#this is just to get my john juices flowing

[alnilaem]

you lose your way on the pastures of a hidden farmstead. however, upon meeting the husky owner, being lost quickly becomes the least of your problems.

cw for noncon/dubcon, forced lifestyle puppy play, kidnapping

read on ao3

-

John sees you coming from over the horizon.

He heard the sputter of your van before seeing it. The plume of smoke that follows in your wake, orange and ashy, as you drive down the pebbled road.

He was rounding the house after letting the cattle out when he noticed you. He tips the brim of his hat back and watches, grinding his teeth into the wad of tobacco folded into his cheek, his hackles raised because you’ve decided to ignore the splintery No Trespassing sign in big, black letters pounded into the front of his farmstead.

He wraps a hand around his belt, watching as your camper van slows to a stop in front of him.

The hinges in John’s jaw lock. He’s ready to throw out an expletive, threaten you with the bare metal of his pistol, browned with age, and throw you into the back of his rust-bridled truck. He’d drive you into town and toss you onto the porch of the sheriff’s office, maybe teach you a thing or two about trespassing.

But your engine cuts, and your door swings open, and John’s tobacco turns heavy in his mouth.

He sees your shoes first, pressing tracks into the dirty road as you step out. Frilly socks that end below your knees. You’re wearing tight little denim shorts and a gauzy top that sticks to your chest, knotting your nipples in the summer heat.

You smile.

It’s a little sweet, dewy-eyed. It makes John’s cock chub up, makes him swallow his tobacco on accident, sticking to the spine of his throat.

“Hi mister,” you say. Light and wispy like the breeze that whorls through your ropes of hair. “Sorry to be a bother.”

John perks up. He crosses his arms over his heavily built chest, the hair on his forearms bristling with his newfound flush.

“Just trying to find my way here–“ you unfurl a map and point towards a little dot. “Mind helping a girl out?”

You giggle. It’s coy, John tells himself, just like the flutter of your eyelashes as you hoist your neck up at him, preening.

“Um… sure,” John takes off his cowboy hat and runs a hand through his sweat-matted hair. “Four hours. East. You jus’ follow the road.”

Gooseflesh creeps down John’s skin as you turn around and toss your map into the van, your ass spilling from the bottom of your shorts.

You turn back around and John coughs, averts his eyes to the cattle in the distance. He tightens the reel of his lasso around his knuckles, squirming.

“Thanks, mister,” you grin. “Know anywhere I can top up on gas?”

He gives you another look.

His eyes sweep a trail of flames over your body, making your blood churn. He keens at your nipples and the grain of your denim shorts digging into your cute pussy. He can see the barest outline of it winking back at him. Making his cock pulse.

He decides not to tell you about the gas station a kilometre west of here. Decides that would be too much trouble for a pretty lady like you.

“I’ve got plenty,” John says. Gruff, grizzled, like a bear that’s been in torpor too long. “Follow me.”

All John has to do is snap his tongue against the roof of his mouth to get you to follow him. He takes you into his rustic farmhouse, the place sparse in a red-blooded way, and leads you to the kitchen.

You don’t expect the dog, large with mud-felted paws, that pounces and almost knocks you to the floor.

Its tongue is rough and wet and gnarled against your cheek. You squeal, trying to push it away. It probably thinks you’re playing because it wags its tail, nipping at the divot in your shoulder.

“Aye,” John barks. “Off of ‘er, Dog. Git! Git on out of here.”

John shepherds the dog—aptly named Dog—into his crate by tossing a threadbare toy into it. The golden-haired mutt chases after it, following the toy into his cage.

“No way to treat a damn lady…” John mumbles under his breath. He smiles apologetically at you, his soft wrinkles puckering. He puts his hands on his hips, digging his fingers into his moth-eaten jeans and his sun-bleached flannel. He cocks his head to the side, squints.

“So, sweetheart, how about that gas?”

-

John brings you to a barn out back.

He leads you with a hand split on your lower back, past the stables and the paddocks and the roaming cattle beneath the blaring sun.

He pulls open the large barn doors, his arms flexing with the exertion, and puts his hands on his belt.

It’s an abandoned building. There’s no chicken, no stallions. It’s clear that the barn has been delegated to a storage space of sorts, going by the hay-bales strewn around and the miscellaneous staples of ranch equipment.

John smiles. It offsets his rugged look, makes you disarm a bit.

“Apologies for the mess,” he says, starting to tear through the supplies. “Just wasn’t expectin’ a pretty lady on my doorstep today.”

You stifle a giggle just to be nice, but John, in his time-honoured ways, reads it as coy again. It makes his cock stir against the metal teeth of his jeans, makes his mustache turn hot and wiry against the damp skin above his lip.

John rummages some more. Pretends to nick his finger on a metal steeple. Expels a heavy breath. His stomach paunchy and his chest strong, the hairs pressing against the gauze of his flannel as he rises to his feet and shrugs, hands set on his belt.

“Sorry sweetie,” John grumbles. “No gas here. How do you feel about dinner though?”

The change happens so quick you almost get hit with whiplash.

Your lips pop around stutters, and John’s balls turn heavy. He can imagine your lips parting around his cockhead, all the way down to his pubic bone which is stale with sweat and musky, steel-wooled. It makes him grip his belt tighter, white-knuckled, and undo the first few buttons of his flannel.

“Sir… I really should be getting out of your hair.”

“Nonsense,” John chuckles. “It’s the least I can do for havin’ no gas. I can go into town tomorrow and get some.”

You’re already impaired by the burning, penetrative summer heat. It doesn’t help the way John is looking at you, like a stray predator that made its way onto his ranch and forces him to lock up his animals for safety.

John senses the rumination written into your pretty features. He tacks on, “An old man like me never gets any visitors. None as sweet as you, surely.”

You have to nod, still a little hesitant. You say yes only because there’s a bulky rancher here keen on filling your belly and the sun is beginning to set.

John chuckles and claps his large hands together. He leads you back to the main house and ends up feeding you shepherd’s pie and a cold can of Cola. He pours himself a glass of whiskey and that makes you indignant, as if he sees you as a kid.

Dog stirs at your feet while you eat. Nosing at your ankles and nudging your legs for some food. John flares. He snaps his fingers and snarls, and Dog, moulded by his Pavlovian response, ambles into his crate.

“That’s where naughty dogs go,” John tells him. “You’ll stay there ‘til we’re done.”

You finish not long after that. John gives Dog the plates to lick before soaking them in soap water and shows you your room for the night. His room, actually, but he says he’ll sleep on the couch because he’s a gentleman.

That makes you smile.

But when you wake up the next morning, you’re choking.

Your throat is cinched with nylon webbing. The collar cuts into your windpipe, hindering your sprinting breaths, causing panic to lick up your spine. You sweat and the collar soaks it all up. Makes your skin itchy, flaring, as you chisel at your flesh to try peeling it off you.

You stumble out of John’s bed and hurry outside. He’s herding the cattle when you run towards him for help. Your mind is too scattered to realize he’s the only other person on this farmstead. He’s the one who did this.

“Mister, mister–“ your words come out stifled, cramped against the tight ruck of your throat. “Mister, I dunno what’s happened. Help-“

John puts a hand up and tuts like you’re nothing but a strident, misbehaving mutt.

“Easy,” he grunts around a cigar. “Jus’ calm down, will you? You’re hootin’ and hollerin’ and scarin’ the cattle.”

You choke around your tears. You hang your head, still trying to wrestle the collar off you, your fear ripening into panoramic horror when you look down and see golden fur embroiled into the collar. A bone-shaped tag engraved with a word that makes your blood run cold.

Dog.

It’s John’s name for his pet, but on you, it’s derogatory. Degrades you to a four-legged pup that laps water out of a basin and squats to piss, that needs a handler as rough as John to keep you in check.

He cups your cheek, passes his thumb over your fat tears.

“You don’t like it?” He asks, his voice distorted with a hint of disappointment that, despite you, makes you feel bad. “I took it off Dog. Now he’s runnin’ around the ranch with no collar. I thought you’d appreciate it.”

He curls his fingers under the collar and tugs you close. Your face puckers as he expels a plume of cigar smoke over your face, softly squeezing your bum.

“Good dogs say thank you though. Are you a good dog?” John asks. His eyes darken, eclipsed by something dusky. “Or are y’naughty?”

John forestalls your begging reply, squashing it against your throat as he grips your collar and drags you behind him. Taking his puppy on a walk.

You bridle at the deep-seated embarrassment. John’s other animals seem to have more freedom than you, watching from their pens and pastures as you kick and scream behind him. He pulls you into the main house and takes you to the kitchen. Bullies you to your knees in front of the crate.

He grips the scruff of your neck and forces your head inside. It smells stuffy, stale. The dog bed is moth-eaten and covered in fur.

John pats your ass. He rubs your pussy through your shorts, slowly pulls them off. Kisses your slick clit which is outlined by the dewy gusset of your panties.

“Y’gonna keep cryin’?”

A long cry quivers past your lips.

John’s fingers, although jaded, a testament to working with his hands, make you feel delirious. Makes you curl your pert ass into him, your cunt begging for more.

“Go on, girl,” he grunts. “Go on in. Git.”

He takes you by the collar and shoves you inside the dog cage, since–

“You wanna keep cryin’. I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about.”

There’s barely enough space inside to move around. Dog is a big dog, so you’re able to spin around and face John, but that’s all. You tuck yourself into a fetus position, resting on your knees, the metal grating pressing tracks into your hot skin.

“I don’t reward bad behaviour,” John says. “So for that you’ll spend the night here.”

John clicks his teeth each time you misbehave—clawing at the door, begging him to let you out—his kissing teeth bully the sound of your pleas, until eventually, you quieten, responsive to his clicking tongue.

“That’s it,” John says. There’s a thread of praise in his voice that makes you squirm. “You stay there an’ think about what you’ve done.”

He stands up and prepares his lunch. Eggs on bread and a beer to wash it down. John eats slowly, as if he’s teasing you. Disciplining you further. You don’t think he’s going to feed you, another component of his punishment, until he’s rising from his chair and squatting in front of you, his empty plate in his hands.

Well, almost empty.

Veins of leftover egg yolk are smeared around the ceramic. You look at it, and then at John. He passes his fingers over the yolk and sticks his arm in your crate because the gaps are big enough, waggling his coated fingers.

“Eat.”

You’re shaking. Hesitantly unfurling your tongue, working it around John’s thick fingers, swallowing whatever dregs of food he’ll let you. You become more eager as it goes on—lapping at his yolk-covered fingers as well as the mud and mire crusted into his nails. Sucking at his swollen knuckles, nibbling on his finger hair.

He belly laughs before pulling his fingers out of your cage. John stands up and soaks his plate in sudsy water, turning to look at you.

“Busy day today,” he says. “I’ll see you tonight, pup.”

You find yourself whimpering—not talking—as he turns to leave.

-

That night, you’re woken with a scuffle and John clicking his tongue.

It rouses you immediately. That, and the thin sound of his belt unbuckling.

Sweat sticks to your skin, dewy, when John prods through the crate and gropes you. You can’t see him but you can feel him. Rubbing your puffy cunt, thumbing your clit. Flattening his tongue against your pussy and pulling your lips into his mouth.

“So fuckin’ sweet,” he mumbles against your clit. “Knew you were a sweet girl.”

John’s tongue travels up and wets your asshole. It makes you jerk against the metal, makes the cage rattle.

He pulls away and you moan, thinking it’s another punishment. You push your ass against the gratings, presenting yourself, the metal gridwall rubbing against your swollen clit and making you shiver.

John mumbles something about patience. It seems that he doesn’t have any patience either, soft-soaped by your pussy, because he’s pressing his tip against your opening and feeding you his cock.

John fucks you through the holes of your cage.

Your lungs barely have space to stretch. Your knees are folded into your chest and your collar is still biting into your neck. You’re being split open on John’s cock, your arousal turning your thighs sticky. Drool trickling from your mouth and sticking to your cheek.

You don’t know when it ends. When you come, thighs trembling, or when John paints your walls. You also don’t know when it starts again.

All you know is that it becomes a daily thing, lapsing into a weekly thing. You go to bed in your cage but, sometimes, when you behave, John will let you sleep on the foot of his bed. He’ll clip your nails for you and keep you well-groomed. Brushing your hair, cutting it for you. Bathing you in a galvanized tub out back.

Unlike with Dog, John will even let you eat while he eats dinner. He’ll unzip his jeans and let you slobber at his fat cock while he sips away at his blended whiskey and polishes off his meal with his full belly and his soon-to-be empty balls, mumbling all the while about how much of a perfect pet you are, how he’ll never let you go.

Not that he was planning to, anyhow.

[shxnigxmi]

Okay… so I know that I said Gaz would be next and over half of the smutshot is written but I’m stumped on the end and it needs to be edited— so like…. what if I just wrote Ghoap with a Jessica Rabbit male reader instead? 🌝

[strigital]

hi hello i'm still alive tho barely and let's just say college is hell and also the meds are making my brain act up sooo...

anyways i'm so deep in john wick brainrot rn and before i say anything else just pls have her, the babygorl and my latest one true love mademoiselle Barnett <33

EDIT: have some more Maries and ans a John c:

[myfamilycrestisthedemonofdeath]

I'm thinking of how the 141 men react to you cracking your joints, either purposefully in Price's case, or accidentally on the others. Suggestive towards the end , MDNI

~~~

Like with John, you do that trend where you put pretzel sticks inside your mouth and ask him to pop your back and then bite down into the pretzels as you act limp. He'll immediately pick you up and start rushing you out of the door to bring you to an ER, panic evident in his face, jaw clenched, but his eyes are focused. He looks at you sternly when you explain to him what happened before bringing you back inside the room, still in his arms, and you can still feel his heart racing, muscles still tense but calming down as you soothe him, feeling bad about your prank.

You're laying on your stomach on the floor in Simon's case, just being in the way of where he wants to move, maybe with various objects around you as you are occupied with your phone. He'll ask you to relocate your activities, but you refuse to get up, and so he warns he'll just walk over you. He nudges your side with his foot, and when you just grunt at him, he places his foot on your lower back and exerts slight pressure, eliciting a groan from you until you both hear a loud pop from your back. He'll drop immediately to his knees, not minding if some of your stuff is digging into his legs as he worriedly checks on you, checking multiple times that he didn't hurt you. You just tell him how good that felt as you lay limply, assuring him that you are okay, that was a good pop. He'll then carefully pick you up and move you to your bed even with you protesting, and then comes back with all your stuff and rearranging them around you.

Maybe in Johnny's case, you two are sparring, he's got you in between him and the ground mat. Both of you sweaty as he tries to subdue you while you are doing your best to fight him off. He gets you into a headlock with his (strong, meaty) biceps, and you twist your head a little. Both of you froze as you hear your neck joints pop, and he quickly loosens his hold on you, cradling your neck with utmost gentleness, worriedly asking if you are okay and if you can still feel your limbs. He'll lay you down gently and refuse to let you get up until you assure him multiple times that your neck just popped, it didn't hurt and you are fine. He'll beam his worried blue eyes over you and refuse to continue sparring, opting to just hug you protectively into his chest after, leaving you with no choice but to be sticky with both of your sweat cooling off.

Or you are making out with Kyle, his big, warm hands roaming over your body, your curves, as you grab at his slender neck, both consumed in fiery passion. You gently push him off you, away from the wall where you both heatedly started when your simmering gazes and coy words weren't enough to dampen the heat in between, and you guide him towards the sofa, him falling back on it with your nudge, his brown eyes roaming over you appreciatively. You slot your lips with him again, trying to clamber over and straddle him, when you hear not just one but both of your knees pop as you try to settle. He pries his mouth off you urgently, moving you to relieve pressure off your knees by sitting you sideways in his lap, inspecting and checking over as you laughingly told him it was just your joints cracking. Oh you best believe he will be the only one on his knees when he picks you up and brings you to your bedroom.

~~~

Power is out in my house since last night due to thunderstorm, which is apparently when my creative juices start flowing. I'm glad I'm a prepper who has a powerbank for my phone as well as a battery-powered fan, a bunch of flashlights, and a hand-crank emergency radio/flashlight/charger

[flawdchaos]

Spilled Drinks

Robert Rosenthal x Reader

Word Count - 1,735

authors note : hello friends, i have never written anything like this before and posted it. i had some free time today and an idea and dreamt this up. it is far from perfect but i hope you enjoy it, nonetheless. thank you!

The muffled yelling of multiple voices was enough to drag Y/N out of the daze she had fallen into. Her workday had started early and ended late leaving her feet and head throbbing - a shower and her bed, more of a cot really, were calling her name. Her venture to the communal showers she shared with her fellow nursing staff was quickly interrupted as Violet and Helen crossed her path.

With a tilt of her head Violet spoke up. “And where do you think you are rushing off to?”

“To shower and get some sleep.” As soon as the final word fell from Y/N’s lips her two friends were quickly shaking their heads in protest.

“You promised! You always say a person is just as good as their word. It will just be for a drink or two and then you can come and get as much sleep as your heart desires. I swear to you.” Violet said, wagging her finger in front of Y/N, like a mother would do a troubled child.

After a brief glare between the two women, Y/N sighed, hung her in defeat, and turned back in the direction of her bunk.

“I don’t even know what to wear to an army base bar. Those men already don’t take us seriously and you think this is gonna make it any better?”

“The more you fight it, the worse it’s gonna be Y/N. Just for once stop living and breathing being a nurse and just be a girl surrounded by a bunch of good looking men.” Hazel spoke up for the first time that night before being met with another glare from Y/N’s direction.

Y/N knew both her friends had a solid point. In the ten months she had been working at Thorpe Abbotts she had never allowed herself a break. She did her best to maintain a positive reputation among the men she treated but her friends, and now even herself, had noticed that the weight of the job had begun to take its toll. A night away from the blood, cries, and medicine couldn’t be all too bad - for her sake.

The August heat was enough to force a light sweat upon the girls as they journeyed from their bunks to the bar. As they stepped inside the building, Hazel quickly pulled her powder from her purse and turned to Y/N blotting away at certain areas of her face.

“You have to talk to at least one man tonight. One. And not someone you’ve treated.” Violet stated and lightly shoved Y/N forward to the bar, shooing with her hand. “Get a drink, enjoy the night.’

“One cosmopolitan, please” Y/N stated after reaching the bar, flashing a smile. She hoped and prayed, as the guy poured away, that the alcohol would be enough to calm the nerves she felt bubbling in her stomach. They only increased as she looked around and spotted Colonels, Captains and Majors. Leaned against the other side of the bar were the now infamous friends, Buck and Bucky. Gale Cleven was nothing but kind and a gentleman but Y/N had overheard talk of a girlfriend back home and John Egan, well, he was John Egan. There was nothing else to say. A few months prior, during a training exercise he wound up hurt and sitting in front of her in the infirmary bay, clutching his elbow with a shit eating grin plastered to his face as she wrapped his arm. Conversation flowed easily with the major but Violet had urged her to speak to someone new.

The bartender brought her from her daze as he placed the drink in front of her and she quickly took a sip. As she pushed back from the bar, she ran directly into a tall frame that had tried to squeeze in beside her, red juice spilling on both of their newly starched clothes.

Before an apology could tumble from her mouth, the man was already grasping her arm to steady her and ushering for his friends to grab a towel from the bar.

“I am so sorry, ma’am. I wasn’t watching where I was going and I ju-” she cut his rambling off

“No, that was all my fault. I was lost in thought and then - oh my god” taking a quick glance down to the tan and brown jacket, her eyes shot open even wider, “your uniform. I can’t believe I got that all over your dress jacket.”

An arm reached between the two of them holding a towel that Y/N quickly grabbed and started dabbing along the man’s chest, steadying herself by grabbing onto his arm.

“This is the first night I ever came out and I just ruined someone’s jacket, oh my god.”

A large hand landed on top of hers, stopping her from continuing her attempts at cleaning up the mess she, well both of them, had made.

“I promise you, ma’am, it was my doing. Let me order you another drink. This ones on me.”

For the first time during this whole encounter, she looked up to the man she had lost her Cosmopolitan to. She was silent as she stood with his hand still over hers, quickly losing her will to deny the drink once her eyes locked with his blue ones, a small smile adorning his face. All she could do was nod. He took a step forward, placing his hand on the small of her back to turn her with him towards the bar.

“A cosmo, right?” he questioned and a small nod was directed his way. “Another cosmo for the lady and whisky, neat, for me please?” The bartender quickly got to work leaving the two strangers standing closely together in silence. The man quietly cleared his throat and stuck out his hand.

“Robert Rosenthal, but most of the guys call me Rosie.” Y/N took his outstretched hand and lightly shook it up and down.

“Y/N Y/L/N”

Robert grabbed the drinks the bartender sat before him and motioned his head towards an empty table across the dance floor.

“Would you like to grab a seat? I think you owe me at least a conversation after this.” he said, looking down at the tan shirt that was now stained slightly pink. A small smile made its way across Y/N’s face.

“It’s the least I could do.”

Robert led the way to the table, nestled in the corner and sat the drinks down. In a swift motion he pulled a seat out and ushered Y/N to take it. As soon as he sat down, a wave of confidence overtook Y/N’s once anxious mind.

“So, Rosie, what is it that you do?” she asked, raising the glass to her lips. She had some worry that the appearance of a woman drinking alcohol would be ‘unladylike’ but all of her care went out the window when she realized with everything she had seen and done, it was the smallest token of appreciation.

“I’m a pilot. I’ve been flying for a while now.”

“Are you any good?” she teased.

“I sure hope. I have learned the hard way making impressions isn't all too easy here. I just embarrassed myself in front of those two majors.” He said, moving his head to the right.

“Buck and Bucky?” he answered with a small nod. “Don’t sweat it, Buck is too nice to make fun of you and Bucky will forget about it in about two hours when the whisky finally hits and his favorite song comes on.” Rosie cracked a smile at her, shaking his head at the thought of the once intimidating major belting out show tunes.

“Thank you, that makes me feel better.”

“Anytime.”

Rosie took a large gulp of his drink and leaned forward on his forearms.

“So, Miss Y/N, how did you wind up here in paradise?”

“I’m a nurse. I’ve been here almost a year. I still don’t know what I'm meant for.” She admitted, lifting her glass to her mouth to slightly hide her face.

“How do you mean?” he quipped.

She took an inhale, taking a moment to carefully collect her words.

“It’s not easy. A lot of these guys come here, make friends with their crewmates and drink and sleep their feelings away. I can’t really blame them. They’re fighting a war for Christ's sake. But, us women, see what comes back. The trauma, the injuries - all of it - and we get sideways looks for drinking a shitty cosmopolitan every once and a while.” she laughed sarcastically as she finished the rest of her drink. “I love helping people but it gets hard.” He nodded, looking down at his own drink and giving it a swirl.

“I never thought of it that way. You ladies get the best and worst of us.”

She sat for a moment, looking at her hands folded in her lap.

“Do you see those two girls over there?”

“By the bar?”

“Mhm. Those are my friends. They have spent the entire ten months we have been here urging me to come out, get away from the bubble I've made for myself and I fought against it until tonight. I thought it would be a disaster. Then I got here and got a drink and told myself it would be fine, only to spill it all over you.”

“Y/N, it's really no bother.”

“I know, because as crazy as it sounds - I am so glad that I did.”

A small crept across Rosie’s face as he sat back in his seat, downing the rest of his whisky.

“And why’s that?”

“Because, it gave me the perfect excuse to talk to you Mr. Rosenthal.” cheeks turning bright red as she directed her eye contact towards him.

“Well then, I’d be a fool not to ask for a dance Mrs. Y/L/N.” standing from his seat and outstretching a hand, which Y/N gladly took.

Together, hand in hand, they walked to the dance floor where Rosie pulled her close. Y/N settled her head on his chest, watching as their feet moved in harmony.

“Oh, and Y/N,” he spoke up with a small smile perched on his lips, leaving her to tilt her head up towards the pilot “, the next round is on you.”

[rodolfoparras]

YO CUZ- Picture this: Price is an experienced man. He has done a lot and experienced a lot.

So of course his blowjob is divine, and his cunt grip is just perfect. He knows how to please a man. But the point is: He was never properly pleased. All the guys he's ever been with were only after their own pleasure, ignoring his. Price cringes when he sees a man with a big cock who doesn't know how to use it, and who eventually even ends up hurting his pussy. And he also hates that no one knows how to eat him out properly! Damn it! he just wants to cum!

At this point he has lost hope of finding someone who knows how to satisfy him the way he satisfies other guys.

Well, he thought that until he met you.

He went to a gay club as usual, and locked eyes with you. You were in the corner, drinking something alone. He approaches, and begins his seduction. Sweet words here, touches there... and when he least realizes he's already in bed in a hotel, kissing you as if his life depends on it.

Quickly discarding each other's clothes, Price lies down on the bed with her legs spread, her hairy cunt on display.

Price almost rolls his eyes with disdain when he sees you kneel, pulling him closer with the intention of eating him out. 'Another one' He thinks to himself.

But imagine his surprise when he feels your lips on his cunt, DEVOURING him with precision, your tongue playing with his clit, making him moans loudly, his toes curling and head falling back. John moans. Real moans.

A few minutes pass, and John is already at his limit... and you're still devouring him! Your fingers moving in and out of his tight entrance, making him shiver.

John's vision starts to darken, hid moans getting louder and louder and his legs even more shaky. Is he going to... cum? with someone?!

And when he least expects it, John explodes into his orgasm, squirting right in your face; you, contentment drinking his juices like water, prolonging his orgasm.

John remains lying down, panting. An already exhausted mess...

Imagine his surprise when he sees you standing up, with a grin on your face; your cock angrily hard, throbbing and drooling.

This made him realize that the night had barely begun.

(RAAAAAH, I just wanted to say that I love the things you write. You and Enbry are my inspirations to improve my writing and be nasty. KISSES😙)

HELLOO KICKING MY LEGS AND TWIRLING MY HAIR bc price becoming insatiable? Wanting to go round after round? Becoming possessive over your afterwards because no one has made him feel this way and there’s no chance in hell he’s losing you easily

and thank you sosososso much for your kind words it’s an honor that you seen me as an inspiration and that love my writing thank you genuinely!! Just know your writing is absolutely amazing I love the way you paint the scenery using words and how easily the plot flows you should def think about posting your works!!

[laurentidal]

A Pattern of Behavior

Sequel to Mama Bear.

Mrs. Benson drifted into the office in a lazy manner nearly two hours after the principal called her. She seemed unconcerned and unbothered by being summoned to the school for the fifth time this year. In fact, she was smiling slightly.

"Tammy, Tammy, Tammy…" she muttered, staring at the topless principal. Tammy still had one hand in her panties, and her mouth was sagging open like she was just too exhausted to close it. She had ordered her secretary to alert her when Mrs. Benson arrived so that she could continue to masturbate in peace. Unfortunately, her secretary was in a similar state on the other side of the door.

Mrs. Benson closed the door to the office softly and stepped closer. The principal was somewhat aware of her presence, but was still preoccupied with her work.

"It seems my son really did a number on you, Tammy. Look at you. Tits out. Fingers working that pussy. And right here in front of a student's mother. You must be a real whore."

"Whore…" Tammy groaned subconsciously.

Mrs. Benson pulled off her own top and sat down in the chair opposite the principal. She heard the secretary cum loudly outside.

"You called me here to talk about a 'troubling pattern of behavior.' Were you referring to your inability in control yourself? You must've been. Surely you were calling me for help with your behavioral compulsions. I mean just fucking look at yourself. Disgraceful."

Tammy moaned and groped at her chest.

"Can't even cum, can you?"

"No," she whimpered. "Need…"

"Shut up! Last time I was in this office for some ill-conceived charge against my son I told you there would be consequences if you maligned him again. I told him that if he ever set foot in this office again, he had my express permission to use his abilities to punish you. I keep my promises, Ms. Johns. You're proof of that. Look at my tits, you dumb slut."

Immediately, Tammy's eyes - half-lidded and bleary - locked on Mrs. Benson's chest.

"These are the tits that control your mind. You remember?"

"Yes, Mistress."

"Cum suck on them and maybe I'll give you your release."

Tammy lunged for Mrs. Benson so eagerly that she fell to the floor. The mother laughed harshly as Tammy crawled awkwardly around the desk and climbed up into her lap to suckle on her perfect nipples. Mrs. Benson hummed happily as Tammy drank the milk that flowed into her mouth. They say in silence for some time, enjoying the left nipple then the right, until Paul's mother ran her fingers through Tammy's hair and gently eased her down to the floor.

She unzipped her pants and Tammy leaned in, understanding what was expected of her. Mrs. Benson's hips bucked into Tammy's talented tongue urging her deeper. Deeper into her cunt. Deeper into her trance. Until finally Mrs. Benson covered the principal's face in her juices.

"You did very well for a brainless whore. You may cum, Tammy."

Tammy's entire body erupted with hours of pent up pleasure. She tried to scream, but her voice gave out. She knelt there, mouth open fully, silently shrieking - every muscle tense, every artery on fire - until she collapsed to the floor in a sweaty heap.

Mrs. Benson stood and put her clothes back on. She looked down at the woman, lying in a puddle of her own submission.

"My son is not to be bothered again."

All Tammy could do was stare up at the ceiling and grunt incoherently.

"I'll take that as a 'Yes, Mistress.' You'll get control of your body again in a few minutes. When you do, put your clothes back on, for God's sake. This is a school."

Tammy opened walked out of the office, locking it behind her. She blew a kiss at the secretary who blushed furiously. She was proud of Paul for standing up for himself. She'd have to get him a little treat for getting so tough.

More to come.

Thanks for reading! If you are a fan of my work, consider buying me a coffee. Any contribution is insanely appreciated. 💖

[k-marzolf]

Billy thot, imagine being his maid and hating eyes.

Fem!reader, uneducated reader, power imbalance, implied smoking. I’m sorry for the grammar, but I have a specific way she speaks in my head. Religious references.

I’ve been reading Wuthering Heights, and it got the creative juices flowing. Sorry, it’s short, but I do plan to do little blurbs with these two.

x

Poisoned Apple #1

He noticed you moved like a ghost, silent and invisible. Your shoulders hunched in, never making eye contact. “Don’t like eyes, sir. I don’ like the pupil. Lookin’ like a non sentient being. Alls I see are the parts, and yous no longer real.”

You walked up the stairs without so much as a creak, staring at a painting by John William Waterhouse, looking contemplative as you touched the canvas, almost as though it was palpable to you.

A yearning crossed your face, before a frown marred your brow, pulling at your lips, never looking at the eyes of the woman. But mesmerized by her just the same.

He was mesmerized by you. The way the dim lighting on the stairs, illuminating your hair like a halo. You made him want to tempt you for a taste of paradise, because you had tempted him, like a siren calling to a sailor.

Billy put his hands in his pockets, “You like that, hummingbird?”

Your eyes snapped to him, somewhere away from his eyes making your eyes look dazed. “You’re more beautiful. Like Lucifer. Bettin’ you’d tempt me with a fruit.” You said, playing nervously with your hem.

Billy hummed, “Funny, the Bible never once said it was satan who tempted Eve.” His fingers played with an unlit cigarette in his hands.

You reached forward, pulling the cigarette from his hands, breaking it. “Shouldn’t smoke, sir. You’ll get the cancer, and I’ll be alone, wit’ only the birds and animals. Do ya want me to become Snow White?” You asked seriously, pocketing the broken cigarette.

His lips curved up, “I’ll stay away from cigarettes if you stay away from apples, hummingbird.” He turned then, on the stairs, walking down them.

The apple was poisoned but they still took a bite, hoping for sweetness.

They were gonna make such fools of themselves.

x

@e-dubbc11 @terry2227 @bookloverfilmoholic @aoi-targaryen @snowkestrel @milea @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @thejanecampaign @briannareneea985 @firequeensposts @idaofinfinity @firexfate @rosaleenablack @tortilla-chips-and-allioli @cant-help-simping @kayhi808

[plum-pitt]

Holy shit. I just realized i’ve never even yapped about my headcanons for the rise guys. This is a criminal offense on my part! Must be rectified immediately!!

Disclaimer: Don’t think there’s a lot of hot takes here, but feel free to disagree and talk about your own interpretations if you’d like!! Headcanon is fun and i love discussing it. it’s all fictional and since the text doesn’t give us much concrete shit on these topics we’re all free to make our own, equally valid readings of it. :3

Leo- Transmasc He/Him, gay as fuck who here could’ve guessed, ADHD haver, definitely smokes weed. Fluent in spanish from watching telenovellas as a child. Wants to be a flirty whore/aff so fucking bad but whenever he sees someone he’s legitimately attracted to any charisma he might’ve had gets thrown out the window and into a woodchipper in favor of helpless stuttering. His portalling mishaps early in the series have led him to silly sidequests all over the world that he just,,,, doesn’t really talk about. This won’t come up until they’ll end up in some random ass place and find out just how well travelled and connected he actually is. He’s also got a job at Hueso’s for fun and extra cash to fund his addiction to pot and ordering stupid shit he doesn’t need online. He’s a server, wears rollerskates to “move faster” on the job, just ends up running into shit more often than not. Great with the kids tho, performs little sleight of hand magic tricks and tells jokes to make them happy, never had a fussy kid he couldn’t calm down in a snap. Calls himself Hueso’s nephew and nepotism hire, ignoring the fact that he’s actually a decently competent and well liked employee outside of the several skating related accidents. Shell was cracked badly in the invasion, when they sealed it up, he asked Mikey to paint the healed cracks gold, mimicking the japanese practice of Kintsugi.

Mikey- Definitely queer but not into labels ;3 He/Him is what he defaults to, but any pronouns work for them. Semi fluent in italian, don’t ask me why, just feels right, let chef boy speak italian dammit. One of those mfs on instagram who insists on posting pictures of the food he makes, except his actually looks good and not painfully mediocre so they get a pass. Has been tagging walls in hard to reach spots all over the city for years at this point, after Raph confronted her abt it, fearing that he’d get caught someday, he told him that he’d stop. Yeah, that was a lie he kept doing it, just sneakier now. Makes money off of art commissions, still broke as hell tho cuz he spends it all on bougie ass ingredients and art supplies. Post canon definitely delved more into mystics and spirituality, trains with draxum but also took up meditation in his free time. Fucks with weed and the occasional psychedelic when working on art, says it helps get the creative juices flowing. Considering asking donnie to forge some documents for him so he can attend college online and earn a psych degree. His speech patterns flip on a dime between vague, wise fortune cookie therapist man and typical gen-z slang so abruptly it gives anyone not already familiar with him total whiplash.

Donnie- NonBinary They/He Bisexual but i can’t decide if they’re the kind that can’t stop pulling or can’t pull to save his life. Fluent in several languages, ASL, French, Russian, Japanese. Actually one of their few acedemic endeavors that he doesn’t typically show off and gloat about, makes it all the scarier when his siblings hear him muttering vaguely threatening sounding shit in russian when shit doesn’t go their way. Has tried most substances for “research purposes”, ultimately decided he doesn’t like the feeling of their big ol brain being hindered under the influence, this has a few exceptions tho, mainly when it’s with Leo. Has John Bishops IP address and threatens to drop it on 4chan to “see what happens” every time he tries messing with their family or stopping him from “borrowing” material resources from the US government. Almost considered bs-ing his way into college before they used a cloaking broach to shadow april at school for like 2 days. It was there they learned that the education system fucking sucks and he probably knows more than most professors about his topics of interest anyway. Does freelance work for cash, as far as their brothers know they’re not building and selling anything dangerous (which is code for probably arming both sides in a far away military conflict with deathrays). Spends his free time cyber bullying children on roblox and twitter, and caring for their greenhouse of plants that all have names. (yes he grows weed. his GeniusGrown™️ zaza is known far and wide for its consistently excellent quality. and no, Leo does not get a family discount. Mikey does tho.)

Raph- Someone please send the big man some help😭 he/him(?) Definitely queer in some way shape or form but refuses to confront any identity crisis because he’s just so busy keeping his dumb ass siblings outta shit. Tried weed once and will never touch a substance again, makes his anxiety spike real bad when he doesn’t feel in full control of himself. Runs around with Cassandra and sometimes Jr to do vigilante justice on the side of he and his siblings’ usual patrols. Living garbage disposal and i mean that quite literally. He has and will eat anything, rocks, toys, silverware, sometimes on accident, sometimes on a dare, and sometimes just because he wants to. He grew up gnawing on the legs of furniture, rusty sewer pipes, really any nonliving thing that he could fit his choppers around (unlike donnie who just bit any living creature within a 5 mile radius of his location). Since the invasion made Leo step up as leader Raph has been able to step back a little bit and not have everything in a chokehold, he has a mini crisis about his place in the family and his sense of identity without being a leader. Tries to hide how much it’s affecting him but ofc, living with mikey, this does not last and his ass FINALLY gets chucked (very lovingly) into therapy. Loves to knit, definitely in some kind of old lady facebook group centered around it (he has so much nursing home gossip floating around in his brain hehe)

Alright that’s all for the teetlez. lmk if yall wanna hear about my thoughts on the rest of the main cast, or some of the side cast! Can’t promise i’ll have this much to say on all of em but i’ve definitely got thoughts lol. I might even make a post diving into different character dynamics. idk tho, my fingies are tired typing all that shit😭

Anyway i hope u enjoyed my ramblings, have a lovely day :3

[polkadot358]

I made some sprites and boss battle animations heavily based on the content made for the john loves you au by @zzoupz and @salmonandsoup . Big props to them for creating and expanding this au along with every other contributor who helped get my creative juices flowing! 

I have tagged it but just in case !!FLASHING LIGHTS!! for the gif below

Details, ideas and ramblings on the sprites are below the read more!(I am warning you that it is long and that this is my first time posting)

All sprites are facing to the right and are supposed to be the walking downwards sprites.

John: 

For John and Gary I just swapped around their bodies and kept their arms so that their silhouettes would be the same (or at least similar) to the ones in the Faith game. This made them a lot easier to design alongside the fact Zoup gave them distinguishable features (thank you!). The first sprite is John cloaked, second is uncloaked and third is his ‘action move’ like the one in game when he holds up his cross. 

For his phase 1 transformation I like to think this is when Gary and Amy are properly kicking his ass and Buer does not like that so John starts to fervently pray to his “angels” to save him. They do but start to transform John as they feed off his fear of failing his “God” and of being killed by Gary and Amy. As the protagonists deal with the “angels” John escapes (to mirror canon!Gary’s fight and highlight John’s cowardice) and prays in his private sanctuary where he can directly speak to “God”. 

Amy and Gary catch up, leading to John’s phase 2 transformation where Buer has had enough and directly possesses John at the peak of his terror, fully transforming him. You may notice in this transformation that John’s blood forms a cross, I did this because of  ~symbolism~. The flashing yellow references when canon!John first received the golden cross from Father Allred in the Martin house when his faith was strongest. For swap!John he is literally being given the cross directly into his chest and his faith is also at its strongest, although it’s out of pure blind faith to his “God” from fear rather than it being a conscious decision. It’s kinda mocking the canon flashing but its use still means “John” is becoming stronger. Also, the reason the antlers move is cuz I read an interview with Airdorf where he said he liked to keep his demons abstract to allow the human mind to make it horrifying. I know he was referring to the shapes of the demons but I took it and made the antlers move to allow people to think “oh, are those antlers or bloody hands?” Clever, maybe, I dunno.

Gary:

I’ll repeat what I said above but I just swapped John and Gary’s bodies and kept the arms the same. I made Gary look like he was wearing a cassock, gave him his hat and cane and voila, it’s his first sprite. His second sprite is his ‘action move’ where he whips out his bible and leans on his cane. salmonandsoup said how the AU would be a two player game, I could see this being done by giving Gary and Amy individual strengths and weaknesses. Gary would be a slow mover but would be the only one able to fully kill demons with his biblical knowledge. Amy would be speedy and could hold items but would only be able to stun or ward away demons.

Amy:

Humans in the Faith game all have that stick figure look outside of Garcia and Allred who get to be a bit knobbly. This is why Amy has a pretty basic look but I gave her some knobbly-ness in her arms as reference to her canon design and attempted to give her some shoulder length hair, this is her first sprite. Her second and third sprites give light to the idea I talked about in Gary’s section where she would be the item keeper. These aren’t her ‘action moves’ though cuz I imagine her swinging the crowbar around and maybe lifting the lamp higher.

Lisa:

The first sprite is based off of canon!Amy and canon!Lisa designs. I gave her that hanging hair that canon!Amy has and used canon!Lisa’s skinny and less connected arms to inform the rest of her limbs to make her more demonic looking. For the second sprite I made it closer to Zoup’s design for Lisa, giving her more wild hair and clawed hands.

Miriam: Another original look, I wasn’t too sure if she was a nun in this AU but gave her the mask that salmonandsoup mentioned based off of her face in her canon design. I decided to give her a nice grandmotherly silhouette, making her shorter than her canon sprite, giving her a bun and a nice dress to tie it together. Overall, just a sweet old lady with good posture. 

Garcia:

The least inspired of the bunch. I just took the hooded design of canon!Gary and slapped Garcia’s arms on there. I gave him his canon colouring even though the cloak should be blue because his grey head did not mix well with the blue clothing in his second sprite. Sorry, Garcia, at least he looks kinda like the grim reaper.

Last thing, I promise! I thought about the themes that the swap AU game could explore that would contrast those made in the OG Faith game. The AU game could explore how limiting faith that is too extreme can be or how faith can become twisted compared to the originals message that through strong and pure faith anything can be overcome. These are ideas that salmonandsoup and vendettapandav have talked about I just think they deserve to be key themes.

[deelaundry]

May Prompts (as in, I may write to these prompts)

@calaisreno is very nicely providing prompts each day in May to help us get the writing juices flowing. #MayPrompts2024 I'll probably use these to get back to updating my journal-style Sherlock fic in which John and Sherlock have a committed queerplatonic relationship. (If you haven't read it, John mostly writes his posts in third-person. He knows it's weird but he does it anyway.)

Prompt 1: Open

(Posted on AO3 as Chapter 23 in the fic)

Bill Murray is getting married! So chuffed for him. Great bloke, just great. Made Afghanistan a bit more bearable, having a mate like Bill around.

And Deborah sounds lovely, from everything Bill said at the pub.

Bill had hand-delivered the wedding invitation as they met up. John had opened the envelope to find a second envelope – why do wedding invitations do that? He’d asked Bill, who had no idea, and they had a bit of a laugh about it.

The inside envelope was addressed to Dr. John H. Watson (the cheek of Bill, using his middle initial) and Guest. Bill had asked who John might bring, and John said, Sherlock of course, and then there was a bit of a longer conversation, to help Bill get his mind fully around the idea that a straight bloke would want to commit his life to another man.

They’d talked about Sherlock before, of course they had, but it hadn’t really sunk in for Bill, what it meant. Just confusion, it turned out, not lack of support. ‘Course not, not a guy like Bill.

Wonder what Sherlock will want to wear to the wedding.

[savemefromanepicoftimewasted]

For the requests currently in my ask box, I am working on them! I just don’t want to put out crappy fics for you guys! So this can help get the juices flowing!

[zanazirafanfic]

WIP Whenever

Now that the weather's cooling off, I'm finally getting some of my creative juices flowing again. (Can I just say, summer SUUUUCKS?)

Here is my planned fic schedule for the the rest of August and September. (I've got my publication schedule outlined through the end of the year, but will be releasing it a month at a time.)

8/28/24 - "A Wee Bit Wobbly" Whumpcember Day 13 - "Restraints" + "Collapse" - Ch. 2 Sean whump, guilty Arthur, helpful Charles + Javier

9/9/24 - "Like A Drowned Rat," Whumpcember Day 14 - "Drowning" - Ch. 2 limp!Arthur, reluctantly-heroic Micah

9/11/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 14 - "Getting Snowed In" - 1896. Jake and Sadie Adler find ways to pass the time during their first blizzard together.

9/14/24 - "Cloghinne Winds," Whumpcember Day 15 - "Hallucinating" (idea inspired by @tiredcowboyy) - 1907. Dutch Van der Linde angst/grief, hurt-no-comfort.

9/16/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 15 - "Icicles" + "Someone Spiked the Eggnog!" - 1910. A day of fun and frolicking in the snow in the MacGuire-Jones-O'Shea household, followed by a night of mischief and merriment (and eggnog.)

9/17/24 - "Ringing A Bell," Whumpcember Day 16 - "Head Injury" - pre-canon/pre-John, injured!Hosea and worried! Dutch & Arthur

9/24/24 - "Where There's Smoke," Whumpcember Day 17 - "Fire" - Ch. 3, feat. scared!Jack and heroic/hurt!John

9/26/24 - 25DCC, Ch. 16 - "Family invited an old crush/first love to a dinner party." - 1895. Dutch and Hosea plan an early Christmas dinner, with a surprise visitor for Arthur.

@photo1030 @cassietrn

[sweetdreamsjeff]

Jeff Buckley: Sketches (For My Sweetheart The Drunk) (Columbia)

Jim Irvin, MOJO, June 1998

FANS OF Grace might find this album tough going. For one thing, it's hard to divorce the circumstances of its existence from the music – some of which is very beautiful, yet you know it wouldn't sound this way if Jeff Buckley had lived. In other words, you're listening to this record because he died.

Secondly, there are several moments that seem too private, things we probably shouldn't be hearing. At these times you might experience the same uneasy fascination you'd get from illicitly reading someone's diary. You might also find yourself distracted by questions like, "Who chose this running order?", "Why are there two versions of two songs with nothing much to choose between them?" or "Was this song finished?"

We'll never know if Jeff Buckley wanted anybody to hear the ugly clutter of ‘Haven't You Heard’, we can be certain he had more in mind for the complex ‘Murder Suicide Meteor Slave’ than the detuned, trebly mush it is here and we can only wonder at how its lovely Beatle-ish interlude would have turned out. Did he lay down the home-made cover of ‘Back In New York City’ (a Genesis song from The Lamb Lies Down On Broadway) with a view to putting it on record or simply for his own amusement, something to get the creative juices flowing? Is there any real value in hearing tracks as nascent as ‘Demon John’ or ‘Your Flesh Is So Nice’ – barely written songs, with arrangements just hinted at by slapdash guitars and extemporised melodies you know he'd have nailed later or abandoned completely? Is it right to include performances where his singing is unfocused, lazy or tired? Or those where the band are just feeling their way?

As I understand it, from talking to his management shortly after his death, Jeff Buckley's unreleased legacy runs thus: the remainder of the Live At Sin-E recordings; radio sessions and solo spots such as those on the French ‘Live At The Bataclan’ EP (which he hated); one outtake from Grace, ‘Forget Her’ (removed to make room for ‘So Real’); the "live in the studio" solo sets recorded during the making of Grace; a series of 24-track live recordings with the full band (some of these, like the extended version of Alex Chilton's ‘Kanga-Roo’, have appeared on B-sides and promo discs); the sessions recorded with Tom Verlaine in Memphis a few months before his death; a few tracks recorded in New York soon afterwards; and a large number of 4-track demos Buckley cut in the last weeks of his life.

After he drowned, the inevitable question of what to do with this material had to be faced. Manager Dave Lory spent days going through the tapes found in Jeff's house. He had to listen to everything, no matter what it said on the box, as Jeff had a habit of cutting demos on whatever came to hand. Sure enough, he found one new song halfway through side two of an old Michael Bolton promo cassette.

He then met up with Steve Berkowitz (Jeff's A&R man) and Andy Wallace (the producer of Grace), to make a definitive inventory of all the extant recordings and dub the demos onto digital masters. These were three of the men who knew Jeff's working methods best and they argued every day about what might be done with this stuff, which songs Jeff would have been happy with, how best to release the material or, indeed, if any of it should come out at all.

Just as they were finishing this process, they were 'fired' by Jeff's mother, Mary Guibert, who'd inherited her son's estate and assumed the responsibility of compiling an album with another Columbia A&R executive, Don DeVito, (who'd not worked extensively with Buckley while he was alive). They asked Buckley's friend, Chris Cornell of Soundgarden, to "sit in Jeff's seat". Andy Wallace was rehired to complete his mixes of the Verlaine sessions which make up Disc 1 of this collection.

When Buckley completed those tracks he told Lory that he "couldn't find his soul" in them. He was aware there was a lot of work still to do before he could cut a worthy follow-up to Grace, so he temporarily dismissed his band and retreated to his rented house in Memphis to revise the songs and write new ones. (Some of these, ‘Mood Swing Whiskey’, ‘Sky Blue Skin’, ‘Don't Listen To Anyone But Me’, ‘Woke Up In A Strange Place’ and ‘Let's Bomb The Moonlight’ remain in the can.) Disc 2 features seven of those demos, retakes of two of the songs on Disc 1, some CD-ROM material (which was not available for review) and a stray radio recording from 1992 of the country standard ‘Satisfied Mind’ ("I went with a satisfied mind"), clearly chosen as a pointed closer.

Diametrically opposed to it, Disc 1's opener, ‘The Sky Is A Landfill’, is a bleak, relentless torrent of anger. As "evil blacks the sky" Buckley advises that we "Don't suck the milk of flaccid Bill K Public's empty promise to the people". "This way of life is so devised to snuff out the mind that moves," he continues, moved to send a mail bomb to "Mr Strong Arm", who is "useless like the cops at the scene of a crime" Although impressive, it's a curious track to open with, throwing a grim shadow over what follows. It takes a few listens, then, but gradually Sketches' pearls begin to shine through.

‘Vancouver’ kicks off with a Byrdsian riff and a beautiful double-tracked falsetto, spinning into a dizzy song driven by piano, fuzz bass and crashing guitars. ‘Nightmares By The Sea’ is great, too. After an intro reminiscent of Nirvana's ‘Come As You Are’, it turns into a churning pop song – and check the lyrics: "Stay with me under these waves tonight/Be free for once in your life tonight! Bluebeard's young and handsome/So new to your bedroom floor/You know damn well where you're gone." Likewise, the a cappella ‘You And I’ (again, a song whose melody was not fully developed) starts with the line "Oh, the calm below that poisoned river wild". It can't be too long before someone ekes out a morbid dissertation concerning the water imagery in these songs.

However, it's the second track that will be this collection's calling card. ‘Everybody Here Wants You’ draws from the same divine well as ‘Lover, You Should've Come Over’ on Grace. It's a lump-in-the-throat soul ballad which sways like Smokey Robinson's ‘Cruisin'’ or Chic's ‘At Last I Am Free’. Jeff sings it in a tender falsetto with a hint of jealous ire shading the delicious, pleading chorus – "Everybody here wants you! Everybody here thinks he needs you/I'll be waiting right here just to show you our love will blow it all away" – as the bass tumbles along lyrically. Awkward middle-four aside, it's an instant classic. And it serves to make the lesser tracks here an even greater source of sadness, simultaneously reminding us that this wonderful voice has sung its last.

There's a lot of fine material still unheard and we must hope its trustees are careful with it. One thing's sure: a definitive selection will never exist, except in our heads and, one day perhaps, on our personal 'Ultimate Jeff' compilations.

At best, Sketches has much the same function and effect as The Beatles Anthology collections. It's a document of a great musical mind cranking into gear, a series of clues to what might have been. If you were hoping for a record to equal Grace, well, you'll be disappointed. But be assured that Jeff Buckley's sketches overshadow most artists' completed works.

[muiitoloko]

Me: Ugh, I've been staring at this blank page for hours. I can't think of anything to write for my Alan Rickman fanfic.

Brain: Maybe you're suffering from a severe case of "Snape's Block." You know, like writer's block, but with a magical twist.

Me: Oh, please, spare me the puns. I need serious help here!

Brain: Well, maybe you should summon your Patronus for inspiration. Or just take a break and watch "Die Hard" for the hundredth time. That always seems to get your creative juices flowing.

Me: You're right. I'll just pretend I'm John McClane fighting off evil terrorists, but instead of saving Nakatomi Plaza, I'll save Hogwarts from Professor Snape's snarky comments. Thanks, Brain!

Brain: Anytime, author. Just remember, Yippee-ki-yay, mother-snape-er!

[honeybear-yammy]

Blurb/Drabble Request Idea

CLOSED

So, I do have a pretty bad case of writers block at the moment but, I came up with an idea that has helped me in the past to get my creative juices flowing lmao. I mean I have also been a little unmotivated but, I think this will also help with that too. Pretty much I will put some smut and fluff prompts below and you guys can send in one for me to write. Now, they won't be long fics like imagines but either headcannons, blurbs, or drabbles, whichever of the three I decide to do for each fic.

Event Start: February 8th 2023

Event End: February 13th 2023

Navigation | Masterlist

Information About The Event Below The Cut!

Rules

send a prompt + character from the list below.

please keep it to only one ask per section please.

18+ for the smut prompts or at leas 16+.

please don't mix prompts together, only one prompt per ask this time!

only request for characters mentioned since not all characters from each of the fandoms i write for will be there.

please don't get mad at me if i don't answer your ask when you want me to, i can only do one at a time.

only send prompts that are mentioned below please.

also please give me a little bit of context for what you want the blurb to be about unless you just want me to write anything for the prompt.

anyone can participate in the event.

Characters

JJ Maybank - Outer Banks

Rafe Cameron - Outer Banks

John B Routledge - Outer Banks

Topper Thornton - Outer Banks

Eddie Munson - Stranger Things

Steve Harrington - Stranger Things

Billy Hargrove - Stranger Things

Damon Salvatore - TVDU

Stefan Salvatore - TVDU

Klaus Mikaelson - TVDU

Maddy Perez - Euphoria

Nate Jacobs - Euphoria

Cassie Howard - Euphoria

Xavier Thorpe - Wednesday

Tyler Galpin - Wednesday

Rudy Pankow - Celebrity

Drew Starkey - Celebrity

Chase Stokes - Celebrity

Austin North - Celebrity

Joseph Quinn - Celebrity

Smut Prompts

Prompts by @streets-crimes

{ Putting } a hand over their mouth to be quiet.

{ Calling } them late at night to come over.

{ Licking } their neck to make then gasp.

{ Crying } because of how good it feels.

{ Holding } their shoulders for stability.

{ Kissing } the marks you left on them.

{ Interlacing } your fingers during it.

{ Waking } them up with oral.

Prompts by @leneemusing

[ SIT ] for one character to finger the other who sits in their lap fully clothed, keeping an arm around their waist to make them stay still.

[ RISK ] for one character to drive and finger the other who is in the passenger seat.

[ WATCH ] for characters to cuddle on a couch while watching tv and one of them begins to finger the other but stops every time they make too much noise.

[ DELAY ] one character is trying to get ready to go somewhere while the other keeps kissing them and unbuttoning/unzipping their clothes.

[ MESS ] our characters are supposed to be cleaning up in the shower after sex, but sender starts to finger receiver.

[ TENSION ] one character is patching up the other's injuries which leads to intense eye contact, lingering touches and then finally crashing their lips against each other's.

[ DEBATE ] our characters are arguing because receiver is worried and overprotective of sender, but when they get up in each other's faces they end up kissing and groping at each other.

[ SENSUAL ] for sender to slowly undress receiver, caressing and kissing every part of them they expose.

Fluff Prompts

Prompts by @streets-crimes

{ Wrapping } character wrapping them in a warm blanket straight out of the dryer.

{ Kissing } character kissing them and watching them blush.

{ Making } character making their favorite meal just because.

{ Taking } your character stargazing.

{ Tucking } your character into bed when they find you on the couch sleeping.

{ Dancing } in the kitchen with your character at night.

{ Baking } your character a birthday cake to surprise them with.

Tagging People Below

@pankhoeforlife @strokesofstokes @adventuresinobx @drewbooooo @ceceswriting @blueicequeen19 @gillybear17 @lovedetlost