "Resource list" click on any property. Make sure you have "Plugin view" open, you should see something like this:

Find family and copy its value.

Right click anywhere under “Resource list” and “Add...”.

find your extracted mesh parts from your working folder, click on them and then click "open" to add them, then do the same to add binned colours (you might need to chose "all files" to be able to see them)

Now you just need to paste family number that you copied before into property files that have appeared after you added binned colours. Click “commit” every time!

Once you’re done click File and Save to save your edited default. Place it in your Download folder and open BodyShop to check if everything is working correctly.

That’s it! Repeat for second default.

[ayatai]

Roses, Part Two

No. 14 DIE A HERO OR LIVE LONG ENOUGH TO BECOME A VILLAIN Desperate Measures

------------------------------

Alexander had seen white roses in his mother’s rose garden, but the ones growing on the Isle of the Beast seemed even lovelier somehow. 

Mother would love these.

Taking care to avoid the thorns, he took one. He had no way of getting any to Valanice, but he perhaps Sing-Sing would be willing to carry one to Cassima. 

If only I could deliver it myself!

He started to continue on through the hedge, but stopped short as another maiden came to mind. One who seemed to love roses just as much as Valanice.

He picked a second rose, determined that if he happened to see Beauty again, he would offer it to her. A small thing, perhaps, in comparison to what he wished he could do for her. But on the other hand, he well knew how even a small joy could be a beacon in the midst of a dark day.

***

"Your reward for broaching this garden is to be my slave, a slave as beastly as I am. You have only a few hours of humanity left."

Alexander's mind barely registered the second half of the beast's statement, having faltered at the word 'slave'. He could not - would not - endure that hell again.

"But that's not possible! There must be some way to break the enchantment! Spells always have a weakness somewhere." Except for, he fervently hoped, a certain cat cookie spell.

"The enchantment you are under is tied to my own. The sorceress left me a 'way out,' all right, but I'm afraid it was only her final bitter joke. You see, I need only find a maiden to join me here, to share my castle, my life… willingly. Take another look at me. You can't help but admire the hag's terrible cruelty and cunning."

"I shall try to find such a maid, for Cassima's sake." And his own, but if he failed, they were both doomed.

"Truly? How determined of you. I personally, would not waste my last few hours as a man on an impossible errand. However, you may do as you please. I give you this token." The beast handed him a golden ring, not terribly different from Alexander's own insignia ring. "It's my family ring and the only heirloom I have left. If perchance, you should… If you think you have found a maid… "

"I shall give her this ring," Alexander answered as he slipped the ring onto his finger to keep it safe.

"Yes she must accept it of her own free will. By doing so she accepts me. Not that you shall find anyone, mind you! Your time is short. Count the minutes on your fingers while fingers you have, pretty prince. Your master will await you."

The beast-man reentered the garden behind him, the gate shutting with a clang that seemed to punctuate the finality of his words.

Alexander's nails bit into his palms as he tried to calm the anxiety that hearing the term 'master' again had caused. He simply didn't have time to deal with it right now. Nausea welled up in his stomach, however, as he felt the overwhelming pressure settle on his shoulders, a tension he hadn't felt since that day he had been forced to finish the cat cookie spell with only hours to spare, lest he be killed. 

He barely noticed the walk back to the shore; not even the heat of the scalding pool was enough to distract him from his predicament. 

Shouldn't - shouldn’t have come here. 

He should have stayed in Daventry, where he was a free man.

Once, the lure of his homeland had given him the strength he needed to fight back. Now, it was Cassima. She needed his help, which meant he had to pull himself together and approach this problem with the same focus and clear mind as any other.

He sat down on the sandy beach and closed his eyes, attempting to focus on nothing but his breathing. Only once it had evened out did he open his eyes and allow himself to think about the problem.

 The beast had a good point, though. What maiden would willingly give herself to such a man? Lady Celeste wouldn't, that was for sure. Cassima? He couldn't bear the thought, and it didn't matter anyway, as he had no way to reach her.

The only other maiden he had met in these lands was Beauty. His heart ached for her; how long had she been living with that awful stepmother? He pulled out the rose he had picked for her and rolled it between his fingers as he thought.

Would - would she consider it? Could he consider it, leading her to be with a man he knew almost nothing about? One who termed himself 'master'? Or was he, in his desperation, selfishly putting his own life ahead of Beauty?

Granted, the enchantment now afflicting him had not been casted by the beast-man himself. In fact, he had done everything in his power to prevent anyone from wandering into it.

And if Beauty accepted, the beast would no longer be a beast. She would have a chance, at least, of a better life. Surely, if someone had offered him a similar choice years ago, he would have accepted himself. Any risk would have been worth escaping that prison of a mountain.

The plan still left him with a guilty pit in the bottom of his stomach. It was a small thing, however, compared to the fear of being dragged off to a strange castle for the rest of his life. And of what would happen to Cassima in the hands of Alhazred. He had no real choice; the decision would have to be Beauty’s.

He promised himself again that he would check on her after this adventure and ensure she was in no danger. And, if she wished it, help her leave.

Of course, this whole moral dilemma was moot if she refused.

***

Alexander let out a pent breath at the sight of Beauty again tending to her roses. He'd been afraid he would have to gain access to the manor to find her.

He moved slowly, afraid of her startling her again. The same anxious look returned to her face when she saw him, followed by one of recognition. Still, she seemed ready to bolt back inside until she noticed the rose he held out to her.

"Pardon me, maid. I hope you don't think me forward, but I see that you like roses. I thought you might perhaps like a fresh white rose."

[treadmilltreats]

Growing and changing

Recently, I was going through some of my old blogs as I am planning on writing another book based on them.

I couldn't believe some of my writing. It was choppy, with run-on sentences, wrong punctuation, and horrible grammar. I am still not perfect, but hell, I've realized that I've come a long way since I started.

Recently, someone told me how much my writing has grown, that I've come into myself in the last few years. I was happy to hear that as I have made a conscious effort to try to be better. This should be the story of everyone's life, to make a conscious effort to be better, to change, to learn, and to grow. This is what we are here for, to become better people. No matter what age, we must always be willing to learn and change.

Don't be so stuck on stupid that you think you're smart enough where you are at now, that you don't have to.

Things are changing, times are changing, technology is changing every day, and we must change along with it or get left behind. We must be open to change, and trust me, I get that change is scary. I know, for myself, that the fear of change kept me stuck in a miserable marriage for 24 years. I was so afraid of the unknown that to me, it was better just to stay in that horrible situation than to move forward and change.

We must let go of fear. We must let go of our egos and the fear of failure and just do it anyway.

Okay, here's an example, have you ever talked to an older person, and they are so stuck in their ways? They say, "This is the way I am."

and you're arguing "No grandpa, you can do it. Just try!" But they refuse, and it gets you mad that they aren't even willing to give it a chance. Well, that's life, and that could be you one day if you aren't willing to change.

In the last 10 years, I've stepped out of my box more than I ever have. I've done things I would have never done or ever dreamed of doing before. At first, it scared the hell out of me, but as time went on and I kept doing it, the fear became less and less.

Now, I am willing to try anything or to do anything. I know I am not perfect, so I am willing to do things to try to change. I now look at it from other's perspectives, I think okay... is what they said true? Does it hold value? Is this what I am doing? And then I step back and take a good, long, hard look at it and what I can change.

I'm not saying I'm going to change because of what people say, but what I am saying is that I am now open to listening and looking deep in it to see if it will benefit me or if there is some truth to it.

I remember once when my cousin called me and told me that my blog sounded like I was venting and that I was being petty. I took a step back and looked at it from her eyes. I didn't jump into a rant of "What do you know, or don't tell me how to write" like so many people may have. I really looked at what she was saying. I realized that it was the truth.

I was hurt, and I wrote it in that pain, and it showed. She was right, and so I went and corrected it because that wasn't my intent. I listened to what she had to say, and I changed it because I am open to criticism, to change, and to being able to grow.

When I am feeling down about where I am and where I think I am supposed to be by now in my writing career, I think Joyce Meyer didn't step on her first stage until she was 50. Colonel Sanders didn't make Kentucky fried chicken until he was in his 70s. I still have time, and I still have time to grow and learn.

I had a client, he was 92, and he hired me to teach him how to use his new cell phone and new GPS. At 92, he was willing to learn, and I thought I wanted to grow up to be him, still willing to learn at 92!

With age comes wisdom if we are smart enough to be willing to learn from our mistakes. If we are smart enough to realize that if we are open, we will be learning and changing until we take our last breath.

So today, my friends remember that every day we are on this earth, we have the opportunity to learn and grow. Don't be so stuck in your ways that you stop growing. Like I say in all my blogs, it's never too late. You're never too old. If you want to change, you gotta be the change you want to see.

"Be the change you want to see,"

@TreadmillTreats

[bump1nthen1ght]

At the End of the Day

Pairing: Gender Neutral!Reader/Non-Binary Tentacle Monster (It/It’s pronouns used)

Genre: Fluff, First Times, Comfort

Warnings: Explicit Content up ahead (18+ only!), Tentacles, Slight mention of Aphrodisiacs

Word Count: 2904 Words

Summary: After an exhausting day at work, you find some unexpected comfort from under your bed

Request :Omg I love your Forest Fun fic💕 Could I req a NSFW with a tentacle monster, monster under your bed? I was thinking of a lonely reader, meeting their under the bed mate one night where they were hang their hand off the bed, hoping for a monster to hold it and love them, AND IT DOES! Tysm I love your writing!!!

You officially concluded it was a bad day when you collapsed on your bed at 12 AM, too tired to sleep and too dehydrated to cry your feelings out.

You had been on your feet for nine hours, been screamed at for three, and had barely had time to heat up a cup of ramen noodles before almost passing out from exhaustion. Not even the comfort of a screen could help, having forgotten to record the newest episode of your favorite show and having left your phone charger at home all day.

All in all, you 're having a bad time.

You sluggishly pull up your blankets, only in your underwear because putting on pajamas was too much work, and are left to look at your ceiling.

The bed is cold, not yet warmed by your body heat, and the sheets feel a little itchy. You groan, wondering if one thing, one thing, could go right today.

It’d be nice if you had someone to cuddle. Maybe a pillow would suffice, but it’s the thought of someone’s soft touch, playing with your hair, the sound of their heartbeat against your ear. Someone to massage out the stress from your back and shoulders, and remind you that everything would be alright; Whispering promises of a better tomorrow.

But that doesn’t just happen overnight.

You throw your hands over your face, groaning into your palms as you beg your mind to just let you sleep. Dragging your fingers down your cheeks, you let out a pitiful whine before you flip over to your stomach and try to find comfort that way.

You stuff your face into your pillow, one hand dangling off the side of your bed, fingers just barely brushing the carpet. You trace patterns into the fabric, wondering how nice it would feel to be wrapped in something that warm and cozy. Something big enough to envelope you whole, pinning you to the bed. Something with nice warm hands to fill yours, that will pet the back of knuckles and kiss them goodnight. Something that would travel up your wrist, hot and sensual, leaving a trail of warm ooze that-

Wait.

What the fuck.

Your hand jerks upwards, the liquid now running down your forearm glistening. You pull your face out your pillow and throw yourself to the other side of the bed, eyes racing back and forth across your room.

It’s the same as before, only moon light shining through your window and the low hum of your fan accompanying it. You take another look at your hand, streaks of slime dribbling down the sides. It’s warm, the consistency of aloe vera, and sort of smells like...vanilla?

With your heart pounding, you slowly inch over to the side of your bed, not daring to look too far over, too afraid of what you might see.

You fly backwards when the tip of something black and shiny comes up and over your sheets, tentatively tapping the side. It looks like it’s feeling around for something.

Was it looking for you?

You freeze as the tentacle reaches farther and farther up the sheets, thrashing around as you avoid it’s touch, until another one joins it in the search. You don’t move an inch, fearing any shifting of the blankets would alert the creature to your presence.

The tentacles reach about half-way across the bed, almost brushing against your toes, when they freeze. You hold a breath and watch them slowly slink back underneath, wondering if now is the time to lose your shit.

A pair of eyes-wait, no, two pairs of eyes peer up from the side, glowing yellow in the dark. Their pupils expand as they take in the darkness, darting around until they see you, curled up against the corner of your headboard.

There’s a soft churring noise, like the startup of a vacuum or the sound of birds singing. A tiny tentacle comes up, sheepishly tapping the sheets as the creature stares at you.

“....Alright?” It murmurs. It’s voice is scratchy, like it’s trying to make sounds it never has before.

“What?” Your mouth, barely making a whisper. The tentacle points to your hand, still covered in ooze.

“Smelled...sad.” The creature sniffs, slightly raising it’s head so you can see the bottom half of its face. It resembled that of a human, but the mouth extended all the way back to it’s jaw, hinged like a snake. You can see several rows of sharp teeth and the purplish tongue that comes out and wets it’s...lips? “Thought….I could help.” The tentacle draws a circle into your bed covers, the creature's eyes darting away as it’s skin flushes an even darker black; Indigos and deep violets highlight the contours of it’s face. “Don’t like it...when you are sad….”

You think you’ve lost your chance to have a breakdown, your mind already switching to numb out the wave of realizations you are going through right now. All you can focus on are the bashful look on the creature's face, the way it’s tentacles nervously tuts back and forth, and how warm your hand felt in its embrace. How nice it felt.

“Oh, uh, thank you.” You mutter, finally able to make proper words. “I appreciate it.” You unconsciously rub your thumb over the palm of your slick hand, noting how hot it still is, how it relaxes your muzzles like a warm bath.

The creature just nods, resting it’s chin on the bed.

“Feeling...better?”

You shrug. “Uh...a little bit. A good hand-hold is always nice.”

At that, the creature perks up, and you can see some more tentacles come up the bedside. They beckon you to come closer, massaging the mattress and somehow leaving no trails of their slime. The creature swallows, rubbing the back of its neck.

“...Could make you feel….really good….If you...want.”

Your eyebrow quirks, the cogs of your brain working extra slow tonight. But the way the creature flushes, the way it’s tentacles writhe so sensually, you soon start to get the picture.

A logical person might have said no. Might’ve screamed, thrown on the light, and barricaded their bedroom. Probably called the authorities, or animal control.  

But isn’t this what you’d been asking for? And they were sweet enough to pick you up when you were down. Even asked for your permission afterwards, and made a conscious effort to not make a total mess of your bed.

Maybe it’ was the nine hours of pure hell, maybe it’s the fact it’s the most physical contact you’ve had in months, but there’s a part of you that really wants to say yes.

And it’s probably the sleep deprivation that makes you actually do it.

“Yeah. I-I think I would like that.” You slowly unfurl yourself, the creature's face lighting up as you slowly crawl over to it. It’s tentacles thrash around unabashedly, some too eager to even wait for you to get closer, tickling the tops of your knees and nipping at your fingers. You giggle as one finds a ticklish spot. “What’s your name?” You whisper, falling into the soft touches of it’s tentacles as you get closer and closer to the creature’s face. It’s still flushed purple, it’s eyes racing over your body.

“Ghitir.” It croaks, taking a deep breath as your oversized night shirt slips down your shoulder, exposing your skin to it’s greedy eyes. It’s flattering, how much it wants you.

You pull down your collar even more, letting it fall past your collarbone and show just a peak of your chest. A tentacle has begun crawling up your leg, the thick ooze leaving a warm trail along the outside of your thigh, and you gently grab it. Ghitir shudders as you stroke your thumb over the tentacle, feeling the way it’s muscles push against your palm.

It’s hot breath brushes across your face as you look into its four eyes, not realizing how close you had gotten to it. Your eyes fall it’s mouth, where it’s long tongue darts out for a second.

“My name’s _____.” You punctuate the sentence with a kiss, one which Ghitir reciprocated hungrily. It’s tongue along your lips before darting into your mouth, your hands running up the back of its neck as you sink deeper into the feeling.

The tentacles have grown bolder, several now pushing past the bottoms of your pajama shorts and others going under your shirt. One slides up the center of your chest, it’s tip barely touching your nipples as the others run along your pelvis. You can feel slime drip down your behind as several caress your ass, pulling the fabric of your shorts higher and higher as they squeeze. The liquid has gotten even hotter, making your skin buzz and tingle.

All the sensations come together in a perfect tidal wave, so much so that even the rubbing of your pajamas against your crotch has you keeling into Ghitir, thrusting your hips against your mattress. Ghitir churrs, pulling it’s tongue out of your mouth to lather your jaw and neck in kisses. There’s a slight sting as you feel claws dig into your lower back, your hazy eyes glancing downwards to see Ghitir’s four, vaguely humanoid-arms, push you closer to it’s body. It pants and yanks on the shirt fabric, urging you to take it off. You do so in one quick motion, but before you let Ghitir lunge for another kiss, you yank it’s shoulders upwards and onto your bed, revealing all of its body to you.

It’s torso and arms connect to a mass of rolling tentacles, big and small, all of which latch onto you as you fall back onto the bed. Some squirm under your waistband, pushing your shorts and underwear past your crotch and down to your thighs. You shimmy your legs and kick them off your ankles, a shiver running down your spine as cold muscle presses up against your sex. Ghitir leans down into the crook of your neck, exhaling hot breath as it’s cold skin presses into your chest. Your nipples pebble and you run your hands down it’s back, nails digging into it’s clenched muscles.

Ghitir’s tentacles rub your crotch, undulating while one slinks down to your entrance. Beads of liquid smear off of it and into your skin, it’s tip just ghosting over your hole. The knot in your stomach burns hotter, your crotch thrusting upwards, trying to catch that fleeting sensation. But Ghitir is focused on covering your neck and shoulders in sloppy kisses. Sweat drops down your neck and it licks up toward your jaw, shuddering a groan from the taste.

Your head is hazy and your eyes have a hard time focusing, but you're able to feel your way to a tentacle, grabbing it by the thickest part and rubbing your thumb up it’s side. Ghitir lurches forward, it’s tongue lolling out with a shaky squeal. The tentacle teasing your entrance seizes, pressing up against the sensitive skin but not quite pushing through. You move your hand farther up the tentacle, squeezing intermittently before you reach the tip. You brush the pad of your index finger over it and a drop of slime drips down your wrist. One pair of Ghitir’s hands has moved down to your hips, it’s claws slightly pinching your skin as you press your finger down on it’s tip. It bites back a groan, rolling it’s lower half into the bed when you lick a stripe up the tentacle. It’s slime isn’t salty like human sweat, but sweet, almost like nectar.

You press your abdomen upwards, pressing kisses against the tentacle, your other hand grabbing another and half-hazardly jerking it up and down. Drool is dripping down Ghitir’s face, it’s eye’s locked onto you. You wink, erotically sticking your tongue out as you lick up, and up, and up, until just the tip rests on your bottom lip. With a tentative lick, you open your mouth wide and suck down the tentacle like a lollipop.

Ghitir’s forehead falls against yours. It’s tentacles convulse as you suck in your cheeks and move your head up and down, the tentacle in your mouth slowly stirring to action. It massages your tongue, shyly moving further and further into your mouth. Drool and Ghitir’s slime drips down your jaw as you let it slacken, the tentacle quickly hitting the back of your throat. The tip presses against your gag reflex, pulling back quickly once it hears you choke. But you give Ghitir a thumbs up, keeping a tight suction around the tentacle as it gently begins to face fuck you.

You can feel Ghitir’s hand’s shaking as it pounds your mouth, releasing more and more slime as it shudders inside your lips. You stop moving your head, letting Ghitir thrust into your mouth at it’s own pace, and reach forward and feel around for the tentacle pressed against your crotch. Your vision is dotted with black spots, but you eventually find the tip pressed so close to your entrance, pulling and urging it forward. Your eye’s shift toward Ghitir, it’s face locked onto the way you take it’s tentacle in your mouth. It’s tongue is hanging out of it’s mouth, cheeks nearly glowing with it’s bright blush, but it’s coherent enough to understand what you want.

The tentacle slithers out of your hand and presses against your soaked hole, dripping with it’s slime and your sweat. The tip finally pushes past your entrance and you can feel your eyes roll backwards as it stretches you open.

The tentacle is slightly smaller than the one in your mouth and although the pressure is relieving, it still leaves you wanting more. You jerk your hips forward, asking for it to punish your hole like it’s punishing your mouth. Ghitir nods, one of it’s hands stroking the side of your jaw as another tentacle slips inside of you, twisting with it’s twin and pressing against your walls. You moan once more, tears forming at the corners of your eyes. The sensations are overwhelming, deliciously overwhelming.

The tentacles inside your curl around each other, searching for that sensitive spot inside you. The tentacle in your mouth starts to thrust erratically, more and more slime coating the back of your throat as it begins to spasm. You clamp your lips around the base, coating it in your saliva as it nears it’s climax.

Your legs feel shaky and buzzed, your movements uncoordinated as you focus on breathing and chasing your own orgasm,The pair of Ghitir’s hands on your hips help your lower half hump against its tentacles. With a yelp and quick jolt of your body, Ghitir realizes it’s finally found the perfect spot, the one that has your toes curling and your eyes rolling backwards. The tentacle in your mouth slows down, edging itself on your tongue and your lips, but the tentacles down below pick up the pace. They pull out until only their intertwined tips remain, right before surging back inside you.

Your bed springs squeak as Ghitir continues to pound you into the mattress, it’s free pair of hands roaming and groping all unattended parts of your body as you throw your hips upward with every thrust. It pinches your nipples and lays wet kisses all down your collarbone, your chest coated in slime, saliva, and sweat. The tentacle continues to just rub itself all over the inside of your mouth, shaking as it teases itself nice and slow. Tears drip down your face as you feel the rubber band snapping, the fire in your belly about to combust. You moan around the tentacle, gurgling a couple of “Yes, yes, yes!”

Ghitir purrs as your body begins to seizing up, it’s claws digging into your pelvis as the tentacles pick up their speed. The tentacle in your mouth retracts, gushes saliva and slime falling out of your mouth. But Ghitir quickly replaces it with its tongue, petting the side of your face as you make out.

There, there, there, right there, right there- The moan you let out is almost a scream, punctuated by a strong “Oh fuck!” as hot streams of Ghitir’s cum flood your insides. The smaller tentacle spasms, squirting it’s juices all over your sweaty chest as Ghitir bites its lip with a groan. You can feel your body slacken, your chest heaving as you collapse into your sheets, leaving only tiny kisses against Ghitir’s lips. It follows you as your head sinks into your pillow, finally pulling away to let you catch your breath.

Ghitir rests its forehead against the center of your chest, its tentacles slowly slithering out of you, dripping slime all over your bed. Its chest is still alight with a purple blush, their body shaking from all of the exertion.

You find yourself stroking the side of their face, mind still fuzzy as you trace the contours of their cheekbones and enjoy the unusual texture of it’s skin. Ghitir’s four eyes peak open, just as delirious as you are.

“Thanks.” You suck in a deep breath, “That was...amazing.”

It smiles, nuzzling its cheek into your stomach, a small purr rumbling through you.

“No...problem..”

Ghitir’s tentacles lay sprawled out below you, lazily petting your calves and feet as Ghitir draws lazy circles into your stomach.

In no time at all, you fall asleep.

[dem-obscure-imagines]

Guardian Angel

Pietro Maximoff x Reader

Sequel to The Kiss of Life

Prompt: Would you do a part two to kiss of life where they’re relationship is developing and they go to a party and someone is flirting with her and pietro gets jealous?

Note: YESYESYESYESYESYESYESYES

Warnings: Swearing

Word Count: 1.5k

You weren’t really one for parties, but to celebrate the new facility, of course Tony decided to liven the place up a little by inviting all of his acquaintances to check it out. You were getting dressed, putting the finishing touches on your outfit when a certain someone sped into the room, leaving a flash of silver in his path.

“You. Look. Gorgeous.” He stated, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around you. “I’m going to have to peel the competition off of you, my love.”

You turned around to face him, one of your hands rising to his cheek. He’d trimmed his beard, you noticed, admiring his handsome features. “There is no competition, Piet. You’re the only one I want.”

“What a relief.” He chuckled, taking a step closer and pulling you into his arms, his mouth resting beside your ear so he could whisper, “I love you, my guardian angel.”

“I love you, too.” You peppered his cheek in kisses before pressing a long, soft kiss to his lips.

As soon as your lips touched his, his hand rose to cradle the back of your head, keeping you close so he could deepen it. You couldn’t get enough of him. You knew it. You never wanted the moment to end, and yet, a few moments later, there was a knock on the doorframe, Steve clearing his throat.

You separated, your cheeks burning. The others knew about your relationship, of course. It wasn’t a secret, but as one of the younger Avengers, the others were still a bit protective of you, even though they knew you were fully capable of protecting yourself.

“Is everything starting?” You asked.

“Yeah, the food just got delivered.” Steve explained. “Tony got catering from some place called Olive Garden?”

“Oh hell yes.”

Pietro scooped you up in his strong arms and pressed a long kiss to your forehead before speeding off into the other room, where the others were, guests steadily filing in.

Wanda walked up to you immediately, smiling warmly. She was accompanied by Vision, who had materialized himself a formal suit just for the occasion. “You look beautiful, (Y/N),” she complimented, pulling you in for a hug.

“So do you! I love your earrings!”

“Thank you! They were a birthday gift from that one.” She tilted her head towards her twin. “And against all odds, he’s cleaned up nicely today.”

“You know me. Always dressing to impress.” He winked, straightening out his silver bowtie. “Shall I get us something to drink?” He leaned in and pressed a kiss to your cheek.

“Sure, thank you.”

“I will be right back.” He promised, punctuating it with a kiss to your forehead.

“His love language is touch, if you hadn’t noticed.” Wanda chuckled.

“Oh, I’ve noticed.” You laughed, nodding. “I wouldn’t have him any other way.”

“You make him really happy, you know.” She smiled softly, watching him at the bar. “It’s so nice to see him happy. It’s been such a long time.”

“I’m so glad you two came into our lives.” You told her.

“Me too.” She and Vision walked off to socialize with the influx of guests, leaving you alone for the moment until Pietro came back. Unfortunately, this left the window open for some random S.H.I.E.L.D. agent to walk up.

“Pretty little thing like you came here all alone? Shame. Seems like a missed opportunity.”

“Um, excuse me, who even are—”

“Name’s Agent Kiefer Valentine, but you can call me…anytime.”

“Do you know who I—?"

“How about you and I stick together for the night? Get to know each other.”

“No.”

“I’m sorry, what was that?”

“Oh, sorry, did you not hear me, how about FUCK NO! I have a boyfriend, you creep.”

“Oh yeah?” He challenged. “And where is he?”

“Right here.” It was Pietro’s voice now. He’d sped over at the first sign of trouble. “Darling, is he giving you any trouble?” Pietro asked, his face contorted in frustration at the obviously very low-ranking agent who somehow thought he had a shot with a fucking Avenger.

“And who’s this?” Kiefer asked, still not taking the hint. Maybe he hadn’t seen Pietro speed over. If he had, you were sure he would have cut his losses and went off to bother someone else.

“I’m her boyfriend.” He asserted, puffing his chest out a little. “And you have until the count of three to get lost before I—”

“I’ve got this, babe.” You told him, calming him with a hand to his chest. “Get lost or I’ll kick your ass.”

He crossed his arms and scoffed. “How? Everyone knows healing isn’t a real superpower.”

Pietro’s expression darkened. “What did you just say to her?”

The area surrounding the three of you went deathly quiet.

“No, I want to hear you say it again. What did you just say to her?” Pietro demanded, getting visibly upset.

“Agent Coulson, is this one of yours?” You asked, motioning him over.

He looked Kiefer up and down, nodding. “New recruit. Tad bit excitable I’m afraid. I’ll see that he’s decommissioned in the morning.” Coulson looked to Pietro. “You can escort him out, if you’d like.”

“My pleasure.” Pietro tilted his head to the side, handed you two glasses of wine and then sped off somewhere with Kiefer.

“I am so sorry about him, (Y/N).” Coulson apologized. “I thought I weeded out all of the assholes, but I guess some of them don’t always show their true colors right away.”

“Don’t worry about it,” you shook off his concern. “I didn’t want to have to beat him up only to heal him again right after.”

Pietro dashed back to your side, taking a moment to catch his breath. “The trash has been taken out.” He grinned and wrapped an arm around your waist, taking one of the wine glasses from you.

“Thank you.” You leaned up and pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Pietro, this is Agent Coulson.”

“Pleasure to meet you, sir.” Pietro offered his hand and shook Coulson’s.

“So this must be the Quicksilver I’ve heard so much about. Keeping (L/N) here out of trouble?”

“Of course,” Pietro said with a wink. He took a sip of his wine. “Someone has to.”

“I’ll see the two of you around.” Coulson walked away, leaving you and Pietro there in the center of the room. The tense moment had passed, but you sensed some of its energy remained. You still tried to enjoy the night, though.

There was some entertainment, so once you were finished with your drinks, Pietro whisked you out onto the dance floor. You could feel the eyes on the two of you. Everyone in that room knew how you and Pietro had met, and what you had done to save him. Every person there knew that Pietro, without your intervention, would be dead. And Pietro knew it too. He felt the weight of it every day, and yet, it only made him love you even more.

His guardian angel. His love. His everything.

The music slowed and Pietro’s hands found your waist, pulling you close to him. Your arms rested on his shoulders and you basked in his warmth. Your cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, or maybe due to the proximity, but there was nowhere in the entire world you’d rather be than right there in his arms.

***

Much later, when all of the people had gone home, you and Pietro retired to your rooms. He changed into his pajamas. You changed into yours. And once you walked out of your bathroom and back into your bedroom, you jumped when you saw Pietro waiting on the bed there for you.

“Hey, babe. What’s up?”

“Can I spend the night in here?”

“Yeah, of course.” You nodded, walking over. You climbed under the covers and invited him to do the same. Once the light was out, he crawled on top of you, resting his head on your chest. He guided one of your hands up to his hair and you began lightly scratching his scalp just the way he liked it.

“I can’t believe he said that to you, printsessa.” His voice was no more than a low murmur. “I didn’t hurt him for it, but I wanted to.”

“I know.” You nodded, stroking his head calmingly. “Thank you for not hurting him.”

“Mmhmm.” He hummed, thinking for a bit. “Do people say that to you…often?”

“Unfortunately.” You chuckled. “I don’t mind. I know the truth. It used to bother me, but it doesn’t anymore.”

“Why’s that?” He asked, looking up at you.

“Well, my powers gave me you.” You said simply. “And if that’s not a superpower, I don’t know what is.”

Pietro lifted himself from your chest, hovering above you. He looked at you for a long moment, brushing hair out of your face before leaning down to press a long, meaningful kiss to your lips.

“My angel.” He whispered. “My beautiful angel. I love you so much.”

“I love you too…”

[bimrsadler]

Heyyy, how are you doing today?? Are your requests still open? Cause if so, would you mind writing an Arthur x reader, could be gender neutral if you prefer it, if possible in a modern setting where they are doing a roadtrip and stop at a hotel but if that's too weird don't worry about it, I just really want a "there was only one bed" type of thing doesn't need to be a smut or anything like that just a silly fluffy one? Idk I am sorry, if this is too complicated don't worry about it, either way, hope you are having a nice day/night!! I really like your writing btw!

Safety in a storm

A/N: thank you and it’s not weird at all, no need to be sorry! I love a fun trope/cliche honestly lol, hope it’s what you were looking for!

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x gn reader

Words: 1,357

Warnings/tags: fluff, mutual pining, “there was only one bed”

—————

Your hand dangled lazily out the truck window, feeling the warm breeze flow between your fingers. Lightning flickered through the dark clouds on the horizon, adding to the already electric atmosphere of your post-concert high. The company beside you certainly made things exciting as well.

When you asked Arthur to attend the concert with you, he admittedly wasn’t your first choice. Your friend had flaked at the last minute and while you knew Arthur was a fan of the music, the idea made you nervous. You were close and had known each other for a good while, but a road trip was a lot of one on one time that you were unsure how to navigate. Lately you found your heart rate picking up and words not quite connecting smoothly whenever he was around.

The night had gone better than expected though, you and Arthur had a great time at the show and the conversation flowed freely on the way there. When you first started getting to know each other he was more reserved. But after some time you cracked through the hard shell around him and discovered he could be soft, easy-going and kind.

“Damn I don’t like the look of them clouds…” he grumbled in his deep voice. As if on cue droplets of rain pattered the windshield slowly at first, before quickly becoming a downpour.

“I didn’t even think it was supposed to rain today.” You pulled out your phone to check the forecast, “we’re under a storm warning and it looks like it’s gonna last all night.”

Arthur looked worried and was clearly struggling to see through the curtains of rain. “Shit, maybe we should find a place to stay? If you’re okay with it that is?” He shot you a nervous glance that made your stomach flip.

“Yeah I’m fine with that, don’t think we really have a choice anyway.” You chuckled meekly and rubbed your neck, “I’ll navigate to the nearest place but reception’s bad right now…”

After a nerve wracking drive in sheets of rain punctuated by Arthur’s cursing, you finally got to the destination. It was a roadside motel, not the best you’d seen but still with a charming enough quality and a diner across the road.

You stepped into a puddle as you got out of the car, breaking up the reflection of the neon signs wavering on the wet blacktop. Rushing to the entrance to get out of the rain, Arthur still managed to take the opportunity to open the door for you, holding his hat to secure it from blowing away as he waited for you to run in first.

Arriving at the front desk Arthur pulled out his wallet and gave you an “I got it” look. The receptionist smiled and welcomed you. “Howdy ma’am, what kinda rooms ya got available?”

“Not many I’m afraid, just a few single beds.”

Arthur paused and fidgeted with his wallet, looking at you questioningly. “I uh…that okay? You can have the bed,” he muttered.

You nodded, comfortable with sharing a room with Arthur but suddenly terrified of what might or might not happen. But why did it matter? You invited him as a friend after all.

Drenched from the rain you removed your jacket as you entered the room while Arthur did the same, trying to avert your eyes from the visual of the soaked white shirt clinging to his broad physique, hair and muscles showing through the thin fabric.

“Look like I said…I can sleep on the floor and you can take the bed. I hog the sheets anyway,” he laughed sheepishly as he rubbed his stubble.

“Arthur it’s fine, it’s a big enough bed.”

“It ain’t that I just don’t wanna make ya uncomfortable…”

“I promise I don’t mind, it’s just sleeping.” You worried that you didn’t sound convincing and weren’t hiding your nervousness well. You trusted Arthur implicitly and it was just sleeping, but you found yourself pining for something more.

“So uh, ya mind if I take this off then?” Arthur gestured to his shirt awkwardly.

“Course not, I wouldn’t ask you to sleep in wet clothes,” a flushing heat spread to your face and chest as you walked to the bathroom to avoid giving yourself away.

When you came back out came Arthur was standing beside the bed, adjusting the blankets so that more was on your side, and putting an extra pillow under your own. “I don’t need as much so I thought you might want ’em.”

Trying your hardest to be nonchalant about how good he looked, you thanked him with a smile and sat on the edge of the bed to take off your watch and jewelry for the night. A booming crack suddenly cascaded through the room causing the lights to flicker, and you to jump. “Shit…” you breathed shakily.

You felt Arthur’s calloused fingertips gently touch your shoulder, giving you goosebumps despite the humid air. “Y’okay? Don’t like thunder?”

“No, I’ve hated storms since I was a kid. We had bad ones where I grew up, tornadoes and everything.” Your voice wavered and you couldn’t help feel foolish. “Honestly it’s embarrassing.”

“Hey…” Arthur’s voice was barely above a whisper. “Ain’t gotta be embarrassed, we’re all afraid a somethin’ and I’d say storms are pretty understandable.” He sat beside you with enough distance to be respectful of your space, but still set a soothing hand on your shoulder. For a man of his stature and at times intimidation, he was amazingly tender.

“Anythin’ I can do to make ya feel better?”

Your mind raced as you considered your next words carefully, but your heart came to the conclusion that it was now or never. “What if I said I’ve wanted this for a while now? Your company?”

Arthur looked down sheepishly, the blush blooming in his face like a flower. “Well, I’d say your taste in company is questionable,” he chuckled, “but welcome.”

You brought your palm to Arthur’s cheek, delicately stroking with your thumb. “And I’d say you gotta work on that confidence, cowboy.”

He raised his chin and smiled, the light and careful touch on your shoulder became firmer as it moved down to your waist. His other hand cupped your face and pulled you in, pressing his lips to yours gingerly.

Briefly, he pulled back to look in your eyes and gauge your reaction. You responded with a reassuring smile and a hand on his sturdy chest, the thump of his exhilarated heart pulsing against your palm. With that, you were pulled in closer as Arthur continued. His lips were warm with long, languid movements, the short beard he sported softer than expected against your skin. The scent of fresh air and rain still lingered on him, mingling warmly with hints of leather and smoke. Giddiness rushed through you, realizing you had no idea how much you really wanted this.

Arthur pulled back and rested his forehead against yours, keeping his eyes closed momentarily as if savoring the moment. “How’s that for confidence,” his gravelly voice asked with a sly smirk.

“Pretty damn good, handsome.”

The thunder cracked suddenly causing you to flinch as you’d nearly forgotten about it all together.

“Here, how bout we getcha nice ’n comfortable?” Arthur stood to pull the covers back and waited for you to get underneath them before joining. “Just so y’know I’m still happy to give ya space if ya change yer mind.”

“Thank you Arthur,” you turned over to your side with your back to him and pulled his arm over your waist, “but I want this.”

“I’ve wanted this for a while too darlin’,” he planted a kiss to your shoulder. “Sure am glad ya invited me tonight.”

You quipped, “even if it means being stuck in this crappy motel?”

Arthur chuckled, “way I see it I’m just lucky to be in any bed with ya.”

Arthur embraced you tighter as the storm continued, his heavy frame behind you a calming presence. Breathing in his scent, you exhaled all of the tension you’d been carrying, relieved that your feelings were shared and out in the open.