#as long as you know what I meant then its all good

[ttsukiimi]

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ F⍣CK HER ‘TILL SHE SORE!

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 ⎯ He’s not addicted to your cũnt—he swears. He swears even as he’s forced the fourth ōrgasm out of you tonight; and there’s more to come.

★ 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 ⎯ gojo x fem!reader, toji x fem!reader, choso x fem!reader, nanami x fem!reader, smut (mdni), tit play, multiple örgasms, size difference (choso), slight còckwarming (nanami), reader referred to as (princess, baby, doll, good girl)

✧･ﾟ𝓖. 𝓢 ✧･ﾟ

Gojo didn’t even know how he even initially found himself inside you—it was like one second he was cuddling closer to you as his eyes glued to the tv, then another your leg was hoisted over his waist as he jerked his hips into you repeatedly. Was it his fault? Had he begged you to let him put just the tip in? Yes.

But you had given in, and that in its own was your mistake.

“Stay still, princess, wanna give it to you good,” he whispered in your ear, the way his shaky breath fanned past your neck causing goosebumps to bloom on your skin. You nodded, though it wasn’t a promise, and tried to take each passionate thrust of his girth he gave to you.

You were clutching the couch pillow for dear life, whining as you felt euphoria rock through you so pleasurably for the umpteenth time that night. The movie playing had long been forgotten—only serving as background noise, and to Satoru a nuisance since the sounds drowned out your heavenly moans.

He huffed into the skin of your neck, determined to now make you louder, and a hot slap landed on your left cheek, effectively coaxing a loud yelp from your lips. “Mh—!”

And you were sensitive by then, his seed dripping from your battered cunt, your body shivering and thighs quivering, but even then he was set on urging one last orgasm out of you.

Or two.

Hell, he couldn’t even promise it wouldn’t be three. But he just needed to stay inside of you.

Satoru’s hands came up from behind you before they latched onto your chest, groping your tits as he muttered lewd words in your ear.

“You like when I fucking play with these pretty tits, hm?” He kissed your shoulder, and you felt a smile form against your skin as the only thing you could let out was a weak whine—too drunk on his dick to speak. Satoru groaned at the sound, his lips finding your pulse point as he spoke.

“Always so dumb once I get inside you,”

✧･ﾟ𝓒.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Choso doesn’t have an exact idea of why he loves being buried inside you so much; perhaps it’s the way you sound, the way you feel, or the way you look—tears in your eyes and all—but he does know that he’d die happy if that meant he was inside you in his last moments.

And he absolutely adores every minute that he is.

Because with how much your greedy cunt is pulsing around him, and your manicured nails are scratching red lines down his back, Choso thinks he’s really found heaven. Right between your legs.

“Baby, slow down, Cho,” you whined, your sight obscured with tears though you could still make out the image of his sculpted body over yours, and he’s so big compared to you.

Sometimes he might forget that—but could you blame him though? Anyone would forget about some mere size difference when inside your addictive pussy, and he proved to be that anyone.

Choso leaned forward, and in the process his hair fell forward, framing both yours and his face. His hands ventured up your body and found their place on your chest, squeezing the meleable flesh.

“‘S okay, you can take it,” he mumbled, pressing a quick kiss to your lips, uncaring of the slight drool dribbling from the side of your mouth. With each thrust the course hairs at his base tickled your clit, stimulating you in a way that felt so good your whole body was quivering with pleasure.

“Just..one more, baby,”

✧･ﾟ𝓝.𝓚✧･ﾟ

Sometimes Nanami finds himself wondering just what you do to him, how you’ve changed him in ways he couldn’t himself in the past years you’ve been together. He can't help but smile when he sees your infectious smile, and he melts when he hears your sweet laugh.

But, above all, you've created an addiction in him. One that he seems to think about every waking moment; even at work, and that’s new territory for him.

What’s worse is that you know. Always teasing him about how pussy drunk he is, how he’d really do anything just to be inside you—not like he’s denying that—but he can’t retaliate with the way the tips of his ears burn pink. So, he’ll prove it.

“Kento, what’re you—“ you cut yourself off with an uneven breath, eyes rolling to the back of your head in tandem with the way he pushes himself into you.

His strong arms are wrapped around you, keeping you in place, but he strangely doesn’t begin to move. The reason being—well, he’s testing himself. His resolve, his patience by not moving a single inch, even while being compressed by your tight warmth.

Which is proving to be a challenge already for Nanami.

“Proving to you that ‘m not—“ he halts, groaning and gritting his teeth as you slightly shift, causing a grin to flourish on your face.

“That you’re not what?” you retort, pushing your hips back onto him, taking him in deeper than he already was. Your hand reaches back and caresses his face, cooing above his lips. “Know you wanna move. ‘M not stopping you either, ken.”

You’re so close to his lips Nanami could move an inch and they’d touch, but he won’t, of course. But…when you’re fucking yourself on his cock, moaning out for him to hear, to tease him, Nanami thinks maybe there isn’t anything to prove.

Maybe he is drunk on your pussy.

✧･ﾟ𝓣.𝓕✧･ﾟ

Toji knows of his slight compulsion towards your pussy. His tendency to always want to be inside is truly something that needs to be studied—because there’s absolutely no way his sex drive should be this significant.

Admittedly, he is aware of his addiction, but will he take any action to try to change his behavior? No. That then becomes your problem to tackle, but you have the perfect solution.

“A what?” Toji mumbled, licking the scar on his lip as he creased an eyebrow upwards in confusion. You were sat on his lap, your arms looped around his neck and you began to speak.

“A Sex ban, Toji.” you attempted to suppress your grin when you saw the confusion on his face only deepen, and a big hand came to cup your cheek, forcing you to look at him.

“‘M not for all your little games today, doll. Got a mission tomorrow and y’know what that means.” he sighed, his free hand holding your waist, slowly sliding to the waistband of your shorts and beginning to pull them down.

“But, really baby, we—you need a break.” you protested, but just couldn’t counter back with the way his rough and thick fingers were already playing with your folds, gathering your essence.

Quickly, his lips were on yours and that shut you up, which gave him time to free himself from his sweats and enter you in one, swift motion.

He wasted no time in holding your hips and bouncing you up and down on his cock, a smug smirk on his lips as he looked at the way your eyes rolled back in pleasure. You weren’t one to talk about a sex ban when you could hardly even let him go on a mission for more than 2 days without complaining about how much you missed him and his magic dick.

“Now ya just be quiet and take what I give you, yeah?” he breathed in your ear as his big hands groped your tits, fingers playing with your hardened nipples. The pleasure coursed throughout your body so deliciously, already causing your thighs to begin quivering and your pussy pulsed around him, greedy to suck him dry.

“Good girl,”

#ꔫ : ˚ ͙۪۪̥◌⎯ 𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈’𝐒 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 #jjk fic #jjk smut #gojo smut #jjk x reader #jjk headcanons #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk fanfic #jjk x you #toji fushigro x reader #toji smut #fushiguro toji x reader #gojo satoru x you #gojo x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #kento nanami #nanami smut #nanami kento #kamo choso x reader #choso smut #kamo choso #nanami x you #nanami x reader #toji fushiguro #choso kamo #gojo satoru x reader #jjk nanami #toji x you #dilf toji

[intheholler]

the appalachian murder ballad <3 one of the most interesting elements of americana and american folk, imo!

my wife recently gave me A Look when i had one playing in the car and she was like, "why do all of these old folk songs talk about killing people lmao" and i realized i wanted to Talk About It at length.

nerd shit under the cut, and it's long. y'all been warned

so, as y'all probably know, a lot of appalachian folk music grew its roots in scottish folk (and then was heavily influenced by Black folks once it arrived here, but that's a post for another time).

they existed, as most folk music does, to deliver a narrative--to pass on a story orally, especially in communities where literacy was not widespread. their whole purpose was to get the news out there about current events, and everyone loves a good murder mystery!

as an aside, i saw someone liken the murder ballad to a ye olde true crime podcast and tbh, yeah lol.

the "original" murder ballads started back across the pond as news stories printed on broadsheets and penned in such a way that it was easy to put to melody.

they were meant to be passed on and keep the people informed about the goings-on in town. i imagine that because these songs were left up to their original orators to get them going, this would be why we have sooo many variations of old folk songs.

naturally then, almost always, they were based on real events, either sung from an outside perspective, from the killer's perspective and in some cases, from the victim's. of course, like most things from days of yore, they reek of social dogshit. the particular flavor of dogshit of the OG murder ballad was misogyny.

so, the murder ballad came over when the english and scots-irish settlers did. in fact, a lot of the current murder ballads are still telling stories from centuries ago, and, as is the way of folk, getting rewritten and given new names and melodies and evolving into the modern recordings we hear today.

305 such scottish and english ballads were noted and collected into what is famously known as the Child Ballads collected by a professor named francis james child in the 19th century. they have been reshaped and covered and recorded a million and one times, as is the folk way.

while newer ones continued to largely fit the formula of retelling real events and murder trials (such as one of my favorite ones, little sadie, about a murderer getting chased through the carolinas to have justice handed down), they also evolved into sometimes fictional, (often unfortunately misogynistic) cautionary tales.

perhaps the most famous examples of these are omie wise and pretty polly where the woman's death almost feels justified as if it's her fault (big shocker).

but i digress. in this way, the evolution of the murder ballad came to serve a similar purpose as the spooky legends of appalachia did/do now.

(why do we have those urban legends and oral traditions warning yall out of the woods? to keep babies from gettin lost n dying in them. i know it's a fun tiktok trend rn to tell tale of spooky scary woods like there's really more haints out here than there are anywhere else, but that's a rant for another time too ain't it)

so, the aforementioned little sadie (also known as "bad lee brown" in some cases) was first recorded in the 1920s. i'm also plugging my favorite female-vocaist cover of it there because it's superior when a woman does it, sorry.

it is a pretty straightforward murder ballad in its content--in the original version, the guy kills a woman, a stranger or his girlfriend sometimes depending on who is covering it.

but instead of it being a cautionary 'be careful and don't get pregnant or it's your fault' tale like omie wise and pretty polly, the guy doesn't get away with it, and he's not portrayed as sympathetic like the murderer is in so many ballads.

a few decades after, women started saying fuck you and writing their own murder ballads.

in the 40s, the femme fatale trope was in full swing with women flipping the script and killing their male lovers for slights against them instead.

men began to enter the "find out" phase in these songs and paid up for being abusive partners. women regained their agency and humanity by actually giving themselves an active voice instead of just being essentially 'fridged in the ballads of old.

her majesty dolly parton even covered plenty of old ballads herself but then went on to write the bridge, telling the pregnant-woman-in-the-murder-ballad's side of things for once. love her.

as a listener, i realized that i personally prefer these modern covers of appalachian murder ballads sung by women-led acts like dolly and gillian welch and even the super-recent crooked still especially, because there is a sense of reclamation, subverting its roots by giving it a woman's voice instead.

meaning that, like a lot else from the problematic past, the appalachian murder ballad is something to be enjoyed with critical ears. violence against women is an evergreen issue, of course, and you're going to encounter a lot of that in this branch of historical music.

but with folk songs, and especially the murder ballad, being such a foundational element of appalachian history and culture and fitting squarely into the appalachian gothic, i still find them important and so, so interesting

i do feel it's worth mentioning that there are "tamer" ones. with traditional and modern murder ballads alike, some of them are just for "fun," like a murder mystery novel is enjoyable to read; not all have a message or retell a historical trial.

(for instance, i'd even argue ultra-modern, popular americana songs like hell's comin' with me is a contemporary americana murder ballad--being sung by a male vocalist and having evolved from being at the expense of a woman to instead being directed at a harmful and corrupt church. that kind of thing)

in short: it continues to evolve, and i continue to eat that shit up.

anyway, to leave off, lemme share with yall my personal favorite murder ballad which fits squarely into murder mystery/horror novel territory imo.

it's the 10th child ballad and was originally known as "the twa sisters." it's been covered to hell n back and named and renamed.

but! if you listen to any flavor of americana, chances are high you already know it; popular names are "the dreadful wind and rain" and sometimes just "wind and rain."

in it, a jealous older sister pushes her other sister into a river (or stream, or sea, depending on who's covering it) over a dumbass man. the little sister's body floats away and a fiddle maker come upon her and took parts of her body to make a fiddle of his own. the only song the new fiddle plays is the tale about how it came to be, and it is the same song you have been listening to until then.

how's that for genuinely spooky-scary appalachia, y'all?

#appalachia #appalachian murder ballads #murder ballads #appalachian music #appalachian culture #appalachian history #appalachian #appalachian folklore #appalachian gothic #tw violence against women #cw violence against women #cw murder #tw murder #folk music #folk #txt

[wholoveseggs]

Hey lovely, your latest story gave me an idea. How about Reader and Elijah have been together for a while, but he is the one to avoid sex. Every time he has been with a human, it overpowered them or hurt them. He can't keep Red Door Elijah in check, which is fine when he's with a supernatural being, but not when he's with a human. Reader knows his backstory but is determined to show him that their love is different.

Control

{I've officially run out of gifs I want to use, so I'm in my moodboard era now}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Plagued by nightmares of hurting you, Elijah avoids any form of intimacy, but you have had enough. You confront him about his rejection and Elijah finally learns how to let go and lose control.

♡♡ Thanks for the request @originals23, love love love red door elijah and his dark side ♡♡

6k words - Warnings: smut, fluff, lots of angst, red door Elijah, trauma, nightmares, visions of death, blood, blood drinking, rough sex, aggressive flirting, dom!elijah, jealously, masquerade ball, elevator vandalism...

Elijah needed control the way a drowning man needed air. It was as if it was a basic function, like oxygen, like blood. He had always been that way, even before he was turned, but it got worse when he was forced to take lives for food and to stay alive. His nature demanded he take what he wanted, when he wanted, but he was afraid of that, so he clung to rules, to discipline.

But no matter what he did, he was still plagued with the same nightmare. You, his perfect love, dead in his arms. Your body limp and lifeless, your eyes open but vacant. And all because he couldn't control himself. Your blood stained his skin, his clothes, his heart.

You knew better than to sneak up on a sleeping vampire, but it wasn't just any vampire. It was your Elijah, your sweet, loving, gentle Elijah.

All you wanted to do was surprise him with some coffee. It was going to be a long day, there was a huge party being hosted by Marcel. All of the factions were gathering for a masquerade ball, the first of its kind in centuries. There were rumors of a peace treaty in the works, and the festivities were the opening salvo.

You were beyond excited, you never experienced this sort of thing, and you were so happy that Elijah would be by your side. You picked out a matching set of masks for the two of you. For him, a sleek, black one with dark feathers at the tips. For yourself, a delicate, lace one in a deep crimson.

When you were younger, you had dreams of wearing beautiful, elaborate gowns, and dancing the night away with a handsome man. You couldn't help but feel giddy thinking about tonight.

You set the coffees down on a nearby table. Elijah's room was dim, only a small shaft of light peeking out from behind the curtains. He was curled up in the center of his large bed, his hair was disheveled and his lips were parted. The sheet was pooled around his hips, revealing his chiseled chest and toned arms.

He was beautiful, and you very much wanted to explore every bit of him. But he wouldn't allow it. He wouldn't allow himself to lose control. He had told you about his darkness, the red door, the place where he put all of the sins he couldn't live with.

When his control was frayed and his mind was weak, it would whisper to him, tempt him. Because there, in that space, he didn't have to feel guilt or pain. He was free. Free to do as he wished. He would be able to take you, claim you, love you the way his darker instincts screamed at him to.

You pulled off your sweater and boots, leaving you in just a mini dress and socks. You padded over to the bed and carefully slid under the covers, trying not to disturb him. You cuddled up next to him, your hand resting on his chest. You wished he would let you in, let you experience all of him, the good, the bad, the ugly. You loved him, and that meant loving everything about him.

Elijah had sensed your presence from the moment you entered his room, but he remained still, feigning sleep. His sweet little love, so utterly defenseless and vulnerable, alone in a vampire's bed. His fingers itched to touch you, to pull you into his embrace and never let you go. He could hear your heartbeat, steady and strong, could smell the sweet perfume you had dabbed behind your ears, and could feel the heat radiating off of your body. He was acutely aware of every aspect of you. It was hard not to give in to temptation, to pull you into his arms and kiss you until your lips were swollen and pink.

"Elijah," you said softly, in a sing-song voice. You brushed your fingers along his jaw, the stubble rough against your soft skin. He stirred slightly, pretending to wake.

"Hmm, good morning, love." He rasped, his voice heavy with sleep.

You kissed him softly, smiling into it. "Good morning. I brought us coffee."

He hummed, "That's perfect. Thank you, sweetheart."

"I can't wait for tonight." You sighed, tracing your fingers down his throat and along his collar bones.

Elijah was torn between letting his eyes flutter shut at the contact or watching your movements. You had him entranced.

"I can't either," he agreed. "You'll be the most beautiful woman there, I have no doubt."

You blushed at his compliment and kissed him again, your lips lingering against his. He groaned and rolled onto his side, bringing his hands up to cup your face, his thumbs stroking along your cheekbones. He let himself give in just a little, let the control slip a fraction. You gasped into the kiss as his tongue swept along the seam of your lips. Your lips parted, allowing him entry. You melted against him, your hand coming up to rest on his bicep.

His hands slid down your body, mapping every dip and curve, memorizing the feel of you. Your skin was like silk, your body supple and soft. You had a slight tremor, nervous, or maybe excited. He wasn't sure, but he loved how your breath hitched as he moved his hands lower and lower, until his palms were flat on your backside, his fingers flexing as he pulled you flush against him.

You hummed, a noise somewhere between a sigh and a moan. He drank it in, taking all of your little sounds and storing them in his memory. He rolled, pulling you with him so that you were under him. You moaned as he settled between your thighs, his weight a welcome comfort. He moved his mouth down, nipping at the skin of your throat and collarbone, careful not to let his fangs break the surface.

You tangled your fingers in his hair, pulling gently. You had fantasized about being with him in this way for so long, dreamed about how his body would feel pressed against yours, how his hands would feel on your bare skin. You didn't know what caused this shift in him, this sudden willingness to be intimate, but you were glad for it.

You tugged at the waistband of his boxers, trying to tell him what you wanted. You were not a shy person, you wanted to experience what it was like to be with such a powerful creature, to feel his strength and passion.

Elijah groaned and rocked his hips against yours, letting you feel how much he desired you. His control was slipping, and he didn't care. You wanted him, and he would have you. He leaned back to look at your beautiful face, wanting to etch this moment in his memory for all eternity. You were a vision, cheeks flushed and eyes dark with want.

Suddenly everything started to warp, your flushed skin turned cold, your warm eyes grew distant, and your heart slowed to a stop. His breath caught as a trickle of blood leaked from the corner of your mouth. He looked down at his hands and they were covered in your blood, the dark, rich liquid soaking the sheets and staining his skin.

"No, no, no, no, no." He chanted, trying to bring you back, willing the darkness to recede.

Your eyes were glassy, lifeless, bite marks all over your neck, your chest, your legs. You were covered in them, the evidence of his weakness, his inability to keep his desires in check.

Elijah threw himself from the bed, stumbling backwards. He clutched his head in his hands, a scream ripping from his throat. You were gone, dead, and it was his fault. He would never be able to look at your smiling face, never hear your soft laugh, or feel your lips on his again.

"Eli?" you said, stunned by his sudden departure. He was now across the room looking like a caged animal, his eyes wild and his hair a mess. You climbed out of the bed and slowly approached him. He looked like he was going to bolt, his muscles tense and his breath ragged.

"Are you alright?" you asked, reaching out to touch his arm.

"Don't!" he shouted, flinching away from your touch. "Don't touch me."

"Okay," you said, holding up your hands. "I won't."

He felt like he was losing his grip, the world was shifting around him, the ground threatening to give out beneath his feet. He felt like he was back there, back in that slaughterhouse that haunted him, the place that whispered his darkest desires, the place that taunted him with visions of what he truly was, no matter how much control he thought he had over it.

You reached out to him again, and he snapped. He grabbed your arm and pushed you against the wall, his eyes black and his fangs sharp. You gasped, but didn't struggle, trusting that he would never hurt you.

He released you at once, horrified by what he had done. He backed away, shaking his head. "No, no, no. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."

He sank to his knees, his eyes wild and frantic.

"It's okay, Eli." You said, kneeling in front of him.

"You need to leave, please." He begged, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I'm not going anywhere." You said firmly, reaching out to touch him again. He tensed, his breath hitching as you made contact.

"LEAVE," he roared, his eyes flashing. You jerked your hand back, surprised by his outburst.

Elijah regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, he watched you run out of the room and all he wanted was to chase after you, but his pride and fear kept him rooted in place. He couldn't let you be around him, look at what he did? If he couldn't control himself in a moment of passion, what would happen if he really let go?

Elijah stood in front of his mirror, adjusting and readjusting his tie. His hair was combed and his suit was tailored perfectly. But none of it felt right, the buttons on his shirt were too tight, the cufflinks too heavy, the material of his suit too coarse. He needed it all to go away.

He felt like a monster. A monster wearing a man's skin.

Elijah closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could do this. He could get through this night. He didn't know if you were coming to the party, and he couldn't decide if he wanted you there or not. He hated the idea of you being away from him, but he also couldn't bear the thought of you seeing him like this, a man unraveling, barely keeping himself together.

He opened his eyes and forced himself to smile, but the sight was a mockery. His lips were pulled taut, and his teeth looked like daggers. He wanted to scream, he wanted to cry, he wanted to tear down the entire city and start anew.

"Elijah! we are going to be late!" He heard Rebekah yell from the courtyard below.

"Be right there," he called, his voice hoarse. He gave himself one last look in the mirror before he walked out of the room and descended the stairs. He could see his siblings all gathered, dressed impeccably with their dates on their arms.

Klaus was talking with Camille, they were dressed in matching shades of blue. Freya and Keelin were standing close together, their hands entwined. Kol was whispering something in Davina's ear, making her laugh. Rebekah was on the phone with Marcel, telling him she was on her way. And Hayley was chatting with Jackson, his arm wrapped tightly around her waist.

"There you are." Freya said, noticing his presence. "Where is y/n? She was so excited about tonight."

The sound of your name made his chest ache, he was about to explain, or rather, come up with a plausible excuse when he heard a voice from behind him.

"I'm right here."

He turned around to see you walking down the stairs, dressed in an ornate black gown, matching his suit, your mask hanging in your hand.

"Y/n," he said, stunned by how beautiful you were.

You smiled slightly and approached him, your heels clicking on the stones. He took your hand, inspecting your arm. It was bruised and there were small scratches from where he had dug his nails into your skin. He brushed his fingers over the marks, regret and guilt filling him.

"It's fine," you said, squeezing his hand.

"No, it's not."

You leaned in and kissed him softly, the feeling of your lips on his caused him to relax a little. He kissed you back, the contact grounding him, reminding him why he needed to stay in control, for you.

"Let's go," Klaus said, gesturing for everyone to follow him out the door.

You took your mask and placed it on, the crimson filigree complimenting the dark silk of your gown. Elijah put on his mask, the bold design making his dark eyes stand out.

The group arrived at Marcel's penthouse, finding the place already crowded. People were drinking, dancing, and mingling. It was a lively atmosphere, filled with music and laughter.

"It's nice," you commented, holding Elijah's hand.

"It is," he agreed, looking around the room. "Shall we?"

He gestured to the dance floor and you nodded, taking his offered arm. He led you to the center of the room, where couples were already twirling and spinning.

"May I have this dance?" he asked, his voice low and seductive.

"You may," you answered, giving him a shy smile.

He took your hand and placed his other on your hip, guiding you through the steps. The two of you swayed to the music, moving gracefully.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, his lips brushing your ear.

"You have nothing to be sorry for," you reassured him.

He wanted to argue, but you didn't give him a chance. You captured his lips in a kiss, the world around you melting away. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close. The two of you stayed locked in the embrace, the music and the crowd fading into the background.

The two of you danced for a while, enjoying the feeling of being close to one another. The environment letting him relax a little. But when the music changed, becoming slow and sultry, his mind started to drift.

Elijah imagined pushing you against a wall, kissing your neck and leaving marks. He wanted to rip your dress off, and explore every inch of you. He wanted to bite you, to taste your blood. He wanted to claim you, to make you his.

He wanted to let go, to allow himself to give in. To experience the kind of pleasure and power that only came with a lack of control. But then he saw the blood again, the crimson of your mask, the ruby red of your lipstick, turned to the viscous liquid that both haunted and nourished him.

"What is it?" you asked, noticing the way his body tensed.

"Nothing," he said, his voice strained. "I just need a drink,"

He let go of you and headed to the bar, needing some strong alcohol to help calm his nerves. He ordered a scotch and downed it in one go, the liquid burning his throat. He ordered another, and another, until the world was pleasantly fuzzy and his thoughts were quiet.

"Mr. Mikaelson, so good to see you," a woman said, coming up to him.

"Madam," he replied, not looking up from his drink.

"How is business?" she asked, clearly wanting to engage in a conversation.

"Fine." He said shortly, hoping she would get the hint.

"The party is wonderful," she commented, sipping from a champagne flute, her mask was turquoise and silver, a few strands of her dark hair escaping her updo.

"Thank you, the decorations were my sister's doing," he replied, trying to be polite.

"Ah yes, your sister," the woman said, her eyes drifting over the crowd, landing on the blonde vampire. "She's almost as pretty as you," the woman added, a seductive smile on her lips.

"You're quite flattering, but I'm spoken for," Elijah told her, not unkindly.

The woman pouted. "So I heard, a human though? That must be...difficult," she said.

"How so?" He asked, not liking the direction the conversation was going.

"Humans are frail, their lives are fleeting," the woman replied, her hand coming to rest on his chest. He looked down at her hand touching him, her daylight ring a large sapphire. "And they are so easily broken," she added.

He clenched his jaw, trying not to let her words get to him. "That is why they are treasured," he replied, scanning the crowd in search for you.

"They are food. I thought an original vampire would know the difference," the woman grinned, enjoying getting a reaction out of him.

"Watch your tongue, Madam, or you might find it missing," he warned, his voice low and dangerous.

"Oh, feisty," the woman purred, her free hand went up and she ran her finger over the edge of his mask. "You could have any creature here, take them however you want. Break them in the best possible way," she purred, her pupils dilated.

"That's not how I operate, now if you will excuse me," he said, his anger starting to bubble.

"That's how you used to operate," the woman taunted, her fingers trailing over the buttons of his jacket. "I'm a little hurt that you don't recognize me," the woman pouted, batting her eyelashes at him.

"Should I?" He asked, trying to place her face.

"Paris, summer of 1783, you had me by the hair, bent over the side of a balcony, fucking me so hard that the cement cracked," she told him, licking her lips. "You were wild, rough, animalistic. And it was amazing," she breathed, her gaze unfocused as she remembered the night.

Elijah couldn't remember her, nor did he remember the event. It was amusing to him that this vampire thought she was special. She wasn't. He had bedded hundreds, maybe even thousands, of women. He only ever remembered the ones he loved.

"A shame you can't recall, I've thought about it many times over the years," she said.

He raised his eyebrows. "That's a bit pathetic," he said bluntly.

She laughed, not taking offense. "Perhaps, but the sex was fantastic, I can still feel your bite," she smiled, her eyes falling to his mouth.

Elijah shook his head. "My dear, I'm sure there are plenty of willing participants here, if you truly wish to relive the past, you'll have no trouble finding someone to assist," he said dismissively.

"I would prefer you," the woman said, her tone changing. "No one here matches your power, no one can fuck me like you did."

"Maybe try Niklaus, ask him to bite you," he smirked, watching as his brother and Camille were laughing together.

"Both of you dating humans, what a complete and utter waste," she said, her eyes flicking to you. "I bet I could make you forget all about her," she cooed, pressing herself closer to him.

You could see this vampire all over Elijah, touching him and speaking in his ear. You weaved through the crowd, wanting to put an end to it.

Elijah's attention turned from the woman, a smile spreading across his face as he saw you walking towards him.

"I'm going to have to politely decline, thank you." he said, reaching his hand out for yours.

"Come now, surely you could use some relief," the woman cooed, her hands trailing over his body, ignoring your presence completely.

You didn't quite know what came over you, but you reached up and gently slapped her hand away from him.

The vampire turned her attention to you, her eyes going to the bruising on your arm. She let out a laugh. "Oh my, perhaps I was wrong, looks like your little plaything can handle you," the woman mocked, a smirk on her lips.

"Don't," Elijah growled, not appreciating her words.

She just laughed and shrugged, turning her attention back to him. "If you change your mind, I'll be here all night." the vampire winked at him and walked away, joining another group.

Elijah let out a sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You gave Elijah a half-smile, hoping he wouldn't think you were stupid for hitting the vampire. She could have so easily crushed you, but you weren't afraid of her.

"Who was that?" you asked, annoyed by the exchange.

He shook his head. "An old lover, it seems," he told you, his lips pressed in a thin line.

"Oh," was all you said, sadness filling you. You weren't the overly jealous type, but knowing that vampire had Elijah in a way you hadn't made you envious and sad.

Elijah saw the change in your demeanor and realized he had not answered the question right. You misunderstood him.

"Not a recent lover," he explained. "It was a very long time ago, and I do not remember the night," he assured you, his hand cupping your cheek.

You sighed, his touch instantly easing the tension in your body.

He pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist. "That was very brave of you, that could have ended very badly" he said softly in your ear.

Your hands went to his shoulders, clinging to his jacket, the material warm from his body. "You make me feel brave, you make me feel safe," you murmured.

His heart constricted. He didn't deserve your faith or your trust. The bruise on your arm was proof enough of that. He should let you go, make you hate him and walk away from you before you get hurt anymore, but he couldn't. Not while you were looking up at him with all that trust and affection in your eyes. He loved you far too much to give up.

He leaned in and kissed you, the familiar spark of electricity passing between you. He deepened the kiss, his hand cupping the back of your neck. He was pouring everything he felt for you into it, hoping you could feel the depths of his love and devotion.

You returned the kiss, trying to convey all the things you couldn't say. You broke apart, panting slightly. He rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed.

"Eli, I was hoping that we could...," you trailed off, biting your lip.

"What?" he asked, his eyes fluttering open.

"I want us to...you know," you whispered.

His eyes darkened, hunger and need filled him. All of the work he had done to push away his urges, to protect you, had unraveled in an instant. Now all he could focus on was the vision of your body beneath his, the feeling of skin against skin. The blood flowing through your veins singing a song to him that he could not deny, at least, not completely.

He pulled you a little closer, swaying you to the music playing, his other hand gripping your hip possessively. You watched his pupils dilate, saw the tension in his jaw and the bob of his Adam's apple.

"Not tonight," he murmured, trying his hardest to hide how much he wanted you, how much it would hurt to reject you again.

Your fingers curled around the lapels of his suit jacket, tugging on it a little harder than you meant to. He never wanted to give in, to allow himself a taste of pleasure. Even with his walls down, Elijah could never truly give himself to you completely.

His hands went to yours, prying your fingers from his jacket, his eyes dark and dangerous. "You do not understand how difficult it is," he hissed.

You pulled against his grip, anger bubbling up. "So, help me understand," you said in a soft tone, ignoring the fact that you were arguing in a room full of people and that you were both gripping each other hard enough to bruise.

"It feels like..." you started, shaking your head a little, "like, I am not enough. Do you not want me? Or have you realized that you need more and I cannot provide that to you?" You finished in a small voice.

His grip on your hands tightened, a warning look flashing in his eyes. "You are more than enough," he whispered, his eyes softening.

You took a steadying breath. "Then. Please. Fuck. Me," you said bluntly.

Elijah let go of you as if you had burned him. Your words cut him deeply.

You let out a frustrated sigh, his rejection stinging. "I... I'm going to go home," you said, blinking back tears.

He went to grab you but you moved out of his reach, his fingers barely grazing your arm. He watched you leave, his eyes following your figure until it disappeared into the crowd.

It was in that moment that he knew he had to make a decision, either he could keep trying to be gentle with you and risk losing you or he could give in and have you completely, but at the cost of hurting you.

Elijah drained his drink and placed the empty glass on the bar, his mind made up. He followed you, moving so fast that no one saw him leave.

You were upset, your feelings a tangled mess, waiting in a quiet hallway for the elevator to arrive. Your eyes were glazed with tears, your breathing shaky. You didn't know what to do, and you didn't know what you wanted from him.

You were lost in thought when the elevator dinged, announcing its arrival, but before the doors opened, hands were on your waist and you were pressed against the wall. His lips were on yours, hungry and demanding. You gasped and he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, his tongue exploring your mouth.

You melted into his touch, your fingers tangling in his hair. His hands were on your thighs, lifting you up and pushing your dress higher.

You wrapped your legs around him, pressing your body against his. The heat between you erupting, causing a soft moan to escape your lips.

He broke the kiss, his mouth going to your neck, leaving a trail of kisses and bites. His hands were on your hips, pulling your body closer. He was rough and urgent, his nails digging into your skin. You gasped, arching into him, needing to feel more.

"You want me to fuck you?" he whispered in your ear, his voice low and husky. "I will," he promised, his lips ghosting over yours.

You clung to him, giving yourself over to the moment. He lifted you off the ground and carried you to the elevator. The doors slid open and he stepped inside, pressing you against the wall. His hands were all over your body, touching and teasing.

You were so caught up in his touch that you didn't notice the doors closing, trapping the two of you alone. He punched the panel, making the elevator come to a jerking stop. He kissed you, his hands finding their way under your dress, pushing the fabric out of the way.

He gripped your hips, grinding against you. The intensity and desperation in his touch was new, making your head spin. You wanted more, needed more. You moaned, the sound echoing off the walls. He groaned, his fingers digging into your skin.

He pushed your panties aside, sliding a finger into your wet heat. You gasped, arching into him. He pumped his finger in and out of you, curling it inside of you. He added a second finger, his thumb rubbing circles around your clit.

He groaned, the feeling of you tightening around him almost too much, his lips brushing your ear. "I want to hear you say my name when I make you come," he whispered, his hot breath tickling your skin.

All you could do was nod, your cheeks flushed and your eyes closed, it was all happening so fast and you couldn't get enough of it. He pressed his lips to your neck, nipping at your skin. He added a third finger, the heel of his palm pressing against your clit.

Your eyebrows arched, locking eyes with him, your mouth open and your hands clutching his jacket. The pressure was building and you felt like you were going to explode. You gasped, his fingers pumping in and out of you.

"Elijah," you said his name breathlessly.

"That's it," he encouraged, pulling on your earlobe with his teeth. "Say my name," he ordered.

"Elijah," you moaned, the pressure coiling tighter.

"Again," he demanded, his hand speeding up.

"Elijah," his name fell from your lips, your release crashing through you.

Your eyes slammed shut, your head thrown back, the muscles in your neck straining. You were trembling, a sheen of sweat coating your skin. He slowly withdrew his fingers, placing gentle kisses along your neck and jaw. You could feel his fangs graze your skin.

He was so hard, you could feel his erection pressing against you. You shifted your weight, trying to gain some friction, but he pulled away, his hands on your hips, pinning you in place.

You opened your eyes, looking at his face, his eyes completely black, the veins under them moving, his mouth open slightly, showing his fangs. You felt fear, but not the type of fear that made you want to run, but the kind of fear that sent a thrill through your body, the kind that made you crave danger.

You lightly traced your fingers over the veins, a smile on your lips. His chest rising and falling rapidly. You ran your finger over his lower lip, and he leaned in, his fangs scraping the pad of your finger. You could feel the sharp tips. He was so dangerous, so lethal, a perfect predator, yet here you were, trapped and wanting nothing more than to have him consume you.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer. He pressed his body against yours, his erection grinding against you. You moaned, reaching between you, your fingers deftly working the button and zipper of his trousers. You tugged his boxers down, his hard cock springing free. You wrapped your fingers around him, stroking him.

"Fuck," he growled, his hips bucking, seeking more of your touch.

You tightened your grip, stroking him faster, twisting your wrist a little. He groaned, his hands on your thighs, his eyes hooded and his mouth parted slightly.

You released him and wrapped your arms back around his neck, grinding yourself against him. He growled, his hands cupping your ass, lifting you. You used the wall for support and wrapped your legs around him, angling yourself just right. You cried out as he pressed inside, stretching and filling you.

His breath was hot against your neck. "That's my girl," he said softly.

He paused a moment, giving you time to adjust. Then he started to thrust, his rhythm slow and measured, watching the way your expression changed as he fucked you. You moaned, your legs tightening around him, your ankles locking together, trying to pull him closer.

He pumped his hips, burying himself deep inside you. You tilted your head back, exposing the soft flesh of your neck.

It took every bit of control he had not to give in and bite you. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, feeling your blood pump just below the surface of your skin. His hips snapped harder, driving into you, focused on fucking you, on drawing more delicious moans and whimpers from sweet lips.

The coil within you grew tighter, the pressure increasing with every movement of his hips. You clung to his jacket, needing something to anchor you, feeling as if you were spinning out of control. He grunted with each thrust, the sound of skin against skin almost drowned out by the blood pumping furiously in your ears.

His eyes never left yours, a predatory look crossing his features, his fingers gripping the swell of your ass, pounding into you with incredible force, your head hitting the wall with each powerful thrust.

It was intense and consuming and you couldn't get enough of him, and neither could he.

You lost track of how many times you'd come, all you knew was the sweet, aching tension was building again and you didn't know if you could handle another. He held you so tight, your body pressed so close to his, his fangs threatening to pierce the delicate skin of your neck. You couldn't stop, you didn't want it to stop.

Then his rhythm faltered, his breathing becoming labored, his hips pumping furiously. He needed a release. It had been a while since he'd experienced such raw, carnal lust.

He could no longer keep himself from drinking from you, he'd waited too long, denied his primal urges. With a snarl, he sunk his fangs into the side of your neck. A guttural cry fell from your lips, your back arching as you came undone, the sudden pain mixed with the pleasure so intense, you felt your vision darkening as you blacked out.

Elijah gripped your thighs, his lips pulling blood from your body, sending your pulse racing, your blood so hot and sweet that he thought he would combust. He let himself go, cumming deep inside of you, your blood in his mouth, the sweetness coating his tongue and rushing into his system. Your body went limp in his arms, your heartbeat slowing.

Sudden panic consumed him, what had he done? The guilt and fear crashed over him in waves. You looked so pale, you were dying in his arms and it was his fault. The rage and self-hatred he had tried so hard to keep in check ripped through him, his true nature unleashed.

But then you opened your eyes, smiling at him dreamily and something inside of him snapped back into place.

Elijah chuckled, still inside of you. He grinned, the edges of his lips curving upwards. He kissed you softly, reverently.

"Holy fuck Elijah," you chuckled, panting slightly, your heart beating erratically, but you felt alive and amazing, and loved.

"You scared me for a moment," he confessed, resting his forehead against yours.

"That was.. You are..," you struggled for words. "Just wow," you laughed.

You held on to him, wrapping your arms around him, burying your face in the crook of his neck. He wrapped an arm around you, supporting you, the other stroking the side of your head. You breathed him in, savoring the moment, never wanting it to end. He smiled, nuzzling your cheek, his nose rubbing against your skin.

"Let's go home, I want you all to myself," you murmured, kissing his neck, the taste of him filling you.

He chuckled, his voice a deep rumble. "As you wish."

"We have a lot of catching up to do," you grinned, thinking of all the things you were going to do to him.

Elijah chuckled. "My sweet girl," he murmured, kissing you gently.

The elevator rattled, the emergency lights coming on. Elijah pulled away from you, adjusting your dress, smoothing the fabric. He zipped and buttoned his trousers, straightening his clothes. The panel was broken, slight electrical sparks coming from the metal. Elijah gripped the doors, forcing them open. He stepped out and helped you down. You smoothed your dress, looking at him shyly. He grabbed your hand, intertwining your fingers, leading you out of the building.

"I like it when you lose control, perhaps that was the solution all along," you teased, walking along the street, your fingers intertwined with his.

Elijah laughed. "Perhaps, my darling, you may be right."

And with that, he swept you off your feet and into his arms, carrying you out into the night.

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

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♡ @meeom ♡ @damienmorton ♡ @wickedmuse ♡ @sunkissedebony97 ♡ @idk00sblog ♡ @savannaounana♡ @cs-please ♡ complicatedandconfusing-25 ♡ @hamiltimes ♡ @akala6670229 ♡ @yeaiamme2 ♡ @itsjulzandmydiamonds ♡ @spideysbabe ♡ @witch-of-letters ♡ @elijahmikaelsonsboy ♡ @rosecentury ♡ @sekaishell ♡ @ziayamikaelson ♡ @amanda08319 ♡

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[thewertsearch]

Mega-Giga Ask Comp: Part 3

@manorinthewoods asked: I'll be honest, I wrote the Locked Tomb ask having not read the Locked Tomb series. I literally only know the starting and ending strokes of the first book. That being said, I do like the half-soul-Sollux idea, and it works pretty well with the Locked Tomb's general theme of Lyctorhood, and how knotted the whole situation with Alecto, Gideon, and Harrow ends up being. (What is even going on with Nona) ~LOSS (4/13/24) @manorinthewoods asked: You know, if you hadn't already read Gideon the Ninth, I'd have recommended it as a good second liveblog. It really does fit your preferred sort of mystery. From all the clues presented, you could probably hit very close to the ultimate solution to the Lyctoral puzzle - as close as anybody could be expected to get. ~LOSS (25/4/24) @manorinthewoods asked: The Locked Tomb's prose is pretty good. On occasion, it happens to chime with a sound of 'Homestuck', but I only recall that twice so far in my reading. I like the skelebook. ~LOSS (27/4/24)

Once again, I'm glad my hidden agenda - convincing this blog's entire readership to check out The Locked Tomb - is bearing fruit.

I agree! TLT does occasionally give Homestuck vibes, presumably because its author is a fan. For the most part, though, its prose style is all its own.

Anonymous asked: Reference to American culture: the sphere of Jade's home dropping and the timer that preceded it are references to the Times Square Ball, an annual event held every New Year's Eve. A giant ball descends down a pole at 11:59 PM and reaches the bottom at 12:00 AM, January 1. I believe that you can figure out why the reference was included in the first place. Anonymous asked: btw the gamzee page was released on new years. ‘the miracle of a new beginning’ is the new year and the lab dropping is supposed to be a reference to the ball dropping in times square

Some America Lore here that I wasn't aware of.

I was wondering exactly what Gamzee meant by 'a new beginning'. Maybe Alternia practices the tradition as well.

@omnilew asked: the way you speculate and go indepth into sburbs features and how it affects the kids, made a silly headcanon that your kidsona is reading the comic while playing out their session though this is mainly because "Eventually, we were bound to cross a couple of wires that should never have been allowed to touch" kinda references chargerkind

I like it! Maybe my 'sonas have access to a more in-depth version of Rose's walkthrough, and are adding their own commentary in quiet moments during their own adventures.

@manorinthewoods asked: Your excitement over the resurrection of Dream Jade gave me a form of suspenseful mirth. Seeing how happy you were at her resurrection, while also knowing exactly what came of it, is perhaps textbook dramatic irony. If only you'd read a panel further… ~LOSS (26/4/24)

She looked so happy to be back, too! That certainly didn't last long.

She was prototyped with a smiling corpse, though. Maybe that was just her 'default' expression, and it vanished as soon as her actual feelings asserted themselves.

@thetinygladiator asked: 'I hadn’t really thought about Sally’s ectobiological parent - but now that I am, I think the funniest possible option is that it’s her landlady.' okay but i just gotta say… this immediately makes me think about how that relates to the house-building aspect. Like, with the giant tower, are they gonna charge the Imps for rent? That might work, honestly. Where do imps even live? Bet they don't have good AC or Wi-Fi, lemme tell ya.

300 GRIST/DAY NO CRUXTRUDER NO ALCHEMY NO PETS

@manorinthewoods submitted: How many computers would you have on your person if you were playing Sburb? Jade recommends at least 5. I say I'd have a laptop, phone, a spare of both of those, and computer gloves if I need to compute really fast. Also spare gloves. Speaking of the phone - is it possible for people to put phones in their pockets? Given Karkat (and a minor gag in Act 6), we can assume that it's difficult or uncommon to carry items without using the Sylladex - or maybe it's just tied to your dexterity, and you have to hold things gingerly to avoid captchaloguing them when you pick them up. On the other hand, there's no issues with accidentally storing something you've unstored and are using - so how does the Sylladex actually work? Do people just instinctively store their items once they're done using them? Is it difficult to avoid storing something you aren't using anymore? Can you stuff phones in pockets? If not, then why develop a PDA in the first place? Given the Sylladex, it should be much more commercially viable to make a tablet. ~LOSS (24/4/24)

Since Karkat can physically pick up a book, you can probably pocket your gear - although maybe there's a difference between holding an object and trying to add it to a physical 'inventory'. Either way, the issue is easily circumvented by employing wearable tech, like the kids do.

As depicted in my alchemy binge, my primary computing device would be the Pocket Holodex, which can remote into any computer in my sylladex.

In addition, my Modular Ring shirt is also a computer, which can presumably be augmented by adding extra mod1ules over time. I'd probably also captchalogue every computer in my apartment, of which I currently have six.

I'd be exploring the Medium with a minimum of seven computers, plus one pseudo-computer, plus a phone. Jade would certainly approve.

@iris-in-the-dark-world asked: the tension in act 5 act 2 is perfect, i love it. maybe even moreso on rereads, the foreshadowing and generally ominous vibes always get to me @heliotropopause asked: You're getting to the part where the comic really starts hitting its stride. This'll be fun.

The ever-present countdown certainly adds a degree of urgency to the situation.

I'm really liking the pacing of this current act, as things slowly progress towards some critical point - one which, for now, is still shrouded in mystery.

Anonymous asked: Forwarding another ask for the person with no account ~DJ: Eridan's deal seems to be based on Wizardry Herbert - a proto-Homestuck work by Hussie. A parody of Harry Potter dealing with whether magic is real. [] But Methods of Rationality began in February 2010, so "Harry Potter but obsessed with science" might have also been an intentional reference to that.-RM @heliotropopause asked: Eridan Ampora and the Methods of Rationality sure is an idea for a fanfic. He'd be so bad at it.

Eridan would be an extremely funny choice for a ratfic protagonist. He'd be so smarmy about it - and thus, a perfect addition to their ranks.

What would the definitive Homestuck ratfic be called, do you think? I think Tool-Assisted Speedrun would be a decent choice.

@killedthekat asked: An interesting thing about doomed timelines is how they serve to prevent stable loop metagaming. As a basic example, in a typical stable time loop scenario, if you observe yourself unharmed in the future, you can throw yourself into high danger high reward situations and know that probability will twist itself into whatever improbable knot it needs to do to keep you safe. But in homestuck if you lean too hard on predestination you just get shunted into a doomed timeline for your trouble.

It's true. Timehopping just isn't fun in Homestuck, as you're constantly walking a tightrope, desperately trying to stay in the one timeline that might not get you killed.

It's a good way to prevent time-travelers from becoming overpowered - something which is probably necessary for a comic which makes such heavy use of the concept.

Anonymous asked: Now that you're updating while HS^2 is, I've realised that while I'm barely keeping up with ^2, I just yelled "Oh! Upd8!" out loud when I checked your blog, so to me? You're the real continuation of Homestuck

What an honor!

For veterans of the comic, this blog is more Homestuck: Revisited than Homestuck 2. As a woman who would much rather watch video essays about old Simpsons episodes than new seasons of the show, I completely understand why some would prefer the latter.

@manorinthewoods asked: I've since finished Worm. I think Sophia's by far the best Vriska candidate. Lisa, Amy, and Colin are less so, I think. ~LOSS (21/4/24)

Oh, nice, you got all the way through it! Worm is an absolute behemoth, and I know a lot of people who started it, and gave up halfway through.

Sophia is likely the closest match to Vriska in personality. I agree with an earlier comment, though, that the most Vriska-like character in terms of audience reaction is probably Amy.

Anonymous asked: Cannot believe someone would propose a Homestuck/Locked Tomb scenario and leave Gamzee as part of a spare pairing, when the Homestuck fic The Serendipity Gospels, written by the author of The Locked Tomb, stars Gamzee and Terezi in the proto-necromancer/cavalier dynamic. Absolutely appropriate to have Gamzee as Ninth though, since his facepaint is the direct ancestor to Harrow's. Gamzee and Terezi is such a funny pairing to go with. I'm certainly looking forward to checking out The Serendipity Gospels when I'm done with the comic - both to compare it to Homestuck and to the Locked Tomb.

As am I. Apparently it was left unfinished - but considering how long this liveblog is taking, maybe Taz will have updated by the time I'm done!

Wishful thinking, of course, but I live in hope.

@bladekindeyewear submitted:

(I started Dragon's Dogma 2 a couple weeks ago and did my best to a Gideon Nav pawn (NPC ally), facepaint and two-hander and all, and the "Jaunty Straightforward" voice selection has been EXTREMELY distracting / game-improving because her voice and attitude chatting beside my player all the time sound almost straight out of the audiobook.)

Damn, you really captured her essence. Pawn is a very fitting title for her, too :(

@manorinthewoods asked: On the topic of blood color names - Blue through Purple were renamed in Hiveswap. Originally, Vriska was Cerulean, Equius was Blue, and Gamzee was Indigo - which I like more than their modern incarnations. I think 'bronze' might also be a Hiveswap thing, although I won't dispute it, and rust might have been renamed to burgundy? Maybe burgundy is a synonym. Idk. ~LOSS (4/13/24)

I think I prefer the likes of olive, indigo and bronze over more generic terms like green, blue and brown, which would quickly lead to confusion.

Vriska's blood, for example, is also a shade of blue, so it would be a little strange if blue blood was an official term, but it didn't apply to her.

@mxamericanblue asked:hi i have been absolutely BINGING your live blog rn and i gotta just get this out this is so so cool watching you react has been giving me so much joy, i don't have a computer so i can't really experience homestuck again casually when i want to but watching you read it and react and THEORIZE??? omg your theories have been so fuckin killer it's given me a new appreciation for Hussie as a story teller and how spectacular this comic truly was thank you for this, i've been having a grand ol' time, and it's all cuz of u

Thank you! I feel like I've been theorizing a lot less since I came back from my hiatus, mostly because the comic hasn't introduced many big mysteries recently - aside, of course, from Aradia's unexplained explosion.

(Pre-posting update: Since first drafting this ask, my statement above is no longer true, as Gamzee has been revealed as Homestuck's most important character. What the actual fuck.)

@lilietsblog asked: re fifth house aradia: she's an archeolodist :)

Oh, shit, you're right.

Maybe she'd be in more danger from the Lyctor than I thought.

@ben-guy asked: Vriska's ascension to god-tier is, in my personal opinion, one of the most visually striking scenes in all of Homestuck. Also, one of the panels you didn't include (which is understandable w/ Homestuck lol. Sacrifices for the sake of brevity) specifically the one where she has him write "[…] plenty of time for that l8r" above her head… Think about the position she would have had to move him to to write that.

…jesus, Vriska. You can't just do that!

@martinkhall asked: "What is treasure but a fortune, waiting to be found?" Or stolen if you're the THIEF of Light.

Son of a bitch. That's why she's a pirate, isn't it?

Because a Thief of Light is someone who steals fortunes!

@manorinthewoods asked: Eidolons. A species purpose-built to play Sburb, while breaking every mechanic you can solely with biology. Eidolons don't sleep, and live in a hive mind. Their psychologies are very poor at recognising distinct things, with Eidolons seeing the world more in terms of a blur of colors and shapes. They thus have a very difficult time understanding Classes and Aspects, never mind that their mythology never involved deities, and they never invented chess, or games of any sort… ~LOSS (15/4/24)

The idea of a species engineered from the ground up to be Players does raise the interesting question of whether there was a first species to play Sburb.

Of course, with all the time-loops we've been working with, there might not have been a first species - unless Sburb was 'created' in some sort of metatemporal space, 'before' any loops were put in place.

@manorinthewoods submitted: You are very good at analysing Vriska's psyche. Vriska's character was executed very well, I think, and I would hate her with a burning passion platonically but to a high degree if I knew her in real life. She's just… really horrible. She's a horrible person. And half her shtick is that she keeps evading consequences in spite of that. All of her mental torture of Tavros, for instance, ends in her becoming the most powerful player in the session. What sort of justice is that, Terezi? ~LOSS (15/4/24)

She hasn't entirely evaded consequences, but it's undeniable that none of the consequences she's experienced have actually stopped her from doing the things she does.

She's lost an arm, an eye, she's been beaten up, she's bled to death, and literally none of it has caused her to let up on Tavros, even a little. Letting up on Tavros, to her, would be worse than any physical harm, because it would be an attack on her worldview.

@sanctferum asked: "Has anything come of this since, actually? I haven’t heard anything about this new comic – although I do scroll in the opposite direction any time I see a reference to Homestuck, so I guess it makes sense that I wouldn’t." - The general feel I've gotten from the community has been largely positive re: the new Homestuck 2 updates, which have indeed been happening. It's being updated once per month for now, so a lot slower going than non-hiatused OG Homestuck. But I'm enjoying it so far!

Once a month seems more sustainable than Hussie's original barely-believable pace for the comic. With Hussie no longer at the helm, expecting daily panels seems like a pretty big ask - most people don't have the time, money or energy do what Hussie did.

Anonymous asked: I don't know if you read UTDR fanfiction, but this Tavros and Vriska situation reminds me a little bit of Flowey Is Not A Good Life Coach. she's trying to push him to his limits and torture him into being someone who will kill, and he just won't. say, what's your read on comparing Flowey : Vriska?

Flowey does what he does because he's lost his emotions, but Vriska does what she does because she's consumed by her emotions.

If anything, Flowey has more in common with Aradia. They're both time-travelers whose ability to feel is somewhat compromised.

Anonymous asked: WHATTTTTT HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN BACK???????? I THOUGHT YOU WERE STILL ON A LONG ASS HIATUS BUT I JUST JOW DISCOVERED TUMBLR ISNT GIVING ME POST NOTIFICATIONS FOR YOU ANYMORE EVEN THOUGH I HAVE IT TURNED ON FOR YOU AND IT WORKS FOR OTHER BLOGS???? WHAT THE HELL. IM GOING INSANE.

This has happened before - but before, I was also removed from Tumblr's search function, which doesn't seem to be the case this time.

Is anyone else having issues with Wertsearch post notifications?

@elkian asked: So has anyone mentioned the godhood joke yet? (The God Tiers costumes have hoods. God Hoods. Badum-tish)

LOL, I did miss that.

Anonymous asked: Fun Homestuck fact! After writing Karkat, someone brought up that the writer of the 'Programming For [Expletive]s' book sounded a lot like Karkat. Andrew responded by telling them to imagine that it was actually written in all caps, basically canonizing that the 'Programming For [Expletive]s' book was written by Karkat. At least, I think that's how that went? ~LOSS (28/2/23)

And it could be any Karkat, too. Maybe one of the Karkats from a doomed timeline actually learned to code from Sollux, and became a famous ~ATH developer.

@morganwick asked: So with conversation 8=8 apparently taking place in the immediate aftermath of Rose destroying her gate (even technically during Descend), and Rose's attitude towards Kanaya in the part of it that we see, does that change how much you think her attitude in their previous conversations reflects her genuine mental state?

Oh yeah, no, I’m pretty sure she was genuinely in a bad mood here. Not really so much because of Kanaya, and I think the anger directed at Kanaya specifically was inauthentic, but the bad mood itself was real. She'd recently been injected with several months of traumatic memories, after all.

@manorinthewoods asked: That panel, of John in Vriska's 'fabulous outfit', is actually pretty neat, because you can see from the proportions how young John really is. He's small, not even fully a teenager yet, and he's been thrown into this chaotic world of humans and trolls, quadrants, violence and danger. Everyone in the game must be scared, in some degree, but none of them ever show it. It makes you wonder just how strong Skaia's children really are. ~LOSS (29/4/23)

Seriously. In what universe are 13-year-olds the people most qualified to make universes? Sburb has some very funny ideas about the optimal way it should be played.

I suppose this is something that had to be true, though, for Homestuck to be the coming-of-age story that Hussie wanted it to be.

Anonymous asked: My interpretation has always been that "the Blind Prophets" are actually just Terezi herself, in a time loop-y/predestined way. She's blind, her class is Seer, AKA prophet, and those are her numerals. Also, on an unrelated note, but to weigh in on your last ask, according to Latin conventions, the plural of lusus is lusus. Does Homestuck follow those conventions? Well…

Or, since there are two Seers in Homestuck, maybe they’re Terezi and Rose. She’s a Light Player, so a blinding would be suitably ironic.

Anonymous asked: re: captchalogue codes and the states of objects: it takes a relatively small change in the physical arrangement of atoms and whatnot to turn a ghost dad poster into, say, a little monsters poster, but the two have a relatively large difference between their conceptual nature. on the other hand, it would take a relatively large rearrangement of atoms to make the slime pogo ride be anything other than a slime pogo ride. perhaps this makes the former change state more easily than the latter? alternatively, maybe the captcha system just knows that all it would really take to make the slime pogo ride stop being covered in oil is soap and water and it's happy to do that on its own, but paper is harder to clean so it wants you to jump through more hoops for that one new question: if john had used his posters for alchemy before he was able to see their defacement, would the resultant objects also be beclowned? evidence seems to suggest that players with unawakened dream selves Will draw on their walls in their sleep and not see it until Ready, so there not being mechanisms in place to deal with that seems less likely than the alternative to me, but especially considering people who aren't them Can see the drawings, how??? would that even??? work??? what would've happened if john had done alchemy with the arms cake. i think it would be funny to see that

I think he’d still get the clown posters.

The kids keep accidentally making magic items, so It's clearly possible for someone to alchemize an object with properties they didn't foresee. Therefore, I think John would make what appears, to him, to be a normal poster - but Rose would still see it as it truly is.

Anonymous asked: any thoughts on what the horrorterrors are? beyond their (admittedly vague) intentions?

I think they’re a sign of the wider cosmology beyond Sburb - and, more specifically, a sign that there is a wider cosmology beyond Sburb.

I don't know if we'll necessarily get more expansion on them than we've already had, because their whole shtick is that they're unknowable. Needless to say, I'd love to be proven wrong.

#asks #full liveblog #act 5.2 #ya girl also thought she had more asks to finish. I swear there were like ten but there were actually only two

[brodieland]

.˚ 𓈒 ࣪.𝝑𝝔 Royal Rivalries !! ´ˎ˗

Luke Castellan x Fem!Zeus!Reader Synopsis: home along with your prince Luke, but you needed to shower.. Tag(s): Royal AU, suggestive ASF, possibly most devious thing ive written and its not even crazy bai Word Count: 2248

A sunny day when your father isn't home is always bound to be a good day. Normally when he's home, he prefers when everyone was always dressed nicely, always in dresses or button ups. So when he leaves to visit the other kingdoms of Olympia, you take advantage walking around in sweats and shirts with no bras.

Zeus was currently in the Aphrodite kingdom, talking love and weddings and whatnot, you didn't really know, nor did you really care. It's been about two weeks of wedding talk, or two weeks since the day you got engaged. It's been sickening, you've had to sit through three dinners with Luke, trying your best not to throw something across the table every time he makes an 'assface' type of comment. Anyways, Zeus finally letting you out of sight may have been a blessing.

After snaking through your closet, you pulled some little shorts and a bikini. By the garden out behind your castle, there's a gazebo with a glass roof and lawn chairs, perfect for sunbathing.

As you skipped down the hallways, you waved off all your maids, and butlers and servants. Finally you pushed through the doors to the garden that looked straight from a painting. While walking down, you were brushing your hand along the bushes and hedges, occasionally picking and plucking some flowers and putting one in your hair.

Making it to the gazebo, you took off your shorts and laid down. The sound of the leaves and frogs could've made you fall asleep. Except, you were interrupted.

"Excuse me? Princess Y/N," it was your favorite maid, Margaret.

"Yes Margaret, is something wrong," you asked without opening your eyes.

"You have a visitor," her voice sounded somewhat nervous, and you could only guess who it was.

"If its my father, please tell him what I do in my free time is my business and my business alone."

"You gotta stop thinking I'm your dad," your eyes shot open. "It's getting a little concerning."

You looked at him, standing in front of you with the sun coating his skin in a nice golden light. He gave you a smug look, with that jagged scar stretched out on his face.

"What're you doing here," you asked as you leaned up in your seat. "Go home."

"That's no way to speak to your future husband, now is it?"

You sat fully up, crossing your arms and throwing one leg over the other, while looking up at him with an unpleasant expression. "I asked you a question."

"When did you grow to be so feisty?"

"When did you grow up to be such an ass-"

"I'm going back now," Margaret said nervously. "Bye princess."

She quickly scurried off back from where she came from. You scowled, "your scaring the help away Castellan."

"Me? You're the one with a foul mouth. What was it you said, 'that it was unbecoming of a princess?' Or is that only when daddy dearest is around?"

"Gods forbid I do something alone."

"You know, sooner than you think I'll be here for you more," you raised your brow. "One week."

You stood up, "What does 'one week' mean?"

"It means in one week I'll see you in your long white dress walking down the aisle, all for me."

Your eyes widened, "One week? Why is he rushing things??"

"Who cares," he laughed. "Personally, I can not wait."

You weren't ready for marriage. Not only were you too young, but too sober to get through a wedding with Luke. You yelled in frustration while holding your head in your hands. When you looked back up, you saw Luke's hair standing up on its self. Before freaking out, you quickly grabbed onto Luke and pulled him behind you, under the roof of the gazebo. Then a giant bolt of lightning, with a width twice the size of a telephone pole, zapped the ground where he was just standing.

"Holy.." he whispered.

"I meant full offense by the way," you panted, despite it being accidental, it took more out of you then you thought.

"Wow, almost worked yourself to death trying to kill me?"

You rolled your eyes and pushed him off as he tried catching you. When you did so, you wobbled a little. "I'm fine."

You stumbled back to your chair to grab your shorts and head back home, nearly tripping over yourself. "Lemme help you."

"I told you, I'm-" you started coughing. "I'm fine."

"Clearly," you were struggling to stay on your feet. "C'mon."

You didn't have the energy to protest as he picked you up bridal style and carried you back to the house. You tried to push him away with no luck, he really was as strong as he looked. He kept walking till he made it to the kitchen, sitting you down on top of a counter.

"S'cold in here," you shivered, rubbing your hands on whatever they could reach to create whatever warmth possible. Luke was looking inside a fridge for a bottle of water, tossing it to you.

You barely caught it and took a sip, "course your cold, you got almost nothing on."

You paid no attention to him looking you up and down as you chugged the water, some dripping from the sides of your mouth and sliding down your body. You tossed the now empty bottle aside and hopped off the counter, grabbing your shorts and walking out.

"Stop following me."

"I'm not following you, I'm just walking in the same direction," he mused.

"Find another direction, I'm going to take a shower."

"Come on wifey, let's keep the same direction," you glared at him, trying not to react at the ridiculous nickname. "You thought it was funny you can admit it."

You smacked him on the arm with your shorts, "As if."

"You know, I remember when we were younger, and your dad forced you to wear those god awful swimsuits, the long sleeves and shorts. Remember those days?"

"Gods, how could I forget," you grumbled. "The tan lines those suits would give me were outrageous."

You both chuckled before you remembered something, "hey. Let's not forget you also had a swim shirt. And a bucket hat, with the white strips on sun screen on your face."

"Okay okay we can calm down now."

"Hey, you started it, I just finished it," you threw your hands up, and Luke just rolled his eyes. You guys continued walked as you made it to your bedroom. "I was serious, I do need to take a shower now."

"Hey, we used to take baths together when we were kids, and we were engaged then too, whats so different now?"

"I'm gonna pretend you didn't just ask that," you said as you went through your drawers looking for some clean clothes.

"Nothings different, now we're just taller," he shrugged.

"You want to see me naked so bad it's sickening," you joked as you turned back around and looked at Luke. He was laid back on your bed with his arms behind his head as he just stared at you. When his short sleeves are moving up and struggling to fit against his biceps, it makes you forget what a villainous 15 year old he was. "Not even gonna deny it?"

"Nope" he cheered. "And don't act so innocent, like I didn't just catch you checking me out, princess."

"I don't know what your talking about."

"I can see it in your eyes, what you want."

"What're you talking about," you walked up, standing in front of him.

"You act like you hate me, but I don't think you really do," he said as he sat up on your bed.

"And what makes you say that," you asked as you leaned down, hands on his knees while your cleavage was popping out of your bathing suit into his face.

"Intuition?"

You gave a close-eyed smile as you smacked him upside the head, "Your intuition can eat my ass, get your head out of the gutter."

You laughed as you walked off toward your bathroom. "Your such a tease, aren't you princess?"

"Remember," you started as you leaned against the bathroom doorframe, "As I am royalty, its disrespectful to oh so brazenly stay in my bedroom, out of wedlock no less, with no supervision. What would the people say?"

"The people? Or your father, who isn't even here," he questioned. "How would he feel if he saw the clothes you hide away in your closet? Is there anything else you'd be willing to show?"

"I have my secrets," you said as you started untie your top as you shut the door before anything was revealed. You pressed your ear against the door and rustling from the other side. After a moment of rapid knocking while tying your top back, you opened the door. "Need something?"

"To shower, I'm filthy," Luke said as he walked passed you into the bathroom.

"Only thing filthy is your brain if you think I'm getting in that shower with you," you watched as he turned the shower on and take his shirt off.

"I think the filthiest thing in this room is the way you can't keep your eyes of me."

"I'm not checking you out, I'm just shocked by your sheer audacity."

"Princess, what are you, scared? Scared to shower with your fiancé?"

"Scared? Excuse me," you raised your eyebrow. "What makes you think I would ever be scared right now?"

"I think you won't be able to resist me and that aggravates you."

"Screw you," you started undoing your bathing suit and walking into the shower. Luke stood there with both eyebrows raised. "You coming in? Or are you the one with no self-control?"

"Yeah we'll see about that," he finished undressing and hopped into the shower behind you. You did your best to pay him little to no attention, but it was difficult. You kept yourself faced away, though either side of you, Luke didn't mind.

To be fair, you did want to turn around, but you stayed strong. Hard, I know. You minded your business as you shampooed your hair. "You missed a spot."

"No I didn't."

"Yeah you did," he ran his hand through your hair, softly massaging your scalp. "Right there."

It felt nice, though you weren't gonna say that. "What're you doing?"

"Washing your hair," he tightened his grip on your hair, slowly pulling your head back to look at him. "What're you thinking? Something dirty?"

"You speak to me much too freely, have you no respect," you turned completely as you pointed your finger into his chest, making sure you keep eye contact.

"Of course I do, I plan to treat you with nothing but the upmost respect," he grabbed your finger, interlocking his hand in yours, while his words were laced with arrogance.

"You drown in your over-confidence, I hope you know. And we both know you came in here thinking you were going to get lucky, didn't you?"

"Ah so you see, I'm already lucky to be in here," he smiled.

"Oh Luke, flattery gets you no where."

"You could always let it get me somewhere."

"Why should I, did your little Aphrodite princess let you get lucky?"

"Wouldn't you like to know what we've done," he leaned down into your face.

"As you're your future wife, don't you think I'm entitled to know your past," you raised your brow at him. "Why, do you think she'd be better than anything I'd be able to do?"

"What makes you think I slept with her?"

"Well.. did you," you quickly asked, upset with how interested you sounded.

"Your cute when your jealous," he moved his hand that was still in your hair down to your jaw, making sure you were looking up at him.

"I'm not jealous, what is there to be jealous of?"

"So you wouldn't care if I had sex with her? You wouldn't care about being not being my first?"

You stayed silent. "Though of course, as my future wife, you are entitled to all that information. All the details." He kept talking and you started getting upset. "What was it you wanted to know? How long it lasted, how many times we had sex, how many different positions we did?"

"Shut. up," you stared into his chest, but he just pulled your face back up to look at him.

"What was that?"

"I told you to shut up," you moved his hands and let go of him as you walked out the shower, grabbing a towel and covering yourself. You hated the way that crush from when you were 14 still lingered, even more when he talks about the girl he cheated with. It could've been you who... yeah. You moved so you were no longer in his sight as you dried off.

"I never did," he called out. You contemplated ignoring him.

"Did what."

"Her," he paused. "I never did her."

That made you weirdly happy, but you didn't let it show. "That's all I wanted to know."

"You coming back in?"

"No I don't think so, I'm feeling squeaky clean," you walked past the shower with your towel wrapped around your body as you made your way to the door. "But if you still feeling filthy, stay as long as you need."

You laughed and shut the door behind you, Lukes eyes lingering as you did so. This was going to be fun.

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson pjo #percy pjo #luke pjo #luke castellan #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan x y/n

[libby-for-life]

Ok I’m officially convinced that there is some kind of drug in your works, because I am an addict! It’s incredible!!! anyway what I wanted to ask you about you know how eventually Lilith and Lucifer are sent to Hell for their actions, what if Adam was sent with them as to make sure they never rise up against Heaven. and think about it, Lucifer gets not one but TWO queens!

Why thank you. I do happen to put coke in the stories so that's probably what you're experiencing!

I really like this idea!

Adam died after a long and fruitful life. He had many many children and he was alive to see those children become parents and then grandparents and then great-grandparents. He died at the ripe age of 989.

He closed his eyes, his family surrounding him as he passed on. He opened his eyes to a bright light.

"Adam." A familiar voice said. "Welcome, to Heaven. We have much to discuss."

Adam didn't have much of a chance to gain his bearings before he was grabbed and hauled up. "What?" Adam muttered.

"Hush. Be silent." A gruff voice said and it made Adam look over to see a familiar angel. "Michael?" Michael gave him an unreadable look and pushed him forward. Adam was guided roughly toward a building. "Michael, what's going—"

Adam yelped as he was pushed into the building and came face-to-face with Sera. "Sera. What's going on? Why is everyone being so weird?"

Sera grimaced as suddenly chains bound Adam to the floor. "Sera!" Adam cried, a look of betrayal on his face as he was hauled up onto his knees.

"For what's its worth, you were meant for Heaven." Sera began as a gag was fitted over Adam’s mouth. Tears gathered at the edge of his eyes as he glared at Sera. "But I have to think of what's best for Heaven and that means sacrifice." Micheal picked up Adam and they all stepped onto some pad. Glowing light filled his vision as the room was replaced and they appeared in another room.

The air no longer smelled sweet and Adam coughed into the gag.

"Lucifer. Lilith. It seems that you have already arrived. "

Adam's eyes widened at those names and began to violently shake. No. No! Not them! Not the people who abandoned him! More tears fell to the ground as Michael jostled him.

"That's him?" A smooth voice said and Adam immediately recognized it as Lilith.

"Yes. In exchange for you and your people never going against Heaven, we give you what you've requested. Adam's soul." Adam tried to fight out of Michael's arms but his hair was harshly pulled making him whimper in pain. "Stop squirming. Be grateful. You're helping Heaven stay strong."

He risked a glance at the two people he feared the most. They both were glaring at Sera and it made Adam pale. 'They're gonna kill me.' Adam thought as he let out a choked sob.

"Then I suggest you hand him over," Lucifer growled. Micheal scoffed at his brother before holding out Adam like he was some sort of disgusting pet he no longer wanted. Lilith glided over and Adam flinched when she touched him but was somewhat surprised when her arms held him gently.

Lilith guided his head to the crook of her neck and Adam could smell Lily of the Valley, cinnamon, and something distinctly Lilith.

While his mind was still in a frenzy, his body relaxed in the gentle hold, her pheromones making him calm.

"Good. Now leave."

Adam could feel the angels leave and he whimpered at being left alone. He was always being left alone. Why? Why?!

"Oh, Adam. What have they done to you?" Lucifer crooned as he rubbed Adam's back. "Let's get these nasty chains off you." Adam held back more tears as Lilith and Lucifer began unwrapping him from the golden chains. Adam didn't understand the looks they were giving him.

They looked...soft and loving. Adam must be hallucinating it. His mind was trying to come up with an explanation and this was what he had always wanted so of course his mind went there.

Soon, all he was left in was a gag and the tunic he arrived in. His white wings shivered as Lucifer caressed them. "So beautiful." Lucifer murmured.

Lilith chuckled before taking the gag off. Adam gasped and immediately asked, "Are you going to kill me?"

Lilith and Lucifer looked surprised but then angry making Adam close his eyes in fear. "Is that what they told you?" Lilith demanded, her hand finding hold of his brown locks. It was gently rubbed through with delicate fingers.

Adam whimpered. "N-no. You hate me!" He cried but was silenced as he felt lips meet his wings, no, the base and it made Adam shiver in Lilith's lap. "We don't hate you, Adam," Lilith said with a sultry smile as she kissed his cheek. Adam blushed heavily. He was very confused but a warm feeling filled his belly and he couldn't help but hide in the crook of Lilith's neck.

Two chuckles filled the room. "Don't worry, Adam. We have an eternity to prove it to you."

#hazbin hotel #adamsapple #hazbin hotel adam #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer x adam x lilith #send asks #adam hazbin hotel

[precious-little-scoundrel]

MotA Fanfiction: John Brady and first person/reader/insert no use of y/n.

18+: John Brady had me at “like you told me” five seconds before “son of a bitch that’s France” and now we’ve got seven kids and a mortgage. The following could be a very existential diary page about the first few months of that marriage.

But basically, John Brady makes me rabid: here have some purple prose smut about it mixed into an essay on happiness

My mother readied me for many things but not for this. I dig through the archives of her heavy advice, her off handed comments, her jubilant prognostications, all I keep so dutifully in my mind, and I search for some hint from her that she knew it could be like this. But I find nothing, it is all too weak or strong or wordy.

Did it not come in words?

Were her misty eyes when she settled the veil over my face the true meaning of it? Had I mistaken her emotion as a presentment of missing me when it was instead tremulous excitement for what was in store? Had she known when she wrapped me in white and insisted it fit me lovingly to my proportions that it was not tidiness and appreciation for good seams but instead, that holy knowledge of what more awaited me? That a wedding dress in its fit reflects what happens when the groom removes it?

She knew I had myself a good man. Did she suspect how well he’d fit me?

And I thought it was merely cloth, I had been too busy even for my own wedding. I was too busy loving him, the idea of him, of him being mine. Perhaps if we had met in peacetime, if he had courted me between his hours at the office and my semesters I would have looked forward to my wedding, planned each detail and worried over all manner of things that brides are said to care about.

But we had not; I’d no sooner loved him than he’d gone, and no sooner had death returned him on loan than I married him. I loved him and everyone else but me seemed to know what that meant as he kissed frosting from my wrist.

I had thought I’d known at the registry office, signing in ink my name, scrawling a practiced B that ended with a flourished Y.

Mrs. Brady.

I’d thought I’d known then. I had given the benign judge a saucy smile of the fully enlightened. I had no idea. To ask me if I was happy that day would have been a good joke, to ask me if I could be happier when we waved out a window chalked with news of our nuptials: it would have been more than half insulting.

I was happy. I thought I knew. And that night, what little doubt I had about the gaps in my theory, he filled. Love in its rawest form, breaking me apart, making a place for himself, I clung to his shoulders; this part my mother had told me of. She told me it got better; I can’t speak to that. He was pushing and petting and I endured until surrender turned to fascination and again to arousal by his rhythm, the concrete sense of his need, the clarity of his release. And still I was urging my sweet boy to take and take; it did not get better, it got sublime. I could not fault my mother for her faulty preparations, even though I think she knew -for her own sake I hope she knew. There are no words for it when two bodies become one, minds meld and he finds his way eased by your blood till he’s in so deep you think he’s probed at your heart. I don’t hear of people speaking about that part, and mother didn’t tell me, but I think they know.

I am quite forgiving of her that night, I thought I knew then, I assumed what she left unsaid, it was merely out for lack of vocabulary. Lying beside him, having tasted heaven, I am generous. She tried. I know.

He had put a pillow under my hips before he opened me, it tilted me kindly for his invasion and I wonder who told him of that. His innate desire to please had long ago led me to find he was good at kissing, and that he liked to kiss me everywhere. He was as delighted by the back of my knees as he was by my throat, and he forgot all reason when he tasted between my thighs, only his firm and unyielding hands on my hips gave a mottled clue he kept at such kissing for his own satisfaction as much as mine.

I know that I am happy then, on my wedding night, and next morning I am happier still. I might try at being cross with my own self, for sabotaging my arrival at absolute knowledge except that I cannot help but be giddy for it; he loves to kiss me, my boy, and he has a warm blush on his face in the sunlight, this first morning I’ve woken up beside him, and his hands are already busy with me. Mine grow busy with him and I know this is how we will spend our days, kissing with him inside me, and I am happy.

No one who encounters me in the coming weeks can doubt it. My parents whisper amongst themselves, his too, church members and fellow servicemen. My Johnny is not settled with a job and so we lodge at various places in the next two months, and soon each of our hosts knows it, too. It cannot be stifled beneath his quieting palm when he breaks me apart, thin walls and no place to call our own except the harbor of my body, that’s his home and he goes into it. Often and more vigorously each time until I associate happiness with the most alarming strength of exertion from the lithe length of him rolling against mine, noses to toes; I draw blood from his hand.

Even my boy is beginning to see: he makes me happy. He has the most melancholy eyes, my boy, I recalled them as being calm and observant before he went away. But he has observed too much though he never says so, and out of his army greens there is not a speck of baby blue left in them, they’re cold gray and the only time I see them sparkle are when I’ve made him laugh so hard a tear rolls down his creased cheeks. I am impatient with his happiness, I know it and I know I’m wrong for it, but I miss the sky blue of them and the way I didn’t used to have to guess at what roils beneath them.

If he can’t feel happiness as thoroughly as me, he at least presents with quiet confidence as he finds a peacetime footing, there is a job offer in Maryland and we take our first road-trip. He is full of plans and maps and well drawn schedules and I am full of 55 mph breezes up the nose, feet in his lap and face hung out the window merrily, there are endless rows of pines and the feel of bark against my back at the rest pavilion. More, more, more, I demand of him and he gives it, it’s happiness turned hungry, greedy, close to vicious. Happiness that needs topping off.

We fight that night before his interview. A silly thing, inconsequential, hotel room adding to the displaced feeling I have begun to feel after our adventure calmed into adult necessity. He is preoccupied with being excellent and I am preoccupied with happiness. Chiefly if I make him happy or not; this is the first night he has not been so undivided in his passion and I allow it to vex me. I am young and I am happy and I guard it jealously, thinking that holding it -gripping him- tight fistedly desperate about it, will keep it all the closer.

“I am doing this for us.” his tone cuts me, I have admired it slashing others but it has never been directed at me before. He is wiser than I am and a self proclaimed cynic. I think he is fighting me in my happy quest, but, “For us, I’m doing this for us.”

His fingers dig into my cheeks and it is assurance enough. I have to agree that even heaven must have some maintenance work intruding on the celestial revels from time to time.

By the time I stand on the bed and cinch his tie the next morning before his interview, I have never been more in love. I am happy, yes, but there is admiration for him there too, but I struggle with finding a place for it.

Love, it seems, multiplies and I remain fixated with happiness in its tidiest form. Like the moment we cut the cake. I ask him that night if he has ever felt that, felt it simple and tidy.

“I feel a million things about you.” he swears instead; his tone suggests it is the most devout compliment.

I pray for wisdom next Sunday. I can feel that there is more to happiness than I know and it unsettles me. Our fight has long been made up but those million things that Johnny thinks and knows of me haunt the little life I try to construct, they haunt it as badly as whatever plagues his dreams at night.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry.” he begs a hundred times to me night after thrashing night; he suggests the sofa, I won’t hear of it. The bruises his flailing limbs land on mine are no darker than those he makes in calculated romance. His dreams respond to the feeling of my hands on his belly, he wakes easily with it, I have something to wake for and it is not perfect or quiet or even gentle always, but I am in love and when he allows me, I feel powerful and needed, hands on his belly, a thin tickle of hair beneath my palm. “You’re an Angel.” he swears to me, lips warm and plush against mine, I am so in love.

My cycle stops soon after the interview trip. I wait until I am sure to tell him one night, we are sprawled across our bed gasping back breath and I tell him, simple and direct as he prefers. I had wanted him one last time before he thought of me as a madonna. It had not been so different, I had been preoccupied with the child but I had also found my peak, and he had grasped greedily at my breasts, my nipples knotting beneath his fingers and only a lingering soreness in them to remind me of my secret. With his seed dripping from me, redundant and warm, I tell him.

“A baby?” My husband’s eyes glow, he cups my face like I am holy, his lips thank me with kisses to my nose and eyelids, “We’re havin’ a baby?”

He is all preparedness now. Striding with purpose and when he kisses me he is kissing the mother of his child; he gets the job in Maryland. We tell my parents of our happy news before we go, it surprises no one and yet there are celebrations as if we waited a decade. My Johnny is pleased and his smile is fixed, but I remember him when I told him, the glow about him, the naked press of him to me, his kisses on my belly. These are things I wish I could tell my mother -these are things that make me happier. Even more than the child itself.

On the way back to Maryland, our car trip is sedate, I eat ginger candies to quell the nausea and Johnny contemplates an unspoken thing. When I contemplate at all I think of driving down here over a month ago and the feeling of bark behind me and his hips snapping into me. I wonder if our child was made in the pines -how very different a few weeks makes a trip. He has foregone smoking his pipe indoors out of consideration for my queasy stomach.

“There’s somebody out here I should see.” He answers me at the gas pump, knowing I can tell he is preoccupied.

One of his crew lives off this exit, it’s why he’s filling up when the tank is half full. Johnny says he should go see him, and where he goes I will too.

Waist gunner Timmons is missing both legs. Together he and Johnny speak of bonds and education, his new job and the likelihood of drought, tidbits about the other boys' peacetime business failures, they laugh without malice. They laugh at themselves too. When taking our leave Johnny tells him our news. It makes me blush and I don’t know why, I was proud of our making the child. I should be proud of our finished product. I see him slip a hefty dollared bill in the coat pocket of the garden cover by the door as we leave.

Johnny stops our car at the end of the long gravel drive and while it confuses me, I know he is in a turmoil. His fists suddenly slam against the steering wheel and his face goes red beneath it’s feckless.

“Baby?” I question him but then he is weeping, forehead pressed to his knuckles on the steering wheel, aggravating buzz of a fly against the windshield unheeded.

It’s ugly and hiccuping and half panicked, he can’t seem to stop though the angry set of his shoulders tells me he wishes to, and after helpless fluttering beside him, I undo my waist belt and slide over to his side, arm thrown over his shoulders, forcefully prying him from the wheel. He lays in my arms and weeps for what feels like hours, letting me hold him and swear to him and soothe him. I’ve never known him like this, he speaks of Whys and Who’s and What’s He Got Going For Him to Deserve So Much Good Luck.

I am his good luck, his lips tell me as they press to my belly, he has fully sagged into my lap in his misery. I am his good luck, me and the baby and the job in Maryland and it is the first time I’ve ever thought of happiness as guilt.

The first days in Maryland, I cannot say that he is happier but he looks at me more openly, the guarded set of his eyes is gone and something sheepish but trusting shimmers there instead. Still steel gray but I notice the flutter of lashes around them and the dusting of pink cheeks more often. We never speak about Timmon’s driveway but I come to realize with a jolt: he’s softer for having let me see one of his million parts. I know him better now and it shows in his loosened shoulders and his shy smiles, the almost joyous eagerness he has to begin life here.

We close on an offer on a house, brick with a little porch, a small front drive and boxy lawn but in back there is a tall whitewashed fence going round and garden beds that are empty and waiting. It’s a prize and we are both delighted and he swoops me up, light as a feather, and brings me over the threshold.

“You’ve been waiting to do that!” I realize, he didn’t do it on our wedding night at the hotel or any of our other lodgings.

“We’ve got ourselves a home.” he grins back and there is such relief in his face I wonder at how much concern he was harboring before.

I begin to watch my man the way he watches me, I think less and less of whether he is happy and more and more if he feels safe. It’s why I’ve made no move to couple since he has not, not since I told him of the baby. We have been traveling, then moving in our boxes and he has been feeling whatever it was he felt in Timmons driveway. Some modicum of selflessness takes up residence in my childish heart, allowing him to hold me and not demanding proof of happiness from him. He cradles my belly every night as we spoon and I can feel his lips quirking in smiles as he gently hums to our child.

I watch my husband like he first watched me, from the bandstand, boyish cheeks blown full and nimble fingers flying over brass keys, I knew I wanted him then before he did. I went after him fast and furious, unlike myself in the way I tenaciously kept our first halting conversations going, shocking myself with the way I fanned my skirts around his lap and let him play beneath them -he was better at that than talking and I obliged him ravenously. Told him he looked handsome in his uniform and he told me he’d like to marry me. He came back to me as promised, four years late, yet the happiness that his first glittery eyed glance sparked in me is something I crave now as if I have not dabbled in far more heady pursuits with him thus far. His child grows in my belly but I miss his blush when I first stared at him past his bunker behind his music stand.

He watched me first, I wanted him worse. His eyes were blue then.

I admit my petulance to my mother after a week at the new house. Not that I am so wanton as to be bereft after a ten day abstinence, but that I cannot seem to settle some gnawing resentment that has begun. Again, not over the coupling. I am not sure what it’s over. I love him more than ever, and yet, that first blush of blazing white happiness of our first few days has given way to a nurturing watchfulness, an almost heartbreaking sympathy, a self effacing desire for his joy that robs me of my own. I ask her for a remedy.

She tells me I loved the idea of him before, and now I love him. And love is not made of happiness alone. She tells me to talk to him. “If you don’t know what it is,” she says, “he may. He knows you.”

He loves a thousand million parts of me, he had said. And then I had scoffed, feeling so sure I was comprised of only one: happiness.

Amongst the other basic necessities of settling in, we do our best to scope out the town, having arrived on a Thursday we attended mass soon in the only Catholic Church to be found in the small place, we find the town’s rec hall more promising, I keep my eyes peeled for a music store. There is one in Millersville, I find it when I go to inspect a couch that caught my eye in the Hutzlers catalog.

I do not know if he needs reeds. He hasn’t played since he got back, he may have a stack of extras in some box. But the sentimentality fills me strongly, the memory of missing him and waiting for him and having no ability to reach him over there except by sending the packages. And each of his letters with their little sheepish addendum: please send more reeds.

I got up from dinner that night to give them to him. He had asked about my day and as if I had some horrid secret to cover I had choked on my descriptions of the couch until I had broken down and admitted there was more. I place the item beside his plate and he puts down his fork while I stand in suspense.

An innocuous plastic wrapped package of saxophone reeds was probably not what my Johnny was expecting but he lets out a cut off little laugh about it.

“Did you even need more?” I am weirdly in knots over it, fingers nervously bunching at my dress and he leaves off opening the package to slip his own into mine to prevent the tick.

“I did.” he murmurs warmly, pressing a kiss to my forearm that dangles beside him, “Thank you.”

“Is that why you’re not playing?”

He looks surprised. “I -just busy, I suppose?” he questions himself.

“I miss it.” vocalized at last, I realize just how much.

“Do you?” his lips curve in a smile against my arm and move across to my belly, the hot gusts of his affection damping my dress. “Well, if my sweetheart misses it…” his lips have moved so low along my dress I feel an ache where I am missing other things.

He cleans his instrument that night while sat at the table while I do the dishes, our clearing of it a joint endeavor. He fusses over the need to grease it and other things too technical to be questioned but I understand, it won’t be played tonight. But it’s good to see him at the familiar task, his affection and seriousness for his work both manifesting across his face.

The next day he goes with me to Hutzlers, his opinion on household furnishings having been impeccable thus far and far more decisive than my own. He humors my myriad of hypotheticals regarding comfort and staining and color schemes, hands shoved easily in his pockets and a gentle smile on his face, I know by look alone he is categorizing each of my expert arguments into tidy little categories that he will present to me again in fifteen minutes time when a decision must be made.

In the end we purchase a pale blue couch with roses imprinted tone on tone into the fabric. It was decided upon only after he had hauled me down to the cushions to see if it were a plausibly good place to kiss. I now wonder if we have gotten a blue couch instead of a peach one simply due to the fact it was further from the window and he felt free to dip me down over the arm for a brief half minute.

Either way, it is set in stone that our new couch will be blue and on the way to the cash register, he immovably halts at a counter displaying the most heart wrenchingly cute baby items.

“We have to get somethin’.” he sounds almost exasperated at the previous weeks’ oversight.

We leave with ten different things, not having agreed upon what gender our child will be and I am unable to argue that booties are always a sensible option for either sex, I also want to strangle the woman behind the counter whose over eager desire to help robs me of the unguarded delight Johnny was showing over the little things before she came up.

He is opening my car door and teasing me for being so mercurial when he himself turns mildly glum before a hard determination sets his jaw.

“What?” I question, half wondering if he sees some old acquaintance or is having some awful recollection. I can’t imagine what amongst this urban place and departmental hedonism could inspire it but, stranger associations have done so.

“It’s midway through September.” he mutters, keen eyes fixed at the store’s grand facade, hand still heavy on the window before closing my door.

“Yep.” I am at a loss.

“But the seasons are milder down here.” he is presenting a case of his own for something and all I can do is agree, Maryland is more temperate than New York.

“Your mother even gave me a book about the different zones.”

“Yeah.” he is pleased with my perceived understanding, face lighting up, “So it’ll stay warmer down here.”

“For longer.”

“Yeah.”

“Johnny? What?”

He seems to realize I’ve not understood what he keeps looking at so intensely across the parking lot. “I want to buy bushes and flowers but it’s September.” he admits.

An extravagance this late in the season, and my man is not extravagant. “They’re very pretty.” I settle for acknowledging, knowing this is something he must decide but he looks so torn I would do anything to smooth that creased brow.

“It would make the place more, I dunno,” he stares down at his hand on the still adjar car door and shrugs, “…homey?”

“Some things are perennial.” a little blossom of hope tinges my own voice, my mind had gotten away with me -if he is this invested while yet undecided, I cannot imagine what diligence he might display at husbandry were he to act on it. And there’s nothing I have grown to love more in all my watching than him at some diligence.

We don’t get them. But in the car on the ride back there is discussion that the place is only a fifteen minute drive. Which pertains to the delivery of our couch, and we must hurry back to have the front door opened and I wanted to sweep where it will be once more. The delivery boys thump the blue thing on our floorboards carefully and its large presence is exactly what Johnny was saying we needed -Hominess. Emphatic. Settled. Ours.

No sooner have they left with his kind tips in their pockets than he is pulling me down on it, a hungry imitation of his actions at the store with hands more risky and insistent. I have been missing him so badly I come apart easily from his finger’s ministrations between my legs, sidetracked in trying to pull off my panties and garter belt. When he sees me go, he takes mercy and lets up, a gentle swiping through his prized currency of sticky pleasure and I watch him bring those long fingers to his lips, sucking them clean.

“You taste different.” he admits with heavy lidded eyes, “Since…” he doesn’t finish his explanation of the change in my belly, the slight swollen pooch that is our child.

“Bad?” I ask with feminine panic at the very notion.

He is settled on his belly between my thighs, blue couch a plush landing beneath us both, “N’bad.” is emphatically mumbled against me and my legs kick out the buzz of his voice. By his vocal and insistent enjoyment of it, I cannot help but be assured. Not bad. I keen up at our ceiling as he wrings one and then two and then -he won’t stop and I am needy for it, enjoying the familiar span of his hand dominating my belly, only this time it is cupping my swollen womb. I settle in relief that the proof of my maternity beneath his palm does not deter him, or at least, distract. He hums into his messy work and noses at me where I am all lightning and pulsing need, his hips jerking down into our plush new addition each time I pull at his dark locks.

Different, he says of my taste, and wedges his face in deeper, his hips beginning to move with the movements of his face against my parts and I swear to him that he is good, that he is perfect, that I’ve missed him, that he is beautiful and that he should have gotten those flowers.

His corresponding laugh makes me gush onto his tongue and his humor turns into a moan that only prolonges my delicious agony. He pushes my legs wider so forcefully I think he would like to take them off entirely if he could, his face smothered in my heat.

“You have a job now.” I present a case of my own to him, about the flowers as I try to get on top of the feeling, it is too much and he is unrelenting and I try to grasp onto something that is not his rocking body and clever lips, “A very good job and a car and -and we have this house, a-nd a-a a very nice couch -aaah God!”

His grip on my hips is deathly as I list his accomplishments until he seems to seize and then sag, tongue grown listless at last as his lips part and a shuddering groan fans over my tacky thigh.

“And we deserve flowers.” I whisper hoarsely, petting the dark strands from out of his eyes.

He’s spent himself in his writhing, I can tell by the molten expression on his face when his eyes finally drag up to meet mine over the small swell of my stomach, and set off by our new couch, they are the sparkliest of baby blues.

I have never been more startled. Or pleased. I had forgotten to watch for it, and so it had returned of its own skittish volition. I cling to that glimmer of blue until his smile grows wider and his eyes flutter shut in exhaustion.

Happiness.

At the end that night, bathed and fed and having inspected our new assortment of infant wear and argued once more over the likely gender, he brings his instrument out of its case with the package of reeds in hand. He has been offered a part time job at the high school, teaching music. It would be a hobby, he protests against his own interest in it, it would take away from time with me and Little One.

“I could go, too.” I point out.

“You’d like that?” he is pleased, the lamp is too dim for me to discern if there is blue but his lashes flutter briskly and I kiss his cheek, it’s hot beneath my lips.

“I always love watching you play.”

Before he fits the reed to the mouthpiece he makes me close my lips around it, a red stain marking it after, much to his satisfaction.

“You’ll be teaching children!” I swat at him, utterly pleased despite my own remonstrance.

“And I am married.” he says as if it were a universal absolution for all things.

The clock strikes five fifteen the next evening and he is not back. I have a plentiful assortment of excuses to choose from to explain his variance from routine. Traffic, work, a waylaying colleague -he has only been at work a couple of weeks, it is absurd to expect a forever unchanging home time. By five forty I cannot pretend expectation of what may have occurred and so keep the meatloaf warm with its proper cozy and when there is a bustle at the front door, I sprint to it like he’s back home from the war again.

It’s well I opened the door myself, he was endeavoring to while juggling three large potted plants in his arms. There is dirt in his white collar and I let out a little whoop at his uncharacteristic impulsiveness, stepping aside to help him get them through to the back porch. It doesn’t even need discussing, the large sliding glass door gives a beautiful view of the backyard from the living room and it’s sheltering insures privacy and a deterrent from our children’s stray balls flying to the next lot. At least for a few years. And the plants will go in the empty beds at the perimeter.

It is a Friday, and we eat my tepid meatloaf in between his smooching apologies for having been tardy and garbled plans for where we will put each plant and how we will stagger them according to their eventual size. It was far more than the three pots he brought, the trunk and also the cab were full of fauna.

Our excitement next morning is idiotic, we manage to snicker at ourselves for being so domesticated that this inspires frenzy but the self awareness gets not further than that, I throw on my rattiest -and coolest- sundress and he his jeans and with only his white singlet, breakfast is inhaled while standing at the backdoor, last minute plotting being discussed between bites. And then we spend our entire Saturday at it.

Johnny digs the holes and carries the plants to their allotted places and only then allows me to gently labor in filling soil over the roots, we eat cold meatloaf and slug down ice tea under the afternoon heat, not even bothering to go inside. When I have no other job, I weed the beds in preparation, watching unreservedly the way his shoulders glisten in his hard work. I have caught him eying the neckline of my dress, the recent changes he has imposed on my body now ensuring it does not gap so much as bulge while I lean over and grasp the next offending dandelion. I know he is watching and he knows I am watching and we are happy at our work, tidy garden beds filling out and his tongue pressed to his top lip to catch a drop of sweat.

The sun is a glittering soft light through the western trees by the time we take stock.

“Nothin’ left to do but water them.” he has his arm over my shoulder, hand nearly brown with caked soil where it hangs against my smudged breast, his undershirt gone translucent from sweat, the oddest attraction to his underarm blooms in me as he huffs in satisfaction next to me. I press a kiss to the swell of his pec instead, he folds with a shocked giggle, he is ticklish.

“It’s very homey.” I pronounce, feeling indeed a bone deep satisfaction over our garden at our own house from our own hands. His elbow crooks further and he has my neck secure in the bend, golden hour light the prettiest thing in the world as he nuzzles our sweaty noses and slowly claims a kiss.

“Our kids are gonna get to play out here for years.” he seems to realize as he lays his head atop mine, his voice sounds so softly comforted I can feel my eyes smart with tears.

He can feel my nod beneath his chin. “And us.” I suggest.

“And us.” he agrees with a laugh, “I’m gonna mow.” He decides suddenly and he is giving me one more smooch before moving away, headed at a jog to the garage for his machine before the sun fully dips. Never one to leave a job slightly imperfect.

I water our new additions while he pushes the mower, strip after strip, along our back yard, closer and closer to complete perfection. I have little doubt that once he finishes this he may find yet another task and knowing we have done enough, I go inside as he finishes the last swaths and grab a tablecloth, an opened bottle of wine along with salami and a brick of cheese. I have these waiting for him on a cloth, laid upon his freshly shorn grass. He cuts the engine, I watch him as he heedlessly take off his soaked singlet and uses it to rub the grass from his eyes. He is beautiful, my boy, where tan skin blends to fair and a strong, lean back disappears into jeans. There are dimples on his back, right below that belt, I know them, I’ve traced them with my tongue.

“C’mon, we’ve done enough. Sit and look at how perfect it is.” I beckon and his face lights up at my little spread, sauntering over, undershirt still clasped in his hand.

“Im filthy.” he warns and runs his hand along his sweat sheened belly in a motion I find obscenely captivating.

I pat at the tablecloth, “So am I.” for my dress is soiled and I am sweaty and only my hands are really fit for food as I scrubbed them thoroughly.

He holds his own up to show their grimey palms yet sits himself beside me anyway, and I notice the callouses dotted along the pads of his hands. I want to kiss them, soil and all.

“Then I’ll feed you.” I reply to his unspoken question and bring a bite to his lips.

We toast each other with the wine, drinking from the bottle and we watch as dusk begins to throw her first veil over the golden light.

“I’m not nauseous anymore these days.” I report and he is sweetly relieved for me, I pull out the pipe I packed for him and hand it to him between salami rolls.

His eyebrow, mobile and ever so empathetic, asks if I am sure but I am, and I watch as the match recreates a golden glow on his face once more today as he lights up and I watch him with the most lazy feeling in the world as he watches our gardens go muted by dusk.

“We’ve really done it.” he observes, relief dripping in his voice, a long exhale tinges the air around me with sweet tobacco and I am reminded of courting, of chasing him down while trying to appear reserved. Of wanting him so badly I had little choice but to remain devoted. The smell of smoke in the street would stop me dead in my tracks, thinking of this young man an ocean away.

I think I know what he means but I need to be certain, and I find I am hungry to know everything, every bit of him. If his current happiness is placed in stark relief against some previous melancholy, I want to know that, too. “What have we done?” I ask teasingly, scooting nearer to him on the cloth and kissing at his shoulder. He smells of gasoline and grass and pipe smoke. And I taste salt when I lick my lips.

“We’ve got ourselves a home.” he grins so easily, my boy, and if it were earlier in the summer there might be fireflies out in the twilight. “And you’re not nauseous anymore.” he giggles.

I’ve wanted long enough these many weeks, when my lips trail from the meat of his shoulder to his beautiful neck, he cannot mistake my intentions.

“O-out here?” he stutters out, hissing at the end by my bite on his fragile throat, i place my hand on his jeans and palm at him. There is still nothing so thrilling to me than the feel of a man firming, the way he awakes to me and only me and at my least whim, even while his mouth is all stuttering questions and his eyes are startled shimmering pools. He is always surprised when I initiate, as if he can imagine his own desire being that needy but not my own, he is always surprised and I realize it may be the only one of the million parts he does not fully know of me: how badly I love him at all times. “N-now?” he is rocking denim clad hips into my palm and their fit has grown impossibly taut.

I have the zipper down, my hand meeting the sweat soaked crease of his thigh and wiry curls that are equally wet from his work, when I wrap my small fist around him, he is clammy and pulsing in my hand. It should be revolting, perhaps, with dirt and gasoline and sweat acting like a gritty lubricant, but nausea has been replaced by something else hungry and while he may have found comfort in having provided the necessary civilian checklist for our lives, I am a woman whose body he has forever altered with his child and I have never loved anything so much as watching him at work. I want to smell it, feel it, taste the gritty earth of the man who has renovated my very flesh.

“Yes, now,” I beg, giving him one last squeeze before I lay myself back, sundress riding up my thighs, “I want you to take me under our gardenia.”

He watches me raptly, boyish eyes fawn-like and batting lashes fluttering like moth wings in the dim light; he rises to his knees and stays there as I unbutton my soiled dress. There are twenty four buttons to the hem and I make theater of each until I am bare. More than he anticipated, for while at work I did enjoy the last bit of clement weather on all my parts.

He makes a pained noise of want at the sight, maybe he too loves the sheen of sweat that makes us both shimmer in the far off patio light, how it reflects off my swelling belly, breasts grown large enough my necklines are impossible to keep discreet. I stop him from tasting me with a foot to his clavicle, I love his mouth but I want to be taken. And he indulges me, shimmying between the parted scraps of my dress and laying himself against my body, denim rough and thrilling against my bare thighs, the slightest space between our bellies lest he crush me. I am hardly large enough for it to be a concern but I can see his fascination with it, his preoccupation, his hair hangs into his eyes as he stares down at where his desire parts my petals and I can feel the drag of him against me, sweat and unabashed want making a swamp of me.

I peak and thrash from the torture of his steady grind alone, and in a typical moment of firm implacability, I feel my husband press into me while I am yet writhing. He scoops the back of my knees into the crook of his elbows, leaning over me with mischief on his face as he folds me, “You started this.” he still has enough self possession to remind before he gives into the grip of my heat and begins to move in me, engaging work-sore muscles not yet fully fatigued.

If my novel new shape has created some preoccupation, if my symptoms and moods had once ruled me in earlier weeks, it is worth it now for the way my body goes alight beneath him, electric delight curling my toes and fuzzing my sternum at each thrust, I respond to him half possessed and he snickers like he knew of this before me. I swell until my sheath is so tight it makes us both keen from it, slippery to the point of cacophonous. I claw at his back and his shoulders don’t stand a chance at remaining unmarred as he stays unperturbed and sweetly vicious inside me, jamming himself deeper. When I begin to scream he lets down a leg and cups my neck, forcing my mouth against his own.

He tastes of wine. I hook my toe into the denim of his waistband and tug it further down, till I can fully see the pale swell of his backside and I think the motion tickles him as he giggles in his rhythm. I can register that the air has grown cool as the sun fully deserts us, leaving us to it with a final curtain call on the happiest day I’ve ever known.

The force of our endeavor has shoved me up the blanket until I am well and truly beneath the far branches of our gardenia. I tilt my head up and smell the blossoms’ heady scent, their leaves and white flowers blending into the canopy of nightly stars beginning to show. Johnny’s warm face is tucked, groaning, into my neck, our bodies so close as he begins to falter in his control that I cannot watch him. So I watch the blossoms above sway in my vision as his need rucks my body up and down beneath them for a few more desperate minutes. I turn my face and press a kiss to his temple, his hair damp with sweat and smelling so much of him I clench. I love you, so good, you’re so good to me, so deep, so deep, I love you- my mind is adrift and where he rocks inside me is all I know and I babble and beg and praise him for it.

His breath is a hot steam over my clavicle, dirty hands tenderly grasping at a swollen breasts, he bites at my lower lip to hush himself when the pleasure overtakes and I too go under one more time, legs drawing up again under the wracking delight and my modest man groans and pants the filthiest appreciations, for taking him, slippery beautiful thing, tightest little cunt, could spend all my days in you, milk me, that’s it milk me sweetheart, you like it when I make you?

What he babbles to me as he spurts is never something later to be answered, it is gibberish and rhetorical and yet I believe every word, treasure them when he rolls off and pants beside me, I will rehearse them in my mind when he is gone to work. I know this last set will have me ready down to my thighs long before five o’clock.

In the cold night air his hands are soothing the damage his forceful want has done, petting my trembling flank down like a horse after a race, it gives me zapping little after-quakes that make him hum into our kisses as his warm palm feels me twitch and clench and melt.

We should go inside soon -we both mumble it at the same time and barely have energy to laugh over it. We stay on the tablecloth, grass texturing our backs, his only movements are to roll me closer to him, pulling my gaping dress with me, and plucking a white starry blossom for behind my ear. After he has placed it he drops his head again, pillowed on my upper arm and I can feel his breath even out across my throat.

My mother did not tell me of this. I have asked others in the most discreet way I can summon, but they all just say they hope I’ll be happy, they’re sure I’ll be happy, he seems to make me happy, they themselves are happy.

It is likely only myself at fault, but now I think of happiness as a very desperate thing, tentative and elusive and ever watchful. I did not expect to find its most distilled essence in quiet things. There is nothing more to write as our happiness did indeed persist after we woke and rose and went to shower, chilly from our exposure, it went on after we had wrapped ourselves under the bedding and clutched at each other like twins. But what is there to relate of such happiness? It has no great drama, it is not so very vigilant unless it is to actively prevent sadness, and even that is welcome here when it must be passing by. Perhaps the poets, or the preachers, or my wise boy would tell me it’s joy I feel. Maybe that was what I was looking for all this time.

Maybe that is what feels so foreignly precious about lying on a blanket with his spend cooling between my legs, our shrubs like loyal sentinels dotting the fence line and my man gently snoring atop me after having created a life sworn to himself when he thought he might die. It is sobering to be integral to that dream, but it is also peaceful.

It is joy, I suppose. Or a sort of Garden Variety Happiness.

Here’s my widdle Brady Taglist, thanks to each of you for expressing such interest and always showing such love. This was a bit of a weird passion project and I’ve got no idea if it actually “worked” but it was the branching out my creative brain needed. So many of y’all are already nailing this Man so well, 🤨😏 I’ve been such a happy recipient of all yalls works. Scream at me. Lemme know. Xoxo

@luminouslywriting

@ktredshoes

@archival-hogwash

@gigisimsonmars

@steph-speaks

@ab4eva

@lilfreebee

@slowsweetlove

@xxanaduwrites

@blurredcolour

@venus-planetof-love

@pearlparty

@winniemaywebber

@sagesolsticewrites

@ginabaker1666

#masters of the air #mota #mota fanfic #mota imagine #mota spoilers #john brady x oc #john brady x reader #John Brady #John Brady imagine #mota smut #mota x reader #ladies who brady

[wonderfulwonderrful]

Season of Love (6/?)

+18 | Toto x reader fem!teamprincipal

Summary: One night on a pier in Monaco, while admiring the sea under the night skies, you told Toto, "I came to the conclusion that love is simply not meant for me." That was the answer to a question you have been asking yourself for the longest time. But what if he proved you wrong. Pairing: Toto Wolff x reader team principal. Genre: Romance, comedy, and some good drama. Author's note: We are so back! Thank you for your support and comments; read you soon!

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Dances with Wolff Arc Chapter 6: Collision at Turn 1

UK

Sam and Toto go to the Soft Serve Society in London the following day to have milkshakes. They share a sizeable Instagram-able shake, asking for two straws instead of one. 

The place is intimate and small, perfect for chatting. Its location in a trendy neighborhood gives Sam the ideal excuse to pull that Thom Browne boyish suit out of her suitcase.

As Sam is asking for two matcha cookies to complement their order, she notices Toto smiling like an idiot at his iPhone screen.

—Wow, that time you two spent apart did wonders for your relationship. I thought it was a "cease and desist" situation, as if there wouldn't be a turning point, but I haven't seen you like this in a long time.

—How? —Toto moves his gaze to Sam, a bit perplexed.

—Stupidly in love. So you two are genuinely back?

—Oh, that... well, we are trying this open relationship thing. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about it.

Sam gives him a judgy look, her eyebrows slightly frowning. —Let me guess. Susie suggested it; you said no, then she pressured you, and you followed along. There is no need to explain further; I get it.

Toto shrugs and barely nods his head.

—It's always what Susie wants, isn't it? You are so blind sometimes —she sounds now annoyed.

—I thought you, of all people, would get it. You see love differently than in the traditional way. Preferences aside, you are more free regarding feelings and partners.

—Yes, yet I'm not into playing with other people's feelings. 

—I'm not being played or playing with her feelings.

—To which one of the two hers are you referring?

A silence.

It's the first time Sam addresses the elephant in the room. 

—Listen, I don't want to overstep, and God knows I don't want to get in the middle; I love you both; yes, I said that, and stop smiling like that, but for fuck sake, you two need to communicate and talk! LIKE TALK! I know it's not my place, and I have tried to remain as neutral as possible, but I genuinely care about Y/N; there's more you need to know about each other because this thing is going to blow in your faces the worst way.

—What's on this? Is this really happening? You telling me how you are feeling? —Toto picks up the shake to smell it, making a funny face and trying to lighten the mood. He also avoids giving Sam an answer but pays attention to her every word.

—Oh, fuck off —Sam pushes him a bit roughly.

—Sugar sure is a drug! —Toto's holding a laugh.

-

—How did your day out with Toto go?

—How do you know we went out? Stalker!

In response, you give Sam an exaggerated insulted expression (hand over your chest and open wide mouth). —He texted me when you two were at the ice cream place! He even sent me these pictures! —you show her the conversation. —By the way, that outfit of yours is CUTE!

—Oh! It was you then —she says quickly and softly.

—Sorry? —you look at Sam as if another head grew from her neck.

—Oh, nothing. Toto didn't mention anything. He was just smiling like an idiot and giggling like a teenager, looking all in love at his phone screen.

—All what? Sam, what you said?! —you feel your heart in your throat.

—Did you follow my advice? —she cuts your shenanigans.

—I tried to follow it and address our "situation," but he rushed to get wine. He ran from the conversation, and I didn't feel like having it much, either. I knew how it was going to end.

—Well, keep pushing, trust me.

—Is there something I should worry about? —you suddenly stop and look straight at her.

—It's not my place to tell —Sam answers neutrally.

Then you two board your jet with directions home, your new home, Monaco. 

Now, thanks to Sam's words, an eerie sentiment fills your head. Is she trying to warn you something?

-

It's a quiet flight; well, if it wasn't for Samanta's snoring, not even an English Bulldog snores that loud. 

Which makes you laugh hard; you have forgotten how terrible Sam sleeps. 

It's been a while since you two slept nearby, which was the most common thing for all those years you lived at the Manor.

You have always been very much like sisters.

You take out your phone and start recording a video of Sam sound asleep with T-rex arms, open mouth, and loudly snoring, all weirdly placed on the comfy, big seat next to you.

-

Monaco

Why, every time you land in Monaco, your mind is in desperate need of a Toto detox?

-

As soon as you are in the car ride home, you hit the send button on the "Get a grip, loca🏎!" group chat.

After you share the video of Sam sleeping, a long list of replies and reactions appear in the group.

She threatens to murder you in your sleep.

-

Two nights after being back, when Charles enters the apartment wearing the world's most oversized outfit while trying to juggle four bottles of wine - one held under his chin - and a big fancy grocery bag while avoiding stepping on "Robbie" - your Roomba robot - you feel so at home; this couldn't be a more domestic scene for you two before you rush to help him.

Never mind, too late! Now, the kitchen floor looks like a crime scene. 

God, how much you missed him! Keeping your friendship while hiding it from the rest of the Scuderia has been difficult. 

Ferrari is a hermetic group that likes it that way; being extra friendly with the enemy could cost Charles' head, thanks to Binotto's paranoia.

—FUCK! FUCK AND FUCK! —he lets out, looking at the now red floor, followed by various French cursings coming out of that pouty mouth. 

—At least the other three survived —you hear Sam say, entering behind him and holding two more bottles and a cake.

—Several bottles of wine and lots of food. This is an intervention for me, isn't it? —you ask, looking at them suspiciously.

Both of them energetically nod.

—We need to talk about Bruno —Charles jokes; he obviously means Toto while grabbing the paper towel on the kitchen counter to try cleaning his mess, which is as useless as you expected.

—Damn —is all you let out.

At some point, Charles gives up and prefers leaving a fat tip and a Post-it for Rosita when she comes clean tomorrow morning.

-

—Hi, I have a quick question: How much do you weigh?

A text from Toto comes in the early hours of the day as you are about to hit the treadmill in your luxurious building's training center. You rushed down there, unable to sleep a second more.

After the intervention, you comprehend lots of things need to change.

—(Y/N's weight), why? —you reply. 

It's still dark outside.

Only you and three others are alone in the enormous gym section, which feels quiet and isolated, perfect for decompressing. 

Apparently, when Toto and you are apart, you are both early birds. It's always a snooze fest when you two are tangled in sheets. Probably, it's because he makes the world's most fabulous pillow or because he loves having you wrapped in his arms.

Judging by his text's unusual hours, he may be overthinking it too. Lately, you have felt driven to exercise earlier in the morning as well to avoid losing your sanity.

A couple of minutes later, a video of Toto adjusting the weight of his barbells to your weight before doing a couple of hip thrusts comes as a reply.

You watch the video a couple of times, okay, several times, before hitting the reply button. —I can help you do some repetitions if you want; I know a very effective routine! My trainer also advised me I needed more cardio —you tease him, feeling a tingle down there, hehe. 

Fuck! You are falling for it again, and you just swore to Sam and Charles that there would be no Toto during this break!

As Toto reads your text, a pleased smirk forms on his lips, and then he exhales and returns to exercise. 

He shouldn't be feeling this desperate for your attention. It has been only the first week without seeing you.

The way you have turned his life upside down is unimaginable.

-

—Your girl is in town! —Normani sends a selfie of herself in the group chat, throwing a pose on the Monaco pier, looking flawless and stylish in a two-piece Casablanca outfit (an orange thee with colorful stripes and shorty shorts and pulling the coolest glasses) while blowing a kiss. —Let's hang out tonight!😈😈

—OH, I KNOW JUST THE PLACE —Lando writes back.

—Italy.

Several "???" appear.

—I'm in Italy —Seb clarifies.

Now, it makes sense.

—Someone needs to help Seb with this, really —George says.

—Let's take him to one of those free classes at the Apple store, you know, with the senior citizens —Checo jokes. —I'm with Carola's parents and the kids in Guadalajara, so we are out of the fun this time.

—Tell Carola I love her —you request Checo.

—I will, thx.

—I don't wish for an apple, thank you —Seb replies.

—Dear God —Lewis texts.

—Jk! Jk! I'm not that inept, and I'm not yet a senior citizen, but soon, 2032 let's go! —Seb exits the conversation.

—Lando, send the location —Lewis texts. —That's great to know, Seb. I'm already saving for our turbo wheelchairs to challenge you in races at the retirement home.

—There, see you guys at 1 a.m.

—I want to live enough to witness that, Lewis —Mick enters the conversation.

—This club looks like a shithole! I don't wish for my organs to get stolen —Charles points out after looking for the place on Google Maps; it's only a run-down facade photo of the place in a not-that-neat street.

—Trust me, you are going to love it —Lando comments.

—Is it private? —Lewis asks. —Cause last time we went out in London, getting us out of there was a nightmare.

—That's precisely why I'm suggesting this place!

—Spain.

—I'm in Spain —Carlos texts, mocking Seb. —Have fun without me, guys, even though I don't think you can. Send pictures. I miss you, my friends.

—Te extraño, too🙇‍♀️ —you reply, Carlos, you have become fond of him.

—🥰🥰 —Carlos sends.

—I'm liking this sketchy, mysterious place already —Sam joins in.

—Sam, is Millie still in town? —you ask her, you met Millie for brunch two days ago.

—No, I already left 😭😭😭. Mick invited me to hike in Patagonia—a photo of them out in nature follows her text. 

—Okay, the ones who are going, please send a hands-up emoji; I'm booking the table —Lando texts.

-

You make your way through the winding streets of Monaco on Charles' bike at full speed; you are sure you flashed at least four people with that party mini dress you are wearing as you head to the mysterious nightclub. 

As soon as you park, you agree with Charles that it looks like a sketchy part of town, but the faint sound of pulsing music and the flickering lights emanating from a door down a narrow corridor between two buildings right in front of you quickly distract you and guides you in.

Soon, as you enter and go down the long stairs, you are immediately enveloped in a world of luxury "decadence." 

The atmosphere is electric, and the air is heavy with the scent of exotic perfumes. 

—It smells like good sex —is what Lando tells you as he greets you, looking at your two "trying to discover the scent" faces.

The walls are decorated with striking artwork, each more provocative and daring than the last.

For sure, this place is the stage for many wild escapades.

As almost everyone gets there, the group is drawn to the center of the club, near where the main stage, lit up with swirling lights and seductive, almost naked dancers. 

Your table in the VIP area "it has the best location in the place", again, according to Lando.

As you sit next to Nomani, who gave you the world's greatest greeting hug, you get mesmerized by the hypnotic rhythm of the music and the dancers' graceful motions. 

You get transfixed, unable to tear your eyes away from them. Gorgeous he/she/they are on the stage.

—Beer, gin, what are we drinking? —Normani asks you.

—Tequila —you answer too quickly for her and Sam's amusement.

—Tequila, it is! —she says loudly and makes a little dance, shaking the girls around. The more than happy waiter witnesses it before getting the bottle.

You pour everyone a shot to start the night. Lewis just arrived, and George is running late as usual.

—Can you smell it? —you ask everyone.

A couple of "What?" come along.

—The regret —you joke as you all take the shot.

The group then goes full party core, joining the pulsating dance floor and losing themselves in the music. 

Laughter and shouts fill the air as the exotic dancers approach you and the crowd to exchange some sensual moves.

Amidst the chaos and allure of the night, Toto arrives. Unexpectedly.

Charles and Sam instantly look at you, almost throwing you darts.

—I swear to God I didn't invite him!

George did.

-

As alcohol skyrockets Lando, he starts doing push-ups for you in the middle of the dance floor as a techno-dub mix of Olivia Newton John's and Dua Lipa's "Physical" starts playing while he looks straight at you.

—Is that supposed to impress me? —you raise an eyebrow, cross your arms, and lean on Lewis, who is also witnessing the action.

—Is it working?

—Never stop believing in your dreams —you laugh it off, and Toto playfully rolls his eyes at him, then winks at you.

"Oh, God, I'm weak! I'm not going to resist the temptation."

—The dancer with the jockstrap hasn't taken his eyes off you the entire night —Toto points out for Normani, gesturing to which one he refers.

Normani makes a "definitely wouldn't mind" expression. —Too bad I don't do one-night stands —she confesses.

—Like ever? —Lewis looks at her like she is from Mars.

—Hopeless romantic right here! —Normi answers. —I like to party, but I'm so old-fashioned. Thanks, Mom!

—What a classy lady, indeed! —George says.

—It's my Britishness britishing —she jokes. —I want a husband, a big house in the countryside, horses and babies, you know, the traditional.

—Like, literally, this is the worst place to discuss family! —Sam warns them with a "Don't kill the mood, guys" look.

—The worst! —you all burst out laughing.

—I'm not sure if she is messing with us or..? —Lando comes closer to saying to Charles.

—No, really! It's my biggest wish. I can't wait to be a mom! —Normani lets out. 

—But you are so young! —everyone looks so shocked at her. Quite the revelation!

—I KNOW, but I want four! So, I better hurry up.

—FOUR?!! —everyone kind of screams in response.

Normani looks at them with a big smile, happy with the chaos her confession is causing.

—I get you, girl. I do love one myself; I have wanted to be a mom for years now. I feel I'm close to adopting one, but I need to do something with my schedule first. It would be impossible with a baby!

Toto listens to your conversation, very quiet and still, looking as if something inside him broke.

-

—Hey, I want to talk to you privately. I have something important to tell you; it's been on my mind for a while —Toto approaches you to whisper in your ear.

—Oh, sure, yeah —you agree to. "Okay, breathe, the moment it's coming."

When you reach a quiet spot to talk without all the people buzzing around, the loud background noises, and the almost butt-naked performers, you two remain there in an awkward silence for a minute.

Toto looks like he wants to say something but doesn't, so you break the ice first, feeling your hands shaking a bit.

—So what do you want to tell me that's so important?

He looks straight at you and takes two steps to close the distance between you. —Ahem, so... so what are you planning for... for the off-season? —he takes you off guard.

"Okay, this is not what I was expecting."

—I... I don't know... yet.

—Maybe we could spend it together. I know a private island that would be perfect —Toto offers you, totally improvising.

—Oh, I see...

—I mean... if you want to.

—No, no, of course, I want to!

—Perfect, then —he says, his voice deep. Toto then takes your hand, and you're surprised by the warmth from his touch.

"Coward" "Selfish" is all Toto thinks for himself. "But I don't want to lose her. I need her just a bit more. I don't know how to quit her."

—What do you say if we continue this conversation somewhere even more private? —Toto invites you, his intense dark eyes piercing right through you. 

Before you have time to respond, he takes your hand and leads you toward the exit at the back of the place and into his car.

Soon, you arrive at his luxurious penthouse, abandoning almost all of your party clothes in the process. 

You glance around the dimly lit living room, admiring its opulence. The walls are decorated with fine art, and the scent of wealth lingers in every corner.

Toto, already bare-chested, removes the rest of his clothes, revealing himself. You can't help but stare at his toned abs, defined muscles, and delicious dick. 

He smirks, noticing your admiration, and pushes you closer to the sofa. It creaks softly under your weight as he sits you down, eyes locked onto each other.

—You're stunning —Toto says while tracing his fingers down your body as you remove your last piece of clothing.

Your pulse quickens at his touch, and you move in, pressing your lips hard against his.

Toto's tongue sneaks its way between your parted lips as he pulls your naked body close to his. You moan softly.

Slowly, he leans back onto the plush pillows, taking you with him. Your bodies intertwine in a passionate embrace, enjoying the heat from his broad chest into you as you run your hands all over him, feeling every inch of Toto pressing against your core.

He grabs you by the hips, grinding you against him forcefully, causing an excited whimper to escape your lips. You can't help but crave his every single inch.

Sliding yourself lower, you feel him harden beneath you. —Fuck, you're so hard —you whisper into his ear as you stroke his length up and down. 

Toto flips you onto your back, not letting you control the show yet, spreading your legs wide. He effortlessly glides both of his hands beneath your ass, lifting you up like you weigh nothing.

His left-hand squeezes your ass cheek possessively while his right supports your lower back. Then Toto lowers his mouth to your inner thigh, his tongue trailing a path of wetness up to your core, where he tastes you. 

You gasp, your breath hitching whenever his tongue flicks your clit.

Plunging his tongue deep inside you, he tastes the sweetness of your essence. Moving back up to your clit, he sucks hard, provoking you to tremble under the pleasure.

Your fingers entangle his thick hair, tugging and pushing as waves of delight roll over your body. 

Toto stares at your swollen clit and massages it gently, building an almost unbearable tension in the pit of your stomach before he slides first one finger, then two inside of you, feeling you tighten around them as he moves them in deliberate circles.

—What the fuck, you feel incredible —he mumbles against your folds. He increases his pace, sucking harder, flicking faster until you are shuddering against him, gasping for breath, about to break apart.

Your vision gets blurry as an involuntary moan escapes your lips.

—I'm so fucking close —you cry out, inarticulate with pleasure. Toto looks up and climbs back up your body, kissing and nipping at your soft flesh as he goes up until his thighs are between yours.

—You want me to make you come, don't you? —he whispers seductively, nibbling on your earlobe.

You nod, biting your lip. You need Toto to fill you, to end this unbearable craving he had built inside you.

—Please, Toto —you beg, thrusting your hips upward. A desperate whimper tears from your throat when your sexes don't meet.

Toto chuckles softly, smirking at your desperation. —Then fuck me —he murmurs, placing you on top of him, inviting you to ride him right there, inviting you to guide him inside of you. —Fuck me hard.

The feeling of him filling you up, inch by inch, sends waves of ecstasy through your body. —Oh, god, yes —you moan, encouraging him deeper.

Your bodies move together in perfect harmony as you ride waves of pleasure. Toto grunts and groans with each bounce, whispering obscenities in your ear as you cowgirl him with an arched back, panting heavily. Wetness pools between you as your sweat-slicked bodies slap together rhythmically.

Toto grabs your hands and pins them behind your back, changing the angle of his thrusts. He hits a spot deep within you that sends shivers down your spine, producing a guttural moan from your lips. 

He smirks at the sound and repeats the action, watching your reaction with fascination.

—Fuuck —you cry out, every muscle tensing as your fingers curl into fists. 

Toto continues to plow into you, each thrust harder and deeper than the last, making your tits bounce without control, making you a mess. 

You look down at him to see your bodies moving in a slick rhythm, leaving trails of sweat and lust on your skin. He looks wild, eyes burning with desire and mouth parted in a low growl as the scent of sex permeates the air around you.

You whimper as he releases one of your wrists, allowing you to wrap your hand around your breast. Your fingers tease your sensitive nipple, sending a fresh wave of sensation flooding through you.

Toto watches you touch yourself, entranced by the movement of your hand on your breast as his thrusts become erratic.

—Fuck, you're so goddamn beautiful —he mutters roughly, his hips slamming into yours hard. The sound of your bodies colliding resonates throughout the room, mixing with your erratic breathing. 

—You like that? —Toto asks, smirking at your eager expression. You feel yourself getting closer to the edge, ready to burst at any moment.

Toto's dark eyes pierce into you, watching every twitch of your face and every moan of breath.

His thrusts become more deliberate, each one pressing into your womb.

—Fuckkk —Toto groans loudly, struggling to contain himself. His muscles tense as he gives it to you very fast; sweat drips down his face, onto his chest, and you.

—Toto! —you moan very loud as you come all over his dick.

—I need you —he confesses to you as he is about to come. You bounce hard and desperately on his cock, till you hear him grunting loud; a mess of panting Toto fills you up.

-

Ferrari's big anniversary is coming up next weekend, and they are set to throw the biggest party ever, a very fancy gala that will take place in Rome, or so Charles discloses to you.

—I'm actually excited for this one! —then he turns to show you the jewelry bracelet he likes before trying it on while cheerfully chit-chatting.

—This one is more your style, I like it better —you agree with his pick, as you two are out shopping.

While the sales lady adjusts it to his wrist measurements, Charles continues telling you: —This party has been in the making for so long, and all the rumors we have been hearing about it from the planners keep getting better; it honestly sounds so good!

You attentively listen to him while trying on a set of butterfly diamond earrings. Yes, you need them.

He continues: —I really wish I could take you like my plus one! But I'm taking my mom; I promised her way before meeting you.

—Oh, sweetie, no worries! But do tell me more about it. Sounds fabulous.

—Well, it will be very VIP, with only big clients, a couple of A-lister celebrities, and influential motorsports people. There's a lot of gossip about what or who will be the entertainment.

—I guess I'm not part of the big names of motorsports yet because I haven't been invited, haha. Mattia doesn't like me, isn't it?

—He is not your biggest fan, but almost no one has been invited; as far as I know, it's just the Scuderia and people Mattia considers his "paddock friends." —Charles gestures with his hands. —And some special guests with a history with the brand, like Niki. He is going! I know because Sam is his plus one; she told me yesterday.

—Maybe I should buy Ferrari to party with you at that fabulous event —you laugh it off as you sign the check for the earrings.

—And to party with Niki —Charles adds, joking.

—I heard he goes hard! —you joke back. Nowadays, if Niki stays up after 10 p.m., he considers it a wild night, in his words.

-

As you are about to finish your grilled salmon at that gorgeous "Gaia" restaurant in Monte Carlo, your phone buzzes on top of the white mantelpiece, grabbing your attention.

—Didn't you lose something?

—Not that I know.

—How weird, cause I have this plus one ticket with your name on it.

—Haha. You got me!

—Feeling like going to a fancy party in Rome?

—A getaway trip to Italy? SIGN ME UP! —you happily reply, already thinking about what you will wear.

-

Rome

As the sun descended over the iconic Roman Colosseum, flashing cameras lit the red carpet at the ancient structure's entrance. 

Sleek Ferraris pull up, each more luxurious than the previous, dropping the celebrities and high-profile guests off to make their grand entrances, dressed in the most glamorous outfits and adorned in shining jewels. 

Amidst all that circus, you two stay on the sidelines, watching the spectacle unfold before quietly skipping the paparazzi and splitting apart to enter the temporarily built ballroom.

—Surprise! —you extend your arms to Leclerc; he is now fresh off the red carpet, the one you avoid to keep it as discreet as possible.

A prominent smile forms on the lips of the Monagesque. —We could have shared the flight here, you know! Instead of you flying here all by yourself —Charles rolls his eyes at you and then hugs you. —I really believed you when you said you didn't get invited. You got me!

"But I didn't fly by myself!" You want to correct him on that, but you don't.

Inside, the atmosphere is as opulent as outside. Red lights illuminate the ancient structure, and lavish decorations adorn every table set. Cirque du Soleil performers move gracefully through the crowds, dazzling costumes twirling and shimmering as they entertain the guests with their mesmerizing acts.

You take in all the sights and sounds of the extravagant gala surrounding you, where motorsport legends mingle with billionaires, entertainers, engineers, celebrities, and beautiful models. 

Laughter, loud music, and chatter fill the air, along with the clinking of champagne glasses.

-

After having a blast dancing around, chatting, and goofing an hour later, you go to look for Sam, knowing she must be somewhere around. 

But the place is enormous, the crowd is big, and no luck so far; she is nowhere to be seen.

You get tired of searching for her and go to the bathroom. By this point, you have had many drinks, "Damn, that waiting line is long!"

As you try to find something to entertain you while you wait, you start scanning the place with your eyes, observing every gorgeous detail, when the silhouette of a beautiful blond woman steals your attention. Four girls in front of you in the line, there is Susie.

She is as beautiful as you expected her to be in person but more petite; she looks fit and fierce but kind. You can't help but stare at her before wondering what she is doing here. Then a "Duh! Idiot! She is a big name in motorsports!" hits you.

-

As you return to your table from grabbing chocolate-covered strawberries a bit later, you run into Sam.

She stares at you with the widest eyes ever, completely surprised. —What? —she lets out, standing still.

—Surprise! —you reach to hug her. —I have been looking for you all damn night! —she barely hugs you, and your big smile starts to fade away. —Is all good? —you ask, concern while looking straight at her.

—I'm so sorry, Y/N. I genuinely am —she mumbles. Samanta's features are full of dismay.

—Sam, you are worrying me.

She gestures to you to turn around.

"Oh, there is that feeling you remember so well." 

That awful fucking feeling of getting your heart shattered. Like a bullet going through the flesh, a sting of pure pain as if your heart was glass and was getting crushed by a hammer, pure and profound pain as you watch Susie wrapped around Toto's neck with no inch of space in between them, standing by the Mercedes guest table, sharing soft kisses and pets. 

Yet you are so skilled at hiding your feelings that it requires an expert - like Sam - to figure you out.

With a neutral face, you faintly say: —I need a moment.

—Y/N... I will go with you...

—I need a moment, I... I need to get fresh air. I will be right back —you start walking in the opposite direction to them, and Sam follows your every step.

—Y/N. I'm here for you...

—I'll be back, Sam. I need a moment, please —you make her stop following you around. So she contains herself and watches you walk away, worried about you. 

Sam knows your mental health hangs from a fragile thread.

-

—I want a Tequila and tonic with three tequila shots in it, please —Samanta brusquely drops herself on her seat at the Mercedes guest table and asks the waiter for a heavy drink.

—That would be two, please. You have learned from the master herself. Where is she, tho? I spotted Y/N and was going to greet her, but I got distracted by a sexy lady asking for a selfie. Now I don't know where she went to —Lewis asks while looking around, trying to spot you among the crowds.

The music is loud, so conversing is challenging if you aren't near enough.

—She's outside chatting with Vettel —Charles inserts himself in the conversation between a pissed-off Sam and a clueless Lewis, arriving a bit rushed at the table and placing himself between their two chairs.

—Hi mate! —Lewis pats his arm, and half hugs him while still sitting. Charles rubs his shoulder in response.

—Hey, Sam. I made the changes you suggested to my speech. Do you approve? —Leclerc hands her a folded piece of paper; "She is out there crying" is written in big caps.

Sam and Charles exchange warry looks.

—It's perfect. I will help you practice it.

—Great idea, let's g...

A loud "ow" sound from the crowd interrupts them. A tray hits the floor loudly, followed by glasses breaking. It's all coming from far on their left. 

They all turn their heads toward the noise, as does almost everyone in the entire place.

—I'm so so sorry! Oh my god! I'm an idiot! Please forgive me! —a very distraught and nervous Vettel apologizes frantically to you. 

He accidentally crashed into the waiter holding a tray of wine glasses as he crossed paths with you, the ones that landed all over you, fucking up your dress, before smashing on the floor. 

Which made poetic sense since you felt wounded, and now you looked like it.

You could sense Toto's eyes burning into you. You weren't supposed to be there.

Lewis gets on his feet. —Jesus, poor Y/N —and he notices how Toto looks utterly shaken by seeing you here and looking whiter than a ghost, and at that moment, he gets it. Fuck.

—Seb, Seb, SEB! —you raise your voice as Vettel keeps apologizing and talking nonstop. —It's okay, sweetie. No worries; I will go change! It's all okay.

—I'm sorry. Please forgive me; let me escort you out. It's the least I can do.

—Okay. Fine —you finally agree, looking a bit done with Seb.

You two start walking to the exit, which is all the other way around for your fucking luck. As you depart, you can hear the people whispering and staring at you. 

A frozen Toto watches you walk past them, and you can't help it; for the briefest moment, you make eye contact with him before Vettel blocks the view.

—Sebastian Vettel, you are a good man —Sam whispers.

—What? —Charles reaches even closer to her.

—Y/N is not coming back. Seb was her exit out. 

—Was that on purpose?!!

—Yes. That's why you saw them talking out there, for sure.

—Are they that close? Since when? I had no fucking clue.

—Since Y/N set foot on the paddock —Sam replies, knowing the whole story. —She's an expert at hiding in plain sight.

—Should we check on her? —Lewis turns to them, still on his feet, looking tense.

—Y/N will be fine; she always is —Sam says aloud for the entire table to hear. She can feel Toto's eyes on her but doesn't care to look back at him.

-

Vettel takes you inside a black-tinted Suburban. As the chauffeur speeds away from the Colosseum, he holds your hand and never lets it go.

Seb asks you to stay at his place so he can care for you and keep you company, and you agree.

You two cuddle in the back seat while you cry in his arms all the ride to his place. 

It's a long one.

You don't know if it's because your heart is shattering into a million pieces, or because you feel vulnerable right now, or just cause Seb is such a kind and precious being that you pour all out. 

You let him know everything, every single fucking detail about your fling with Torger and how you feel right now. You had never been so forthcoming with anyone about this, not even Sam.

—I'm so sorry about how the night turned out; I invited you as my plus-one with the idea of having the best time. I wish I had known all of this before! Finding it out this way, gosh, that's harsh —Seb tells you, with a mixture of mortification and sadness.

—You aren't the one who should apologize! Hey, at least we had a good time on the flight here. Thanks to you, now I want to build hundreds of hotels for the bees.

He smiles brightly before adding: —Right now, you need to rest and feel, let it all out of your system, and tomorrow start new! I'm here for you.

—Thanking for acting out that exit; you deserve an Oscar.

—I have been mistaken for Brad Pitt before, you know —he jokes to try to make you smile, but it's in vain. —You are a good actress, too.

-

You crash on his couch. Barely making it inside, collapsing as soon as you cross the entrance door, feeling drained.

You have experienced the "heart broke syndrome" before and know how it goes, so you needed to lie down ASAP.

-

After God knows how many minutes since you blacked out on the sofa, you hear a noise above you. You slightly and a bit unwillingly open your eyes to see Seb covering you with a remarkably soft blanket that feels so delicious. He drops a puffy pillow on the rug beside you and lays himself down there next to the couch.

You move to face him as he gets comfy there on the floor. —What are you doing?

—Oh, shit, did I wake you up? I'm staying here if you don't mind —he looks at you with apprehension in those stunning eyes.

—You are the sweetest —you tell him as you slowly drift off, exhausted.

As you fall asleep again, you understand now why Lewis dared risk it all for Seb and start wondering what happened to those two.

-

You wake up disoriented and feeling anxious. 

It's still dark. 

Seb is profoundly asleep and relaxed in the blueish-tinted living room, with the moonlight sneaking through the large windows. 

You stay there, unable to sleep but with zero energy to move. You observe his breathing, which weirdly helps you soothe yourself when suddenly, your phone screen lights up, stealing your gaze.

You try to reach for it since Seb placed your purse and phone on the coffee table at arm's distance before going to look for an oversized T-shirt that could work you as pajamas. 

It's a simple text from Toto. "Can I please talk to you?"

As you navigate your phone, you notice many missed calls from Sam, Charles, and Lewis.

Well, now it's clear communication and sincerity weren't your thing. You weren't one of those couples. 

Were you even a couple?

"Maybe it's best this way," is all you reply to him before turning your phone off.

Tears start coming down again as your phone screen dims and fades to black again.

-

The following day, Seb offers you to stay for as long as you wish, and you will take his word for it.

You don't feel like returning to the city you share with Toto; it's way too risky for you to be in Monaco. 

You need time to compose yourself. A lot is about to happen soon, and you need to be at your best. You can't fail. To be continued... < Previous chapter | Masterlist | Next chapter >

#toto wolff x reader #toto wolff x you #toto wolff fic #toto wolff fanfic #toto wolff x y/n #toto wolff fanfiction #toto wolff #f1 fanfiction #f1 fanfic #mercedes fanfic #formula 1 fic #toto wolff imagine #f1 imagine #f1 x female reader #toto wollf x oc #toto wolff x occ #f1 x you #f1 x reader #f1 x y/n #f1 x oc #f1 blurb #toto wolff blurb

[p1stach1os]

I know you (c.g)

“i understand im not the only one, for you.”

a/n: kinda inspired by i know you by faye webster!! 

pairings: carl grimes x fem!reader

c/w: angst, lower case intended, use of y/n, not proof read yet.

——————————————————————

you always had feelings for carl, ever since you guys were kids. when you two first met at the prison, when rick had found you wandering around in the woods near the prison. many cuts and bruises littered across your plush skin. you were so young at the time and he had made sure you were safe. taking you back to the prison, and you and carl clicked almost instantly. or so you thought.

you two had been inseparable for the longest time. doing almost everything together, you would say carl was your “best friend” but you knew you wanted more than that. but you guys were so young and you didn’t want to spoil such a good friendship. so you kept your most feelings to your self.

You're holding me and holding back, I don't really care for that, just you.

until we had made it to alexandria. that “inseparable” bond you two had, was no longer. there is this girl named enid ever since carl met her you felt left behind. it broke your heart just thinking about it, that look carl always used to give you, was the same one he gave her now.

There's a pause between every minute, feelin' like I need something, It's just you

those comics you two read together, he had read with her too. you felt like you were forgotten and replaced. he no longer went to you to tell important things going on with his life, he went to her. he no longer spent any free time he had with you. he didn’t admire you like he did to her. 

I know, I know, I know, I know, you, you

though you were more sad and hurt then angry for that matter. after all you two had been through so much together and its hard to accept you had been forgotten so easily. it hurt you to admit it but you knew whatever you and carl could’ve been was long gone.

I'll quiet down if it's what you want, I understand I'm not the only one, for you.

you weren’t willing to give up you twos friendship just yet. it took every bone in your body to muster up the courage to ask him to hangout again. but you did anyway, in hope you could make something work. even if it meant just being friends. as long as you were with him, right?

So tell me what you're looking for, Is it a picture-perfect girl, for you?

you place a few soft knocks on the door, fiddling with your fingers as you wait nervously. your jaw clenched in anticipation as you awaited the opening. when the door finally cracks open lightly, carl peaking through. he stares down at you opening the door a bit more, the smile he had on his face dropping when he sees you. after a few moments of silence you decide to speak. giving him an understanding to why you were here in the first place. 

I'm here regardless of the pain.

“Uh- hi carl, i was just wondering if you wanted to hang out? possibly.” you say stumbling over your words his gaze making you more nervous than ever. 

“oh..i im busy, y/n. maybe some other time?” he says, as he smiles at you apologetically. but that stupid smile plastered on his face was far from apologetic. though he tried to make it seem like that you could tell he could care less about your presence. he was just making sorry excuses to make you leave and it definitely didn’t go without notice.

Don't ever tell me to go away, from you

“that’s okay, maybe another time, yea.” you say your mouth creating a thin line, nodding your head in agreement. even though you didn’t agree at all. trying your best to reassure yourself that it’ll all be okay. but you didn’t want to fight about it. you were over it at this point and just wanted to cry in that moment.

your heart hurt more than ever, why did you feel this way? it was a pain you couldn’t explain, it felt like something was out of reach. it was something you couldn’t quite grasp but you knew you wanted this feeling to be gone. you knew you wanted just to wake up and this all be a nightmare. all carl does is nod in response, but in the corner of your eye you see something. behind him you could see enid, your heart sunk at the sight. 

she was sitting on the couch playing with judith a bright smile on both of their faces. your expression dropping slightly, that unexplainable feeling intensifying. for some reason just seeing her have fun with judith made you envy her so much. back at the prison whenever beth wasn’t watching judith you and carl would watch her. just seeing him do all those things you two used to do with her shattered your heart.

“i’m, im just gonna go now. bye y/n.” carls words pulling you out of your thoughts. you groan at the rather blunt response. him looking at you as he began to shut the door. not even giving you an opportunity to say goodbye back.

“yea, bye.” you mumbled under your breath as the door shut. you feel a lump in your throat grow as you stand there in shock. you felt like you had lost your best friend in the whole world. the only person who ever understood you. you couldn’t get over how quickly you were left behind. you begin to tear up replaying that moment over and over in your head. 

all the memories you and carl had together so faint in your mind. you knew you weren’t special or anything but at one point carl made you feel that way. when you were with carl it seemed like all your problems were tossed to the side, well at least it used to. after a while of just standing looking at the shut door, lost in your thoughts completely.

When we're old and have to leave the earth, I'll still remember all I've learned, from you.

you turn around swiftly on your heels leaving the premises of the house no longer wanting to feel like a burden to him or enid anymore. tears streaming down your face as you realize you had lost your whole world. carl was your whole world, but he didn’t think of you the same. well not anymore. but you would like to believe at some point, he did?

maybe in another universe he’d still think of you like that,  just not this one.

i understand im not the only one, for you.

——————————————————————

a/n: kay guys i have arose from the dead! 🧟‍♀️ sorry if this is disappointing this is my first angst!! i hope ygs like it anyway 😭

#p1stach1oss ˚୨୧⋆｡˚ ⋆ #carl grimes x reader #carl grimes #twd #the walking dead #carl grimes angst #carl grimes oneshot #carl grimes x y/n #carl grimes fanfiction #twd imagines

[mariasont]

Hello! I saw you were taking some requests? I had an idea for a Spencer fic. The reader (afab) who is gender fluid but doesn’t like their chest area (as they are quite big) on certain days due to how they are feeling that day. Spencer helps them feel a little better by just helping them out with a fitting outfit from his clothes mixed with theirs too.

This can be purely fluff and just all sweet. But you can add anything else if it helps you pad out the story more.

Thank you!

Sweater - S.R

a/n: hi hi hi thank u so much for requesting sorry it took so long i wanted to make sure i did my research and remained sensitive to this subject <3

i hope you like it !!!

masterlist

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: spencer reid x gender-fluid!afab!reader

summary: in which you struggle with your body and spencer helps you

warnings: a lil angst, fluff, body dysmorphia

wc: 0.8k

You absently scuffed the toe of your sock along the grain of polished floor, your head drifting to one side while your fingers fussed with your fingernail. Your eyes avoided the mirror in front of you, knowing you wouldn't necessarily like what you saw back.

Your fingers lingered along the hem of your shirt, a subconscious motion that sought to smooth more than just the wrinkles. The shirt, a second skin, hugged a little too closely, its lines a little too revealing. You pulled at the fabric, willing it to fall just right, to drape, to hide. 

A crease of frustration marred your face as you turned to the side, the reflection in the mirror stubbornly refused to align with the image in your head. The chest that some days felt like a part of you, today, felt like a stranger--too pronounced, too noticeable, too... there.

The bedroom door groaned softly on its hinges as Spencer appeared in the doorway. His eyes connected with yours in the mirror as he observed the strain etched in your shoulders, and the sudden pause in your hands' restless motion.

"Hey," he said, his voice was comforting, a welcome intrusion to the relentless tangled web that was your thoughts. "I'm making eggs. Do you want some?"

It was a simple offer, but that didn't matter. Just him being there made everything seem a little softer around the edges.

"Yes, please," you replied, feeling the tight coil of anxiety within you loosen ever so slightly.

Spencer's gaze lingered with a softness that betrayed its probing nature, as if he could strip away everything you were hiding, something he was able to do all too often. He stepped closer, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Do you know how much I love you?"

The question hung in the air, it was a rhetorical question really, but you felt the warmth that spread through you as you toyed with the hem of his shirt.

"As much as the neurons in our brains fire every second," you said, a fact Spencer had instilled into you like no other—he didn’t go a day without saying it.

"That's right," Spencer affirmed with a chuckle as he closed the distance between you.

His hands came up to cup your face, sweeping gentle strokes over your cheeks before planting a soft kiss against your forehead.

Spencer's voice was soft, almost hesitant, as if he was giving you the space to decide while he spoke into your skin. "Do you want to talk to me?"

You let out a small sigh, not of frustration, but of surrender as you leaned into his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heart—bump, bump—it was almost enough to lull you to sleep standing up in his arms.

"It's just one of those days."

He knew what you meant, of course he did. His arms wrapped around you.

"Did you know," he began, his voice steady and sure, "that the way we see ourselves can be influenced by so many factors, like mood, environment, and even the lighting of the room? It's important to me that you remember that our self-image isn't always an accurate reflection of reality."

You leaned further into his chest, eyes squeezing shut.

He paused, giving you a moment to absorb the words before pinching your sides. "Why don't you try on some of my clothes?"

"Yeah, okay," you agreed, you’d never say no to that offer.

Spencer's eyes crinkled with amusement as he moved towards the closet. "Sit tight," he called over his shoulder.

You perched on the bed, watching his lanky frame disappear into the closet. "Will you pick something out for me?"

"You trust me that much? Bold move."

A chuckle escaped you, and you shook your head, a strand of hair falling into your face. "Just no bow ties, please."

“No promises.”

Moments later, Spencer emerged, holding a soft-looking sweater and a pair of comfortable joggers. "Here."

You took the clothes, the fabric soft under your fingertips. It smelled like him."Turn around, please."

Spencer's eyebrow shot up. "Turn around?" he exclaimed, but his smile revealed just how amused he was.

He leaned in, pressing a quick, tender kiss to your lips before obligingly spinning on his heel to give you privacy.

With Spencer's back turned, you quickly changed into the clothes he had chosen. They were perfect—comfortable, roomy, and more importantly, made you feel more like yourself.

"Okay, you can look now."

Spencer turned, his gaze drinking you in, hands falling to rest on the small of your back. "How’s that feel?”

You looked down at yourself, then back up at him through the mirror. “Like I can breathe again.”

He nodded, his hand finding yours, giving a squeeze. “Good, because to me, you always look perfect.”

taglist: @hotchhner @khxna

#spencer reid x reader #spencer Reid x gender fluid reader #spencer reid x afab reader #spencer reid Drabble #Spencer reid fluff #criminal minds fic

[fallenclan]

Everything will we all right, as long as we have each other.

By Dragon Anon

Marshjump sighed, weaving his way through the set of tunnels he and Bearspring had found so many moons ago. He assumed countless apprentices had found the crevasse near their den, squeezing through the sharp opening to explore the ancient trails. 

Marshjump was nearly too large to fit now, but he knew that's where he'd find his sister. The scent of blood was growing stronger, too. "Bearspring?"

"Marshjump?" In the shadows, Marshjump could just make out Bearspring's form. "What are you doing here?"

"Making sure you're all right. You need to see Sagespeckle. Your shoulder-"

"My shoulder is fine," Bearspring snapped. A few moments went by, and she murmured, "Sorry. I'm not mad at you, I just..."

"It's okay." Marshjump pressed his pelt against his littermate's, an unspoken gesture of warmth. "What happened out there?"

"I hesitated."

"That isn't what I meant. Your claws were nearly in Wolfbite's throat. If you hadn't 'hesitated,' you might have killed her."

"I wouldn't have killed her," Bearspring scoffed, ears pinning against her head.

"Wolfbite looked... afraid. She only attacked you so viciously because she thought you were going to... well."

"So you're siding with her now?" Bearspring hissed suddenly, pulling away from Marshjump. The tom blinked in surprise.

"I'm not siding with anyone. Wolfbite is our clanmate. StarClan wouldn't want this. We shouldn't be fighting each other."

"StarClan," Bearspring sneered, shaking her head. "StarClan isn't real, Marshjump."

"What?" The tom recoiled, a mixture of shock and horror surging through him. "How can you say that?"

"What proof do we have of their existence, Marshjump? What good have their rules ever done us?"

"Our mother was given nine lives by StarClan, and blessed to lead this clan. This... nonsense you're speaking needs to stop, Bearspring. I get that you're upset, but-"

"Our mother abandoned us!" Bearspring snapped. "If she actually had nine lives, she wouldn't have lost every one to some mysterious illness. It doesn't add up, Marshjump. Cherrystar never had nine lives, and neither does Ravenstar. It's a necessary lie to keep the clan in line." 

" . . . I didn't know you felt this way."

"There's a lot you don't know."

Marshjump frowned, stung. There had been a time when Bearspring was his closest friend and confidant. Recently, she had grown distant. Harsher. Cruel. "Even if I don't agree, I'm glad you felt comfortable sharing your feelings."

"You sound like Quailcall."

"She's a wise cat."

"She's a pointless cat. She provides nothing for the clan."

Marshjump opened and shut his mouth a few times. Exhaled. "I think we're done talking, Bearspring."

"Fine. Leave."

And so Marshjump left, silent as leafbare's first frost.

...

Marshpaw stared, awed. Sootpaw had caught a ptarmigan nearly mid-flight, sending it crashing back to the ground and snapping its neck. "Incredible work, Sootpaw," Littleleaf purred, trotting forward to praise his apprentice.

Bearpaw frowned. "Where did she learn to do that?"

"She's incredible, isn't she?" Marshpaw was still watching the grey she-cat with open admiration.

"I guess." Bearpaw flexed her claws. "I bet I could do that, too."

Marshpaw glanced at his sister. "Why don't we go practice hunting, and next time you can be the one to catch a ptarmigan mid-flight?"

"Yeah." Bearpaw's gaze brightened. "Okay. Let's go train!"

...

"Where's your sister?" 

"What?" Marshjump started, looking up from the squirrel he'd been gnawing on a moment ago.

"She promised to go hunting with me later," Sootstep drawled. "And yet she's nowhere to be seen. Typical."

"Bearspring is still recovering from her injury. She shouldn't be hunting or--or doing anything, anyway."

Sootstep flicked her tail dismissively. "Bearspring doesn't need you to make her decisions for her. Just let me know if you see her, okay? And tell her I won't wait around for her forever. I'll just end up going with Flamefall instead."

". . . okay."

...

"Eep! It moved!" Bearkit sprang backwards, tail puffed up like a bottlebrush.

"Don't worry, I'll get it," Marshkit mrrped, scrambling forward. With a swift swipe, Marshkit dispatched the spider that had been terrorizing his sister. 

"Thank you." Bearkit bonked her head against her littermate's, purring softly. 

"Of course. Just remember, everything will be all right, as long as we have each other." Marshkit grinned. "Now, why don't we play warriors? I wanna be Cherrystar this time. . ."

...

Marshjump froze. Ripplefade, oblivious to his son's tension, continued idly chatting about clan news. 

Marshjump's gaze was locked on Bearspring, who was perched near Ravenstar and Levi. The three seemed to be having a pleasant discussion. It filled Marshjump with dread.

"...and then Frozenkit bit my tail! Tch. Pebblefreeze lets them get away with anything. I don't blame her, though. Her kits sure are cute. Not as cute as you and your sister when you two were kits, though, but... ah, Marshjump? Are you listening?"

"What? Sorry." Marshjump's gaze flicked to Ripplefade, who was watching him expectantly. "I'm listening."

"All right. So, while I was scolding Frozenkit, Tempestkit started sneaking off! I didn't even notice at first..." Ripplefade's voice became a jumble of meaningly words to Marshjump within moments. 

He sighed. Really, he should enjoy these happy moments. And yet, he couldn't help but feel a sense of foreboding. Melancholy. Disquiet. 

Shaking his head, Marshjump settled down beside his father, forcing the disturbed thoughts from his mind. Everything would turn out all right.

He was sure of it.

-🐉

(little exploration of marsh and bear's relationship. would be a shame if anything bad were to happen to them /silly)

(beetle note: a shame indeed :3 i love love love this fic, your characterization of bear and marsh is so good!!!! and i always adore all the little details you add in,,, Pebblefreeze letting her kits get away with anything really stuck out to me. its so true)

#fallenfic #dragon anon

[kame-writes]

Media Overlords drabble - Girls night

Velvette turns up at the Hotel

Charlie rushed to open the door, surprised to hear it being knocked so late in the afternoon. There was a giddy, optimistic part of her hoping that it was someone interested in staying at the hotel. And despite the fact that it hadn't happened yet, she still greeted the person on the other side with a Dazzling smile. “Welcome to the Hazb-”

“Zip it Princess, nobody cares.” The impatient cockney voice instantly gave away who it was, and she didn't sound in a good mood.

The Vees generally didn't come out to the hotel, except Vox who was a naussance on a debatably regular occasions. Valentino was out right banned on pain of something about Alastors shadow, which had been a huge relief to Angel Dust. So Velvette standing with her hand on her hip in the doorway was a very odd sight indeed.

“I'm just here to pick up my number one bitch for the day.” She explained, pushing her way through the door and into the lobby. 

“Uh Angel Dust?” Charlie guessed, not sure who Velvette meant. Angel was a good guess, since he was always in fashionable clothes for his shows, which she assumed came from the social media overlord.

“Pffft as if. He wishes he was number one.” With a scoff Velvette brought a hand to her lips and let out an ear piercing whistle, before screaming. “Girls night!”

Immediately, there was the sound of quick, tip tapping sounds as someone ran down the stairs. A red and white blur rushed past Charlie and launched itself into Velvette’s arms.

“Niff, how you been girl?” Velvette grinned, pulling her into a spinning hug, before settling the much smaller sinner on her hip, able to hold her almost like a child since she was so much smaller. “Towers been boring as fuck without you running around causing chaos.”

“I'm in a war with the cockroaches!” Niffty  beamed, excited as always to talk about her unusual little hobbies. “You should see my collection, hehe, I put on puppet shows with them!”

“Good for you. Now then, the boys have pissed me off today, so we're going all out. I'm talking spa day, retail therapy, the works. If we don't max out at least one of Vox's cards, we ain't doing enough.” 

“Ya know. Al gave her a job here. He ain't gonna like you taking her away like this.” Husk pointed out from the bar.

“Stay outta this pussy cat. If that Deer bastard’s got an issue he can come back to the tower and hash it out with me personally. Hear for himself just what I think of him demoting my girl to a fucking janitor.”

“I like to clean!” Niffty grinned, not seeming to see the same Issue Velvette was.

“So. You're taking Niffty shopping? Is she going to be gone long?” Charlie asked, clearly a bit apprehensive about letting their weird little maid leave by herself with an Overlord.

“I don't think it gives us a good image, if our staff is seen out and about with the Vees.” Vaggie pointed out, making herself known from further back in the foyer, glaring at the young overlord suspiciously.

“Oh please. What kind of Hotel only has, like, two guests anyway. One or two posts on my Sinstagram and your crummy little hotel could be crawling with patrons.” Velvette almost giggled, turning around to hold up her phone for a selfie.

“Aheh. I wouldn't do that if I was you, little lady.” A familiar staticky radio voice spoke out, a second before its owner materialized from the shadows, leaning forward on his cane with slightly narrowed eyes aimed at Velvette’s phone camera. “Unless of course, you wish for the first shop you visit to be buying a replacement.”

“If you break one more of my phones I swear to-”

“Let's, uh, not get into a fight shall we?” Charlie cut in, anticipating this to only get worse if it was allowed to continue.

“This hotel is not in affiliation with the Vees. As I have made very clear on multiple occasions.” Alastor's voice was a casual firmness, being polite instead of argumentative. “It is a place for sinners who honestly want to give redemption a shot. Not some tacky, tourist photo opportunity for your social media scrutiny.”

Alastor straightened up from his forward lean, walking over to put himself between both Charlie and Velvette, slightly to the side so he could address them both equally. “However. If Charlie wishes to allow you some form of promotional material. Perhaps you may ask her to join you on your outing today? Ask some questions, take some photos together. Be seen supporting our darling princess in a few of your posts.”

“I'm not letting Charlie go anywhere with an Overlord. It's bad enough that you're here. And even then I'm only about sixty percent sure you're not a threat to us.”

“Sixty? My, I've gone up in your estimations.” Alastor laughed, backed up by a condescending laugh track. “But very well, I suppose it would be remiss to leave you behind.”

“Hold up. This ain't some kind of playdate.” Velvette snapped, putting Niffty back down on the floor to instead stand with both hands on his hips, hip checked to the side with very obvious attitude. “I'm here for Girls night with-”

“And the last time I checked, both Charlie and her paramour were of the female persuasion.” Alastor said, more firmly this time. “Girls night seems like a wonderful bonding experience for all of you!”

Charlie looked back at Vaggie, who was holding her spear to the side, not looking thrilled at the idea, but not outright rejecting it either, and Niffty was bouncing on the spot with a hug grin stretching wide across her face. “I… guess it wouldn't hurt to get to know eachother. I mean, if your a friend of Al's, and wanted to help out.”

“Ooooo! Girls night got bigger.” Niffty gasped, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Urgh.” Velvette groaned, racking a hand down her face in annoyance. But the fond look she gave at seeing how happy the idea made Niffty softened the blow somewhat. “Fine. I suppose being seen with the princess isn't cramping my style too much.” The resignation in her voice was palpable, and the knowing look she shot Alastor only validated his smug expression.

“Wonderful! Anything Charlie buys, you may take out of my personal account.” Alastor said brightly, stepping aside to allow Charlie to pass. “I look forward to hearing all about it this evening.”

Vaggie reluctantly followed the others out of the hotel, moving besides a bewildered but optimistic Charlie, who already looked like she might break into a full round of twenty questions at the drop of a hat.

“And don't you fret princess. I'm sure the boys and I will have things completely under control here until you get back.”

#hazbin hotel #hellaverse #helluverse #hazbin hotel au #media overlords au #hazbin velvette #velvette #hazbin niffty #niffty #alastor #hazbin au #hazbin alastor #hazbin charlie #charlie morningstar #charlie magne #hazbin vaggie #vaggie #charlie

[kuzukami]

Personal ranking of each Akatsuki member Pt. 2/2

Please share your opinions about this shit im so bored and it would be like a little treat

5 Sasori: this man is a monster. Like I adore this dude but fr as a child he set up a slow and painful death for his friend just cuz. Like then he has such fun after that turning himself into a puppet killing his kazekage/teacher turning literal bodies into puppets like if you think about it he is SOOOO DERANGED. his fuck it is guess ill just chill and die was honestly insane too. Like i dont think he was at peace when he died i think he was just like im so bored and tired of fighting grandma id rather kill myself. I live this deranged puppet boy.

4 Kisame: Itachi said it best, hes just a thug lost in the mist. Like hes soooo polite tho. Why is this THUG so well mannered and impressive. Hes like yea im a shark guy, im really courteous, deranged, strong and intelligent. Wtf is that combo meal even‽ He had such a cool story and I wish with all of my heart that we had more backstory, but I am happy with what we got. Also he is so fun to write, he can be written so many ways that are different but believable. Man is a buffet of options to love. Oh also hes just so over the mist! Like this guy was just like cool with being evil as long as it meant transparency 😂. The mist was so secretive and not that he couldn’t keep secrets but it got to a point where he was just not for it and i think that is hilarious for a shinobi.

3 Deidara: hes perfect. Like hes so self centered and pretentious. Hes a true gifted kid that isnt the biggest fish in the pond anymore. Hes so pretty, and catty. His jutsus really are unique and fun, and like we dont know why hes such a douche bag. Like when we see other iwa nin they arent terrible. Did he really leave to get commission work at like 14/15? Was he just trying to find himself? I also love that he doesnt even want to join the akatsuki at first but then thinks its so exclusive that he now must take so much pride! Its hilarious. Hes shown so much and i want more and hes versatile.

2 Hidan: who doesnt love a mentally ill pretty boy. Like I have had sooo many questions about jashinisim and his rituals since day one! I love his dynamic with Kakuzu and the others. His character design is cool, they really captured the insanity and unhinged mentality in this guy like hes great. I want so much content about Just this sicko. I am eternally heart broken we didnt get more. I want more info on the land of steam, the valley of death, jashin, the fucking hole, him etc.

1 Kakuzu: Same as Hidan I have endless questions, with a endless love for what they did give us. The dynamic was incredible, his body language was soooo good like guy just exudes the vibes of living a long hard life. Like I want content about this man nonstop, and especially things about his past and private life. I want waterfall country info, familial ties, past lives hes lived, ex partners all of it. Plus hes a big muscle daddy which is such a treat. And hes creepy i love his earth grudge fear heart monsters.

#fandom #akatsuki #deidara #hidan #sasori #kakuzu #kisame #Akatsuki ranked #spiraling #naruto headcanons #itachi uchiha #sasodei #kakuhida

[m-arkmywords]

there's a blue light in my best friend's room

continuation of a stoner!mark ask word count: 1.5k

"Can you uh do something for me?" He whispered, trying to hold himself together.

"Mhmmm" you bit your lip and nodded.

"Can you be a good girl and touch yourself for me?" 

Silence fell around the room, air thick with desire. All you could hear was the neediness in Mark’s voice and your own heart beating in your ears. You felt shyness mixed with excitement palpitate through your body. Mouth dry, you gulped.

Looking up at Mark, you fiddled with the bottle cap between your fingers before twisting it shut and putting the bottle away. You blinked at him, trying to find a single coherent response to utter at his request. But your mind was empty.

“Babyyy show me what you like.” He added, voice still low.

Enchanted by his words, it seemed as though your hands were moving before your mouth could catch up. You began to palm your breasts and they felt heavy in your small hands. Sighing at the feeling, your hands made their way to your torso and into your shorts. It was only when your fingers grasped how wet you had become, you snapped back to reality. Sliding your fingers through your folds, you let out a shy giggle.

“Mark..” 

“I’m so wet..” You gasped, sliding two fingers inside you to really gather up all the evidence that you could. “See!” You brought your fingers closer to the camera, to show Mark how he made you feel. You separated your fingers that were still connected through your sticky arousal that glistened in the blue light. 

Mark swore he was seeing stars. “Fuck baby.. Can you taste it for me?”

He pulled himself out his boxers, still slowly stroking himself. His eyes were fixed on you, when you lazily brought your digits to your mouth and wrapped your lips around them. Letting out an “mmm” sound with your eyes shut, you did as you were told. A good girl. 

You opened your eyes to meet Mark’s hooded gaze and his hands languidly stroking his dick. You never imagined seeing him like this for the first time, through a screen. There was an ache in your core, longing to touch him, right there, in that very moment but alas, distance was your enemy tonight. 

“It’s pretty” a shy whisper fell from your mouth as you got on your knees to remove your shorts, leaving you in just underwear. Mark took his bottom lip between his teeth, holding back a smile at your comment. You could hear his breathing grow heavier by the second. 

“And so are you, turn around lemme see..” He licked his lips in anticipation. And when you turned around, sitting on your heels. Words like “dang” “baby” “fuck” rolled off Mark’s tongue and he babbled on about how pretty you look and how much he can’t wait to have you. Impatience and neediness was growing in his voice, you savoured every second of it. 

Resting your hand on a pillow, your mind had a light bulb moment when you turned to your side. You grabbed the pillow and placed it under you. Now straddling the pillow, you looked at Mark with eyes saying “Can I?” 

You could see his passive movements becoming more mindful when he gently spat in his hand and coated his heavy dick, grabbing it more intently than before. “You’re gonna drive me crazy baby..” He let out a sigh and light squelching noises filled the room with his airy breaths.

You tried to match his rhythm as you began to grind yourself onto the pillow. Heat radiating in your body, made your brain melt with each movement. Every time your clit rolled against the edge of the pillow, you felt dizzy. You let out a light sigh, rolling your hips.

Mark’s eyes scanned your body, the way you threw your head back, letting out soft moans.

“You sound so pretty baby, lemme hear you. Don’t be shy.” He encouraged you and his eyes trailed down to the strap of your tank, slowly slipping down your shoulder. Exposing your collar bones and the shape of your breast from the side.

Seeing your frame, outlined by the blue light was doing something to him. He fixated on your hard nipples, poking through the tank. He prayed for it to keep slipping further so he can get a view of your bare skin.

And, as his wish is granted, Mark thrusted up with a groan. “God, you’re so beautiful.” 

It was late at night, the world around you was covered in muted greys, blues and silence. It felt absurd to be so needy that you both had to chase your pleasure through a screen. However, when it came to your feelings for Mark, nothing made sense.

Seeing his name pop up on your phone screen, made your head spin. The way your name sounded a little sweeter, in his mouth. A little safer. The way his eyes lit up when he saw you or the way he always held your hand and kissed randomly. Even his smell. You were crushing hard and you were down bad. Your mind was full of him.

Thinking about the day he kissed you. The way his lips delicately brushed yours before his tongue hungrily entered your mouth. Your movements got harder and Mark’s mouth fell open when his eyes found your hips. The way they were illuminated in the blue light, felt like a dream. The crease where your hips end and thigh begins had all of Mark’s attention as he worked his length. He wanted so desperately to be between those pillowy thighs that he contemplated leaving the tour half way through, just to be buried inside you. 

“You’re doing so good for me baby” Mark coo’d, fucking into his fist. Mark was always so good with his words, his voice was raspy and slightly slurred from the thc and it went to your core. Your thighs gripped the pillow tighter as you fell forwards on your hands. You imagined using Mark’s chest for support. You imagined, running your hand up his chest until you reached his throat and how it would feel to grab it. Maybe give it a gentle squeeze whilst he's inside of you. Would he enjoy it? Would he twitch inside you, hitting your spot extra hard? Your mind trailed off, making you unravel by the second.

“That’s right baby, fuck yourself good for me.. show me how you cum.” Mark continued to egg you and you thought all of this could only be a result of madness. The madness of desire you both felt towards each other. Everything felt euphoric and you felt your orgasm approaching. The heat in your core was slowly rising up, making your thighs shake and your moans louder. 

“You sound so pretty baby.. keep going” Mark continued to talk you through it as he chased his own high.

You could see that he was also close when his lips parted with low moans. You watched his shoulder flex with every pump of his fist, he looked so majestic. 

“Need.. to.. feel you” finally being able to form a sentence, you were beginning to get loud.

With each motion, your breath got heavier and curse words started to roll off your tongue. “m’close” is all you can get out before a moan from the back of your throat took over your entire room and Mark’s. Finally hitting your peak, your thighs started to shake uncontrollably and more moans followed after. 

“You’re so loud baby, you sound so nasty.. wanna fill you up and make you scream my name” Mark did his best to match your rhythm until he bucked his hips up into his fist and finished with a groan.

His release, all over his stomach and hands. He was left in a daze, watching you still riding out your orgasm. And then falling onto you stomach, you were both left both panting. 

“Wow” is all Mark could muster up, trying to catch his breath.

“That was…” His lips curled into a smile and you mirrored his expression. 

“That was something” You both giggled in the comfort of your beds, feeling safe and tucked away from the outside world. A little bubble of just you and Mark.

“Babe, you should really get some sleep, baby, you’re going to be tired.” You whine, realising the time as worry creeped into your mind. 

Mark’s left hand flew to his chest, fake offended. “Wow, she only wanted me for my body. I’m texting the homies right now, letting them know I have been tricked.” He said dramatically, making you roll your eyes. 

“Yeah, get some sleep so we can do this again tomorrow, you piece of meat.” You wink, making you both laugh. 

“Alright babe, meet me by the fountain in my dreams? We’ll take it from there?” His eyes now sincere. 

“Of course, as always.” You shoot him a warm smile, feeling butterflies in your stomach from your sweet exchanges. “Good night y/n. Sleep well.” Mark brings his phone to his face and kisses the camera. 

You giggle once again at his cute antics, “Good night goofy. I hope you sleep well too.” 

#mark lee #mark lee x fem reader #nct dream #mark lee fanfic #mark lee smut #nct 127 #nct #feeling a bit feral ngl #also Ihave proof read this as always but I know my dyslexic ass defo missed some typos so I apologise #as long as you know what I meant then its all good #enjoy

[suffarustuffaru]

What If Julius and Subaru both met when Julius was a commoner and Subaru got transported Sooner

fun stuff im sure !! but haah okay given julius was a kid when he was a commoner - yeah theyre both kids here!! not sure how old but definitely somewhere before the age of ten. and i think theyd be up to some shenanigans together im sure!! theyre both very mischevious kids (or from what little we know of little kid julius, given iirc tappei hasnt specified just How Much of a "delinquent" little kid julius is okay. but hes definitely the type to sneak out past curfew or something. stay up late reading too, probably. that sort of thing). and also subarus a kid and no way he ISNT missing home poor guy T^TT getting ripped away from home like that is bad enough at seventeen, getting ripped away from home when you are like. no more than eight or something is Bad. but luckily!! im assuming subaru gets found by the juukuliuses (julius's parents probably?) and thats how julius and subaru form their friendship / long-term yearning for each other (if you so desire that) (okay but no way subaru ISNT gonna form long-term yearning for julius flajsdlf). but yes i think julius and subaru would be silly happy kids together and julius's parents would be like oh no this other kid is so lost where is he from :(( but hes so loved by julius already too... well we got another kid under our roof now.

except. julius's parents die in a flood. so i mean. Hypothetically.... either julisuba survive this one first try or subaru dies for the first time. which. ohh god. oh god. oh g -

#IM. IM JUST GONNA LEAVE ON THAT OMINOUS NOTE #yeah so i think this would turn into childhood friends to Possibly Mutual Pining but actually it might not be mutual if you wanna interpret #reinjuli a certain way. but then but THEN later it can become mutual if u so want #like when u know a person for such a long period of time u change over time. u know?? both you and the relationship u have with this person #has its alterations over time!! thats just how it b but if youre meant to be together youll stick it out <3 #julisuba in every universe they befriend each other for good is #Bound to be together for the rest of their lives. To Me. they are soulmates to Me okay their relationship is important #regardless of what form it takes!!! they could grow to think of each other like brothers in an au like this if u so desire too!! which i #think would be really touching <3 #yeah so. julisuba childhood friends au. shit goes haywire sometimes. its really awful bc subarus a kid so u can imagine the kind of fucked #stuff hes learning rn hahaha. or you can go the happier route and subaru doesnt learn about rbd until later </3 #either way. julisuba real. subarus an eldritch horror. these are both crucial facts for every timeline #i think julius would probs be a bit better having a companion by his side from the very beginning throughout all of this for sure!! #and someone who Gets the jealousy / do i want to be with him or Be him ;-; #i have a fondness for reinjulisuba (THE MESSIEST LOVE TRIANGLE YOUVE EVER SEEN) #and ok if subarus an eldritch horror since childhood then he and reinhard are gonna have Even More in common #hooray for childhood joys and traumas!!!!! #also julisuba visit julius's parents graves :(( leave nice flowers there im sure #subaru-joshua hostility begins also. that sort of thing #rezero #re:zero #ask #natsuki subaru #julius juukulius

[hauntingblue]

Stampede aka another episode of luffy turning haters into dick riders just with his kind and big heart

#i might understand all the robin law fanfare... its been 26 minutes of stampede...... #frobin reigns supreme imo still..... #VICEADMIRAL MOMONGA TOCAME LA PORONGA??? HELLO #THE LOG POSE TO LAUGH TALE???? and hancock arrived ❤️❤️ #usopp saving luffh omg..... #blonde buggy..... why are we doing this to out beautiful women... #fujitora is on his own frequency... here you go a meteorite.. whatever happens to all of you and our troops happens goodbye #mihawk intervened bc zoro couldn't do it omg.... nami keep watch he is going to end it all tonight jesus #also persona following mihaw for a second movie ajdjaks.... i love them together honestly #brosalino is the kuma guy's uncle????? nepotism...... #calling this guy the heir of the demon.... taking blame off ace akdjsksn.... you know whats funny in movies garp is very like thoughtful and #comprehensive of others peoples issues and then you get to how he raised luffy and like.... wouldn't that have been good there.... #and with ace too lmao.... i mean he didnt have abandonment issues but just wait and see to a 10yo asking if he is worthy of living idk... #i get the meaning of it and what he meant but we all know ace didnt get that at the time until luffy got there #usopp.... see how when oda writes the movies it feels different.... first steong world with namo and now stampede with usopp... #the relationship moments really hit.. i was gonna comment about zoro and the cursed sword but that was just focusing on him #well this one wasnt written by oda but supervised i will take it.... #hina taking the kids aldjakskal...... smoker and hina best straight ship behind frobin imo..... baby 5 x sai number 3 spot #sabo....... actually thank you bc smoker thinks he can take anybody #hancock and buggy AJSJAKAKLQQ omg usopp dont cry....... luffy will KILL that guy for making usopp feel like that lmao YEAAAH!!!!! #law smoker sabo the luffy lover squad..... each in their own way lmao #hancock its been so long how are you <3 omg law what are you doing here <3 my brother sabo hello. #crocodile made the plan of course.... luffy lover member too #usopps bullets omg.... #sanji and zoro against lucci omg..... YEAAAHHHH #wait a second straw hat crew costume by uniqlo design team??? THE DRIP!!! #luffy seeing ace beside luffy with the fire goodbye.... he is EVERYWHERE #talking tag #watching one piece #watching one piece movies