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boowritess · 4 hours

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so apparently it's really fucking hard to get into the SAS. and ontop of that I've been getting tiktoks of people going around an army base asking why they joined. most responses were to pay off student loans, bills, school, (someone said there's was 6 years of prison or school and *mental note for idea*), the recruiter lied or spoilt them, barracks bunny.

141 (poly?) x notsobaddasssoldier!reader

and now i can't stop thinking of soldier!reader. who really half-assed their way through everything - only doing the job for the money and to pay off student loans + they had nothing better to do.

who somehow ends up being adopted by Price (kinda like Gaz i guess ???) all because reader happened to be in the right place at the right time and saved Price's ass while managing to complete a mission the Task Force were doing.

and it's not that you saved his ass or completed the mission that makes Price go *this is mine* - it's the fact that afterwards all you can say is-

"this shit is so not worth paying off my student loans."

"oh fuck i forgot to cancel my subscription. fuckk- wast of fucking money"

- all the while a building is burning in front of you but yeah just not at all concerned about what had just happened. so price just *grabs you by the back of your neck and holds you up, claiming you as part of his task force now.*

(lol you probably can't do that irl but this is fiction sooo suck my ass.)

and laswell's just like no... they are very much still green john. way too green. no.

but it's too late. he's already introducing you to the task force. singing your praises and you're just like

"man he promised to pay off my student loans and give me food." basically how ur recruiter got ya ass.

enough said. you get the whole off the books speech, saving the world by doing things others wouldn't like. but u couldn't give a rats ass - you should but nah...

and like... you know you're the rookie... you're still green... but some of the shit 141 do you just...

"so you just gonna kidnap the wife AND the child...? right... kid, you wanna watch bluey? here..."

"and you do this often...? crazy."

but you don't exactly protest. how could you with how much you get paid. you kinda just side-eye and look away when it's geta a lil crazy. *bombastic side-eye*

and the other 141 guys - oh my days. become just as enormed as price and want to start really trying to amplify your skills. but every time, they start explaining how to do things - the best way to go about a situation or how to fight a certain way.

you pull this face. like your top lip pulls back, your eyebrows scrunch together, and there's a slight frown on your lips as they speak. like you look confused/disgusted. but you don't even realise cause-

"why're you pulling that face?" 141

"that's... that's just my focusing face..."

"oh..." 141 feels bad

then when they do take you in feild you're shaking your head no. like you haven't been around that long. what the fuck? now you're bout to infiltrate an enemy base!?!?!

"can i just wait in the car?"

"no." price

"i'm gonna vomit."

"aim at the enemy." ghost

people think that because you're suddenly in this badass task force that surely they're just using you for your assets.

they all think you're the 141 barracks bunny. and maybe you should be pissed or annoyed or grossed out. but all you can do is sigh and pause from the burger price got you, and let out a long exhale.

"fuck... maybe i can just do onlyfans or be a pornstar... shit maybe it's not too late..."

"military is bascially sex work - selling my body..."

"not that different from what i'm doing now. body being used, check. body sore in the strangest places, check."

your tone so empty, blank and nonchalant, but there's a serious look in your eyes that when you grab your phone out to maybe do a little research on how you could do that, your phone is snatched from your hand by one of the guys and they walk out the room without a second look back.

with an annoyed huff, you go back to eating your burger. but suddenly, you turn to the person who genuinely thought you were a barracks bunny.

"hey you think if i be a barracks bunny i get out of missions and shit?"

"...that's not how it works..." rando.

"fuck."

and maybe you try...

like you go to price's office and the guys are already in there, chatting about something that you should really pay attention too but you can't be assed. instead you unashamedly start to speak...

"if i suck ya'll dicks can i get out the mission?"

"no. you still have to join." gaz says amused

"even if you-" *que long sigh from price* "even if you suck our dicks."

"that's fucked up. i should've done porn."

and with the most hurt and broken-hearted look on your face, you leave the office, closing the door with a dramatic sigh. the guys just stare at the door in... confusion, amusement, and maybe arousal if ya'll dig that

idk man just gimmie more soldier!reader who just really ain't the fucked, there for money, lowkey hungry and doesn't know what the fuck is happening. kinda a pet or little sibling energy that the 141 love.

bonus*

"wait so they aren't sucking our dicks?" *soap says getting slapped in the back of the head by ghost

a/n: brain is rottinnggg. i should be doing so much other shit but... cod just consumes my brain 24/7

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rosedom · 1 day

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Heyyy I love your blog and your writing so much! I’m El or Muse…also at @pickmans-muse if you’re curious. Thinking about writing for Genshin because of you…

Can I propose an omega Tighnari or Aether starting their first heat with you as their alpha? 👀

"in an open match, 【 el 】 has invited AETHER to play . . . the sweet ache of a mark

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!amab!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!aether, omegaverse, alpha!reader & omega!aether, excessive world building before the actual smut, gratuitous pet names + praise, vaginal fingering, PIV sex, knotting, creampie, pillow talk .

A/N : happy cinco de mayo, and happy omegaverse porn for the rest of ya !! 〒▽〒

"is that correct, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to confirm."

An omega’s first heat with an alpha is no different than their heats before; well, their mating mark aches, too, but that's all that changes—really!

So when Aether starts to feel the dull throb of his scent glands and the mark you left on him only weeks prior, it's nothing alarming. He’s lying on your lap when he notices it, dozing off cocooned in your scent; his skin is a lil’ warm, admittedly, but it's a cozy kind of warmth that makes his eyelids heavy.

An early warning is always good, Aether’s always thought; so he mutters your name, says, “Alpha,” too, and blinks up at you with those golden eyes drooping and so terribly trusting.

“Yeah, honey?” You set your book aside, placing both hands now atop the soft swell of his hips. He's in nothing but his sleep clothes, now—these thin but comfortable things, your own shirt draping across his smaller body. “What's up?”

He leans forward to brush his lips across your cheeks, and the ticklish sensation makes you giggle. Against your skin, he says, “My heat’s gonna start soon.”

(Alphas in those books you read are always so—animalistic. They hear that an omega is in heat, and they're poppin’ a knot with nothing but the overly-sweet scent of an aroused omega filling their senses.

Here, though, you’re simply content.)

“Alright,” you mutter, turning your face just-so to kiss him properly. It's chaste but sweet, your tongue licking across the seam of his lips once, twice. “When?”

He hums. “Tomorrow, prob’ly.” Lethargically, he nuzzles back into your throat, resting against your chest. “‘m gonna take my commissions still, I think.”

“I’ll help,” you say, running your fingers through the gentle curls of his hair. “Do they have a—uh—a time restraint?”

Shaking his head against you, he says, “Nah. I just need to get ‘em done.”

(This is another thing those books of yours overlook: an omega in heat is not incapacitated. They're a lil’ horny, quick to get slick; but they're not mindless.

You still want your mate to take it easy, though.)

“We’ll do ‘em together.” He nods again. “But after, it's just gonna be you n’ me ‘til your heat breaks. Okay?”

“Okay.”

(An omega’s heat is not its worst until the second or third day, depending. Aether’s tend to peak on his third; neither of you, however, are sure if your mating will alter that.

Better safe than sorry, right?)

And so the evening and the next morning go as that, simple as pie. Aether’s not even horny when you wake up, but you still go down and suck him off, right and quick—and it’s not even for his heat! You just love your omega mate so terribly—, before you corral him to the shower (where you have to hold him up yourself. He’s on doe-legs after that brain-melting orgasm.)

You dress together, you smother him in your scent—again, all at your own volition. You simply cannot stand the thought of anybody else so much as whiffing that Aether’s starting his cycle. (Before you mated, you felt this way before; but now, it’s so, so much worse.

These instincts are pulling at you constantly, your head swimming and body stir-crazy. For it to be Aether’s heat, it sure seems to be affecting you thrice as much.)

As you’re scenting him—your wrists rubbing incessantly against his own, rubbing your neck against the protrusions of his mating mark and scent glands both—, Aether giggles, your motions ticklish. They soothe him immensely, but your hair always brushes him in such a way; and you’re doing it so desperately, like you’re a pup again just first discovering that rush of endorphins that scenting always invokes.

“You reek,” he laughs, but he’s purring as he teases you. “Silly alpha.”

You scoff, affronted. “It’s only to keep you from smellin’!”

“Mhmm.” Nonetheless, he still soaks up in your scent.

The rest of the day goes by fast, simple. Really, he shows no sign of fatigue, of being anything off; the only thing different is how heavy your scent lies on him. Anybody who catches a whiff of him would smell only you—though, of course, they’d sooner see you within arm’s distance of the omega than smell either of you.

You're possessive: is that such a crime? You know Aether can handle himself, but your gut is pulling at you, screaming at you to protect protect protect.

At the end of it all—bodies pleasantly sore from fighting hilichurls, from helping carry and take down cargo in turn—, you find the two of you in almost the same position as the prior evening: you, on the bed (but no book, this time) and Aether astride your lap. He’s purring again as you run your fingers through his hair, untangling his braid and placing the clasp that holds it all together on the nightstand.

(Paimon, too, is gone; you had the foresight to leave her to her own devices. She's not stupid; she knows what happens to an omega during their season.

It's just a little awkward, is all.)

His own scent comes stronger, here, bundled up under your nose as he is. It's soothing, and it makes you meet his purrs with your own.

His body is hot, too, an overripe type of warmth that bleeds into you and makes your own skin prickle with heat. It feels almost like you're entering a rut, the way you are reacting to your mate.

You wonder if this is normal, and you almost want to find out—find a book, skim through articles, or ask some mated pairs you’ve met journeying with Aether—, but then Aether’s purrs hitch in that tell-tale way they always do when something grabs his attention... it’s just slightly awkward that what grabs his attention is your own cock nudging against his hip.

“Oh—” you start, thoroughly embarrassed; you knew your body was reacting strangely, but not like this! You start to lift him off of you, arrange him more comfortably, but he whines at you with ruddy cheeks, and, oh, is right. You were so focused on your cock, on your own embarrassment, that now that you're finally seeing your omega mate again, you're hyper-focused on the way his eyes are hazy, just-so, his pupils swallowing up the gold of his irises. “Aether, honey—”

“I want you,” he mumbles, blinking those sunshine eyes at you, and you're helpless to say no.

“Okay, honey, okay,” you say, repetitive in the pet name you so adore. (You’re off-handedly glad for the care you set aside late in the afternoon, nonperishable foods and treats strewn across the nightstand alongside glasses of water galore. His nest—the one he’s had here, in your bed, since you mated; the one you sleep in together every night and wake up together in every morning—threatens to spill over, but you pay it no mind.

You only mind the pretty, pliant omega in your arms.)

You tack on a, “Get comfy,” your voice pitched low. He huffs at you—even as he does what you say, tumbling off your lap to lay on his nest. He flops onto his belly quite heavily, and it leaves you to bounce a little bit from where you are on the edge of the mattress. Laughing lightly, your chest begins to rumble anew with a stronger purr; this one, however, is somehow deeper, and you can see the visceral effect it has on your sweet Aether.

Aether shivers, goosebumps erupting across his strong limbs, a quiver prominent as it runs from the base of his spine and up.

He mutters your name, then, tacking on an pleading lil’ “alpha” that makes your cock throb, the threat of a knot tight around its base. (Perhaps the stories were all wrong: it is not the omega who has the most change through their first mated heat; it is their alpha, bathed in the scent of their omega, their omega needy for them.

You are too possessive for your own good, it seems.)

As he shivers, you coo at him, dragging your palms heavy up his flanks and over his back, swooping in large circles across his shoulder blades. He melts into his nest, and the heady scent of aroused omega, of aroused mated omega, fills all your senses. Aether may be in heat, but you want him so, so bad.

“Comfy?” you ask, quiet, hands kneading the tension out of his neck. He quietly groans in appreciation, stretching out his legs until they bracket you perfectly. The motion invites you in further, invites you to slide up and slot against him, covered cock to covered cunt. You’re not sure if the moisture you feel on the head of your cock is from your own dribbling precum or from the slick you can smell permeating the still bedroom air.

In reply, Aether nods vehemently, wriggling his hips back into you and snuffling, quiet. He reeks of you—like he said, earlier, and you find yourself loving it—, and you can't help leaning in to mouth right over the teeth marks you left in his skin. Your own neck throbs, meager, an echo of where he bit you; you swear that you can feel his heat simmering beneath your own skin, emanating out from the matching mark he left on you.

He weakly mewls at the sensation of your lips against a spot so sensitive—and, really, he never anticipated that he’d be so much more sensitive there. He thought, if anything, that those particular scent glands would become duller, in a sense, and he almost hoped they would; after all, the scarf he always dons became an awful tease against the swell of the bite.

But the smell of it—God. “You smell—Aeth,” you groan, breathing heavy gulps of his scent. “You smell divine, like—like me, like honey, like heat—”

“Please,” he whines, nodding all the while, grinding back into your cock where you're now sure what is permeating the layers of cloth between you is Aether’s slick. “Please.”

“I got you, honey.” You veer away from his mark, just slightly, enough to start sucking purpling bruises into the skin across his nape, his upper back, his shoulders. He tastes as divine as he smells, and you're loath to separate from him, even for a moment, to discard of his and your clothes.

In the end, though, you've successfully stripped both of you free of any fabric, and the sight is— “Beautiful,” you murmur, eyes greedily taking in every inch of skin, of freckles, of scars, of shimmering-slick thighs. He—maybe mating did change something, because Aether’s never been so wet off of so little, in the throes of heat.

(A heat doesn’t make an omega some kind of pathetic faucet; but with the way the thick liquid simply drips out of his hole, you think you may understand where all the stereotypes came from.)

“Stop,” he tries to say—presumably to get you to stop gawking and to instead take, take and make him feel better—, but his breath hitches in the middle of it, so it comes out sounding more like, “St—op.”

“Stop?” You halt your movements, hand still as it cups the hot, wet mound of his cunt. His cock throbs incessantly against your skin, and you swear you can feel his erratic heartbeat in the erratic thrumming of it.

He cries out, hips bumping forward into your hand as his slick drip-drips down your skin, smearing on your fingers in a way that is downright obscene. “No!” His braid slips off to the side, piling itself into the nest he lies in; and as she shivers, as he chases his pleasure on the palm you provide him, you gently unravel his hair.

“Okay, okay,” you coo, “easy, honey.” His skin burns where you touch him, and his cunt is so, so warm, hot, and boiling tears start budding up in his waterline when you grind your cock into his ass. Your cock is lathered in his slick, the slide of you two together made most smooth by his arousal.

When he begins to beg for your cock, you shush him with a harsh grind—one that sends your cockhead rubbing against his dribbling hole, sends his own cock pressing harder into your hand—, saying, “Not yet, honey, Aether. You need to cum first, okay?”

“B-but I’m ready for you no—ow.” His thighs squeeze taut around your hand, but he’s not quite over the precipice—yet, that is.

You tut, not unkindly. “No, you’re not, sweet omega.” You nip at his pointed ear, tongue teasingly running over the freckles littering the top of it. Once he’s quieted (that is, his words: not his whimpering moans, his whining cries), cotton filling his mind as he hangs over the edge of that cliff, you take to stuffing him up with your fingers, one, two, three. You tease at the edge of his leaking hole with your pinkie, toying with sliding it in, too; but, “What do you think, honey? Do you want another finger or do you want to cum? Either one will get you my cock, after.” You enunciate after with a curl of your fingers, pads gliding against his heat-sensitive g-spot.

“I—I—”

You slow the thrust of your hand, palm motionless as he’s stuffed full, cock resting in the divot of your palm. “Take your time, sweetheart.”

He takes in big gulps of air—gulps that you can feel yourself, pressed as you are to his back—, and his head hangs heavy between his outstretched, sat-up arms when he answers, “I wanna—wanna cum, please.”

“That’s my good omega,” you murmur, finally giving him the release he so craves. Slick spills out into your waiting palm, smearing into his cock as he grinds with the motions of your hand; and, after he cums, his arms give out, and he practically face-plants into the nest. You fondly chuckle, following him down as you nip and suck at the expanse of freckled skin out for the taking.

But when his breathing slows again, body still warm against you, you grin, lips pressed to his ear from behind as you whisper, “Can you take my cock now, honey?”

“Yes, please—” His voice is shaky as anything, tears spilling from his eyes as you swipe them away with your thumb (the thumb of the hand not wet with his slick, thank you).

However, before you slide your cock home—which is becoming harder by the minute, the heady scent of aroused omega, of your aroused omega, making you dizzy—, you heft Aether up and around, pressing him back into the nest belly-up; and, oh, isn’t that a view—Aether, wet-stomach up, lower abdomen slick where his previous position left his cum to slip to his belly-button. He’s like the setting sun, all sun-kissed, shimmering skin.

You almost pop a knot then and there, but Aether’s teary-eyes, so wide, so trusting, call you down, force you into giving your sweet omega a kiss just as kind, cock nudging against his as you ensure you’re properly slicked-up. “Ready?” you ask, positioned against his drooling hole, and he nods desperate, arms coming up to wrap around your neck to mouth at your lips.

He nods, and your cock starts sliding in, in, the head brushing against his g-spot and the forming knot already budding up against his puffy labia. He envelops your cock so perfectly, and you say so, whispering praise and sweet nothings against his mouth as you messily kiss him, both of you too lost in the pleasure to do so properly.

As you thrust in, out, in, out, the movements soft and tender but deep, each jab of your cock sliding to the hilt and out ‘til he clenches weakly on your cockhead, rinse and repeat, Aether begins to cry again, in earnest, tears sliding down his temples in time with the even slide of your cock. You thumb the wetness away, leaning back enough for your noses to brush and for you to ask him if he’s okay, amidst it all.

“Mh—mhm,” he mumbles, nods, soft moans spilling from his parted lips. “‘m okay, just—just feels so good.” (He didn’t expect mating you to make him so much more attuned with you, your body, his heat hot in his veins and pleasurable in a way it never was before.

Perhaps you were too quick to assume that the first heat when mated would be no different; because this? This is everything.)

Grabbing his hips rather suddenly, you tilt him just slightly, just enough to send your cock bumping directly into his g-spot with each pass. He gasps sharply at the jolt of intense pleasure, cunt squeezing you tight, and you find your knot quickly swelling with the motion. “I—” you huff, tilting until your foreheads are pressed together and you’re panting open-mouthed into each other, “My knot—”

Aether nods, delirious, blunt and chipped nails clawing at your back. “Give it to me,” he begs, “I need you.”

It’s hard to stave off your orgasm when your omega begs you so sweetly, and you don’t try; instead, you nudge a hand down to his own throbbing cock, your fingers brushing where he’s taut around your swollen cock. It takes a few firm circles of your fingers, gentle but hard, for Aether’s cunt to clamp down on you, for him to start to cum and for him to take you right along with him.

You groan, teeth gritting as Aether’s own crying moans fall past your ears. You have never cum so hard during one of Aether’s heats—nor have you ever cum so much, it seems, as your cock seems to pump into him endlessly, warm seed ironically soothing the burning in your omega’s veins.

“My Aether, my perfect Aether, my omega,” you’re murmuring without even realizing it, mouth on autopilot as your orgasm finally seems to subside, finally done filling him up. “You took my knot so well, what a good boy...” Your voice trails off as Aether begins to purr, golden eyes sleepy as they gaze up at you so, so fondly.

He says your name, precedes it with my just like you did, and tacks on, “My alpha.” (Who says omegas can’t be possessive of their alphas?)

You laugh, then, gently moving Aether and yourself until you’ve got your back in the middle of the (slightly-slick) mess of the nest, Aether settled on top of you. His purrs hitch when your knot tugs at his stretched hole, but he quickly calms down, body melting into yours.

“Thank you,” he mumbles, hand splaying itself across your chest. “Was really good.”

“Good.” You place your own hand on top of his, thumb stroking the back of it.

“You know,” you start, smiling soft when he drags his eyes back up to meet yours; he’s about to fall asleep, sated on your knot and filled with your cum, but you have something else you want to say. “I think I’m in heat.”

He sputters at that. “What?”

You shake your head, bumping your hips up and delighting in the strangled whimper that falls past Aether’s kiss-bitten lips. “I swear I can feel you,” you say, referring to the throb of your own mating mark, of the way heat emanates from it and to your own limbs. “I wonder if you’ll be in rut with me.”

Exaggeratedly groaning, Aether lets himself fall back into your chest, purring once more, content through-and-through, even with your silly pillow-talk. He’s already beginning to doze, the warmth of you around (and in) him—especially with his heat tiring him out even more—making his eyelids heavy.

Your own eyes begin to droop shut, and, the last thing you notice before you fall asleep is your sweet omega murmuring something as he drifts asleep: “Love you, alpha.”

“Love you, too, Aether.”

i wanted to write tighnari as well/post together, but i also got so carried away with aether (this is 3.3k words . . .), and since i haven't posted a fic-fic for a bit . . here c; i don't know when i'll post pt.2 (it is absolutely not even started yet LMFAO). and, no, i did not proof-read. god bless fr (´▽`ʃ♡ƪ)

5 MAY 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】#【 el 】#omegaverse is so fun 'cos i can just make him say “alpha” instead of having to be like:#“and so he whimpered ur name” “he said ur name” “your name fell from his lips” . work smarter not harder !#omegaverse #this tag is shameful .#sub aether #aether smut #aether x reader #sub character #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #top reader #dom reader #amab reader

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gn4bnahc · 2 days

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Swim

Pairing: Felix x Fem!Reader

Genre: Smut, Friends to lovers

CW:Unprotected sex, pool sex, fingering, masturbating, hard thoughts. Idk if theres more

Masterlist

This is just Fiction!

It was your friends birthday Vienn, she invited you and the rest of the friend group to celebrate and have a sleepover.

Felix lives near you, so he picked you up with his car and you guys went together to Vienn’s house. You both arrive at her house and greet your other friends.

You, Felix and your other friends went inside her house. Vienn says, “Theres not enough rooms, so there will be two people in each room”. Felix looks at you, “Wanna share a room?”, “Yeah sure”, you say as he helps you with your bags.

“Woah this room is bigger than my living room”, you say as Felix chuckles. You lay on the bed, “So soft, I’m exhausted, that trip took like 3 hours”, you sigh, “Y/n let’s go downstairs we need to help Vienn decorate”, Felix says as you pout and close your eyes, “Come on, Im so tired”, you say as Felix picks you up in a bridal style. Felix goes downstairs while carrying you. Your friends look at you and Felix, one shouts “wooo just get married already”.

You and Felix were always shipped and teased by your friends, they titled both of you “Friends with benefits”, you both can’t even complain about it because it was kinda true.

Few hours later

You guys went to go swimming, Felix couldn’t take his eyes of you, your bikini was a bit sheer, so your nipples was kinda see through, your round breasts, your ass, all Felix could think about was grabbing your breasts and squeezing it, mark every part of your body, and fuck you right there, right now.

Vienn called all of you to drink, all of you went to the table near the pool, you helped Vienn get the beer from the fridge. "I have to go to the bathroom to uhh... pee", Felix says as he runs to the bathroom, but the truth is he's not actually gonna pee, he's gonna take care of his boner.

Felix goes in the bathroom and quickly took off his swimming trunks, sat down the toilet, started stroking his cock, he took out his phone and looked at your picture while masturbating, this wasn’t his first time doing this, he does it so much he lost count. He strokes his dick faster, moaning out your name. He finally cums, he grabs a napkin to wipe himself.

He goes back to the table “Where did you go?”, “I uhh just took care of something”.

Few hours later

Everyone is drunk except you and Felix, Vienn helps the others go back to their rooms, some of them are crying some of them were really tipsy, bumping into so many things.

“Wanna go for a swim?”, he says while you take off your towel that is wrapped around you, he takes your hand, guiding you towards the pool.

“Woah the water is really cold”, you say while caressing both of your arms. Both of you lean against the wall, “The stars are so pretty… like you”, you look at him “Can I kiss you?” he says as you smile at him, “Are you drunk?”, “Nah… Im just inlove”, you chuckled, you suddenly smash your lips on his, he takes both of your legs and carries you, he goes down to your neck, sucking it, leaving a mark. You moan as he slowly unties the strings of your bikini, “Am I the only one whos gonna be naked here?”, you say in between the kiss, he takes off his trunks. He puts two fingers inside your cunt, making it go in and out of you, “Lixxie… please…”, “Please what?”, “Pleasee fuck mee”, he takes out his fingers, without a warning he goes inside your wet cunt. He starts out slowly, “Please… Lixxie… faster… harder”, you say while whimpering. He goes faster, hitting your g-spot everytime. “Shit… Im so close… Fuckk…Y/n”, he starts to kiss you roughly, theres nothing you can do but moan and cry out loud. “Gonna…cuum”, “Lixxie, please fill me up”, he cums inside you, making sure every drop of it is deep inside. Both of you are panting heavily and really sweaty, “Round two?”, he says while tucking a strand of your hair at the back of your ear, “Our room”.

Both of you get out the water still naked, leaving your bikini and his trunks, he carries and kisses you while going upstairs, “Lixxie that tickles”, you giggle.

He lays you on the bed and kisses you, going down to your neck, licking it. “They might here us though…”, “They’re drunk anyways, they won’t know”.

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physalian · 1 day

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“Endings are the hardest!” / “No, beginnings are the worst!”

I’ve never had a problem figuring out the way I want my stories to end but starting them? Yeash, that’s so much pressure. Both carry the same weight for different reasons while you have writers in both camps with legitimate arguments. One may be harder than the other on a writer-by-writer basis, but they are equally daunting.

—

So. Beginnings:

You have sometimes as little as three sentences to hook readers, at most the first chapter. I don’t even give fanfic more than the opening line sometimes (mostly because fanfic takes opening en media res to wild new heights). I’ve been working on a system of “I have one sentence to give you the setting, the protagonist, and the hook that makes this book different, go” and while it might not be perfect, it’s a starting point.

For example! The opening sentence to ENNS is:

Beneath the snowdrift of the longest blizzard Elias has ever endured, the last vampire in the dungeons has finally succeeded in taking their own life.

As someone who struggles with beginnings, I have given you five pieces of information in 25 words:

The setting, that concerns long and repeat blizzards and snow

Protagonist’s name

Establishing the existence of vampires

Establishing that those vampires are kept in dungeons

Establishing that those presumed prisoners are in such bad conditions, that they’re restoring to suicide, something vampires don’t tend to do

I think I did a pretty good job.

So much of the burden of your book is given to so few words. You can’t make it cliché, but try too hard to be unique and you risk looking pretentious. You have to establish the setting, the narrator, the initial setup and inciting incident and convince readers to pick your book out of hundreds of thousands of other options. I hate beginnings.

Best advice among an avalanche of others? Write a placeholder and come back later if it’s too daunting and frustrating because there is no writing advice that is one size fits all.

It’s entirely dependent on your genre, your demographic, the age of your protagonist and how self-aware they are, the tone of your story, your own personal writing style.

“First sentences should include THIS!”

Yeah, okay, but what if I have a better idea? Beyond that your sentence should have a hook that sets your book up as something apart from its genre neighbors, just go look at the most famous opening lines. They’re all different.

There is nothing in common between

Call me Ishmael.

and

It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of light, it was the season of darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair.

And that’s the point.

—

Endings though?

Endings bear the burden of providing catharsis, or robbing you of it. Endings have to answer ‘but what does it all mean?’ and stick the landing, or they don’t. Endings can turn a TV show that took the world by storm for four magnificent seasons and drag it limping across the finish line in a finale that sucks the life out of the fandom forever.

Endings either leave you in an existential lurch staring at the ceiling, or in tears of joy or anguish, or frothing at the mouth at yet another cliffhanger. If you can’t answer ‘what does it all mean’ you have bigger problems than just your final lines.

People don’t have fan theories about your first page, they have fan theories about what comes after your last page. There are no rules to writing an ending and sometimes by its nature of being unfulfilling you become infamous.

Example: The ending of Mark of Athena, that prompted this dedication in its sequel House of Hades.

“We’re staying together,” he promised. “You’re not getting away from me. Never again.” Only then did she understand what would happen. A one-way trip. A very hard fall. “As long as we’re together,” she said. She heard Nico and Hazel still screaming for help. She saw the sunlight far, far above—maybe the last sunlight she would ever see. Then Percy let go of his tiny ledge, and together, holding hands, he and Annabeth fell into the endless darkness.

(one short Leo POV later)

Nemesis wanted him to wreak vengeance on Gaea? Leo would be happy to oblige. He was going to make Gaea sorry she had ever messed with Leo Valdez. “Yeah.” He took one last look at the cityscape of Rome, turning bloodred in the sunset. “Festus, raise the sails. We’ve got some friends to save.”

If you weren’t in this fandom when this book came out and ended with the protagonist falling into Greek Super Hell, to wait a whole year to find out what happens next—We lost our collective minds.

And then the next book opened like this:

Gettin’ a bit big for your britches there, ey, Riordan?

How you write your ending should reflect the kind of feeling you want to leave your reader with. In this case, it was anguish and despair and the pinnacle of “always leave them wanting more”. Maybe you’ve written a character who’s suffered constant setbacks to reaching their goal, and the final line is them at peace with, or without achieving it. Or it’s the final plot twist/reveal no one saw coming. Or it’s ambiguous, leaving it up to reader interpretation.

My favorite classical book ending comes from The Great Gatsby and while I had to crack open my copies of the PJO books, I know this line by heart:

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

There’s just something so melancholy and tragic about it, as it should be: Gatsby is not a happy story. That line is the answer to the thesis, that trying to live in the past and not embrace the future, not allowing yourself to move on, can only end in tragedy, and yet, so many of us do exactly that.

The image of a dinky little rowboat is always what I’ve pictured, as opposed to a ship or something more formidable. A rowboat bobbing around the thrashing waves, pitted against a force of nature it can’t ever hope to overcome, yet it endures.

The book opens on an equally melancholy note, “In my younger years…” as the protagonist reflects back on their life gone by. It’s an American classic for a reason.

Even if your final line is unspectacular, the line isn’t as important as how the narrator feels about the book being over. Quotable hashtags are great, but if the ending doesn’t feel like a proper fit, you’re going to leave readers disappointed.

—

Endings are so fricken fun though, no matter what’s at stake. It’s as cathartic for me to finish as I hope it is for the reader to read. There’s plenty of advice out there on the perfect opener or the perfect closer, the endless arguments over which is harder, and it’s all up to you in the end. They just come easy to me, I have no advice. I can picture them well before I get to the final pages and they just click into place. Beginnings, though? Ugh.

—

Thank you for 300 Followers!!!

#writing advice #writing resources #writing tips #writing tools #writing a book #writing #writeblr #beginnings #endings #starting a book

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sharpth1ng · 2 days

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I need to blow up Mr. Hank Loomis so bad. I'm ripping him to shreds with my mind. I don't like when people say Maureen is the reason Scream happened because it's HANK'S fault. fuck that guy

Yeah honestly the Maureen blaming feels like some unexamined misogyny. They were both cheating. Maureen is the only one that dies because of it.

Also like. Neither Maureen nor Hank is the reason scream happened. It’s either Billy and Stu or Roman depending on how you see it. No one forced them to do that. They chose to react to Hank and Maureen’s infidelity with murder. “My girlfriends mommy is a homewrecker” is not a defence that’s going to hold up in court.

Beyond that Maureen’s only crime is cheating, and in both fanon and canon Billy is also guilty of that (it’s either Stu or Christina). Like if you’re going to hate Maureen for cheating then it feels a bit hypocritical not to hate Billy for the same.

Idk from what we know I think I would have liked Maureen more than Hank as well. Sid seems to have had a positive relationship with her but Billy seems to want nothing to do with Hank.

Maureen was also a scream queen when she was younger like, that’s rad? The titles we get for the movies she was in make them sound like some pretty wild B-movies: Amazombies, Space Psychos and Creatures from the San Andreas Fall. These sound like movies Stu would LOVE.

I also just have some sympathy for Maureen with her past, so much of her backstory is defined by brutal sexual coercion and assault from the time she was 18. Cheating is obviously not good, but also like, she got together with Neil at the age of 21. Prior to that it seems like her experiences were mostly not consensual.

It was the early 70s, I can’t imagine that she felt like she had a lot of choices. The idea that she would have consensual affairs later in life is unfortunate but also not surprising. I think a lot of people who get married young can end up having this realization later in life that they want to experience things they haven’t, and those are the kinds of things you can regret on your deathbed.

As far as we know she’s a stay at home mom, she has no ability to support herself without Neil. From her perspective the options were probably: get a divorce, split up her family, make herself financially destitute, and have a chance to experience the things that were robbed from her when she was younger, OR stay with Neil and die eventually wondering what she missed out on, OR have an affair and hopefully keep her family together.

So yeah. Cheating? Not good, not excusable. But also relatively understandable in my opinion.

And yeah in terms of Hank we don’t know the most about him from canon, but we know how Billy reacts to him, and we know how Billy and Nancy both are: they’re sexist slut-shamers. Like, Nancy blaming Sid for what Billy did? You can hate Sidney but come on, you can’t argue that his actions were actually justified. All of this tells me that Hank’s views are probably in line with Nancy and Billy’s. Billy had to learn it somewhere right? Misogyny isn’t genetic.

So yeah that’s my monologue. Tldr: hate Maureen if you want, that’s fine, but blaming the Scream murders on her doesn’t make much sense. If you need a villain Hank is right there, and either way the real villains are Billy and Stu.

You can still like them even if they suck, I promise, they’re fictional characters. You don’t need to shift the blame for their actions onto other characters to justify liking them.

#maureen prescott #hank loomis #billy and stu #scream movies #tw sa mention #tw sa #ask

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eldritch-spouse · 1 day

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I want to know how many monsters spend their paychecks at Gallon's bar crying because they developed feelings for Santi 💀

" I just... He's so amazing man. I don't even know why I'm crying, I don't deserve him. "

The latest sad sap cries onto his precious counter. Gallon circumvents them to give Fasma a shot of plain whiskey.

" You really don't. " He mumbles.

" H- Huh? "

" Nothing. Say champ, why not have another night with the hunk if you like him so much? " The bartender tilts his head, trying to cheer up the loser, or get them off his metaphorical nuts.

The monster sniffles, looking into the distance, where none other than the incubus is seen on his knees, hands on his thighs and tongue out as he apparently waits for a woman to squirt in his mouth while her hammered friends cheer her on. Gallon follows their gaze. Yeah, seems like a standard night for the resident manwhore.

" Just look at him, so radiant, so perfect. I don't want sex, dude- I want to love him! "

Fasma grimaces, definitely not because of the alcohol. He's seen Santi effortlessly do some of the dirtiest shit he could ever imagine, the thought of kissing those lips could send the old geezer into an early grave.

Gallon continues to work. " Oh boy. " He hopes this one makes a scene. It's a bit fun when they break down and throw a tantrum because the incubus won't give them the light of day unless they're putting out.

The depressed sod sniffles. " Do you think I have a chance? I... I have his phone number. "

Everyone and their mother has Santi's phone number. Maybe their father too.

Gallon grins creepily wide. " Suuure buddy, give it an honest shot. The worst he can say is no, right? " Fasma wordlessly shakes his head in disapproval of the slime's cruelty.

His client starts clumsily tip-tapping at their phone, likely typing something extensive and heartfelt, and now Gallon has to admit he's invested. If only because he knows how it'll end, and he likes to see the light fade from a hopeless romantic's eyes.

A phone eventually pings on the opposite corner of the counter, Santi's. It prompts the incubus to come over, still sucking the cuntjuice out of his fingers, some coating his chin. He doesn't bother to look around as he unlocks his device and squints at the notification. Gallon, Fasma and the client are eerily silent while he opens the text.

The incubus reads about the first three lines, frowns, then looks up. " Gallon, are you busy? "

" Uhh... Not any more than usual, why? "

The phone is slid his way. " Write me a rejection message here, please. I don't want this one coming back. "

And just like that, he turns back around, likely to see if any of the other girls can play with him too.

Gallon has to contain a maddening bark of laughter that is slowly turning him orange. He didn't even recognize the mess of a monster looking so hopefully at him from just across the counter. Oh that has got to sting!

He absolutely loses his cool and has to muffle his cackling when the monster in question wails brokenly and buries their head in their arms, sobbing like a dejected baby.

Fasma pats their back twice. They need that whiskey more than him.

#Gallon oc #Santi oc #Fasma oc #tce rp ask #pov: Santi rejects you

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kwonzoshi · 2 days

Text

I had this idea, and I HAD to dot it. It may not be good, but yeah here is a blurb of an AU:

Simon sighed, staring at his phone. He probably should’ve blocked Wilhelm by now but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. He stared at the texts they shared, and as usual, an ache built in his chest. Simon didn’t know why he even replied, all it did was make things worse.

Simon didn’t even know how to respond to the last text, so he didn’t. He put his phone down on his bed, rubbing his hands over his face. He laid there for a moment, hands still covering his face as he replayed the messages in his head. There was a soft knock on his door. He lowered his hands and glanced over at his sister, Sara.

��You okay?” she asked, quietly entering his room and plopping down on his bed next to him.

Simon sighed, “I honestly don’t know,” he said, sitting up and laying his head on her shoulder. “I keep re-reading our messages and I hate it but what he’s saying makes sense. It just sucks that I’m the only one dealing with any consequences.” Sara laid her head on top of his, taking in a deep breath as she listened, “He hurt you, Simon. That hurt doesn’t disappear just because he has a duty to the crown. Whatever you choose to do, I’ll support you but it’s also okay if you just do nothing. It’s your choice.” She placed her hand on her brother’s knee, gently giving it a pat.

“He told me he loved me,” Simon confessed, lifting his head and turning to look at her, “before he left, and all I said was ‘I hope you have a nice Christmas’. Who does that?” He groaned, covering his face again.

“Really?” Sara asked, brows furrowing. “Do you think he really does?”

“I don’t know…” he sat back up, locking eyes with her. “I feel like if he did he wouldn’t have made the statement and left me to handle it all alone. I mean people still stare at me when I go to the grocery store.”

“You think you’ll ever be able to forgive him?” She asked.

Simon shrugged, biting the inside of his lip. He really didn’t know and he wasn’t going to figure it out today. “Wanna go bother mom? See if she’ll make us some cookies or something?” Sara nodded, smiling as she stood, reaching out a hand. “Maybe we can convince her to make tres leches?” She wiggled her eyebrows. Simon laughed, taking her hand and following her out of his room, putting the whole thing in the back of his mind.

Several days later:

Wilhelm’s POV:

Wilhelm laid in his bed as he stared at the last message he sent, which Simon didn’t grace with a response. He’d been going back and forth on what to do. All he wanted was to be with Simon, but he fucked up. He did the one thing he told Simon he wouldn’t do and he regretted it as soon as he did it. He ran his hand through his hair in frustration, switching to the photos app and looking at the few photos he had of them. He broke the trust they had and that was going to be hard to fix, but he needed to do something.

He ranted to Felice about this whole situation and while her advice was solid, he was still scared. His brother died tragically and now his family felt it was stuck with him as the crown prince. Any mistake he made, big or small, put him in deeper and deeper shit with the royal court. He was under the microscope even more than before. No matter what he did, he was never going to be seen as suited for this role, he was never going to be Erik, so why should he let them ruin the one thing that’s ever made him happy in his entire life?

Meeting and loving Simon was life-changing, and losing him because of something he was forced to do, was devastating in ways he couldn’t put into words. Felice told him to follow his heart, and his heart was Simon’s, there was no question about it. He stared at his favorite photo of them, caressing the phone. At that moment, the decision was made, he sat up and opened Instagram. He began typing without giving it a second thought. Once finished, and posted, he stared at the post for a few moments before sending Simon a message.

Simon’s POV:

Simon made his way onto the bus, showing the driver his pass before making his way to a seat in the back. He was listening to music to drown out the chatter and city noise, when his phone vibrated. He glanced at the notification, his heart racing as he saw that it was from Wille. He took a deep breath, opening it.

His brows furrowed in confusion as he switched to instagram, clicking Wilhelm’s profile. His eyes narrowed slightly as he saw the most recent photo, clicking it. His jaw dropped and his eyes widened in shock.

His eyes filled with tears as he read that caption and after a few moments, he responded to the post with the three words he wished he’d said before Christmas break. He stared at the post in disbelief a moment longer. He… confessed..Simon thought as the tears cascaded down his face. He switched back to his messaging app:

Simon stared out the window and wiped his tears away, a giant smile on his face. He didn’t know what would happen next but at least he could trust that Wilhelm was going to be right beside him through it all.

He didn’t have a single doubt about it.

(Part 1 of ??)

#kwonzoshi #kwonzoshi writes #young royals #young royals fanfic #yr #young royals AU #wilmon #wilmon fic #prince wilhelm #simon eriksson

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