#but those teacups are fucking TINY

[thepurplewombat]

This also came today. Well, part of it anyway - the top room, I already had, but Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji now have their own room to moon at each other in. I'm sure we're all joining Lan Xichen and Jin Guangyao in breathing a sigh of relief.

#Wombat rambles #wombat's danmei hours #jin guangyao #lan xichen #Wei Wuxian #Lan Wangji #There is still a tea set that should go in the bottom room #but those teacups are fucking TINY #and I do not trust my shaky hands to not drop and lose them

[blooberrries]

『monday misery』 — yuji

— pairing: yuji x reader — genre: college/university au, slight crack — wc: 1.7k — rated: sfw — notes: when inspiration strikes you gotta follow it ya know. this cracked me up more than it probably should have

prompt: I don't know why you've got a ferret on a leash but at least I've stopped crying on public transportation to watch that lil guy go

The tears are still damp on your cheeks, another set budding and ready to go, when you see it. Something small, something wriggly, something wormy.

Something that has absolutely no business being on the 8AM train into the city central.

Just moments ago it felt like the world could come to a crumbling end around you, and you’d embrace it all while sitting there and doing nothing but emptying your tear ducts of every single drop of moisture they could spare. You literally could not imagine a single event that would have stopped your exhaustion and assignment deadline-fueled weeping. You wouldn’t have been surprised if you just kept on crying, forever. The future was bleak and not set to look up anytime soon with an 8.30AM lecture looming on the horizon.

But this… this is a variable you never could have predicted.

The sheer lunacy of it has stopped your tears in their tracks, and now you’re watching the poor guy sitting across from you like he’s an animal in a zoo. He has noticed, and it has made him sweat. A large hand comes to scratch the back of his neck, fingers ruffling the two-toned hair. The cherry-blossom mop atop his head really only adds to the comedy of what you’re witnessing.

Something is worming around under this man’s clothes. Which, you have to admit, does sound like a poor excuse to be drilling holes into him right now with your eyes – but that’s not it! You saw something poke out earlier. Something furry, with beady eyes and such rapid twitching head movements you’d swear the thing was on crack.

It’s a fucking ferret.

The worst part is, no one else around you has even noticed! Or maybe they don’t care. Truthfully, they seem to be giving this guy a wide berth— and you for that matter, being across from him and all that. Or maybe it was the silent weeping and looking out the window like you’re in your own early 2000s music video. There’s no way to know.

To his credit, cherry guy looks embarrassed. Good. You don’t want him thinking it’s anything normal to tote around a ferret in the quiet carriage, like some noodle-shaped teacup dog. The only way he could get away with it is if he at least had one of those exorbitant handbags he was keeping it in. Unfortunately, it doesn’t seem like any vessel on this green earth, luxury or otherwise, could keep this tiny demon contained.

Your eyes burn in the aftermath of your sleep deprivation and crying spell as you watch the man try and push the ferret’s head back into hiding, and the little mongrel, without even a split-second of hesitation, chomps down on the closest finger. Cherry guy whimpers, eyes slipping closed in something akin to defeat and resignation.

At this point you’re beginning to feel that he didn’t bring the ferret, but instead the ferret brought him.

A few minutes is what it takes for cherry guy to gather the strewn shreds of his pride. When he opens his eyes next, their chocolate hues meet your own. He leans forward a little, as much as he can without the hell noodle slipping loose from his cotton prison, and whispers ever so softly across the space.

“His name is Mahito.”

You frown, and can physically feel your eyebrows scrunching together like it was a crime they had ever been apart. “What, like the drink?”

Apparently you hadn’t asked that as quietly as you’d thought, because you get shushed by someone three seats down right after. Wait– three seats? There’s no way they’ve all moved even further away.

Cherry guy looks like he is seriously contemplating the question, and you wonder if the ferret is even his or just some poor animal he snatched off the streets. “… No. Probably… not.”

You stare at him, sniffling. Your face is almost entirely dry now, skin feeling tight instead of damp. “Uh-huh.”

Steadily, the man’s face begins to flush as mortification warms his sun-kissed skin. Silence beats painfully on between you. Eventually, you break it.

“So, uh. You do this often? Carry around a ferret in your shirt?”

The flush spreads to cherry guy’s ears. “Um, no. That would be weird.”

You incline your head, lips pressed firmly together so you don’t let a laugh slip and make him feel worse. “Indeed.”

“He’s not mine,” he blurts suddenly, and like the ferret has a flourishing vocabulary and outstanding comprehension of the human language, he rips out of the bottom of cherry guy’s shirt and sinks his teeth into the flesh between his thumb and forefinger in retribution. You wince, and the poor man has to cram his fist to his mouth at the speed of light to muffle the slew of profanity that begins to escape.

A few moments full of deep, meditative breathing later, he lowers his fist and scowls at the ferret that is only now removing his jaw from the tender flesh of his hand. He hisses lowly, shaking out his hand. “You little rat bastard. Just you wait till we get home and Sukuna finds out you snuck into my backpack again. You’re gonna get sent to macaroni prison for sure.”

You raise your brows. Ah, so that’s what must have happened. That actually explains a lot. You can’t help your smile now. “What a darling little angel.”

Cherry guy’s head snaps up to shoot you an incredulous– nay, borderline affronted look. “He’s awful, truly. Actual hellspawn. I have to buy a new gaming headset every other week because the little monster chews through the cords so often. I tried keeping my door locked while I was out but the little bastard just turns his body to liquid or something and worms his way under.”

A strangled sound escapes you when you barely manage to lock down your laugh in time. Cherry guy continues, apparently needing to vent about the foot-long menace more than he’d anticipated.

“My brother actually already replaced his door with one that doesn’t have a big gap at the bottom, but he keeps refusing to do it for mine every time I ask because he thinks it’s funny that his little agent of rat chaos eats through half my stuff on the daily.” He huffs, glaring at the wriggling noodle that he has now trapped in his hold. An older woman gives a very strongly disapproving look from four seats down before returning to her killer sudoku. “I have not known peace since he has entered the house.”

You wince, feeling a little sympathetic. “Damn. How long has your brother had him?”

You expect it to be an awful long time, based on how burdened this man seems to be by the mere existence of this ferret. His answer makes you physically bite down your reaction, your entire body tensing from the effort.

“Uh, a month or two.”

Yikes. You’re scared to think of what the rodent might do once he’s actually settled in.

Silence settles between the two of you once more, broken the chime of the conductor’s voice echoing over the speakers as you come one stop closer to the city. A few people disembark, including the lady that gave the stink eye earlier. She does it again as she steps off, and cherry guy shrinks into his seat. The doors close, and once more silence falls, though more comfortable than the first time.

A while later, the man shifts, a complete contradiction to the tornado of movement that the creature in his hand is doing. The noises escaping the little thing are hard to ignore, and even harder to keep a straight face at.

“What, uh… what were you crying about?”

You blink at him as your gaze returns from the window. You’d actually forgotten you were crying earlier, which is pretty funny considering at the time you were acting like the world was about to end for a solid fifteen minutes at least.

“Oh,” you say. It’s your turn to flush a bit in embarrassment. “Uni assignment, due today. There was a spillage and, um, that doesn’t tend to bode well for artwork on paper.”

Cherry guy winces. “My condolences.”

You nod, allowing a moment of silence for the work of art your assignment could have been, before speaking again. “Thanks… and, well, that’s one good deed your little hellspawn has done. Seeing him wriggling around under there like he was about to burst from your chest definitely distracted me from my existential crisis.”

Cherry guy hums, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Okay. I guess I’ll put in a good word for him when we get home.”

You smile, whatever you were about to say next interrupted by the chime of the conductor announcing your next stop to be the destination you need to get to campus. Out of habit, you gather your things and stand, before pausing and turning your gaze to the pink-haired man still seated and wrangling a chaos being with the viscosity of YouTube slime. After having another look at him, it’s clear he’s a fellow university student. You’re guessing he was on his way to his classes when he discovered the stowaway in his bag. No doubt he now has to head back home and drop the ferret off before doubling back for his own classes.

You have a lecture at 8.30AM, but to be honest… you don’t want to spend the rest of the day miserable and mourning your assignment from the get-go. Talking with this random guy about his ratchet ferret has completely cancelled out your earlier feelings of angst, and it’s… nice. You kind of want to return the favour and help distract him from his misery.

The doors begin to shut, and the pink-haired man looks up in alarm as he notices you’re still here. “Wait, won’t you–“

“Yeah,” you say, swivelling on the spot and plopping down right next to him. You turn your head with a smile. “But that’s okay. Gotta look after my mental health and all, you know?”

He blinks at you for a second, before a warm smile breaks onto his face. He’s handsome, you notice from this close up. Almost painfully so.

“Yuji,” he says, by way of introduction. You return with your own name, and he beams wider. “Wanna hear about the time Mahito got into a fight with my brother’s other ferret Jogo?”

“Absolutely.”

#jjk x reader #yuji itadori #yuji itadori x reader #yuji x reader #itadori x reader #requests are open! #feel free to request something silly like this or something else #I wanna let myself love writing again #jujutsu kaisen x reader #yuji itadori x you #itadori x you #sfw

[winslowat3am]

WINSLOW! 😃😁😄 If Winnie the pooh did cottagecore things what would it look like? House decor, hobbies, cooking, and stuff like that what stuff would he like and the visuals?

Oh my fuck, I love this question! So glad you asked. 😏🐻

If Winnie was a cottagecore king, he would live in a small, wooden style cottage, similar to his own, but maybe he has a little rose/flower bush outside his bedroom window where he tends to his flowers in the morning. Maybe some small fruit & veggie bushes & trees too (strawberries 🍓, grapes 🍇, squash, bananas 🍌, carrots 🥕 etc) that he uses to prepare food for his other animal friends. 🐷🐯🐴

I'm thinking the interior would have wallpaper since he has a happy personality. He would love floral or any kind of bright vintage wallpaper to add some color. I can definitely see him wearing a little garden hat that Piglet made for him & maybe he hangs it on a wall like this when he's done picking berries & veggies. Lol. He'd also have pictures of his friends/family hung on the walls & bits of nature photography hung that he took himself.

Bedroom! Same as before, it would be colorful & bright, florals, vintage, handmade items by himself & his friends. Quilts. He would LOVE quilts! Warm colored afghans & quilts would replace the summery thin sheets during the colder months. Various fabrics & designs. Some stuffed plushies to make it more cozy & homey. A hand painted dresser that's chipping because he's had it for eons, but refuses to replace it. On the walls is where he keeps more framed photos of art they made, & on top of the dresser is a lamp, journal & vintage knickknacks.

In the kitchen he has wooden furniture, those old school curtains that you hang up by hand, he collects teacups, table cloths & honey jars, flower vases (that he actually uses), decorative plates, maybe some china, & pots from hand-me-down thrift stores. The curtains are always drawn to allow sunlight in for the flowers. He kind of has kind of, like, a grandmacore vibe going. I could see him being hella into grandmacore, art, sewing, scented candles & interior design, lmao. Perhaps he's sewn more cute belly shirts all in different colors for when his iconic red one gets dirty. He totally still wears pajamas & sits next to the fireplace during the winter, btw. Everything is a little mix & match, but pleasing & to his liking. He has small rugs here & there, & in his bathroom is probably a bowl sink, more wallpaper, with acorn designs, too. There's an old couch, coffee table, display tables in corners, tall glass cabinets for his china display & tv set in the living room that connects to the kitchen.

& yeah! I think that's about it for our tour. Unless I forgot something? I don't think I did. His hobbies would be handmade art of sorts, cooking, gardening, nature walks, sleeping, eating honey & enjoying time with his friends.

Edit: Oh, & he uses the veggies he harvested to make pot pie in his tiny old style kitchen, eeee! ❤️

It's old, it's vintage, it's home. ☺️🏡🌿

#basically his house would be cozy as fuck & you would want to live there #he'd invite his friends over for dinner & they'd cook together & eat from his harvest #honey is for dessert of COURSE! DUH! 🍯😊 #everything would feel lived in & there's little chips of wallpaper or paintings cause it's all a bit old but still in good condition! #ask #ask box #📬 #inbox 💌 #winnie the pooh #cottagecore #grandmacore #cozycore #oh & I forgot he loves picnics! he makes the food for the rest of em most of the time

[weministertomonsters]

( Here is something I wrote for a story I'll probably never finish.)

Shadow Creature - Part One

Your knock has the door swinging open almost immediately and a woman peeks out as you with wide green eyes, like she's seen a ghost. She's wearing a colorful dress with lots of rope necklaces with charm pendants. Her red hair is tied up in a fountain of curls.

"Are you Shakra Mauricette?"

  "Yeah, who's asking?" She says, glancing over your shoulder before looking you in the eye.

  "Can you help me?" You ask.

  She blinks her eyelashes which are slightly clumped with mascara. Her eyes remain wide, like she's seeing something scary just behind you.

  "That all depends on what you want help with and what you're willing to pay for it."

  She turns and walks inside, gesturing for you to follow. You do, pushing the half piece of gaudy curtain away from the door as you step in.

  "Well, I brought money."

  She laughs slightly, waving your words off. "Hun, I wasn't talking about that! I'll even do a consultation for you for free."

  "Then what do you mean?"

  You follow her into a tiny kitchen with one cracked window. A small table with two chairs is set up in the corner, candles and a bowl of what looks like witchcraft paraphernalia are clustered in the middle of the table. You gingerly take a seat in the squeaky chair.

  "My roommate Margaret told me to come here, that you might be able to help."

  Her face sours. "Oh, her. Troublesome woman. The time she came for a consultation, she was nearly possessed. Too much dark energy, that one. I offered to give her cleansing but she refused."

  The shaman bustles around, pouring fragrant pink tea into two teacups and adding a cube of sugar to each.

 

  "Sounds like Margaret. She doesn't like to be told that something is wrong with her," you agree.

  "But you didn't come here for her. Tell me, what ails you?" She comes to the table, setting your tea down and unearthing crumbly homemade cookies from a jar.

  "I think I'm possessed," you say.

  "Yup," she replies. " I'm listening."

  "I've been seeing things through the corners of my eyes, moving shadows. Things are being misplaced all over my apartment. There's a heaviness all around my house. I can nearly feel it," you say, cupping your mug of tea in your hands as a shiver runs through you.

  "Yup."

  "And I have nightmares again. I haven't had those since I was a kid. Now most nights I wake up at least once in a cold sweat. I swear, it's like I'm being squashed in my sleep. One time when I woke up, I thought I had a cat sleeping on my chest and that's why I couldn't breathe, but I don't even have a fucking cat!"

  "Yeah," she nibbles on her cookie.

  You purse your lips together. "Are you just going to agree with everything I say?"

  "Well, it's stuff I've heard over and over, just in different ways. I can tell you with certainty that you are possessed by a demon. Not sure what type."

  "There are types?" You stare in horror.

  "Sure! It takes a different sort of devil to get a respectable gentleman who has everything going for him to turn his hand on his wife. Takes another to get a couple to kidnap kids for ransom and yet another to get a lonely woman to suffer nightmares that are beginning to ruin her life."

  "I'm not lonely."

  "Are you not?" She leans closer, her wide eyes peering right into your soul. "Sure."

  "I just want it gone. Then I'll be fine."

  "I'll try my best. Come on then, let's go to my ninja room. That's where I do seances and exorcisms. Things can get wild and I lost so much furniture before I got the hint."

  You hesitantly follow her into what might have once been a master bedroom, stripped of furniture and carpeting.

  "Sit down right in the middle, I got to draw a pentagram to contain the demon if it even comes out," she says. "Let's use pink chalk, eh? I like pink."

  You watch her stoop around you, scrawling the symbol around you as you sit cross-legged.

  "Are you sure you know what you're doing?" You ask as she sprinkles what smells like dried rose petals at the corners.

  "I've been in the business for about thirty years now! Sure, I know just how to confuse those fuckers. A little present for them, flowers and maybe a little milk and animal fat or something like a little sacrifice, ya know?"

  "Um," you say.

  "Trying to aggressively pray 'em out like they do in churches won't get you far. Demons don't like being ordered around. You gotta work 'em out slowly with some sweet words and slow movements. They're skittish and suspicious creatures who found a cozy home and you're trying to take it from them," she concludes. "Makes sense?"

  "I guess," you say doubtfully.

  You have questions but don't want to distract her from her work and trigger a monologue. So you sit, wincing slightly at the hard floorboards.

  "Alrighty then." Shakra drains the last of her tea and puts on a pair of half-moon glasses. "Let's see then."

  She reads some Latin words from a tiny book, her voice ebbing in volume.

  "Tell me when you feel something," she instructs, and continues reading.

  You feel it alright, as something akin to hands grasping your shoulders. A hard shove, and you're sprawling over the edge of the chalk symbol.

  "Stay in the pentagram!" Shakra says, sputtering through her lines.

  "Right, sorry!" You straighten up immediately, but it looks like the damage is already done.

  "Oh boy!" Shakra exclaims, scurrying across the room for a box of matches. "Sure, it’s a strong one! What have you been dabbling in?"

 

  "Nothing! I haven't even tried Ouija boards!" You sputter.

  "Then how'd you pick up such a strong demon?" She demands, lighting the edge of a swatch of herbs and blowing on it gently.

  "I have no idea. Is there anything you can do?" You ask. "It's ruining my life."

  "I don't know, hun." She walks around you in a second, waving the faintly smoking herbs around you. "You yourself are filled with confusing energy. It's not dark though. It's like..."

  She pauses. "Grey. Not white or black. It's like you've got a mix in there. Anything particularly heavy in your life?"

  "I... I don't really think so," you stammer.

  She puts the herbs down and observes you, her eyebrows scrunched. "Let me try something."

  She leaves the room for a moment and comes back with an envelope opener, brandishing it like a knife.

  "What are you doing?" You blink.

  She lunges forward and you throw yourself to the side, confused but reacting instinctively.

  "Hey!" You cry, and turn to see Shakra looks worse for wear than you.

  She's across the room, rubbing the back of her head.

  "I should retire from this shit," she grumbles. "My old bones can't handle this kind of abuse."

  "What happened? What did you do?"

  "I had a theory," Shakra says. "Not all demons are necessarily out for death and destruction. They like deals that benefit too, ya see. And all the planes of this realm know that they'll take a bit more than their share..."

  "I don't understand." You get up, determining that it's safe to do so, and cross the room to help the shaman up.

  "Someone might've made a deal with the devil to keep you safe," she says. "It worked well while you were a kid, but payment is long due and the demon is taking it now."

  "You're saying someone possessed me with a demon to protect me?" You frown.

  "Well technically they summoned a demon into you, but yeah. Your parents, probably."

 

  "But my parents were Catholic! They hated demons and those sorts of things."

  "Maybe. Maybe not! I know for a fact that lots of people pretend to be something else other than what they are. Imagine that, the most religious family on the block, and it turns out they were devil worshipers," Shakra cackles. "You know this city of ours. Washed as clean as a bone free of meat. But in there, the maggots squirm."

  You shiver. "I know," you say absentmindedly. "I felt it when I first came here. So, what now?"

  "There isn't much I can do. A demon squatting in a house is one thing. But when the demon protects that house like a dog stands over a bone, then it's a different thing."

  "But... I just go home and try to act like everything is normal?"

  "Sure. It's best to leave you with your friend for now. It's there for a reason, and you're lucky that the reason isn't harming you as much as it can harm others. Ever seen a man driven mad by a demon?"

  "And I wouldn't want to," you shudder.

  "If it gets worse, you're welcome back and I'll see what I can do to help. But right now, you're safer with the demon than without. It wasn't summoned for no reason, I reckon."

  She ushers you to the door, cheerfully refusing the money you try to give her. Her words stay with you for a long time.

  The demon wasn't summoned for no reason... But you've been fine until now. Not awesome, but not terrible either.

#demon #exophilia #terato #monster x reader #possessed

[the-royal-teacup]

I was going to do a whole post, but I can’t…

I am just so over the ‘victim’ act the feel bad for us, we lived in a tiny cottage on massive palace grounds, the press hated us, the royals planted stories and were jealous of us. My brother shouted at me, wah, wah, wah.

All the while filming and recording every single moment; including yourselves watching the Oprah interview and cheering yourselves on, whilst your grandfather was sick and dying, you twisted fucks were celebrating trying to bring down your grandmothers legacy and then film yourself setting off for his funeral, acting like you’re oh so upset; twat, you’re an absolute twat.

There has been so much that has angered me, but I just cannot right now sit and go through it, one because it’s down right frustrating and two because I am just so fed up and done with their lies, hypocrisy and downright ‘victim hood’ without a single shred of evidence to back up any of their claims, a part from shady lawyers and supposed ‘friends’.

It is all so contrived and absolutely disgusting that they can put all this shit out there, preach that it’s their side of the story and yet the royals have to just put up with it. I think most people see through it and are just as fed up, but there are still those who defend them and believe them and that is what maddens me that people don’t see through this absolute horseshit.

I think because I’ve been in a situation with toxic family members, trying and succeeding in some case to turn people against me with their lies, it really hits home.

So, yeah, that’s it for my rant right now, not a full teacup rant, because there is just so much and I just cannot wrap my brain around the fact that they expect people to believe all this shit, it’s truly mind blowing!

[wonderlandleighleigh]

“Sophie. I never ask you for anything. I just need this one favor.”

Sophie Lennon stares at the much shorter woman, a disbelieving sneer on her face. “You do remember that I attempted to brain her mother with a Grammy six years ago, yes?” 

“And you apologized,” Susie reminds her. “And I have a very big, very important meeting, and I cannot take a five-year-old with me, and Midge is in her own very big, very important meeting, and Lenny is out of town and the parents are busy and the other kids are busy and I just - a couple of hours. That’s it.” 

Sophie shakes her head vigorously. “No. No. I know nothing about children, other than they tend to smell strange and be sticky.” 

The little girl standing next to Susie looks offended. “I don’t smell.” 

“Regardless,” Sophie snaps. “I am not babysitting Midge Maisel and Lenny Bruce’s child.” 

Which is how Sophie Lennon winds up babysitting Midge Maisel and Lenny Bruce’s child. 

Aside from Dawes, it’s really just the two of them in Sophie's opulent home, standing in the front hall. 

“Your house is pretty,” Lily tells her. 

“Yes, it is,” Sophie confirms. “One that children, in general, are not allowed in.” 

Lily frowns. “Oh.” 

Sophie detests that this child is so preternaturally adorable. Chocolate curls atop her head, much like Midge’s. Big, curious green-brown eyes. Button-nose. She huffs and holds her arms out. “What do children your age like to do?” 

She looks up at Sophie. “We…I like legos. And my dolls, but I left them at home. And - books. I like books. And - sometimes my sisters will have tea parties with me.” 

Sophie lights up. “Tea parties I can do. DAWES!” 

And so soon, they sit in the blue room, Lily’s little black mary jane-covered feet dangling off of her chair as she sips from a teacup that’s worth more than her entire life, and munches on tiny pastries. 

“Aren’t you going to eat anything?” Lily asks curiously. 

Sophie chuckles at her. “No, dear. If I eat those things, I’ll no longer be beautiful.” 

Lily frowns, feeling confused, looking down at the food on her plate. “Mama says it’s okay to have treats.” 

“Well, that’s why your mother is not as beautiful as she once was,” Sophie tells her sympathetically. 

The little girl’s eyes go wide with something like rage (looking exactly like Lenny’s when he’s angry), and she lifts a maroon, lobbing it at Sophie’s head. 

“What on earth!” 

“You’re mean!” Lily announces loudly, throwing a tiny danish at Sophie next before slipping down from her chair and dashing out of the blue room. “And your blue room isn’t blue!” 

“I most certainly am not!” Sophie yells back, getting to her feet and storming after the little girl. “I am honest!” 

When she steps out into the hall the little girl has disappeared. 

“Fuck,” Sophie spits out. “DAWES!” 

***** 

It takes a ridiculous amount of time to find Lily, but eventually, Sophie discovers her hiding under the desk in her library. 

“Little girl, what on earth are you doing?” Sophie asks, confused.

“Hiding from you,” Lily tells her. “You’re mean.” 

“I most certainly am not,” Sophie snaps. “I am realistic about things.” 

“Mean. Mean, mean, mean!” 

“Stop repeating that, it isn’t true!” 

“Fine. Say something nice about Mama.” 

Sophie stares at her for a moment, before narrowing her eyes. “Your mother…is…prompt.” 

“No, Mama is always late.” 

Sophie rolls her eyes. “For god’s sake.” 

Lily crosses her arms and lifts her chin, looking eerily like her mother.

Sophie takes a breath. “She makes…very good babka,” she tries awkwardly. 

The little girl looks a little more satisfied. “Yes she does.” 

“Will you please come out of there now?” 

Lily slides out, getting to her feet and brushing off her dress before looking around. “I like your library.” 

Sophie sighs as she looks, too. “It is impressive, isn’t it? It’s mostly for show.” 

“You don’t read any of the books?” Lily asks, getting a closer look at one of the shelves. 

“No, not really. I’m usually too busy.” 

“Oh.” 

“You like books.” 

Lily nods. “Daddy has lots of books and he reads some of them to me.” 

“Well that’s…bizarrely wholesome for Lenny.” Sophie sighs heavily and looks at the little girl again. “Are you ready to come out?” 

She considers, before nodding and getting to her feet. “Okay. What do we do now?” 

Sophie huffs.

***** 

Lenny Bruce is not generally an excitable man. 

Sure, he gets head up about political and social issues. Especially on stage for an audience. And as a parent, there are times when anxiety takes over. 

But mostly, he tries to keep level-headed.

Until his wife’s manager drops their kid off with the woman who attempted to murder said wife a few years ago. 

And so Lenny finds himself storming up to the terrible, ornate home, banging on the door. 

When Dawes opens it up, he doesn’t look at all surprised. “Mr. Bruce. I presume you are here for your daughter.” 

“You fucking bet I am,” Lenny growls, storming into the house. “Where is she - Lily?!” 

The telltale sound of her little feet dashing down the stairs, and the little girl appears, smiling happily. “HI, Daddy!” 

His shoulders visibly relax. “Time to go, Lil.” 

“But Sophie wasn’t done with the book she was reading,” Lily argues.

“Well, maybe she can finish it another time,” Lenny says hurriedly, glancing up at Sophie suspiciously as she waltzes down the stairs. 

“We were only reading, Leonard,” she tells him. “There isn’t any reason for alarm.” 

“And what were you reading my five-year-old?” he asks, still looking suspicious. 

“Tropic of Cancer!” Lily announces. 

Lenny almost chokes on hair. “Tropic of-” he looks back at Sophie. “Are you fucking kidding me?!” 

“It was in French, she could barely understand a word,” Sophie defends herself. 

“I know some words, Lily announces, affronted. “Softa is teaching me!” 

“Aaand we’re leaving,” Lenny says. “Thank you for this. Except not really.” he heads for the door and Lily waves over his shoulder.

“Bye, Mr. Dawes, Bye Miss Sophie,” Lily waves. 

Sophie sighs heavily. “Goodbye, Lily.” 

Once they’re out the door, Sophie turns to Dawes. “Pour me a drink, please.” 

He nods. “Yes, Madame.”

#fic #au #tmmm #Midge/Lenny #Midge x Lenny #Lily Bruce #Susie myerson #Sophie Lennon #I don't know guys i thought it was funny

[unhappy-wallflower]

Welcome to my blog !!

- This acc is strictly Agere and Agere only. Age play is not what I’m apart of its dangerous for me to partake in that kink. Im no longer in the BDSM community I don’t wish to identify with it under any circumstances.

If your page isn’t safe for a baby it’s not welcome here !

About me :

My nick - name is Asher !

I’m gender-fluid 🌈 My pronouns are :

they /them or she /they

I’m also asexual suspecting of A-romantic I’m pro self pleasure but every thing else is off the table don’t ask for pics sexualize me ask to be a care giver u will be blocked -sincerely ur Aro/ace friend

I am 24 years old 🎂😘 smole age is 2-6

I’m currently in the process of going back to collage .

I like cartoons, music, playing wiff my dolls

I use a journaling method when I regress as a way to keep me grounded when Tiny

I am not looking for a cg I never will look for one again have a cg scares me and creeps me out .

I do not identify wiff the term little do not call me that things u can call me

☀️nugget

👑smol

☀️Teacup

👑little one

☀️princess

👑little tot

I don’t stick to any specific gender norms at any given time .

Read before interacting !

- DNI do not interact if u are under any one of these interactions include liking commenting rebloging & messaging

Pro Ana pages

pro ed

pro meanspo

mentions of politics

Pro sh

do not ask to be my cg the answer will be no

do not sexualize me u will be reported .

Meanies bigots not allowed.

Anti Agere, Pet regression , ddlg variants kink BDSM pages maps pedo are not allowed! Don’t be gross

Anti trans anti lgbtqia+

No shifting content

-

Those who fuck around will surely find out amen !

#sfw agere #sfw interaction only #age regressor #agere blog #agere community #pet regression #sfw petre #sfw littlespace #sfw little blog #sfw regression #nonsexual age regression

[earhartsease]

what's the most autistic achievement you've ever made? we'll start (sorry bit of a long story coming now - read on if you want a small heap of casual woodwind instrument knowledge)

it's spring of 1985, we're *counts* 22 years old and in our first year of an intense af course learning to make and repair woodwind instruments (which we will a year later tumble out of due to getting ME/CFS, as it turned out)

anyway, one of our old friends (well we'd known each other since we were 11 so) asked us to service her father's bass clarinet - if you're not familiar with those, they look thus

and they're played almost exactly like your normal Bb clarinet that you might have seen or played in a school band, but all an octave lower

the important part here is all that keywork

like there's just a lot of it - and the keywork was what brought the instrument to our tiny college workshop desk

because what happened was this was a pretty nice bass clarinet, and it had silver plated keys (often on the more basic/cheaper instruments the keys will be nickel-plated), and he'd put one of those classic yellow duster cloths you get in the case to wipe the instrument down with, and the cloth had come from china and had some kind of chemical in it that basically took some of the silver off the keywork it was pressed against

we showed the instrument to our repairing tutor and he was keen for us to do the work on it - which meant not only giving the thing a full service and repadding the keys (they have little pads under the cups which press against the edges of the holes underneath to make a seal - on standard clarinets back then they were either synthetic or handmade with fish bladder skin of all things, but on posher ones or bass clarinets they used white leather pads sorry long parenthesis) but also to strip off all of the keywork and get it replated

bloody hell this is getting long

anyway we did this, so before tweaking everything that needed tweaking we took off all the keys, and unscrewed all the pillars that are set into the wood (african blackwood, dalbergia melanoxylon) of the instrument's body, and strung them carefully in order on a steel wire to send off for replating

we were off college for a couple of weeks because of the fucking fatigue, and when we got back the guy who'd sent the metalwork off for us for replating looked sombre and handed us a box - the plating had come back beautifully done, but "I'm afraid the wire broke" and all of the pillars and posts were just in a jumble in the box - and there's two of these things for each key or lever or whatever, it's like over 50 of them (from the top and bottom halves of the instrument, which comes apart for storage) - and they're each unique, each can only go in one specific place because they're all different heights and so on

and we looked at them, and they looked at us - and then we cried havoc and let slip the dogs of autism, and worked out by means of jigsawlike logic and memory and sense and got it all back together - this took us three weeks, and when we showed our tutor and the class we got a huge round of applause, and he admitted he didn't think it could be done

now we feel a bit stupid writing about this, but can you imagine the fucking satisfaction involved in this?! like putting together a watch that someone else had taken apart and handed you in a teacup

so, we also want to introduce you to the bass clarinet sound if you're not familiar - first the godsdamn king, Eric Dolphy

and here's it being played beautifully and lyrically with some Bach originally for cello - we literally just found this and are in love

thank you for indulging our autism, we hope you learned new things you enjoyed learning - now tell us yours if you want to?

#bass clarinets #woodwind repair #bloody long post #autistic achievements

[thetravelerwrites]

DuMont (Homeward Bound; Part 2)

Rating: Explicit Relationship: Female Elf/Male Tiefling Additional Tags: Exophilia, Tiefling, Elf, D&D, Dungeons & Dragons Content Warnings: Sex, Biting, Marking, Group Sex, Size Difference Words: 4902

Enania lends DuMont to Kharis for her bachelorette party. Please leave feedback!

The Traveler’s Masterlist

The bachelorette tea was every bit as dull as Enania said it would be, but the visage of the massive DuMont sitting among all those proper noble ladies, wearing his new cravat and trying to drink a drop of tea from the tiny teacup with his pinky out, was pretty entertaining. After the tea was over and Enania and DuMont had gone back to their room, Enania plopped on her bed with a sigh.

“God, I forgot how tedious noble events were,” She said, kicking off her shoes. 

“I liked it,” DuMont said. “The ladies were very nice.” 

“Of course they were nice to you,” Enania said, snickering. “They’re all wondering how big you are under your loincloth.”

“That’s what you always wonder about people,” DuMont replied, poking Enania’s stomach gently with a clawed finger.

She swatted at him and sat up. “That reminds me, I wanted to talk to you about something. Come sit.”

DuMont sat down next to her heavily, nearly launching her into the nearest wall. 

“Since Kharis is going to be married to my dead fish of a brother, I want her to know what a good fucking feels like, so I was thinking of presenting you to her as a gift at her bachelorette party. Show her a thing or two. What do you think?” 

DuMont’s heart dropped. He had suspected this might happen eventually, but he was hoping that it wouldn’t. 

“Will you come visit?” He asked morosely. 

She cocked her head and furrowed her brow. “Visit?” 

DuMont nodded. “I know you don’t like it here, but it would make me very happy if you came to see me every once in a while.”

“Wait, back up, what are we talking about right now? Are you saying you want to stay here?” 

“No, I don’t., but if you’re giving me to your friend, then what else can I do?” 

Her mouth fell open in shock. “Buddy, nooo.” She got up and straddled his waist. “Why on earth do you think I’d do something like that? I mean, I’m a callous bitch, but I’m not that heartless.”

“But I belong to you, don’t I? You’re free to do with me as you wish.”

“DuMont,” She said sternly. 

He flinched. It wasn’t often she called him by his actual name, preferring to call him by pet names. She only said his full name when she was being serious. 

“I don’t own you; nobody does. I don’t know what the priest or that god of yours has taught you, but you are not a thing. You are not an object. You are not an item in my possession that I can lend out or give away whenever I wish. You are a thinking, rational person. You are very intelligent, kind, thoughtful, and, much to my chagrin sometimes, extremely moral. You have the right to an opinion. If you don’t like something I suggest, you can say no. If you don’t want to entertain Kharis, you can say no. If you want to stay with me forever, tell me. You’re allowed to ask for things and dislike things and want things for yourself. You’re allowed to have wants and needs and desires that are independent from mine, or anyone else’s for that matter.” She grabbed his snout and forced him to look at her. “Do you hear me?” 

DuMont nodded as well as he could with his head trapped in her grip. “Yes, I hear you.” 

She gave him a look of disbelief. “So tell me what you want to do. Don’t tell me what you think I want, tell me what you want.”

“...I want to be with you forever,” He said plaintively. 

“Okay,” She said, raising her eyebrows expectantly. “And?” 

“I’ll entertain Kharis, but I’d like you to be there, too,” DuMont replied. 

“That was always the plan. I was also planning on inviting a few other ladies to observe. Not to touch, just to watch. Is that okay? If it’s not, be honest with me.” 

He nodded. “It’s okay, if they don’t touch.” 

“If we go into territory you don’t like, you’ll tell me, won’t you?” 

“Yes.” 

“You promise?” 

“Yes.” DuMont’s eyes flicked downward in contemplation for a moment, and then looked back at Enania. “Don’t leave me here.” 

“I won’t,” She assured him.

He thought for another moment. “...I like tea.” 

“We’ll buy you some, then. We’ll need to find you a bigger teacup, though.”

“I don’t like how alcohol tastes. It makes my nostrils feel itchy.” 

“Why didn’t you say so sooner?! We wouldn’t have made you drink so much damn mead!” 

DuMont shrugged. “I can’t think of anything else at the moment.” 

“That’s good to start,” Enania said. “Speak your mind more often, DuMont. I want to know what you think about things. Keeping quiet just creates problems down the line.” 

DuMont nodded. “Alright.”

The next night, Enania went to Kharis’s room and waited for the women who’d been invited to arrive. Enania had instructed the maids to bring a variety of snacks and alcohol, and then warned them not to come anywhere near the room until dawn, promising to fire anyone she saw before the sun came up. Familiar with Enania’s antics, half of the women looked dismayed while the other half looked disappointed. 

The invited guests arrived soon after Enania gave the order to the maids to stay clear. Cecily, the petite, dark-skinned human daughter of a duke, was already married to a man twice her age who had four illegitimate children outside of his marriage. Keally, a distant cousin of Kharis’s younger half-brother and midnight blue in color, was set to wed someone she hadn’t even met yet from a faraway kingdom. Heraldine, the half-elf sister of the current prime minister, had outlived three husbands already. She’d remained childless during all three of her marriages so most believed her to be barren, and as such, she no longer got any offers for marriage, despite having an immaculate reputation and being absurdly wealthy. 

Of all of the ladies in current high society, these three were the closest to Kharis and the most open to debauchery of most kinds. They had even joined in on some of Enania’s risker endeavors, tonight’s events being one of them.

“Alright, ladies,” Enania said. She and Kharis were already wearing sleepwear, lounging on couches and eating from the spread the maids had provided. “Get those dresses off and get comfy. The entertainment will begin soon.” 

The ladies tittered excitedly and rushed into the bathroom to change. They were each carrying overnight bags. They emerged soon after wearing short chemises or something even more daring.

“Now, before our star of the evening arrives, we have some ground rules. First, mind your words. DuMont is a sensitive boy, be nice to him. Second, no touching. He has made it clear that the only people to be physically involved are myself and the bride-to-be. You can touch me, Kharis, and each other all you like, but hands off the big guy. Any questions?”  

“Wherever did you find that chap, Enya?” Heraldine asked. She had opted for a see-through black negligee with the classic sheer, frill-lined robe. Hot and classy, that was Heraldine. 

“In a church, if you can believe it,” Enania said, sipping her wine. 

“Go on, you’ve never been in a church willingly,” Keally said. 

“I was stopped for the night and it was abandoned. Well, mostly,” She said, laughing. “The poor thing had just lost the man who raised him and had never left the church all his life. I decided to take him under my wing.”

Keally snorted. “That’s code for ‘I really wanted to fuck him’.”

“No! Actually, to be perfectly honest with you, I’m a little ashamed to say that I wasn't sure if he was self-aware at first. He barely spoke and never made much of an impression on me. I didn’t even have a thought of making him please me until after I got to know him a bit.” 

“My word,” Heraldine breathed. “That’s so unlike you.” 

“I know!” Enania agreed, touching her wineglass to Heraldine’s. “I’m just as shocked as you are.”

“He’s just so… massive,” Keally said in an awed whisper. “How do you manage him?” 

“Oh, he’s as sweet as a puppy, managing him isn’t hard at all,” Enania said. “Honestly, I wish he could be a bit more flexible, figuratively speaking. It’s that religious upbringing, I tell you. He’s such a choir boy.” 

“Those tend to be the sleaziest, in my experience,” Cecily replied, reclining casually against Kharis, who was feeding her cookies. “The church is full of perverts.” 

“I won’t argue with that,” Enania said. “I’m working steadily to corrupt him, but I almost feel bad about doing it; the boy is just such a pure soul.” 

There was a sharp knock that sounded as if the person knocking wasn’t trying to make too much noise. 

“Ah!” Enania said, jumping up. “That’ll be him now.” 

She went to the door and opened it, and DuMont stood there, wearing some of his new clothes: a simple tan tunic and trousers. They were made of far sturdier material than typical clothes so that he wouldn’t burst right out of them. As much as Enania liked him naked, he was cute in clothes. Like putting a hat on a horse. 

“Glad you could make it, Big Guy,” Enania said, pulling him inside. “Hungry? Thirsty? I had the maids bring in a big platter of meat for you.” 

“Oh, thank you,” DuMont said, going over and looking at the spread, pausing momentarily to bow at the guests. The eyes of the ladies followed him across the room with a renewed curiosity. After finding the platter with the meat and adding some other things from the spread to it. DuMont sat next to the couch where Kharis sat. He was too large to sit on any of the lounging furniture. 

“I’m glad you came,” Kharis said brightly. “Thank you for agreeing to this. I’m sure Enania bullied you into it.” 

“No, she asked me,” DuMont said. “She said I didn’t have to if I didn’t want to, but you’re her friend. I’m happy to help you feel better, if I can.” 

“Aw, I see what you mean, Enya,” Kharis said, patting DuMont on the head but having to reach to do it. “Such a sweet boy.” 

The six of them ate a light dinner and engaged in polite conversation, but all of them felt the tension building up as each minute passed. At some point, before the pressure became unbearable, Enania got up and began massaging DuMont’s shoulders from where he was sitting, kissing and biting his neck. Enania knew he was a little nervous, since this was the first time he’d had sex with anyone besides her, let alone having to… perform… while being watched by a group, and she wanted to loosen him up a bit. She’d discovered early on that he had a weakness for massages, and Enania would whip those out whenever she wanted to butter him up. 

DuMont leaned in and began to purr, which could easily be mistaken for the savage growl of a jungle animal. Enania loved that sound.

“Is it okay for Kharis to touch you?” Enania asked silkily while running her nose up and down his neck. 

“Yes,” DuMont said, and held out his hand toward Kharis. 

Kharis smiled. “What a gentleman,” She replied, taking his hand and kneeling in front of her. She reached up and untied the strings holding his collar closed and slowly drew the tunic up and over his head, with Enania’s help.  Kharis proceeded to pepper DuMont’s chest with open-mouthed kisses, slowly moving down his torso. When she reached his trousers, she untied those ties as well, and sprung back slightly when his organ flopped forward. 

“Oh, dear me,” Kharis said, a mixture of fear and awe in her voice. Enania did imagine she was a bit trepidatious, given her tiny frame. 

“Don’t worry,” Enania said reassuringly. “He can loosen you up. DuMont, why don’t you show her how talented your tongue is?” 

DuMont grunted, but said, “She’s wearing clothes.” 

“So get them off her,” Enania said. “Do it the way I like.” 

DuMont leaned forward, using his head to gently bump Kharis onto her bottom, and got up on his hands and knees, towering over her. She lay back as he drew himself up her body, he opened his mouth and let the front bottom teeth ease under her shift. When he gathered enough of it, he snapped his jaw shut and ripped the cloth from her body. Over to the side, the other ladies made noises of impressed approval. 

Kharis looked nervous, but also exhilarated. Her body tensed and flushed, her breathing became erratic and breathy, and her knees curled up and open almost instinctively. 

DuMont’s tongue snaked out of his mouth and he ran the tip of it, slowly down the line of Kharis’s body, between her breasts, and reached the apex of her legs. He tickled her a little with his tongue, making her twitch and gasp, before slowly easing it inside of her. Kharis cried out softly and rolled her hips to meet his tongue. DuMont’s tongue was long enough that he could thrust inside her and bend it so that the upper part could rub her clit at the same time. 

Enania had trained DuMont well; it was hardly two minutes before she was gripping his horns tightly in her little hands, gasping and moaning, almost bent double. Enania moved to sit behind her, supporting Kharis’s back against her front, and grabbed a handful of Kharis’s hair, yanking her head back and kissing her as she whimpered, using her other hand to fondle her breasts. 

She could feel in Kharis’s rigid body that she was about to cum, so she called out, “DuMont, stop.” 

DuMont obeyed immediately, removing his tongue from her body and settled back on his knees. Kharis let out a prolonged groan of desperation, her hips rocking against the air, chasing the orgasm that she was denied. 

“My goodness, he is certainly talented,” Cecily remarked, squeezing her legs closed and squirming. “I should have him teach my Jonesey a thing or two.”

“That man could make a killing as a private companion,” Heraldine replied, sitting casually sprawled out over the fainting couch with her chin in her hand and a intrigued smirk on her face. 

“Don’t think I haven’t thought of it,” Enania said with a grin, stroking a shaking, gasping Kharis up and down. “DuMont, be a love and put Kharis on the bed, would you?” 

DuMont nodded and gingerly picked Kharis up from the floor, careful not to crumple her little wings, and laid her just as softly onto the bed. 

“He’s so gentle, despite his size,” Keally said.

“My word, he’s perfect, isn’t he?” Heraldine agreed. 

“He certainly is,” Enania agreed, shedding her own clothes and climbing up onto the bed to kiss Kharis deeply, her ass presented to DuMont. She looked back at him and said, “My turn.”

Dutifully, DuMont knelt at the edge of the bed where she was wiggling her body, and opened his jaws, wide and carefully maneuvered between her legs so that the lower half of her torso was completely inside his mouth. Kharis particularly liked it when he did that. She always loved a small amount of danger. Rather than being slow and easy, like he had been with Kharis, he shoved his tongue inside of Enania hard, causing her body to rock forward. She hissed in both pleasure and pain. He always worried that he was being too rough on her, but she insisted he was never rough enough. He genuinely worried for her long-term physical well-being.  

After a few minutes of DuMont thrusting hard into her and Enania trying to licked and nip at Kharis’s body as her own body bounced against DuMont’s mouth, she eventually pulled away and lay beside Kharis, who looked more than ready. 

“Alright, DuMont,” Enania said, pulling Kharis’s head up and tucking her arm underneath it. “Get up here.” 

DuMont shed his trousers and climbed up onto the bed, his body easily covering both women. He moved to lift Kharis’s hips and lay her lower half in his lap, placing her legs on either side of his waist. She was drenched from his earlier ministrations and Kharis’s fondling, but she was still very small, so DuMont was extra careful, pressing into her as slowly as he could. Her back arched a little as he pushed himself inside her, her brow furrowed and mouth open, though she was quiet. 

“Are you alright?” DuMont asked, but Kharis didn’t answer, so he stopped. 

“Kharis, he’s talking to you,” Enania said, poking Kharis’s breast. 

Kharis opened her eyes and looked at Enania, and then DuMont, and smiled. 

“I’m okay,” She assured him. She reached down and patted his hands, which were gripping her hips. “Don’t worry. I’ll tell you if I want to stop. Keep going.” 

DuMont nodded, and pushed into her again, the head of his cock finally popping inside. She grunted as it did, biting her lip, but she looked at him and smiled, and he continued. 

It took a minute to seat himself inside her as far as he could, which wasn’t the total length of his dick, but when he met the wall, he pulled out again and thrust at a mid-slow speed to test her tolerance. She moaned appreciatively. 

“Isn’t he so good?” Enania asked. “Isn’t he the best?” 

“He’s so good,” Kharis agreed breathily. 

“Talk to him,” Enania said. “You have to tell him what you want. Be specific. He’ll keep being gentle and slow otherwise.”

Kharis nodded. “You can go faster, DuMont, and harder, too. I’m little but I won’t break so easily.”

“You’re not in the best position to decide such things,” DuMont replied with a chuckle, but he sped up, thrusting hard against her, moving her body back and forth against the bedspread. Her moans grew louder, and she reached up to play with her nipples. Enania had been petting her hair back from her face and stroking her skin, but she sat up and took one of Kharis’s hands, putting it between her legs. Kharis grinned at her and started to play with her clit, rubbing in small, slow circles. 

“DuMont, harder,” Kharis gasped. “Pick me up and hold me if you have to, but make it hard enough to sting a bit.” 

“You know how to do that, DuMont,” Enania said as DuMont’s expression shifted to dubiousness. “I taught you how to do it.” 

DuMont took a deep breath and nodded, lifting Kharis’s hips and thrust hard, stopping immediately to test Kharis’s reaction. She cried out sharply, but didn’t seem to be uncomfortable, so he did it again. When he was sure she wasn’t hurt, he thrust faster, as hard as he felt safe doing. She seemed to be enjoying it; she was definitely making plenty of noise, which Enania had taught him was good. 

Enania heard some small breaths from the guests and looked over briefly to see one of the ladies, Cecily, touching herself, her leg draped over the leg of the lady sitting next to her, Heraldine. Heraldine met Enania’s glance and winked before moving off of the couch and pushing open Cecily’s legs, pressing her mouth against her wet slit. Cecily rocked her hips against Heraldine and hissed in a breath, gripping Heraldine’s hair in both hands. Cecily’s head fell back against the arm of the couch. 

Keally sat apart from the two of them, but was watching both scenes with avid curiosity. Even though Enania knew Kealy had played around a little, as far as Enania knew, Keally was still a virgin. Enania wondered if she should offer to take Keally’s virginity that night, but thought the better of it. That night was for Kharis. Another time.

Kharis came hard, her legs quivering in DuMont’s grasp, and DuMont snorted, pulled out of her, and came all over her stomach and chest. He leaned back and breathed shallowly, still rock hard, and grabbed Enania, pulling her to him. Enania spun and threw her legs over Kharis, so that Kharis was directly under her body, and Kharis reached up to cup her breasts as she recovered. DuMont plunged into Enania with no preamble, and she grunted.

“But he just came, didn’t he?” Cecily said breathlessly, watching the trio on the bed still as Heraldine sucked her pearl. “Oh, fuck, Heraldine, just like that.” 

Enania was not able to speak at the moment as DuMont rammed into her harder than he normally would. Maybe getting primed with someone else made him less inhibited. She’d have to keep that in mind. He growled loudly as he came again inside her, his seed gushing out of her, but he kept going, not stopping when he released. 

“His stamina is nothing short of astonishing,” Kharis said, heaving in breaths.

“It’s wonderful, isn’t it?” Enania said, her words punctuated but DuMont’s thrusting.

DoMont made short work of bringing Enania to a screaming orgasm, and then reached for Kharis again, who was more than ready. He’d been whipped up into a snarling frenzy, and it was incredibly hot for Enania and she liked going between being DuMont’s toy and then watching him use someone else as his toy.

Cecily moaned and her whole body twitched as she came. Heraldine wiped her mouth and stood, leaving Cecily starfished and Keally touching her body softly, coming close to the bed, beginning to strip off her negligee. 

“Hey, where do you think you’re going?” 

“Where does it look like,” Heraldine said, starting to crawl on the bed. “I want to have a turn.” 

“Ah, no, ma’am,” Enania said, getting up on her knees and pushing Heraldine away with one hand. “The big guy said no touching besides me and the bachelorette. You can play with me, if you want.” Enania kissed Heraldine and pulled her onto her side of the massive bed, opening her legs and licking her, pressing her tongue inside her while massaging her pearl. Heraldine moaned.

“I can always count on you for a good time, Enania,” Heraldine said with a smirk.

DuMont bent suddenly, his jaws wide open, and began to close them over Kharis’s shoulder, like he had done when he’d marked Enania as his. Before he could, she grabbed him roughly and made him look at her.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” She asked him. 

“Oh… should I not?” He asked, slowing to a stop.

“Hey!” Kharis protested. 

“Hush, you!” Enania said to Kharis, then turned back to DuMont. “Why do you think you should do that?” 

“Because…” He waved vaguely at the messy scene. 

“Who do you belong to?” Enania asked. 

“You,” DuMont replied automatically.

“Who do I belong to?” 

“Me?”

“Do you want Kharis to belong to you in the same way as I do?” 

“No… oh.” DuMont nodded. “I understand.” 

“Good,” She said, shaking his snout sharply. “Don’t do that again, or I’ll be really mad.” 

“Okay.” 

“If you two are done with your tiff,” Heraldine said, lifting her leg. “Can we get back to business?” 

Enania released her grip on DuMont. “Unless you’re getting tired?” 

DuMont shook his head. “I don’t get tired,” He said, showing himself still standing at full attention. 

“That’s my boy,” Enania said. “Get to work, young man.” 

DuMont fell back on Kharis, easing himself back inside her slowly. 

“Harder,” Kharis moaned, and he obliged. At the same time, Enania grabbed Heraldine’s leg and held it against her chest as she straddled Heraldine’s open legs, grinding her clit against Heraldine’s clit, rocking back and forth. Heraldine’s hips twitched and she groaned, grabbing Enania’s breasts and digging her fingers in, moving in time with Enania.

Hours passed, and by the time sunrise began to peek into the window and the guests had either fallen asleep post-coitally or passed out from the alcohol, DuMont was still in top form with a seemingly endless supply of stamina.” 

“I give, I give!” Kharis rasped, having lost her voice sometime in the night. “My word, how can you still be ready to go? It’s been six hours!” 

Enania, who’d taken a small nap and had reawakened aroused, took DuMont’s cock back into herself and rolled him so that she was on top. “Come for me, DuMont. You did great work tonight. We should finish up before the maids come to begin morning chores.” 

She rode him hard and he grunted, gripping her hips and slamming her against his body. She raked her nails down his chest as she came, crying out loudly, and he gushed up into her, her belly pooching a little with the amount of his release he unleashed into her body. 

The three of them gasped and heaved in breaths before Enania got up and lit the small furnace under the bathtub in the washroom, which had clean water in it. The maids had wonderful foresight.

“Big Guy, bring Kharis in here for a wash,” She said. DuMont stood and picked up Kharis, who was as limp as a boneless fish, and brought her into the bathroom, laying her carefully into the warm water. “Good. Now, come sit here and let me sponge you off. You’re… very sweaty. They’re going to have to burn the linens. And probably the bed. The rug may also need to be destroyed. Ah well, that’s other people’s problems.”

DuMont sat on the floor and allowed Enania to bath him and towel him dry, and then he went to dress while she also scrubbed Kharis with a washcloth. 

Kharis sighed loudly and stared at the wall with a glassy look.

“Are you alright? You’re not going to pass out again, are you?” Enania asked.

Kharis sighed again and frowned. “I don’t want to marry your brother. Well, not this one. I just… I don’t want whatever life is waiting for me as a princess. I don’t want any of this.”

“So let’s leave,” Enania said, shrugging. 

Kharis snorted. “It’s not that simple.

“Yes, it is. I left and there were literally no repercussions.” 

“But I’m the crown princess, or will be,” Kharis said. “The political upheaval that’ll happen if I leave will be enormous. They may send people after me. What if they hurt you and your friends in an effort to get me back?”

“So, leave a note saying you’re not a virgin anymore. I mean, you haven’t been for a while, not technically, but they couldn’t prove it before now. But if you confess in writing, then they have to accept it, and the ladies at the party will testify to it.”

“Are you sure?” 

Enania nodded. “ It doesn’t matter who wears the costume as long as there is someone willing to play the part. They’ll forget you and move on to another poor girl with no choices, just like they switched out my brothers for crown prince when Heron left without ever looking for him. That should show you how much they actually care.” 

Kharis stared at Enania, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Did you plan this? Was this some sort of  scheme of yours?” 

Enania scoffed. “I don’t scheme, you know that. I act on my impulses in every scenario, this just happened to work out in your benefit.” Enania smiled. “Besides, don’t you want to get out of here? See the world with me?”

Kharis’s face split into a smile. “Yeah,” She said softly. “I really do.”

“So,” Enania said, grinning. “Let’s go.”

DuMont and Enania, not to mention the rest of their party, were more than familiar with packing to make a quick getaway, so when Enania told them the plan, they were ready to skedaddle in less than five minutes flat. Kharis wrote a short letter, just like Enania told her two, and filched a maid’s outfit to slip out of the castle. DuMont, Enania, and a disguised Kharis met Rupert, Sanoh, and Norman at the outdoor laundry before the maids began morning chores. The six of them had escaped the main part of the city before most of the nobility even woke up. 

“This is exhilarating,” Kharis said as she shed the maid’s outfit and slipped quickly into some traveling clothes Sanoh had quickly prepared for her. “I can’t wait to see what the outer world is like.” 

“It’s not all sunshine and roses, kid,” Enania said, throwing a cloak over Kharis’s head, hiding her horns. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s fun as hell, but there’s a lot of hard work involved. If you’re not up for it, we can leave you right here.” 

“Well, it’s too late for that now,” Kharis said. “I’ve always been a ‘learn on the job’ kind of girl, anyway.” 

“Well, get ready, I may need your help to seduce the guards.” Enania said, gesturing to the outer wall and the two guards standing at attention. 

“I could just put them to sleep, Enania,” Rupert said. “Why do all your plans involve seduction?” 

“Because it’s what I’m good at,” Enania hissed back. “Ready, Kharis?” 

Kharis grinned. “Ready.”

Since my work is no longer searchable, please do me a favor and reblog this story if you enjoyed it. Help me reach a wider audience!To help me continue creating, please consider buying me a Kofi, becoming a Patron, or donating directly to my PayPal!

Thanks for reading!

My Masterlist

The Exophilia Creator’s Masterlist

#Exophilia #Teifling #Half-Elf #D&D #Dungeons and Dragons #Lemon

[moonyslesbian]

HI!! for the weird ask game 98, 62 & 1

98. favorite historical era?

OOHHH that is a lovely question!! i'm a bit of a nerd, actually.... so i'll be cheating a bit and naming two instead of just one :P first one is, ofc, the one and only, love of my life... the french revolution. THE HOLD that this specific historical event had on 12yo alice.. oh it changed eveything. something shifted in the universe. there's just something about the splendor and magnificence of versailles and the nobles put in juxtaposition with the poor starving country.. AND HOW COOL IT WAS!! THE WAY THEY REVOLTED AGAINST THEM!!! french revolution my beloved... OK second one is more of like. an exact period of time in a particular place. i'm talking about the austrian empire in the middle of the 19th century. ok yes i'm talking about princess sissi. LISTEN.... i'm honestly more attracted to her as a person than to the historical period like yeah sure classical music was fire those days, and the dresses were amazing, and they would have cool balls in castles, and schonbrunn is stunning... BUT SISSI!!!!! i've had a bit of an hyperfixation on her during my last year of high school like she was not made to be empress.. she was kind and sensitive and she'd fuck off to her garden and she would always be alone in that big ass place and she always felt misunderstood OHHH i love her i love her

62. seven characters you relate to?

GOD that's hard...... alright in no particular order

remus lupin - ive always been a remus girlie like sorry but i just have this unexplainable spiritual connection to him. joker voice You wouldnt get it

james potter - always showing people your best but never your worst is sooo crazy haha.. thinking you're not allowed to have negative feelings is sooooo crazy...... ahaha... being the therapist friend and always trying your best and not telling people how you really feel is sooo crazy..... hahahaha... like who would do that!!

leo valdez (percy jackson) - oh funny guy!! Oh there's trauma there

fleabag (fleabag lol) - no words needed for this one

chidi anagonye (the good place) - if someone asked me to choose between two different hats i, too, would have a mental breakdown

nick (new girl) - hes just like me fr

is it silly to say rory from doctor who - LIKEEEE... dude is just there.. not really that importat to the plot.. thinks he's always the second choice and doesn't deserve stuff... He Speaks To Me

1. coffee mugs, teacups, wine glasses, water bottles, or soda cans?

listen. LISTEN!!! you can't tell me holding a wine glass in your hand doesn't suddenly make you feel powerful and important. i could be drinking an energy drink from a wine glass and i'd still be swirling it around and taking tiny tiny sips to be elegant

#(talking about myself) does this bitch ever shut up... jeez #thank u for this this was really fun!!! sorry if i dont know how to shut up #u give me a chance to talk abt my fav historical events and i Will be talking

[minorhoursmagazine]

Issue 21, containing: Syllabub, Entertaining for the Uncertain, Remembrances, Commonplaces, &c.

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

SOME EDITORIAL NOTES

Spring is finally coming, though not as fast as I'd like. It's taken almost forty years for me to finally decide it, but I think my favorite season is the one we're coming up on: the smell of wet ground, bright shoots of things peeking out, the colored fuzz on trees making everything look slightly out of focus. The sunlight. I'm a night owl by habit, if not by nature, but I'm happiest when I can actually manage to wander the world in the morning. The air feels different. I love it.

But my corner of the world isn't quite there yet. We're seated three-quarters down the end of the rollercoaster, and the first car has just tipped over the edge of the first peak, held back by the weight of the rest of the train for just long enough to make everyone nervous -- but any moment now the balance will shift and the rest of us will be yanked up and over the hill into the glorious spread of spring.

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

SYLLABUB: FIT THE THIRD

Unlike my rash and extravagant promises from the previous issue, I didn't end up trying the most exciting variant of the syllabub I found (the one with heated wine and honey), but rather I explored the first variant again, with some changes to methodology:

1. The electric handbeater was exchanged for a standing mixer. (Still no whisk in sight.) The high walls of the stand mixer significantly impeded the syllabub's ability to get cream on every flat surface in a six foot radius, and this is a good thing. I do not own my own stand mixer, but should the world provide me a countertop sufficient to the purpose, I would be happy to own one for future syllabub-stirrings.

2. Instead of filling tiny teacups, I filled two wine tumblers (of the variety that have pithy sayings like "it's wine o'clock somewhere" or "she said FUCK YOU and lived happily every after" etched into their sides). Filling those two glasses actually left only a small amount of leftovers in the bowl, thus clarifying that this can either be a fairly substantial dessert for two, or a tea-cup/amuse bouche-ish sized portion for perhaps six.

3. The lemon used was not Meyer, but a bog-standard grocery lemon. There was, however, significantly more zest due to the use of a microplane, a kitchen tool which is both excellent and also out for my blood. I think the regular lemon is probably a wise move for champagne syllabub, with the heavy zesting -- it didn't overpower the champagne flavor, but rather complemented it. It also made for extremely pretty garnish.

Aside from future variants (of which there are at minimum at least three left to explore), the other thing this batch prompted me to consider was using syllabub as a side to something rich and dense, like flourless chocolate cake. Of course, this would require that I learn how to make flourless chocolate cake.

Darn.

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

ENTERTAINING FOR THE UNCERTAIN

Among the many other things I think about having in my future home, one that's been floating regularly in my head for a while is investing in a record player, sound system, and record collection.

I didn't grow up with records being the dominant technology -- that was cassette tapes and CDs -- and I don't have any hipsterish inclinations with regard to sound quality or retro feelings or whatever.

But my parents had records when I was growing up, often containing multiples of the same album where they'd combined their collections. When I was very little, we had some kind of speaker that would show colored lights in rhythm with the music and I used to sit and watch it, letting the sounds of Steeleye Span and Fairfolk Convention and Battlefield Band roll over me while the colors danced.

Later, my parents bought one of those multi-head machines that could play both records and cassettes, and I was deemed old enough to take out records and set them playing myself. I have vivid sense memories of handling the records, that twist of skin on my fingertips as I'd flip them from one side to the other. I learned where to drop the needle to get the songs I wanted. I loved reading the big liner notes, seeing the photos of the artists and trying to guess whose voice was whose. And later, I made my own mixtapes, timing the press of buttons to catch the right moments of each song's beginning and end.

That's what I want to get back, I think. I miss the physical sense of listening to music. Not all the time -- but sometimes. Enough that it would be nice to have a room where there's a large chair-and-a-half, a window, a low shelf stretching along one wall filled with the old folk of my childhood, and newer pieces, ones I've been aching to feel the touch of: Ludovico Einaudi, Vienna Teng, Nina Simone. A record player, unadorned with other mediums, taking pride of place in the center. A room that exists just to be in, with no other purpose than the music.

MP3s, while delightful and very useful for expanding my interests, I'm realizing can feel ephemeral to me -- it's easy to listen to something and feel affected by it, but it moves past quickly, here and gone until I feel like finding it again. I don't have to think about what I like, because I can always determine it freshly every moment. And that can have it's own sweet rush -- I do love ephemeral things. But I'm remembering permanence, and how it felt to hold things, to wait to get what I wanted, to learn where a song lived by touch alone.

I want that again. And I want to feel the weight of my choices, as I haven't really in years -- I don't remember the last time I bought a whole album, let alone a tangible CD. But if I wanted to make my own collection... I'd have to search them out, and think about which album in particular was the one to buy, and then finally I'd have them, feeling the ownership and the intention behind them. The act and effort necessary to listen to them would become a ritual in itself, an extra dimension added to the music.

And... it would be nice to know, really, what my own tastes look like. I like a lot of songs, a lot of fleeting moments -- but what, when I fill my shelves, are the ones that I need to hear in this way? What are the ones that aren't background filler as I make my way through life, but are the ones that make me stop and wait and listen?

I don't know yet. And I may not for a long while. But I like thinking of it. I like knowing that this is something I can want.

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

REMEMBRANCES

As many people have recently, I received a small assistance of the financial variety. It went, fairly promptly, in the direction of many things that help me get a step closer to seizing my cloud-castle, gardens and record players and counter space and all.

It's the sort of thing my mother used to handle -- the balancing of bills and awkward phone calls and other indignities associated with far too much American life these days. She hated it. She dreamed of a time when it wouldn't be necessary for her.

I wish I'd had the chance to talk to her about my own efforts. I wish I could've succeeded faster, made a place for her where she was away from worry and could sit and read by a window, music spilling from speakers in a room with no other purpose than to sit and listen.

I wish she was here.

I miss her.

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

COMMONPLACES

From Vienna Teng's "Hymn of Acxiom" from Aims:

O how glorious, glorious: a brand new need is born Now we possess you. You’ll own that. You’ll own that Now we possess you. You’ll own that in time Now we will build you an endlessly upward world (reach in your pocket) embrace you for all you’re worth Is that wrong? Isn’t this what you want?

******

From June Gehringer's "I get so jealous of euthanized dogs", in Peach Magazine:

the worst thing about love is i remember it.

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

ANNOUNCEMENTS

You know what I need?

Cookies.

******

If you would like to write a letter to be produced/answered in the magazine, please email me at [email protected] with the subject line:

Letter to the Magazine: [subject of letter as you would like to see it printed]

If you wish the letter to be anonymous or under a nom de plume, please state so in the body of the email; similarly, if you'd rather not be printed at all, please also state so in the body of the email. It will otherwise be assumed that mail sent to that address is intended for print.

Alternately, commenting on the Patreon post will get you a similar result, with much less fuss.

******

As always, you can find me at my regular website, katherinecrighton.com, or via twitter, at @c_katherine.

To support the magazine and get it delivered directly to your inbox, join the Patreon.

-Until next week, be safe.

#the minor hours and small thoughts magazine #katherine crighton #march 19 2021

[loony-rooney]

the transmasc urge to have a tea party

#me and my friend will #fully gushing over the idea of a tea party #fucking love those tiny triangle sandwiches #AND DESSERT #little teacups #AHHHH

[distortionenby]

Michael Distortion and DoorKeay headcanons

Ok, some might seem repeated or similar to other people's but these thoughts got reinforced when I read other people's HCs and I'm itching to write the list.

Also, everyone's alive and happy in the Archives. AND post-apocalypse.

Michael can play music out of thin air. However, all of the songs seem to "hiccups" besides the static intervention.

Surprisingly, now everyone in the archives seems to prefer the "new" Dolly Parton song 9 to 9 to 9 to fi-five.

Keeping a human-looking shape feels straining, like an old rubber band being stretched to the point of slightly tearing.

It unfurls when relaxed, depending on how tired it is, different bits and pieces distort more than others (for example, the legs will sprawl like never ending noodles, but other times the hair will just POOF in a funny way).

When it needs to be around people, it wears extremely oversized clothes in order to relax without occupying the whole place. Think of it becoming some sort of mountain of yarn held together by a massive t-shirt. We're talking Jared Hopworth's sizes of clothes.

You know those mesh bags that go in the back of plane seats or car seats? You know how sometimes your nails have like, a spiky bit, like a broken tiny bit and you can't usually see it but if you drag your nails onto a fabric it "scratches" or gets like, stuck??? Michael's whole being goes through that with those mesh bag things. And any other object with that material.

It needs socks to feel safe. Really bad. But either those that are very short, or those that get up until right below the knee. Other socks just... feel?

Michael has sensory issues. It hates touching other "static-y" textures. It feels weird when something that feels just like itself touches it.

Michael is AMAB enby, don't come for me.

It knows how to use a smartphone but the tactile screen cannot read its fingers so it uses one of those mini-keyboards and a stylus bc otherwise it would never be able to play games on the Archivists phone.

It asks Jon if he has any games on his phone. Constantly. Just because it thinks it's funny when throughout a statement there's a sudden door slam and a very weird voice just going "Archivist, do you have games in that?"

Michael carries all the groceries in one hand, in one trip. Strong noodle buddy.

However it can't hold stuff like cups or bottles. Has the grasp strength of a claw machine, and also its fingers can't let it use the handles of mugs or teacups. Sad noodle buddy :'(

Gerry holds its finger when it feels upset. He respects that Michael needs space but he knows it also craves a slight squeeze for grounding so when he sees its finger slowly stretching and tapping next to him softly, he holds it until it retracts.

Gerry and Michael sleep bunk-bed style when Michael is too tired to keep a regular human shape or when they don't have a place to sleep comfortably. Basically it puts a door on the wall almost touching the ceiling and drops its hands to make a hammock-like bed for Gerry.

Gerry once asked if he could draw a thing on Michael's door. It got offended but dropped a few washable markers onto the floor and then left to its hallways.

When Gerard started drawing, the door giggled and rattled a bit. He took this as an interesting challenge and ended up drawing a whole landscape that seemed to be on a TV with bad signal. Michael was amused by this, somehow.

Both DESPISE being cold. Michael for obvious trauma reasons and Gerard because he's too used to being near fire or wearing super thick clothes so whenever they go on vacation they head to arid places.

They visited the Atacama desert once and some nearby areas, and they thought Mike Crew was there because the air feels so fucking non-existent there omg?

They also thought they would be hot all the time but were so confused by the air thing that they forgot desert climates go on subzero temperatures during the night. Top 10 anime betrayals.

Gerard finds out Michael can do the :3 face and shows everyone. Tim loses it. Martin asks for more character-made emojis.

Gerard knows how to navigate the halls and is one of the few who has been able to partially draw a map of them.

Jon is constantly worried about Michael being able to "fit itself" in the Archives comfortably, telling everyone to keep an eye (no pun intended) on whether rooms start looking wobbly. They have to tell Gerard immediately.

Gerry will take Michael to its hallways and coax it into unfurling itself so it can "stretch" properly and without limits.

Michael is not allowed to boop anyone or anything.

The two went to South America again and an old lady asked for help and called Michael "papito"* as an endearment term and Gerry spent the rest of the day in confusion and shock.

Michael knows Spanish and several dialects so it didn't mind being called that.

Gerry knows German, Swedish, Italian and Russian.

Michael knew so many languages before the Spiral, and now he can also mimic the pronunciation/accent for most of them perfectly.

*Explanation: "papito" translates literally to "daddy". However, many people in Latinamerica say it as an endearment term in the same vein of how black grandmas call people "baby". So, being called "papito" in a completely innocent way is not uncommon. (I've heard my own uncle call his actual baby son "papito", some people call their small, spoiled dogs "papito", etc)

Also, Note: I've seen many others with the headcanon that Michael is on the autism spectrum, but I am not comfortable writing that someone is autistic because I do not know in depth of the subject and since everyone is different, I don't want to proclaim that someone is autistic just because they share some things with what we think is "the norm" for autistic people. So yeah, I will have some HCs that could be interpreted as autism characteristics if you want to, but they could also just be related to other conditions, or just be stand-alone characteristics. I'm no one to say what you can or can't headcanon, just my personal boundaries of what I think is okay. Sorry if this sounds blunt, I'm not a native English speaker and sometimes my way of saying things can seem cold, but I don't mean it!

EDIT: Hi, yeah, future me here, turns out I do have autism and I was taking from my own experience on several of these thingS, take the disclaimer at the end with a grain of salt ❤️

#michael distortion #michael shelley #tma michael #gerard keay #gerry delano #gerry keay #gerrymichael #doorkeay #tma headcanons #tma #rusty quill tma #magnus archives #magnuspod #the magnus archives #the magnus archive #the distortion #tma au #gerry #the spiral #disenbypost #disenbyfandom #disenbywrite

[ackerfics]

I was thinking about this all day and could not get it off of my mind- what about levi with an

s/o that kisses him in her sleep. Like, she'll kiss his chest, neck, face etc. (Depending on where her head is if they are cuddling) but the kisses are kinda lazy kisses because she's asleep and not fully focusing on what she's doing.

the way my heart melted aaaacdndj

the first time levi felt your feather-like, sleepy kisses, he was genuinely surprised.

it was a rainy night and levi was still sifting through his paperwork, occasionally checking the screen of his laptop for some of his intern's sent work. the rain tapping on the windowpanes served as the background instrumental as his desk clock ticked away until it neared midnight. he was tired, yes, but he badly needed to finish the last pile of paperwork he brought from another hectic day at the office. there was only a piece of paper left on the file, levi's sigh coming right after he flipped to find the document more than the number of pages he expected. he was praying that there were no typos in the final stapled papers he was checking until he found a single word with numbers mixed in it. fucking eren and his dumbass fingers. with a groan, levi crossed it out and annotated the margin with annoyance. the number of times he had to drill it in eren's head that typos irk him and he never follows.

he was so immersed in creating the perfect scolding for the said intern that he didn't notice the tiny creak by his door. only when you cleared your throat did levi raise his head to get a glimpse of you. the sight of you in his shirt and your pajama bottoms eased his irritated state, his shoulders loosening the tenseness. he noticed that your hair was mussed and that you were rubbing one of your eyes, his lips pulling into a small smile at the action. his silver eyes continued staring over your figure slumping on the door frame, taking in your adorable state.

it was like you were meant to calm him.

"hey, did i wake you, love?" levi asked before turning back to typing on his laptop. the light illuminating at the bottom of his office's door must have woken you up. you always have the tendency to search for levi every time he was supposed to pull an all-nighter. "this is the final document, i think. let me just finish this real quick." he reached out to the teacup sitting beside the finished pile of papers, only to find it empty. that was what? his fifth cup?

"you know," you pushed off the door frame, making your way towards the back of your boyfriend's chair, "lacking enough sleep can cause even more stress. much more than stressing over those interns you guys have in your office." you placed your hand on his shoulders, massaging them as you duck down to give him a kiss on the temple. you followed his hand on the empty cup and smiled. "do you need me to make you another cup?"

levi sighed, leaning back to your touch. "no. i think i'm done for the day. my eyes hurt."

"i told you to use the glasses i bought for you last week."

"slipped my mind."

you wrapped your arms around his neck, tilting his head to brush your lips over his. "come to bed, love. i'm worried."

that was everything it took for levi to follow you to your shared bed, the covers providing the extra warmth while the air conditioner rages on despite the rain. levi allows it since you told him that wrapping a blanket around yourself in a rainy day with the air conditioner on is one of the many things you loved doing. so the moment the covers were over you and levi's warm body beside you, you instantly succumbed back to your sleep. meanwhile, levi continued running his hand through your hair, his half-lidded eyes trained on the ceiling as if they carried the paintings in the sistine chapel.

curses on his insomnia started clouding his mind. he was supposed to be nuzzling into your warmth, right into the crook of your neck. he was supposed to be breathing in your scent --- that saccharine smell you always have every after taking time in the bathroom. he was supposed to be enjoying his sleep with you by his side but even though his eyes were hurting from hours of staring into his laptop, he couldn't do it.

until he felt your lips brush over his chest, right over his heart.

levi looked down at the most beautiful face pressed against his chest. a soft smile brightened your features, enhancing your beauty that levi never got tired of staring at. your eyelashes brushed against his bare skin as you shifted your head to find the most comfortable position. levi never took his eyes off you while you placed your head against his neck. your lips once again delicately pressed on his collarbones, his throat, the juncture where his neck met his shoulders, below his ears.

it was ticklish for levi and he couldn't help but to let out a low yet delighted laugh as you continued pressing your soft lips on every patch of skin you could find on levi. your neck craned and you came face to face with your boyfriend, his cheeks becoming warm because of the proximity and your never-ending kisses. you were so beautiful, your face nearing his each ticking second.

like butterfly wings, you kissed his cheeks, the corners of his lips, his jawline. the smile never faded from levi's face, watching the love of his life sleepily leave a trail of affection. it urged levi to tightened his hold on your waist, pulling you even closer to him until there was no space left between the two of you. like puzzle pieces, he let his chin rest on top of your head while you bury your face in his neck.

the last thing levi remembered that night was your sleepy voice murmuring, "i love you, levi."

"i love you, beautiful."

starting that night, levi always looked forward to sleeping. it was the same feeling he had with his mother when he was young, knowing that kuchel was ready to tuck him in with a picture book. it was a similar feeling but with you it erupted the butterflies in his stomach and chest.

when levi told you about this, you felt your face heat up and you couldn't face him the entire morning. you turned around and fixed your attention on the breakfast you were making. that was also the first time he saw you so flustered that he laughed and followed you around the kitchen. when he caught you in his arms, he placed his chin on your shoulder, a contented smile on his face. he pressed a kiss on your shoulder before whispering, "i love every kiss, though. i don't mind if you do that every night. it makes me sleep well. you were so cute. i wanted it to never stop but i guess you need your peaceful sleep, too."

you can handle a stoic levi but a clingy, teasing levi??? your heart can only take one of his many versions.

with a warm face, you threatened levi with the couch if he won't stop teasing.

he stopped.

levi will also try to reciprocate the kisses. he noticed that you never kissed him on the lips whenever you're doing this nightly routine so that's where levi makes sure to end the night with, when he's starting to feel so tired and his eyes droop even more --- your lips taste like home every time.

#rorytalks #anons 💌🥰 #levi ackerman #levi x you #levi x reader #shingeki no kyoujin levi #levi x y/n #levi attack on titan #levi ackerman x you #levi ackerman x reader #levi #shingeki no kyojin #snk levi #snk x you #levi aot #aot x reader #THIS MADE ME SOFT DUWHWNJW #attack on titan headcanons #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan imagines #attack on titan

[saysong91]

twitter fill prompts (6)

Moshang + qi deviated into a child + precanon(?) (after their meeting at the airplane extras)

When SQH closed the door of his new leisure house, he never expected to find a demon suddenly sitting on his bed.

No, even worse.

He never expected a child demon sitting on his bed.

His new teacup falls from his hand, recognizing the demon mark over the child's forehead, the icy glare he became accustomed over the last few days.

"My...my king?"

"You said you'd stay", his voice, his tone, even his words are that of a child! Wtfwtfwtf?!

'System!! What the fuck??!?! Why...Mobei Jun...a child!?!?' He tries not to tremble, afraid to come closer to the bed where the tiny demon swims in his old robes. The ones he mended while MBJ was recovering from Huan Hua's dart.

[ Character Mobei Jun suffered a qi deviation ]

'I KNOW that!! But what do I do with him!?!' Tiny Mobei keeps looking at him, murderously.

[ There's no mission available ]

Of course. Of fucking course! His system had almost let him kill Mobei Jun just a few days ago, what else was he expecting? 'Mission: save the future demon king?' No.

He could let MBJ deal with it alone, be cruel and abandon him just like LGJ had done in the original story. He could and nothing or no one would stop him.

It makes his heart ache. How different it is from what his own family did? Who cares about this child?

"I...I'm sorry, my king!", he kneels down beside the bed, looking at the chubby cheeks and fear barely contained. MBJ, at least the one he met a few days ago, was arrogant and dangerous, not someone who'd show this kind of weakness. Yet here he is, a child in the middle of a cultivation sect, trusting this human becase he has no one else to turn to. His uncle? Probably would kill him or send him back to Huan Hua and the water prison. His father? He never truly cared about MBJ. If he had stayed in the demon realm, he'd be easily trapped or disappeared for political reasons! He truly has no one else but him! "My shixiong found me when I left! I couldn't let him get to you, right? Nor could I show so easily my mask before I started spying for you, my king!"

He smiles, ruffling MBJ's hair without thinking.

They both freeze.

Shit.

"Shut up! Give me food!" and the kid kicks him in the face. It barely hurts! He almost laughs but chooses to go to the kitchens instead. SQH really hopes MBJ's new figure won't last, tho.

...

Waking up bundled in his old robes, in the sheets of his new servant's bed, he looks up, blearily. Ever since suffering from that qi deviation, his thoughts had become fuzzy, his feelings and weaknesses showing at his sleeves. He hates it.

When he portaled away from the inn, suddenly afraid of his new body and being surrounded by humans, he thought of warmth and someone who could protect him. Appearing in SQH's leisure house...that was a surprise even for him.

But he feels protected with him. Safer. In his adult or child form, SQH still cares for him. Gave him food and clothes, even brought him a bath with fresh water.

And MBJ felt warmth for the second time in those few days.

He sits, in An Ding's clothes transformed especially for him, looking at this disciple running around, following his Peak Lord's orders and yet coming back to see if everything is ok.

"I'm bored. Stay", he orders, crossing his incredibly tiny and weak arms. He hates this form, but SQH seems more relaxed around him, more caring in ways he never expected. He brushes his hair every morning and night, brings him sweets and syrup for his shaved ice. He was born a prince, spoiled, but SQH somehow goes further. Still, it isn't enough.

"But... my prince! I have to run some errands and... don't look at me like that! I'm already running out of excuses here! Ah, my shixiongs and shidis really are so nosy, I don't want them knocking at my door because they suspect something! Especially Shen-shixiong," he sees the disciple shivering. Who could be more frightening than himself?

"I'm bored," he repeats, wishing for his tone to be more terrifying. But no. SQH has that stupid smile on his face, the same he shows before coming in front of him and squishing his cheeks. "Insolent!"

"Yeah, yeah, you'll beat me up once you go back to your body, my prince, hehe, but you're so cute!!", without prompting, he kisses MBJ's forehead and just retreats like that.

MBJ is left alone for an hour, heart throbbing in his chest, feeling heat on his cheeks. Embarrassed because he liked that.

Maybe ... he can get more?

..

SQH comes back with fruit and melon seeds, preparing tea and brushing back his hair into a messy bun.

"Take me with you", MBJ said, sitting at the low table, eating. "I'm bored here."

"What?! No, my prince, I can't!"

"Do as I say!", he puffes his cheeks, his secret weapon. Since he doesn't have his handsome looks and dangerous aura, his muscles and full on powers, he has to make do with this. And SQH is easily falling in his trap. Is it that easy? A simple look and he'll do anything for him? Faster than he did during that first week at the inn? Without pleas or complaints or tears ans thigh hugging? Uhm. Interesting.

"Ah, my prince, how can this lowly servant resist to that face?", he pinches his cheeks, smiling softly, "Fine! This servant will find a way," and he kisses his forehead again.

MBJ is conflicted with how much he likes that.

__

"All right, don't show your powers or the make up will be ruined, my prince. I hope my shijies won't notice I stole this from them...", SQH sighs.

MBJ looks at himself in the mirror. Yellow robes over a pair of white pants, brown boots and hair tied with a yellow ribbon. With the make up on, he looks almost human. It's disturbing.

"I'll be going around every peak today, my prince, let me know if you feel tired or any heat and we'll rest, please", he ties his qiankun pouch on his sash, then offers his hand. "Let's go, I'll show you my peak!"

MBJ, grabbing his hand, follows him, thinking how stupid his human is, trusting a demon with these kind of secrets, showing his peak and the rest of the sect, carrying him on his back when he gets tired or can't follow over hundred of steps, when SQH invites him to sit under a magnolia tree, eating some snacks and water while overlooking the peaks.

So stupidly nice, cute.

Disturbingly cute and caring.

That night, he lets SQH sleep on the bed and just embraces him in his sleep. It isn't like that night at the inn, SQH draped around his body, snoring softly against his chest, looking for his protection. Quite the opposite, and MBJ feels himself relax further despite the heat.

__

When he wakes up, he finds himself naked, in his adult body once again, still clinging to SQH. Somehow, his qi deviation is finally cured. Somehow, he knows it has everything to do with SQH's care and protection. His human demonstrated that he could be trusted.

"Sleep, my prince," he mutters, snoring ligthly, hands pinching his not-so-round cheeks and kissing his forehead again. He can get used to it.

No, MBJ will make sure to have this from now on.

"Sleep, Shang Qinghua", he orders, burying his head in the hollow of SQH's neck, breathing him in.

He doesn't trust humans, but SQH is different.

Will be his after his courting.

Three times a day, perfect for SQH to realize his growing feelings soon enough.

__

SQH is stupid. And scared after waking up with a very naked, very muscled and well endorsed MBJ, clinging to him. He's so...so surprised, face burning and eyes wandering down down before he can help himself.

Shit.

"You're finally awake," MBJ says as if he wasn't just waking up too! And so aloof, like this is nothing! Maybe not for a demon, but he feels hot under his collar.

"I...I...yes, my king! Ah, how may this servant help you? I... eh...I washed your robes! I'll...yess, I'll bring them back, haha, wait a little...", MBJ grabs his wrist, a smirk plastered on his face. Oh no. He's dead. He shouldn't have pinched his cheeks!

He feels quite sorry after MBJ beats him up that morning.

"We'll continue later", he says, smug.

'Please, don't!!'

__

SQH is stupid, and it takes years for him to understand MBJ's true feelings. Maybe he should've qi deviated again and just showed his feelings the same way weak humans do for SQH to understand his courting.

(fin)

All Prompts

#moshang #moshang fic #mobei jun #shang qinghua #svsss fanfic #my fic #SAYTWTFILLPROMPTS #twt fill prompts #baby mobei jun

[poptod]

Cyber Security (Elliot Alderson)

Description: An online ad leads him to you, though in reality he has little interest in your ad. What interests him is how you accidentally doxxed yourself and how oblivious you are to that fact.

Notes: idrk what to say about this one its one of those things that i wrote at midnight after almost falling asleep to a fantasy and then realizing it could work as a fic. like i did this same thing with ‘close your eyes’ that one was also a before-bed-to-get-to-sleep fantasy. this is also not a particularly romantic interaction, though it can be read as such WC: 2.2k

+

Sweat drenched his sheets, bathing him in the cold wind that breezed past his only air conditioner lodged in a nearby window. He stared blankly upwards, half shivering and half overheated, as he once again found himself in a familiar predicament—the practice of sleep.

It was no secret he had trouble calming himself down, and that aspect of himself reached into the evening, as well. He already downed three melatonin pills hours earlier, along with smoking a joint that should’ve put him to bed. Unsurprisingly, that did not work.

“Xanax,” he mumbled to himself, hearing it bounce back from empty walls. “Need to get xanax.”

In the meantime he raised himself to his feet, padding across freezing floors to his computer. With a click of a button the white screen buzzed to life, shining bright onto his sleep-heavy eyes, that did their best to acclimatize to the sudden change.

Hypnotization—strange as it might’ve been—had worked a couple times before. Not all the time, but decently enough to give it a try. He had work in the morning and he didn’t need to be more miserable than usual, especially since he hadn’t slept almost the entire weekend.

sleep hypnosis

The blinker flickered for a moment before his fourth finger slammed down on enter, the last step in calculated movements. What popped up first was a video titled [ SLEEP HYPNOSIS ] 8 Hour Loop with a screencap of a spinning black and white screen. Below that, however, was something he hadn’t seen before—a YouTube video titled exactly what he’d typed, lacking the caps just as he had. The title screen appeared to be some sort of poorly-drawn painting.

Curiosity overcame his hazy, aching head, and he clicked, finding a playlist of videos containing what could be the titles of songs, along with several different poorly-drawn title screens.

The first video began to play before he could realize it. What he first noticed was it was bereft of ads—that meant the publisher made no money off the album.

Sat in the presence of God

whose name means filthy old fraud

Captions had been manually added by, he assumed, you. The author. There were three views on the video, no comments, and no likes, leaving few other options.

Maybe it was the melody—maybe the lyrics, who talked of a world plagued by aristocrats. But he found his eyelids heavy, dropping dark eyelashes in his vision that blurred the screen. By the third song, reciting verses of an Islamic poem, he was slouched in his seat.

He slid down to the floor, crawling his way back to flop onto his bed. The music continued to play till the first ad popped up, at which time he opened his eyes, seeing a music video from Katy Perry, at which time he promptly reached over and unplugged his computer. He wasn’t sure which cord he pulled out, but the screen still went black. With that, he just barely sneaked into his covers, dozing until the morning.

It was far too easy to get information on you. Your full name was stated clearly in your youtube bio, alongside several different social media tags leading to instagram, tumblr, and facebook.

Facebook alone provided him the means to your address, and he didn’t even have to go looking for it. Your most recent post was an ad, searching for someone good with computers to aid you in your recording process, which you noted as ‘dismal’.

Are you fucking kidding me? He thought to himself, reading the ad once more.

Your address, your real, physical address was stated as the place you wanted to meet those interested in helping you. On the internet. You had doxxed yourself after less than a year of being online.

Okay, he thought, clicking on your listed email. Someone needs to be taught a lesson.

Three days later—after about two weeks of listening to your echoing voice every night—you replied, sending a cheerful email detailing when you would be available to meet him. After shooting a short message back, the date was organized.

Two more days and he was standing at your doorstep, his neck craned upwards as he scanned your tall, narrow home squished between two other apartments. He just barely knocked before the black door swung open, revealing a familiar face belonging to a stranger. Elliot was dressed in his black hoodie and jeans, a stark difference to your long, colorful robes, coming out of a sort of fantasy world.

“Hi,” he said, his voice grating with how low and quiet he kept it.

“Hello,” you said with a smile that did not match his hunched posture. “Are you Mr. Alderson?”

“Elliot,” he corrected, his chin just barely raising to meet you. “Elliot Alderson. Elliot works.”

“Alright,” you said, nodding. “Come inside? I was just making tea. Do you like tea? Or do you prefer coffee?”

“I... I’m fine, thanks,” he said softly, scooting past you when you opened the door wide enough for him to enter. He sucked in a breath as his chest brushed yours.

Your home was modern—far fancier than Elliot’s own apartment, with large windows flanked by soft grey curtains. A small, upright piano was in the corner of the living room, set upon a reed mat lined with Korean symbols. The couch was clinical, made of a sort of black plastic leather that matched the grey skies beyond the window panes.

He sat down, shifting his feet closer together as his fingers dug into his palms, continuing to scan the room in its’ entirety until you returned with your own tea.

“What kind of experience do you have? School counts,” you said, setting your cup down on a tiny plate whose decorations matched your teacup.

“I’ve been... experimenting, with computers, since I was around 9,” he said, mumbling the words out as his shoulders hunched awkwardly down. “Have a job at a cyber security firm. Started a while back.”

“You still have that job?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small nod. “Jus’ thought this would be... fun.”

The dead look on his face indicated no humor whatsoever, but you took his word as it was.

“How’d you find the ad I put out?”

“I... I listened to your music,” he answered honestly for once. “Helps me fall asleep.”

“Oh,” you said, clearly taken aback. Your face grew warm as you glanced away with wide eyes. “I’m glad I could help.”

“You’re not very good with technology, though,” he said in his usual low, grating voice.

“Not really,” you chuckled sheepishly. “That’s why I put out the ad -“

“No, not that,” he interrupted you. “You put your physical address on the internet. You doxxed yourself. Do you even know how dangerous that is?”

The lyrics of your songs pointed towards a kind of brilliance, balanced against emotions felt thoroughly on pages and screens. It didn’t match your actions at all.

“What’s doxxing?” You asked.

Elliot had to physically stop himself from sighing and leaving.

“You want everyone to know where you, a minor celebrity, live?”

“I’d hardly call myself a -“

“I could’ve been a murderer,” he said, reaching into his bag.

He looked you in the eye as he pulled out a gun, clicking on the safety before he pointed it at you.

“This is how easy it would be to kill you.”

As expected, you stiffened at the sight of the iron barrel, your fingers withdrawing to your chest. Your lips pursed as you met his gaze once more.

“Please put the gun down,” you whispered, your voice cracking.

He did as you said, resting the gun on the table.

“That’s a hell of a way to start an interview, Mr. Alderson,” you said quietly. “Please get out of my house.”

His heart sank. What had he expected? For you to fall to your knees and sing to him as he desired you to do? He threatened you with a gun to teach you a lesson, and you reacted accordingly. Calmer than others would.

Elliot stood on shaky legs, sliding the pistol into his backpack before he zipped it up. Throwing the pack over his shoulder, he swallowed through a tight throat, shuffling as he delayed his departure.

“Keep safe from people like me,” he said in a strained mumble. “Take that ad down. Meet people from the internet only in inhabited, public areas.”

You tapped your fingernails on the table for a moment, chewing on your bottom lip. Suddenly you stood, tugging on his sweatshirt sleeve to get him to face you, instead of staring at his feet.

“Alright. If you’re really so good at the internet -“

He ignored your incorrect grammar.

“- and... if you actually do want to help me with my songs,” your tone softened, “then you’ll be able to find my real name, not my stage name. If you do.. I’ll hire you.”

“Alright,” he said monotone, knowing the battle was already won.

Even though he knew your name already, he turned away and left to his apartment, immediately going to work on figuring out everything he could about you. If you willingly still offered him the job after that, he knew it would take a lot to scare you off. He could impress you.

It was, after all, the only thing he was good at.

Two days later he showed up at your apartment again, quietly thanking you when you let him in. The clean floors and walls remained unchanged since his last visit, and you led him to the same table, sitting him down on the same seat.

“Your name is (Y/N) (L/N),” he started with. You already appeared to be surprise. “You grew up near LA and you’ve had a chronic illness all your life. At eleven you saw your first therapist.. that must’ve been when you first got diagnosed with depression... and anxiety.”

“Killer duo,” you muttered.

“Your parents split when you were thirteen, which came at the same time as your dog, Penelope, died. Or... sometime that year. When was that... 1997?”

“1999,” you said quietly.

“Your mom homeschooled you,” he continued. “That’s probably why you don’t know how computers work. Rather eclectic, in a.. boring way... an ex-Amish, right?”

You nodded and his heartbeat tripled. Everything was right thus far despite a two year difference in his guesstimate of your life’s timeline.

“Then there was your dad... logger in the Redwood forests. Burly guy. Not a great man, from what I saw,” he said.

“He was fine,” you said with a small shrug as you looked away. “Didn’t ever hurt me, or anything.”

“Abuse isn’t always physical,” he said faster than he could think, dizzied by his own memories playing behind his eyes.

“I know,” you murmured.

You went silent, so he continued, hoping to pry more precious words from you.

“Your favorite color is yellow,” he said, leaning closer to you. “On Valentine’s you get chocolate strawberries, and on easter you get kinder eggs.”

Nothing.

“You studied mythology as a kid, and you made paintings of the forest you lived in with your mom. Santa Cruz mountains, I think.”

“Yeah,” you said. “I miss the forests.”

“I know. You want to visit Ireland again because it’s a land of faeries and moss, it’s a breeding ground for your song lyrics.”

“How did you find all this out?” You finally asked.

“You use the same password on everything,” he said, though that was far from the actual answer. “Your web browser tracks all your movements and you don’t try to stop it, or hide ads, or stay away from sketchy websites. Your parents aren’t much better, either.”

You chuckled, shaking your head as you brought your hand to massage your brow.

“You’re way too smart to be helping me,” you said with soft laughter, blushing with your smile.

“It’s better than working for E Corp,” he said, huffing out a laugh that was hardly humored.

“E corp?”

“My.. uh, place of work,” he brushed off his slip. “My point is... I’d rather work with you and do easy work than work with my current fucking coworkers.”

You laughed, truly and fully this time, curling into a little ball that shook with the force of it. Your feet tucked into your tiny chair, making you even smaller.

“Bad people or just annoying?”

“Stupid,” he chuckled. “Don’t let me wear my sweatshirt.”

“Ooh, now it’s my turn,” you suddenly interrupted him, earning a strange look. “I’ve noticed things about you, too. I couldn’t learn anything off the computer, but you, you have anxiety too. Probably some childhood trauma.. maybe a dissociative disorder of sorts or a form of PTSD. Your jacket is like your home, and... you have sensory issues. Few types of fabric, don’t like to be touched, if I had to guess I’d say you might be autistic.”

“Blunt,” he said after a full minute’s silence.

“Do you mind?” You asked.

“No, not really.”

“Good. Then you’re hired,” you said with a smile, extending your hand for him to shake. “If you still want the job, of course.”

He watched you with evident apprehension, but took your hand after much thought, shaking with a firm grip.

“When do I start?”

#elliot alderson x reader #Elliot Alderson #mr robot #rami malek