#me writing literally anything

[inkskinned]

the thing about art is that it was always supposed to be about us, about the human-ness of us, the impossible and beautiful reality that we (for centuries) have stood still, transfixed by music. that we can close our eyes and cry about the same book passage; the events of which aren't real and never happened. theatre in shakespeare's time was as real as it is now; we all laugh at the same cue (pursued by bear), separated hundreds of years apart.

three years ago my housemates were jamming outdoors, just messing around with their instruments, mostly just making noise. our neighbors - shy, cautious, a little sheepish - sat down and started playing. i don't really know how it happened; i was somehow in charge of dancing, barefoot and laughing - but i looked up, and our yard was full of people. kids stacked on the shoulders of parents. old couples holding hands. someone had brought sidewalk chalk; our front walk became a riot of color. someone ran in with a flute and played the most astounding solo i've ever heard in my life, upright and wiggling, skipping as she did so. she only paused because the violin player was kicking his heels up and she was laughing too hard to continue.

two weeks ago my friend and i met in the basement of her apartment complex so she could work out a piece of choreography. we have a language barrier - i'm not as good at ASL as i'd like to be (i'm still learning!) so we communicate mostly through the notes app and this strange secret language of dancers - we have the same movement vocabulary. the two of us cracking jokes at each other, giggling. there were kids in the basement too, who had been playing soccer until we took up the far corner of the room. one by one they made their slow way over like feral cats - they laid down, belly-flat against the floor, just watching. my friend and i were not in tutus - we were in slouchy shirts and leggings and socks. nothing fancy. but when i asked the kids would you like to dance too? they were immediately on their feet and spinning. i love when people dance with abandon, the wild and leggy fervor of childhood. i think it is gorgeous.

their adults showed up eventually, and a few of them said hey, let's not bother the nice ladies. but they weren't bothering us, they were just having fun - so. a few of the adults started dancing awkwardly along, and then most of the adults. someone brought down a better sound system. someone opened a watermelon and started handing out slices. it was 8 PM on a tuesday and nothing about that day was particularly special; we might as well party.

one time i hosted a free "paint along party" and about 20 adults worked quietly while i taught them how to paint nessie. one time i taught community dance classes and so many people showed up we had to move the whole thing outside. we used chairs and coatracks to balance. one time i showed up to a random band playing in a random location, and the whole thing got packed so quickly we had to open every door and window in the place.

i don't think i can tell you how much people want to be making art and engaging with art. they want to, desperately. so many people would be stunning artists, but they are lied to and told from a very young age that art only matters if it is planned, purposeful, beautiful. that if you have an idea, you need to be able to express it perfectly. this is not true. you don't get only 1 chance to communicate. you can spend a lifetime trying to display exactly 1 thing you can never quite language. you can just express the "!!??!!!"-ing-ness of being alive; that is something none of us really have a full grasp on creating. and even when we can't make what we want - god, it feels fucking good to try. and even just enjoying other artists - art inherently rewards the act of participating.

i wasn't raised wealthy. whenever i make a post about art, someone inevitably says something along the lines of well some of us aren't that lucky. i am not lucky; i am dedicated. i have a chronic condition, my hands are constantly in pain. i am not neurotypical, nor was i raised safe. i worked 5-7 jobs while some of these memories happened. i chose art because it mattered to me more than anything on this fucking planet - i would work 80 hours a week just so i could afford to write in 3 of them.

and i am still telling you - if you are called to make art, you are called to the part of you that is human. you do not have to be good at it. you do not have to have enormous amounts of privilege. you can just... give yourself permission. you can just say i'm going to make something now and then - go out and make it. raquel it won't be good though that is okay, i don't make good things every time either. besides. who decides what good even is?

you weren't called to make something because you wanted it to be good, you were called to make something because it is a basic instinct. you were taught to judge its worth and over-value perfection. you are doing something impossible. a god's ability: from nothing springs creation.

a few months ago i found a piece of sidewalk chalk and started drawing. within an hour i had somehow collected a small classroom of young children. their adults often brought their own chalk. i looked up and about fifteen families had joined me from around the block. we drew scrangly unicorns and messed up flowers and one girl asked me to draw charizard. i am not good at drawing. i basically drew an orb with wings. you would have thought i drew her the mona lisa. she dragged her mother over and pointed and said look! look what she drew for me and, in the moment, i admit i flinched (sorry, i don't -). but the mother just grinned at me. he's beautiful. and then she sat down and started drawing.

someone took a picture of it. it was in the local newspaper. the summary underneath said joyful and spontaneous artwork from local artists springs up in public gallery. in the picture, a little girl covered in chalk dust has her head thrown back, delighted. laughing.

#writeblr #warm up #this is longer than i wanted i really considered removing that part about myself and what i went thru #but i think it really fucking bothers me that EVERY time i talk about being an artist #ppl assume i just like. had the skill and ability to drop everything and pay for grad school. #like sir i grew up poor. my house wasn't a safe space. i gave up a FREE RIDE TO LAW SCHOOL. for THIS. bc i chose it. #was it fucking hard? was i choosing the hard thing?? yes. #but we need to stop seeing artists as lazy layabouts that can ''afford'' to just ''sit around and create'' #when MANY - if not MOST - of us are NOT like that. we have to work our fucking ASSES off. hard work. long and hard work #part of valuing artists is recognizing the amount we sacrifice to make our art. bc it doesn't just #like HAPPEN to us. also btw it rarely has anything to do with true talent. #speaking as someone with a chronic condition i hate when ppl are like u have it easy. like actively as i'm writing this my hands r #ACTIVELY hurting me. i haven't been posting bc my left hand was curled in a claw for the last week #this isn't fucking luck. after a certain point it's not even TALENT. it's dedication & sacrifice. #''u get to flounce around and do nothing with ur life'' is a narrative that is a direct result of capitalism #imagine if we said that about literally any other profession. #''oh so u give up 10 yrs of ur life to be a doctor? u sacrifice having a social life and u get SUPER in debt? #u need to work countless hours and it will often be thankless? well i wish i was that lucky'' #we should be applying that logic to landlords ONLY #''oh ur mom and dad gave u the money to buy a house? and all u did was paint it white and rent it? huh.''

[mumblesplash]

in honor of last season’s poem being called “”end poem”” (all quotes mandatory) this season i made one out of pieces of the actual end poem

#letting me just download the minecraft font? for free? a mistake #if you or a loved one have been suffering from RED TEXT you may be entitled to compensation #my art #god at this point i really do need a writing tag don’t i #<- will continue not addressing this #secret life #goodtimeswithscar #grian #secret life spoilers #sorry tumblr user livvi3love for not making one with all the deaths again #if you (or anyone) did want to illustrate this one as well you’re more than welcome to but i am not expecting anything #i can do an explainer thing again like i did last time but that is for tomorrow #right now i am just. very tired #but for now i will confirm yes the colors Matter #i literally made this on accident against my will #i was trying to DRAW

[moongothic]

Crocodad AU where immidiately after having left Dragon and his baby boy Crocodile finds an 11 year old Robin. And while he's 100% only recruiting her so they can make a beeline for the Poneglyph and Pluton in Alabasta by the two of them... Crocodile accidentally sorta kinda adopts Robin.

At this point Robin's been running for her life from the Government for three years so her deep trust issues and fear of betrayal are starting to take root in her little heart. Like perhaps they haven't taken fully over yet, and being still a child I'm sure Robin might've still had that genuine hope that she could find a safe place to stay in. But I'm sure the though of "what'll he'll do with me once he gets what he wants?" would be nagging at her at the back of her mind. Meanwhile Crocodile's struggling between the pain and hurt he's already gone through and given him his trademark trust issues, as well as the aftermath of The Dragodile Divorce. But he also has his Fresh Paternal Instincts and probably misses his baby. So when given a small, scared child who is running for her life, being chased by the very same Government that'll want his son dead if they ever find out about him... Yeah that might fuck with your brain a little

You know this post was supposed to be just that first paragraph and just a few footnotes from the following two paragraphs. And then I kept on Having Thoughts. And I kept on writing them down. And oh no what happened when did this post get so long (Look I was going to either kept on writing my Additional Thoughts in the tags or I just put them in the actual fucking post)

Like considder this: based on this one SBS, we can kinda tell that if Crocodile was given a chance to raise a child, that child would be a spoiled little shit, right

So in this scenario, where Crocodile's looking after lil Robin, would he be kind of torn? Unsure how to feel about her?

Because on one hand, this strange child would have the potential to not only ruin his plans, strip him of his Shichibukai Privileges by outing him and his plans to the World Government, but also put his son in grave danger by extension (if she found out about him having been involved with the Revolutionaries and/or having a child). But on the other hand, his paternal instincts could make him want to spoil this poor little girl rotten. But only because he needs to (perhaps literally) buy her trust so she'll behave. No other reason, he doesn't feel sorry for her one bit, no sirree. (But maybe he did feel sorry for her, since his son could very well end up exactly like her. Poor little thing) (Which is why he needs to nuke Marijoa out of orbit as soon as possible, no matter the cost, and this child can't get in the way of Crocodile protecting his son) (But also this is a child. Like how bad could she be. Besides all he really needs to do to win her trust is be nice and make her feel safe, right?)

Of course, while I'm suggesting Crocodile could have some parental instincts, realistically, he hasn't actually spent any time being, you know, a father to a child (looking after his newborn for an unknown though short amount of time aside), so it's possible he wouldn't even know how to parent Robin even if he wanted to, would he? (Like taking care of a newborn and an 11 year old kid aren't the same either) So if he was kind of just emotionally flipflopping between No Trusting Ever and It's Just A Kid for God's Sake, Crocodile trying to be nice to Robin to make her feel safe and then telling himself to stop being so soft and vunerable... Yeah that would make for an absolute mess of a relationship. (Not to mention, let's be real, dude's a scary motherfucker too, and a bloody giant compared to itty bitty baby Robin. He could keep on accidentally scaring the shit out of Robin (who would be On Fucking Edge To Begin With) by just Being Himself. Like for example, can you fucking imagine if he caught Robin trying to cheer herself up with a little "dereshishishi" only to tell her to stop because "it was stupid"? 'Cause I can imagine him doing that, and boy howdy would that make Robin feel bad)

Or who knows, maybe Crocodile was just Born To Be A Dad, maybe he just Fucking Gets It. Like Crocodile is canonically pretty good at manipulating people to do what he wants them to do (see: how he played Vivi like a fiddle), so knowing Robin's position and understanding how she feels, maybe he COULD completely nail how she needed to be treated. Not being too familiar but still making her feel safe and happy, knowing exactly when to be stern and when to spoil her, etc. Dude just goes off and wins the Dad of the Year Award while being a deadbeat dad himself. The only thing Crocodile would have to worry about then would be making sure HE doesn't get too fond of her. And certainly that could never happen, he's so in-touch with his own feelings and so grounded, he's not a softie, get outta here. Or maybe he does but never realizes until it's too late and good luck backpedalling on those emotions now dumbass

Alright so, the reason I went on that whole rmble is just that like. I'm so interested in the relationship Robin and Crocodile already have in canon. I'm so facinated and curious about how the two feel about each other, considdering they did spend 4 whole years of their lives together as criminal business partners, though neither ever trusted the other. A partnership that was only ended because Robin betrayed Crocodile, out of her own trauma. (God, I want to see these two "reunite" so bad, I want to know how they feel about each other now after the timeskip and Robin joining the idiot in flipflops who foiled Croc's plans)

My question here is just that... if they had met 13 years earlier, would things have been different? Especially if Crocodad Real? Because as I mentioned in the begining, Robin would've been on the run for only 3 years by this point, as opposed to 16 years before running into Crocodile. Simultaneously, this would be before Crocodile went onto spend an entire decade all alone, slowly losing his marbles in his emotional solitude. They'd both be emotionally traumatized, yes, but would it have been as bad in this scenario? Like I did start this post kind of joking about Crocodile adopting Robin, and for clarity's sake I don't think they'd have like a father-daughter relationship nececarily. But it would be a strange relationship still, because we'd have two broken people, both struggling to trust anyone. One who had lost her mother and her only friends, leaving her all alone and afraid while running for her life. The other a father who had just given up his son whom he probably missed dearly. Both having these holes in their hearts from loss of family, holes that could not be filled with replacements. But could they find comfort in each other anyway, because they still as people occupy similar roles to their respective loved ones? If they both could just get over those trust issues?

Okay I've been going off on the Emotional Side Of Things for this AU Concept, THERE'S PLOT TOO

So if Crocodile did pick Robin up like 19 years ago, that should be before he set up base in Alabasta, long before he had built is homebase and financial empire etc.

Now the thing is, while we don't know when, where and how Crocodile learned about the Ancient Weapons, Pluton specifically and how the lead on it would be in Alabasta... Considdering Crocodile did once upon a time aim to become Pirate King, it would make perfect sense if he had learned about Poneglyphs during his past adventures, as he would have needed to get the Road Poneglyphs to find One Piece. And while the World Government did bury the truth about why Ohara had been burned down and why Robin had been given her bounty (remember, the WG claimed it was because she had sunken a fleet of battleships, which she had not, it was because she could read the Poneglyphs), considdering this is a Crocodad AU specifically, you could totally make an argument Crocodile could've learned about what actually happened to Ohara from Dragon and co. So, just to make this AU work, you could just assume Crocodile learned about the concept of the Ancient Weapons from Dragon. And who knows, maybe he overheard the truth about why Robin had been given her bounty from Dragon too (maybe Dragon was able to get intel from Garp in secret) or while going to Marijoa himself to attend a Shichibukai meeting or something IDK.

Maybe he learned about Pluton being in Alabasta before finding Robin by accident, and maybe they made a beeline for Alabasta the second Croc recruited Robin. Travelling takes time and the guy would've most likely had to find an Eternal Pose to Alabasta just to get there (also canonically Robin didn't enter the Grand Line until her 20s so they should've met in West Blue probably, since that's where Ohara was) Or maybe Crocodile had to haul Robin around for a few months while looking for That Missing Piece of Information that would lead him to Alabasta. (Imagine the two travelling from like island to island, library to library, Crocodile trying to find that leads while Robin's just so excited about ALL THESE BOOKS (she's helping too with the research) (but to her, research is playtime, so she's just having the time of her life) (Also, notice how Crocodile's Theoretical Child is a fucking loser ass nerd? Yeah Crocodile would encourage Robin reading and studying, surely. And that would be fucking cute))

But like, once they set sail to Alabasta...

Sure, Crocodile could try to do it The Slow Way that we know he tried in canon, building trust and creating his little empire etc. But also, in canon, Crocodile couldn't have jumped into action head first because without Robin, even if he had found the Poneglyph he couldn't have read it and found the location of Pluton. Crocodile choosing to do it the slow way may have been partially because he didn't have much of a choise and it could've felt like the smarter move long-term.

But in this scenario, he already has Robin. Yes, he could do it the slow, secure way.

But what'd be there stopping him from infiltrating Cobra's palace and kidnapping him (in the night, when nobody suspects a thing), demanding Cobra to spill the beans lest Crocodile kills him and/or his pregnant wife* (*Vivi was born 10 months after Luffy so depending on how long it's been between Crocodad leaving Luffy behind and this scenario... Yeah either the wife is there, still pregnant, or there's a newborn Baby Vivi)

Like it'd be a risky move but depending on how ballsy Croc's feeling and how confident he feels in being able to kidnap the king without being noticed... Yeah he could probably do it. And I'm sure he'd have no problem killing Cobra either, if anything it'd be required if he didn't want the Government to find out he was out to find Pluton, and god knows Cobra would tell on Crocodile if left alive. I could see Crocodad being maybe a little iffy about killing Baby Vivi though (it's not like the newborn baby could report him to the WG anyways), but if nothing else, he just needs to be able to pull off the bluff of his life to convince Cobra to do as he's told. And we all know Crocodile's good at convincing people.

The only question is, how would Robin take that?

Watching Crocodile go into Full Murder Mode, hearing him say he'd kill a pregnant woman/a newborn baby if he didn't get what he wanted? Like yeah, I'm sure 11 year old Robin would be fine with that, that wouldn't make any alarm bells go off in her head at all, it'd be fiiiine. IT WOULD NOT BE FINE, SHE'D BE SCARED SHITLESS. That fear of "what will he do with me when he gets what he wants"? Well, Robin may not have found the answer to that question in particular, but she certainly found the answer to the opposite question, and it's not good

So say Cobra, kidnapped (perhaps with Baby Vivi) by Crocodile in the night, guides the two to the Poneglyph under the tombs. Crocodile puts Cobra out of his misery because he's not needed anymore. And he asks Robin to read the Poneglyph for him.

Robin, who has spent the last little while, be it weeks or months with Crocodile, him having become her "guardian", the thing keeping her safe. Crocodile, who has now shown how cold blooded and cruel he can be. Robin, who might be scared out of her mind. Of him.

And the Poneglyph says Pluton, the thing Crocodile wants, isn't there. It's in Wano.

What's she going to do?

EDIT: I wrote a sequel post, enjoy

#Moon posting #OP Meta #Sir Crocodile #Crocodad #Nico Robin #THIS POST WAS AN ACCIDENT. I DON'T KNOW HOW THIS HAPPENED. WHY DID I WRITE THIS. WHAT DEMON POSSESSED ME #I'm sure someone's written this already right #Right #Surely this fanfic already exists #Please tell me it exists #I dunno what to tell you I am not immune to a Juicy AU #Anyway on a more wholesome side of things: Robin accidentally calling Crocodile ''dad'' and he just inhales and swallows his whole cigar #Nearly chockes to death. Gets burns on his throat. #Robin feeling less alienated because of her DF ability because Croc has seen weirder AND is made of sand himself #If anything if they're literally by themselves then Robin being able to literally lend a hand to Croc at any time could be extremely useful #Like. In regular life situations. 'Cause Croc only has one hand. And Robin as many as she wants. Perfect duo. #(Also if they were travelling on like a small ship then it'd probably be built for a Tall Motherfucker like Croc right) #(Robin's ability would just make the ship more accessible to her and Croc would find that independence good) #Robin still gets a codename because Croc can't have anyone realize who she is. Maybe she even wears like a mask or summin' in public #If Crocodile's openly trans and the news of him transitioning recently broke out. Like. No avoiding that convo eh #Baby Robin's like ''...I read in a book once that some reptiles can change sex but I didn't know crocodiles could do it too'' #''💦.../Humans/ can't do that normally either'' #''Hmmmm. Weird. I don't think being a girl would suit you though'' // ''...I'll take that as a compliment'' #I just. I think they could have really cute interactions if they warmed up to each other after a little while #And I'm Extremely Normal about that

[iindigoeyed]

saw this dress and purse and i KNEW i had to draw this, it's so her!!

#ml #marinette dupain-cheng #miraculous ladybug #omg i post art not clickbait?? #Hmm dont think i added enough sparkles..... #i initially wanted it to look like a page from her sketchbook but i got render-happy #I was gonna add tikki but she didnt fit the color palette -_- #indigarts #marinette #forcing myself to draw/write because if i dont i will literally never finish anything #not exaggerating i have over 40 art & fic wips combined #and like... 4 aus in the works? #my hands cant keep up with my brain!!! #Yall bored during hiatus... not me. stay safe tho! #and not to mention that ive been so sick i cant hold a pen most of the time #ok i'll shut up now #edit was no one gonna tell me i put the hyphen in her name wrong.

[azul-marie]

— a touching of souls.

their kisses with you. fem. reader. suggestive. feat. bi-han, kuai, tomas, syzoth.

bi-han —

steady and sure, grabbing at your waist, wrapping a hand around your throat to keep you still as he indulges himself in your lips. although he is not the most affectionate man, bi-han has an exceptional fondness for kisses. perhaps it’s the breathless sounds you make, or the soft gasps in between his tongue — perhaps it is simply that he prefers you at his mercy, a pretty little thing caged beneath or within strong arms. typically at night, when the moon is high and all is silent, he allows himself to calm, to open before you and allow you to initiate. bi-han tends to lose himself in these moments all too easily, an annoyance at his expense. most times, without even trying, simple kisses from you lead to sleepless nights and sore bodies.

kuai liang —

ardent, unrestrained, grasping at hips and breasts and hair, unable to keep what little space remains between the two of you from heating up — figuratively, literally. his lin kuei ways may have taught him restraint, focus, but kuai’s hotheaded tendencies always get the best of him when it comes to you, only for you. his kisses trail like fire all across your body, his teeth leaving scorches in their wake, a tongue like that of flames licking at tender flesh until you melt like caramel in his hands. kuai is unrelentingly keen on smothering you with every bit of adoration he has; his lips alone are more than capable of proving it. you are a goddess worthy of worship, and he a devotee all too willing to bow down and serve, evermore shall his love burn for you.

tomas —

soft like daytime mist, cupping apples of cheeks, the tremble of fingers when his lips touch yours. he has little experience with romancing women, much less the gift of their kisses; you are his beginning, his end. it is precisely why tomas pecks, rather than lose himself to your lips, for a bashful nature keeps what eager will he has in check. his boyish charm only adds to the endearment, and often he finds you to be the one most content in initiating them. it’s a strange comfort, that you still pursue him despite his meeker approach to affection and love. assuring him that he is wanted sends his self-confidence soaring, and gradually does he ease into the idea of receiving and giving kisses on a more constant basis — privately, of course.

syzoth —

quick and light, flurries of kisses, all about your pretty face, your petalsoft lips, sometimes at those sensitive sweet spots across your décolletage if he’s feeling cheekier than usual. syzoth, fairly new to the concept of kissing with warm, wet mouths, tongue and teeth and all, hadn’t expected warm-blood affection to be so pleasant. he is cautious of physicality, having grown to live without its softer aspects for years prior to you, but kisses are easy, innocent enough to practice. you have made it this way for him, precious as you are. he kisses you hello, goodbye, as luck before either one of you leaves for calling duties, and simply when he feels like it, even if friends are around to witness and tease. he doesn’t mind them, as long as you don’t.

#mortal kombat 1 x reader #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat imagine #mortal kombat imagines #mk1 x reader #mk x reader #mk imagines #sub zero x reader #bi han x reader #scorpion x reader #kuai liang x reader #smoke x reader #tomas vrbada x reader #reptile x reader #syzoth x reader #mortal kombat #mortal kombat 1 #i literally have. SO MANY. so many ideas for the mk1 boys but i can’t seem to write anything cohesively for the life of me #i am physically only able to Think about them!!!!! i am in immense pain #i’d really love to make another part w/ the earthrealm crew + some select bad boys but at the rate i’m writing at . . . oof #i’m too deep into mk1 brainrot girls 😭

[julijbee]

girlbossing too close to the sun.

#art #ive literally just been treating this game as a library simuator #i walk from bookseller to bookseller opening up all of their books #vivecs sermons are either a highlight or the point at which i stop reading #ive been trying to convince the ordinators that imitation is the highest form of flattery but it hasnt been working #let me wear your helmets please theyre so funny.. #posting morrowind in 2024 isnt a cry for help but youre not wrong to be concerned. #morrowind #almalexia #vivec #im going to explain the chitin armor give me a moment #so the bonewalker nerevar on the shrines is adorable and it was only after drawing it however many times that i realized #it looked relatively close to a modified chitin armor #and so i modified chitin armor a few times and this was probably the cutest result #i also know i drew almalexia relatively pristine and untouched by years and vivec not so much but my thought process was #vivecs role as if not a favorite then the most accessible divine or the most “hands on” in a manner of speaking #acting in ways visible to the general population or actions explicitly brought to their attention #like not that almalexia isnt doing anything she is #but the dissemination of information regarding that is very different etc etc etc #anyways to a certain extent a god is the face on a shrine or in art or upon a statue or carving #but vivecs presence is interwoven with the geography of vvardenfell especially and his actions and writings with pubished materials #and the arts and culture and customs etc etc etc #so to me the face of a god you know and feel a commonality with or a god that walks alongside you is a face you would recognize #and vivec is already otherworldly looking enough #the simple mark of the years on his skin in some way grounding him in reality felt more right #that and i think the ways in which he and almalexia care about outward appearance are slightly different- they prioritize different things #and the ways they present outward power and their embodiment of their respective attributes share some similarities as they both have that #important preoccupation with physical power and physical strength to a certain degree #oh my god nobody read this i am yapping so bad. #tes

[lewiscarrolatemybrain]

The fact that werewolves are the absolute perfect allegory for feminine rage and being queer and trans and disabled but every goddamn werewolf movie is somehow the blandest cis straight white dude grimdark angst mcmanpain bullshit ever should be classified as some kind of hate crime

#writing #writeblr #werewolves #ginger snaps was good if you don't mind B Movies #but like. That's it #teenwolf was okay for the first couple seasons #but it wasn't revolutionary or anything #I literally can't think of a single other piece of werewolf media #that I actually enjoyed or resonated with #this post is actually a distress signal I think please rec me your best werewolf stuff

[delta-piscium]

Steddie | 1.7k words it is (swedish) midsummer so I wrote this based on my favorite old tradition because I can and will make anything steddie, so like glad midsommar (happy midsummer)

“What are you doing?” Steve asks as he follows Eddie to the hallway where he’s frantically putting on his shoes. 

“I almost forgot,” he mutters under his breath not acknowledging Steve at all.

“Forgot what?” 

“I can’t believe I almost forgot.” 

“Eddie,” Steve says a little louder, more adamant.

He does look up at Steve then and almost looks surprised to see him. As if he’d forgotten he was there, as if they haven’t been hanging out for hours. 

“Oh,” he says. “Uhm,” he squints at Steve who waits for him to continue, to explain. He doesn’t.

“Yes?” Steve implores because he would really like an explanation. Eddie had just abruptly stood up halfway through telling Steve about some folklore he’s using in his new campaign, just cut himself off mid-sentence and walked off. Steve doesn’t think it’s especially weird or demanding of him to have questions. 

“Did you have other plans that you just now remembered?” Steve frowns, starting to feel unsure when Eddie still isn’t saying anything. It’s just past eleven at night and Steve doesn’t know what plans those would be but he had showed up unannounced earlier in the evening so it’s not impossible that Eddie had plans that Steve interrupted. 

“No, no, no,” Eddie assures him finally breaking his silence, “it’s- okay it’s a little silly but I read this thing researching and I want to try it.” 

And well, okay then.

Steve raises his eyebrows and waves his hand gesturing for Eddie to go on. 

Eddie’s cheeks turn a light pink and he resolutely looks somewhere above Steve’s shoulder instead of at him. 

“Midsummer, which is today, is supposed to be this magical night and there are all these traditions and old myths about it.” 

Eddie glances at Steve and he smiles. Tries to show he’s listening and wants to know whatever thing Eddie read about. 

“And well, okay so there’s this one tradition where you pick seven different kinds of flowers before you go to bed and then put them under your pillow and you’re supposed to dream about who you’re gonna spend your life with.” 

Steve blinks, wasn’t expecting that and doesn’t know what to say about it, so, he blinks again. 

“Maybe it’s dumb, but with all we’ve seen magic and folklore don’t seem so far-fetched and,” he shrugs, “I wanna try. And like, it’s close to midnight and I don’t know if that’s a rule but I don’t wanna risk messing it up.”

“It- huh,” Steve frowns slightly and looks at his shoes then back at Eddie. “Yeah alright, let’s do it. Can’t hurt right?” 

His voice is light, like it’s not a big deal and just a fun thing Eddie read about because that’s what it is, isn’t it? But something about it settles deep in Steve’s gut. Makes it feel important in a way he’s not sure he could explain if he tried. Maybe it’s just the fact that Eddie is getting so worked up about the possibility of dreaming about the person he’s gonna spend his life with when Steve maybe a little bit wishes it would be him, but like, only a little. 

Eddie looks at him with wide eyes like he didn’t expect Steve to want to join, like maybe he expected Steve to make fun of him for wanting to do it. But then something seems to switch in him and a slow smile spreads over his face and he gives Steve an exaggerated once over. 

“Looking to find your true love huh, Harrington?” 

“I thought you said it was the person you spend your life with, not the same as true love necessarily.” Steve quips back because technicalities are easier to argue over than answering that question, especially when Eddie is the one asking.

Eddie shrugs. “Different sources say different things, sometimes it’s true love sometimes it’s who you marry.” 

“Well, then I guess we’re both looking to find our true loves?” Steve hedges, drags Eddie down with him if they’re gonna go there. 

A soft look passes Eddie’s face before a responds, voice quieter. “Guess we are, yeah.” 

They pick their flowers in silence, something about the magic being broken if you speak. Walking around the edge of the woods behind Eddie’s trailer a couple of feet apart, every once in a while coming together or crossing paths. 

After, Steve stands in between Eddie’s trailer and his own car. Holding on to his bouquet of seven flowers unsure what to do. He could go home, he should go home, but he doesn’t want to. He did have some beers hours ago and if he was allowed to speak he’d use that as an excuse to not drive and ask Eddie to crash on his couch. Right now he can’t though so he sighs inwardly and turns to his car. 

He makes it about two steps before a hand reaches out and grips him around his free wrist stopping him. When he turns around Eddie is giving him a look that very clearly says ‘stop being stupid’ and jerks his head towards the trailer silently telling Steve to go with him. He doesn’t let go though and uses his grip on Steve to drag him along like he can’t be sure Steve will actually listen and follow. As if Steve would ever not follow Eddie. 

They quickly get ready for bed. And again when Steve walks toward the couch Eddie grabs him and shakes his head. He waves his arms around a bit like that’s supposed to explain anything but Steve isn’t too bothered about an explanation anyways and easily follows Eddie to his bedroom. 

They’ve shared a bed before but always when they’ve been drunk or high so this feels different. Steve is a little glad they can’t speak or he’s sure he’d blurt out something way too revealing about it all. 

He avoids looking at Eddie as he tucks his flowers in under his pillow, knows Eddie is doing the same next to him. Is aware of it only being an old myth from a region halfway across the world but there’s a weight to it. Something real and tangible. 

He expects it to take a while for him to fall asleep like it always does. For him to twist and turn and lay awake until the early morning. For once though, that doesn’t happen. With the weight of Eddie next to him and to the sounds of his soft breathing and small movements, Steve falls asleep.

And he dreams. He dreams of big brown eyes and bright laughter. Of wild hair and warm arms embracing him. He dreams of growing old next to someone and how every wrinkle on their face tells a story of their shared love. 

He wants to stay in the dream forever, desperately tries to hold onto it even as he floats into consciousness. He turns and groans, gets a mess of someone’s hair in his mouth and nose and that’s enough to startle him into full wakefulness. 

Eddie grumbles next to him, clearly also just waking up. Steve looks at him, with his wild hair and his big brown eyes that are slowly blinking open and of course. Of course, it was Eddie he dreamed about.

Their eyes meet and Eddie freezes. Eyes widening as he looks back at Steve. 

“Oh,” he says. 

And yeah, oh.

“Eddie?” Steve asks, unsure of how to bring it up, to ask about it. If he even should? 

He puts on a teasing smile, even though he feels like goo inside, but making it lighthearted is all he can think of because what if he’s taking this whole thing way too seriously? Jumping to conclusions? 

“Dream of anyone?” 

Eddie nods and looks away, “I did.” He says it simply, voice careful. 

And maybe it isn’t just Steve.

“Who?” He asks, dropping the teasing tone. 

Eddie swallows and looks back at Steve. “The person I wanted to dream of,” he says and it’s not really an answer but he’s looking at Steve so intently he thinks it still might be. 

He thinks about Eddie’s quiet but delighted surprise at Steve wanting to join him yesterday. About Eddie dragging him first into his trailer and then into his bed. How they’re so close on Steve’s side of the bed and Eddie must have drifted towards him in his sleep.

He bites his lip to stop his smile from spreading too wide, there’s still a chance he’s misinterpreting things, “yeah?” 

“Yeah.” 

“And who would that be?” Steve asks, leaning in even closer until he feels Eddie’s small puffs of breath across his face. 

“You,” Eddie whispers but Steve hears it clearly. 

He takes a moment to bask in it, to let it wash over him before he responds.

“That’s good,” Steve tells him eventually and Eddie’s eyes are so wide and open, and so pretty, “because I dreamt of you.” 

He knows it’s cheesy so he doesn’t give Eddie time to respond, just leans in and closes the remaining gap between them. Slots their lips together. Eddie gasps into the kiss, grabs Steve by the hair, and pulls him in. Makes all these cute noises that make Steve want and want and want. 

He shifts, goes to put his leg in between Eddie’s to move on top of him and get a better angle. But he only gets halfway before Eddie grabs his hips and twists them around. Pushes Steve flat on his back and straddles him. 

He grins down at Steve. 

“You think the Scandinavian magic worked or was it just dream psychology and wishful thinking?” 

“Does it matter?” Steve asks, way too earnestly. But like, they’ve just spent this whole time doing some true love magic so he thinks it’s fine, “got what I wanted.” 

“It’s forever though,” Eddie points out, bending down to bite at Steve’s jaw, “if we believe the old Norse people.” 

Steve hears the question there, thinks this might be Eddie’s way of asking what this means to Steve. His way of telling Steve this isn’t just a hookup for him.

“God yeah,” Steve exhales, “I fucking hope so.” 

He feels Eddie smile into his neck and grabs his hair, uses it to pull him back and steer him into another kiss. 

#listen I wrote this today while actively celebrating midsummer during any break i had so lets just hope it makes sense and isn't riddled #with mistakes but if it is i can only apologize... #literally me with anything ever 'but what if it was steddie tho?' like damn del calm down #posting this after midnight tho so just shhh about it okay? ive been busy busy #me: ill work on my wips #also me immediately: *writes something else* #but it was for the occasion so #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #dels steddie thoughts #my writing #stranger things #steddie fic

[lady-phasma]

A willing pawn

Daemon Targaryen x fem! Dornish!reader

A huge thank you to @zaldritzosrose for this amazing board. You read my mind and I don't know how you did it! An equal thank you to @black-dread for providing the missing puzzle piece to make this fic work.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, smut, hurt/comfort if you squint, little bit of size kink, use of an infantilizing pet name (because Uncle Daddy Daemon), flimsy plot, creampie (and I truly did not plan what was going to happen there, Daemon just does whatever he wants in my brain, cheeky bastard)

Summary: You had a mission in the Stepstones, but he wasn’t as fearsome, this prince, as you had been led to believe. I’m not sure about my soft!Daemon but here he is. 4k words

The encampment was dark, lit only by dying fires. This night had been chosen because it would be moonless. Your soft-soled shoes were silent on the rocky earth as you crept between tents. You had planned your path at sunset, marking in your memory where the prince’s tent stood. As the orange light had faded from the sky, your stomach had begun to knot and twist with anxiety.

Could you really follow through with this? You knew you were able but were you capable of such a thing. The circumstances didn’t offer you any choice in the matter. Prince Qoren Martell wanted to avoid the costs of war, in gold and lives. His war counsel thought of every possible measure they could take to win this war, including involving House Yronwood. You were a cog in a larger plan and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

You ducked around another tent and tiptoed to the edge of the large royal tent. This is as far as you had gotten in your strategy. From this point forward you could only hope for luck, as stealth wouldn’t matter when faced with the prince’s guards. You were sent here with the barest of plans and what little plan there was, was foolish. You listened for movement inside the tent and heard none. As you neared the front you expected a half-dozen guards but saw only two. You held your breath.

You couldn’t walk right up to the tent and demand to be let in. Sneaking in seemed to be impossible, but if you could, what next. Your heart pounded in your ears. Godsdamn it, you thought. You let out a shaky breath and slunk back into the shadows. When you turned around you almost walked face-first into a giant wall of armor.

The guard almost threw you into the tent but did not relinquish his grip on your elbow. You grunted and jerked your arm away from him as you stumbled into the large room. You caught your balance and stood up straight. The ground was covered in rugs. A table laden with maps and documents stood in the center. Next to it sat the Prince.

“We found this creeping about outside, your highness,” the guard grumbled.

Prince Daemon lounged in his chair, legs outstretched, crossed at the ankles. He was peeling a pear, paused mid-knife-stroke, and looked up from under his brows. They raised slightly, seemingly amused, but he didn’t bother to lift his head. He resumed his peeling.

“Leave us,” he commanded without looking up. You heard the guard’s armor as he left but didn’t take your eyes from the prince.

“What terrible deed have you been sent to do child?” He didn’t look at you, only sliced a bit of pear and popped it in his mouth. When you didn’t respond he brushed aside papers to make space on the table and laid down the knife and pear. He wiped his hands on a napkin, dropped it next to them, and stood up. Finally, he looked at you. He finished chewing, swallowed, and wiped one corner of his mouth with his thumb.

He strode toward you, sucking the pear juice off his thumb and assessing you. Much of your face was covered by your hood, stay strands of dark hair were visible but your features were cast in shadow. He dipped his head slightly and looked closely, standing only a few paces in front of you. His silver hair swung loose from his shoulder. The violet of his eyes was unnerving. You squared your shoulders.

“I am no child,” you replied, leaving off the honorific. He was no prince of yours.

“Is that so?” Daemon reached for your hood and flicked it back from your head. The only hint of surprise he allowed to show was a brief widening of his eyes. You were well aware the effect your father’s blue eyes had when set against the sienna skin you got from your mother. You narrowed your icy eyes at him.

“I’m gown enough to make it this far into your camp, am I not?” Daemon chuckled and flipped his hair back over his shoulder. He clasped his hands behind his back and smiled at you.

“I suppose so… but you did get caught, little one.”

Your cheeks flamed and you wanted to strike him but the smile on his face caught you off guard. Had he just winked at you? You were too frustrated to think and that wink made your blood boil. This was not going at all how you had expected when the guard snatched you up. Daemon didn’t so much as blink when you moved your hands from inside your cloak to push your hood back further. He was amused with you. The handle of your dagger glinted in the candlelight and caught his eye.

“So you were sent here to assassinate me?” He smiled that infernal smile. “Would you say it is going well?”

“Time will tell,” you answered through gritted teeth. Then he laughed at you, actually laughed. You clenched your hands into fists at your sides.

He took a step toward you and you tensed. You hadn’t the faintest idea what this man would do. You had only heard the rumors and propaganda in Dorne. When he reached out, you tried to take a step back from him.

“Uh-uh,” he commanded quietly. Then his hand dipped into your cloak and before you could move to stop him, he snatched your dagger out of your belt. He spun it lazily around, watching it dance in the light.

“This might have done the trick,” he spoke to the blade, not to you. “But I imagine someone with more experience should have been entrusted with it.” His eyes flicked back to your face. “Though, perhaps there were none as fierce as you.”

With absolutely no thought in your mind, you lunged forward and tried to grab the weapon from him. He deftly moved it out of your reach and grabbed your wrist with his other hand.

“As I said: fierce,” he quipped. You tugged your arm against his grasp to no avail.

“But I must!” You almost snarled at him. His expression wasn’t surprise but interest. He let you go and turned to lay your weapon on the table. When he faced you again a small smile was set on his mouth.

“Must you?” He raised an eyebrow. “If a child assassin has been sent to slay me, Dorne must be desperate indeed.”

“I am not a child! I am a woman grown, of 20 years!” You had no idea why this infuriated you but the prince knew that it did. He grinned again.

“Pardon me, my Lady. I should have said a ‘small’ assassin,” he mocked you. It was somehow kind. You were taken aback by his jest, by his demeanor. You hadn’t taken the time to pause and evaluate Prince Daemon. You had only been concerned with the ramifications of your failure.

Now that you looked, you saw a man not much older than yourself. A man who moved with experience in battle, with an ease not unlike your own. Graceful, even. Then he did the most unexpected thing. He extended his hand, offering you to sit in the chair opposite his. You had come here to threaten his life and now he was treating you like a guest! You gawped.

Before you could decide what to make of the situation, Daemon slid down into his chair and stretched his legs out again, completely unwary of you. He glanced at you one more time as he reached for his unfinished pear. You were too shocked to do anything other than sit. You closed your mouth and sat down across from him. You slipped your cloak off of your shoulders as you sat. Your common clothes weren’t uncomfortable but you weren’t used to them. You tried to adjust them as you sat but instantly became more frustrated. Daemon’s eyes on you didn’t help to easy your new-found insecurity. You were meant to have been unseen.

“Who sent you?” The blunt nature of his question startled you.

“And why should I tell you?” you retorted. You were behaving as if you were at home entertaining men you had grown up with. This was madness.

“I believe I am owed an explanation as it was my life you were planning to take. Also, what else is there to do?” He popped a slice of pear in his mouth. His eyes didn’t leave yours. “Let’s start with your name, shall we?”

You hesitated, but he was right: what else was there to do. You could sit in silence until he decided to have you executed. You could try to run from the tent only to be caught and executed sooner. So you told him your name and your house name.

“Very good,” he tossed the knife and pear back on the table. “What did Martell threaten? What predicament did he put you in?”

Your eyes widened. Was Prince Martell’s reputation so tainted, so sullied, outside Dorne?

“Not him,” you spoke quietly. “Though I suppose, ultimately, he knows. We are not a political house but we have wealth that is necessary for Dorne to succeed.” Your eyes flicked down from his at the last word. You weren’t sure why but you felt ashamed for being in this position, had all along if you thought about it.

“So if not the prince himself…” Daemon paused, waiting for your answer.

“His war counsel,” you replied. “They have many strategies in play, I’m sure, but one is to ‘motivate’ certain houses to bring the war to an early end. I have no knowledge of the other plans. I only know that my father was threatened. Whatever that threat was, it was powerful enough for him to send his youngest daughter to the Stepstones.”

There it was. You had spilled it out to the enemy in a gush and felt like vomiting or crying or fleeing. You looked up from your lap. Daemon was studying you. Once again he surprised you. Perhaps you expected him to mock you but the kindness on his face somehow made your situation more real. You bit your lip to stop the tears. You would not cry. You were angry and frightened and when the prince had called you a child it made those feelings more real.

“What choice did you have?” He sounded almost compassionate. This couldn’t be the petty tyrant you were warned against, who would rape, or torture, or kill you if you were caught. “You came all this way on an errand not of your choosing and meant to go through with it. That’s more than a little honorable, don’t you agree?”

You had no idea. You were confused and overwhelmed and angry. You had never been a zealot, but you had been more sure of your mission when the target was evil or cruel. Perhaps he was at times, but not now.

“I suppose so,” you muttered, trying to look anywhere but at him.

“Well what do I do with you now?” He leaned forward in his chair. “I can’t set you free. Yet I don’t want another prisoner. And you don’t want to return home as a failure. I can see that. I could keep you as a hostage and demand gold for your safe return. Would that keep your honor intact?”

You blushed, not just from his nearness but from the fact that he could see your thoughts so clearly on your face. You and your family would be dishonored if you returned unsuccessful. It would also be unfavorable to the prince to appear compassionate to would-be assassins.

“It would,” you answered. “But I do not think the ransom would be paid.”

“No? Not for a young woman as fierce and cunning as yourself? Not for someone so precious?”

Your eyes flicked up to his at this curious word. You watched him, suspicious, as he slid out of his chair and knelt in front of you.

“I think you’re quite frightened of either choice: being sent home or being held here. I don’t want you to be frightened. Maybe the Crone had a purpose for bringing you here.”

You felt your breath catch. He looked so sincere. He was intoxicating but you believed him. You didn’t want to feel relief at the prospect of no longer sneaking, hiding, being a stowaway, but you did. Almost instantly, you imagined a hot bath, a dress and not these rags, and food that wasn’t brown. Then something else flashed in your mind and the heat returned to your face.

Daemon slowly reached out to you and stroked the side of your face. He skimmed a lock of your hair with his fingers, watching it catch the light. Its deep brown shown with hints of gold. You studied him closely. When he turned his gaze back to you, your heart pounded in your chest. His eyes searched yours as he cupped your cheek in his palm.

“Gevie,” he whispered. You thought it was High Valyrian but you weren’t sure. Your lips parted almost involuntarily as you looked up at him. He leaned toward you, silver hair cascading off his shoulders. You felt his lips on yours and closed your eyes.

His hand holding your face felt safe. His lips were warm and tasted of pear. You dared not move. You were overwhelmed and confused. However, there twisted in your belly some need, some desire for him. Your chest ached with the delicious feeling of being safe. You didn’t question how this was possible so far away from home and with your “enemy” no less. So you kissed him back.

Daemon slid his other hand to frame your face. His kiss wasn’t rough, but it was deep. You had kissed men before, you were experienced in the most basic of ways. You realized now that all the men before had not kissed you, they didn’t see you. They saw a Yronwood daughter or practice for their marriage beds. You had made those choices willingly. You weren’t concerned with being married for political reasons and had enjoyed your freedom. Until now. In this moment, you felt… precious.

Tentatively, you raised a hand to him, your fingertips grazed his jaw and neck, and came to rest on his chest. He slid his hands from your cheeks as he broke the kiss. As if waiting for your permission, Daemon rested his hands on your upper arms. You kissed him in answer. His arms swept around you and scooped you up as he stood. Your head spun but you steadied yourself by putting your hands on the back of his neck.

Daemon sat you on his bed and smoothed your hair back from your face. He stepped back and pulled his shirt over his head. He dropped it on the floor as he leaned down to kiss you. You made room for him on the bed, drawing him toward you with your kisses. He knelt between your legs, kissed your neck, and slid a hand under your shirt. You arched your back, pressing into his palm.

He brushed the underside of your breasts with the tips of his fingers and his other hand glided up your ribs. He pushed your shirt up above your breasts, fixated on your hardened nipples. His hair slid over your chest as he took one nipple in his mouth. He propped himself up on one hand and cupped your breast with the other. You moaned and writhed under him. You instinctively ran your fingers through his hair and held him against you. Daemon groaned and the sound vibrated from your chest to your core. When he pulled away you realized you had been grinding against his leg and flushed. He smiled down at you.

Wordlessly, he guided you to raise your arms so he could remove your shirt. Then he began to unlace your breeches. You watched his muscles move as he slid your pants off. You lifted your hips and giggled a little when you plopped back down on the bed as he tugged them off your legs. You weren’t shy but the action was awkward and you were quite exposed now. He tossed the breeches on the floor and smoothed a hand up your thigh. He stared, rapt, at the dark hair between your legs, so different from the silver of his own.

You bit your lip as you looked from his face, down his chest, and to the evidence of his arousal. His breeches looked uncomfortably tight now. His hands absently stroked your legs and your lower belly but paused as you sat up. You held him between your legs. When you kissed his stomach he hissed in air through his teeth. Your hands grazed over his hips and to the laces in the front of his pants. You let your fingertips glide over the shape of his erection before undoing the knot. You kissed seemingly every inch of his stomach then looked up at him as your hand dipped inside. His face was curtained by his hair as he looked down at you. You smiled as you stroked him.

Daemon moved his hands from your legs, smoothed over your hair, and then gently pressed your shoulders back. You laid down, already missing the feeling of him in your hands, but the sight of him between your legs was almost as pleasant. He leaned over you, kissing your forehead gently, then your lips, and pressed his forehead against yours.

You gasped as his fingers slid between the lips of your cunt. He licked his lips and continued to explore your wetness. Stroking, searching, learning. He circled your opening, your clit, and back again. One finger slid in easily and he grinned. You lifted your mouth to his as you lifted your hips to his hand. He slid in a second finger.

“You are so tight, little one,” he grinned down at you. You rocked your hips against his hand and moaned in reply. You placed one hand on his arm, pulling him deeper into you. With the other you smoothed his hair behind his ear and trailed your fingers down his jaw. You drug your fingertips over his lips. His eyes were dark as he watched you pleasure yourself on his hand.

“More, Daemon, please,” you moaned, saying his name for the first time. Hearing his name come from your lips pleased him immensely.

“Say it again,” he breathed as he curled his fingers inside you.

“Daemon, please.”

Slowly and with a tinge of disappointment on his face, he pulled his fingers from you. He was enjoying the sight of you but couldn’t wait any longer. He freed his cock from his breeches. Then he slid his hands up your thighs to your lower back. As he sat back he guided you onto his lap. The transition was clumsy at first, legs bumping and twisting. You both smiled as you held onto his shoulders. When you knelt over him you rubbed your clit against his cock. You rested your lips against his forehead as you rocked your lips. You moved your mouth nearer to his ear and murmured his name.

Daemon lifted your ass and placed you above his cock. With one hand between you, he guided himself into you. You sank down onto him slowly, watching his face. He clenched his jaw tight. You felt his hand move back to your ass. He let you set the pace, let you move against him. You pulled up and then sank down again, taking all of him. The moan that came from your lips was lewd and deep. You clutched at his neck, the back of his head, fingers entwined in his hair. He groaned but did not move to meet your hips. You rocked back, then forward, finding your rhythm.

He kissed your chest and breasts. His hands stroked your ass and lower back, constantly moving. You leaned forward slightly and pressed yourself against him. At this angle he wasn’t as deep in you, but you found friction against his stomach. You ground your hips into him, almost, but not quite able to get what you needed.

“Seven hells,” he panted against you. His hips had begun to move in time with yours. Your fingers twisted tighter in his hair and you tried to find that much-needed angle again. When he realized what you needed he slid a hand between you. You threw your head back as his fingers circled your clit. You sped up, fucking him hard. He kept pace with you, circling and pressing his fingers against you. You couldn’t keep a steady rhythm. You felt him brace your lower back with his hand and pull you closer to him, steadying you, supporting you. You felt your climax tug at your core and sank further onto his cock with each stroke.

“Come for me,” Daemon whispered into your neck. You did. You cried his name, clinched your fists in his hair, and buried your face against his head. You sank all the way down onto him, thighs resting on his as you shook. Your cunt spasmed around his cock but he didn’t stop moving his fingers. He pressed into you with his hips, rocking under you, and bringing forth tiny gasps from you. You lips found his and you panted into his mouth. Tiny sounds mingled with his name flew out of your mouth with every movement of his fingers.

When you thought the overstimulation might be too much he moved his hand from between you. He slid his hand under your arm and pulled you down onto him by your shoulder. A new wave of pleasure crashed into you as he spilled into you. His hips stilled, holding his cock deep inside you. He came panting and moaning your name.

You wanted to sink all of your weight onto him. It took too much effort to support yourself on your aching knees. Neither of you wanted to move yet, though both of you needed to. You released your hands from his hair. You kissed him and smoothed his hair back from his face.

You smiled at him as you rose shakily from his lap. He helped you as much as he could, but your legs were numb and your head was empty. You all but fell back onto the pillows. He watched you grind your hips against the air as the last of your climax left you. His eyes were locked on his seed sliding out of you. He leaned forward, his legs shaking as well. You watched him through half-closed eyes and settled yourself on the bed. His fingers slid through his cum and you twitched as he grazed your throbbing clit. He looked into your blue eyes as he gathered more of it on his fingers. You smiled seductively as he leaned over you and raised his fingers to your lips.

You opened your mouth, your eyes never leaving his, and he painted your tongue with his seed. You closed your lips around his fingers and let him feel you swallow. He slid his fingers out and surprised you by kissing you deeply, tasting himself in your mouth.

You moaned into the kiss and wrapped your legs around his waist. You playfully pulled his weight on top of you. He let you but also guided you both to lay on your sides. Your legs intertwined and you were a tangle of limbs for a moment. Then you buried your face into his chest and breathed in deeply. You sighed as he smoothed your hair and rested his chin on the top of your head. You were quite small in his arms. Daemon breathed deeply as he stroked down your back, your buttocks, and up again. You curled against him, one hand between you, the other resting on his hip.

“I have you now, little one,” he murmured against the top of your head.

Masterlist

#soft!daemon #literally freaking out because this doesn’t feel like Daemon at all to me #but seriously let me know if this is believable #but I like reader so much I think there may be a part 2 #daemon Targaryen x fem!reader #daemon x fem!reader #daemon x dornish!reader #daemon x poc fem!reader #x reader #x fem!reader #daemon targaryen #house yronwood #house of the dragon #hotd #matt smith #daemon #daemon fic #hotd fic #smut #daemon smut #hotd smut #I cannot write anything short I’m sorry #I’ll try to make the next one shorter #poc fem reader #poc reader #daemon x poc!reader #daemon x reader #woc reader #daemon x woc!reader

[closedownregulus]

Prompt: Feb 14th - Lips | 1183 words | @jegulus-microfic part two , three and four :)

Barty Crouch is an idiot. The first time James came to this conclusion he was only 11 years old and Barty was refusing to give him back his football cause “football is not for losers, weirdo”, since then, the thought crosses his mind from time to time – Barty Crouch is an idiot. Not only an idiot, but also stupid, not only fucking stupid, but also deadass ugly, not only ugly, he is also an arrogant piece of shit, not only that, he’s also a- argh, James could go on and on about all of Barty Crouch’s flaws, he could go for hours, days, damn, even weeks if someone gave him the time of day to do so. Honestly, he can’t think of one good thing to say about the guy, nonetheless, Regulus’ been kissing him senseless for the past 7 minutes – not that James is counting or anything – seeming fucking dead set on finding Barty’s hidden qualities, if he has any, in the inside of the boy's mouth. Not that James cares that his best friend’s baby brother has been snogging the most annoying man to ever walk earth for 7 minutes and 36 fucking seconds, like they´re stuck in a game of 7 minutes in heaven or something, or, more accurately to James, 7 minutes and 49 seconds in the deepest pit of hell – not that he’s counting (whatever).

Part of him, the hopeful part, is kind of holding on to the idea that this is some weird kind of practical joke Regulus is playing on Barty, he knows James' football story, maybe that’s the way he’s found to revenge him, making Barty fall in love with him and then leaving the guy tormented by the memory of a kiss with a boy he’ll never be able to have playing in loop in his head. Part of him, the protective part, hates that fucking Barty Crouch has even the memory of a kiss to play in loop in his head, part of him wants to yank it off. Part of him, ugh, part of him is scared that Regulus is not some boy Barty can’t have. Part of him – the possessive, petty and kinda insane part – hates that it’s Barty instead of James, who has known Regulus for years, he’d know what to do to make him feel good, he’s sure he’d figure out the right buttons to push in a matter of seconds. Instead, it’s another person in what should be his place, touching Regulus in places James never will, running his tongue over his lips and tasting Regulus in ways that James will never be able to – he hates to think about the sounds that he’s dragging out of Regulus, sounds that he’s getting to hear, swallow, save for later. Fuck. James might kill the fucking guy.

It’s not like James wants to be in Barty’s place - or whatever, it’s more of a protective big brother's best friend thing, he’d rather kill himself than actually kiss Sirius’ baby brother, it’s literally the most disgusting thought that could ever cross his mind ever, literally. Which, if he’s being totally honest, it does from time, but it only causes him to experience the deepest feeling of disgust, he can literally feel his stomach doing weird loops and stuff, which can only be translated to pure and utter repulse, literally. It’s not like it’s a recurring thing or anything, it’s just that he’s a fucking 17-year-old, of course the idea of kissing people he’s always hanging out with is gonna come to him out of fucking nowhere. And like, Regulus does have this freakish pink lips that look really soft and it's kinda hard to not stare at them when he's been going on and on for hours about some book he's recently read, specially when he keeps biting his lower lip every five minutes before saying the next sentence. Not that the thought crosses his mind in a weird, out of ordinary, creepy constancy or anything, really. It's just, you know, your ordinary 17 year old boy next door normal amount of thinking about kissing your best friend’s brother – which he doesn’t by the away, just, rarely, sometimes, in a daily basis, rarely.

The point is, James is Sirius’ best friend, and Regulus is Sirius’ baby brother, James remember him as a toddler, with his big grey eyes and messy dark hair all over the place, so of course he’s gonna be concerned about Regulus’ well being and not want him to snog some dumbass just cause he found the free time to do so. He wants Regulus to be with someone that is worthy of him, not that James can think of anyone that managed to meet the criteria so far, or that ever will. Well, if he stops to think about it, in an ideal world Regulus would grow old alone and a virgin, but is that really so bad? James will visit him everyday and they’ll play videogames and do star wars marathons. Fuck it. He’ll even listen to Regulus talk about his pretentious books and let him put his depressing emo music, he already does that all the time anyway, he might even sing some of the lyrics that he’s already learned from having to listen to it every time they hang out. Well, and if from time to time Regulus happens to feel kinda alone and horny, James would even be ok to helping him out with that, you know, in the sole interest of keeping him away from losers. If that’s what it takes to save Sirius from having to endure life as the brother in law of some dumb, ugly idiot, James doesn’t mind sacrificing himself for his best friend, call him a fucking altruist if you will.

James bets Barty Crouch has never touched a single episode of Star Wars, or a book in that matter, maybe he can’t even read anything with more than fifty pages or pay attention to any movie that's longer than one hour. Also, he doesn’t look like the kind of guy who’ll be able to appreciate Regulus’ music and try to actually understand and connect with the lyrics, which is the most important part to Regulus, he’ll probably try and change subjects every time Regulus tries to explain his interpretation. Basically, James is pretty sure they don’t even have anything in common to talk about, they won’t even be able to have a proper conversation! What are they gonna do? Just kiss the whole time they’re together? Every single minute without stopping so they can avoid awkward silence breaks? Ha.

The thought makes James want to instantly puke.

He hates this party, but he doesn’t want to, actually, he can’t, leave Regulus here with this idiot to do to him whatever the hell he pleases out of James sight. Fuck. He doesn’t even want to think about that. He hates absolutely everything that’s happening right now, but, most of all, he hates Barty Crouch. The reason? Barty Crouch is an idiot.

And he stole James’ football.

#jegulus #jealous james potter #dead gay wizards #james potter #barty crouch jr #regulus black #jegulus microfic #alternate universe #english is not my first language! #it's my first time posting anything I write and I'm kinda nervous #bare with me #wrote the whole thing whilst listening to disintegration by the cure so it turned out more angsty than I expected #light angst #repetitive wrong use of the word literally #clueless james potter #starchaser #jegulus fic #sunseeker

[its-your-mind]

*deep breath in*

the fears 👏 have always 👏 been (in one way or another) 👏 parallel 👏 to 👏 desire 👏

let me explain.

so many of the statements given by actual avatars center around some sort of need that was met by their entity. Lots of them even had a positive relationship with the fear that drove them.

Jane Prentiss is an excellent example - the Corruption has always been about a form of toxic and possessive love, but she personally has a deep desire to be “fully consumed by what loves her,” and finds a perverse joy and relief at allowing herself to be a home

Jude Perry is another - she fucking loved watching people’s lives be utterly destroyed. The Desolation only offered her a power of destruction on a grander scale, and then gave her a more intense rush of joy as she did its work. When she tells Jon that he needs to feed the Eye before it feeds on him, it’s almost as an afterthought; she was happily feeding the Desolation long before it burned her into a new existence.

Simon Fairchild. Every time that old loose bag of bones wanders into the picture, he is having a fucking EXCELLENT time playing with the Vast. He loves showing people their own insignificance, and he loves luring them into situations where he can throw them into the void as he smiles and waves.

Peter Lukas (hell, the whole Lukas family (except Evan. RIP Evan.)) hated. people. all he wanted was for them all to go away, to leave him alone. The Lonely only fulfilled that desire.

Daisy, Trevor, and Julia, all devoted to hunting those things they deemed monstrous.

Melanie, holding tight to that bullet in her leg because on some level, she wanted it. It felt good, it felt right, it felt like it fit right alongside the anger and spite that drove her to success.

Annabelle Cane first encountered the Web when she was a child, running away from home in order to tug on her parents’ heartstrings in just the right way to have them wrapped around her little finger. Later on she volunteered to be the subject of an ESP study. Hell, she’s the one who dangled the “Is it really You that wants this?” question over Jon’s head in S4.

And that brings us to Jon, beloved Jarchivist, the Voice that Opened the Door. Ever since he was a child targeted by the Web, he was looking for answers. He joined the Magnus Institute’s Research Department looking for them, he stalked his coworkers in search for them, he broke into Gertrude’s flat and laptop out of desperation for them. And when he realized that all he had to do was Ask to get truthful answers to his questions? It was only natural for him to jump at that opportunity.

Elias told S3 Jon that he did want this, that he chose it, that at every crossroads he kept pushing onwards, and the inner turmoil that caused was one of the focal points for Jon’s character through the rest of the podcast.

There’s a certain line of thinking in many circles about the power of the Devil: he’s not able to create anything new. All he’s able to do is twist and warp that which was already present, making it something ugly and profane while still maintaining the facade of something desirable.

Jon didn’t choose the Eye. But he did wander into its realm of power, exhibiting exactly the qualities it was most capable of hijacking and warping to its own ends. Jon didn’t choose the Apocalypse. But Jonah picked at him little by little, pointing him towards each Fear individually. Jon didn’t want to release the Fears. But the Web tugged on his strings just so and laid a pretty trail for him to follow until he reached its desired conclusion.

Jon didn’t choose ultimate power, or omniscience, or even his own role as Head Archivist. But he said “yes” to the right (wrong?) orders and kept on pushing for the right (wrong?) answers. He wanted to succeed at the work he had been assigned. He wanted to protect his friends. He wanted to rescue them when they were lost. He wanted to prevent the apocalypse, to save the world. He wanted to know why he was still alive, when so many had died right in front of him.

The Great Wheel of Evil Color that is the Entities might not fit as neatly into categories in this universe - maybe there was no Robert Smirke trying to impose strict categories on emotional experiences, or maybe the ways they manifest in the world has turned on its head (goodness knows many of them have been showcased and blended in some very fun and new and horrifying ways so far) - but their fundamental foundations seem to be the same. Hell, in episode one we learned that there had been enough individual incidents to create a distinction between “dolls, watching” and “dolls, human skin.”

Smirke’s Fourteen isn’t going to be relevant as common parlance, RQ said that already, but I don’t think that means the Fears themselves (and their Dream Logic-based rules) are different - I think it means that the levels of understanding, language used, and personal connections among people “in the know” are going to be entirely unfamiliar

#tma #tmagp #the magnus protocol #tmagp meta #tmagp analysis #the entities #robert smirke #smirke's fourteen #mind write a meta post that doesn’t turn into a fucking essay challenge #I literally thought about citing my episode sources here but decided that would get too FUCKING long. #anyway I’m pulling mostly from Gerry’s statement (111) and #and the Big Elias Group Confrontation (92) #and Annabelle’s statement (147) #and then finale - 196 / 197 / 200 #there are other little lines that I grabbed - tbh feel free to ask about anything I’ve said bc I feel like I’m ready to defend a thesis #I’ve been thinking about this on and off for a few weeks since the desire thing started going around #I have an obsession with Themes as they relate to Worldbuilding and now I have subjected you all to it as well #I am serious tho if anyone wants me to pull the specific parts I’m talking about (whether cuz you have Questions or you wanna ref them too) #lmk #my hyperfocus on silly media brain might as well come in useful somehow #aight peace ✌️

[b4kuch1n]

glorioso from last years twitterin

#pokemon #swsh #champion gloria #professor hop #drift compatible #<- their common tag wahoo #sometimes (all the time) I think abt how much I love gloria and wanna finally write that 4-part thing for her #hop shoooouuuldve been a moderating presence or whatever but the thing is. he just thinks she's genuinely cool #so every time anyone questions anything she does to him he's like why? it rocks #gloria's the same with hop tho like if hop tells her anything she just takes it as fact. its dangerous but so far its worked out #so ultimately they actually make each other Worse(tm) and thats awesome to me. I love them #I love them so fucking much everyones like dang that champion's taciturn how come she's best friend and rival with that #super nice professor. even tho it takes being next to them literally three seconds to realize they just think the other is the coolest #man. these were drawn like right before I caught the A virus last year iirc. inked that first thing while having a fever #how was november and december last year Like That... what made it be like that. what da hells.... #oh well theres this. I gotta go back to business now #have a good night lads. we begin at the beginning and where we begin is the beginning etc

[on-twd-writing]

there is no but for me

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warning: mention of infertility. English is not my first language.

Readers pronuns: She/Her

Description: Abraham asks Daryl a question (S6E11)

Italics is for the flashback.

There is no but for me

The last few weeks have been draining, and the fear of the so-called Saviors became more real day by day.

 They had to be faster, they had to fight them and win. There wasn’t even another option, no plan B. In this world, a plan B meant death most of the time. Yet there was a small spark of hope. Maggie was pregnant, and she and Glenn were as happy as ever. There was so much death and fear in the world, that Maggie's pregnancy almost sounded like a miracle. And this kind of miracle also reached a certain redhead in the group.

  Abraham started to think about the possibilities. A family. A place to settle down. His own daughter or son. With Sasha, he could imagine this, yet he hesitated. The whole idea had been kinda new to him. Even though Abraham was sure about a lot of things, he wasn’t sure about this plan for his life. When you have a child, you have to take responsibility, you have to protect the child, care for it and while Abraham was sure he would be capable of doing both things, he wasn’t sure if the world would let him do this.

 And that was why he was asking the others for their opinion. He needed to hear their thoughts; he needed some reassurance that starting a family in this world was okay. That he wouldn’t make a mistake with this one.

  The next one on his list was no other than Daryl Dixon.

 Abraham knew that Daryl and Y/N were a thing, despite never making it official. But they didn’t have to, Abraham has watched them long enough to see it. How Y/N would always stay up with Daryl to stay on watch, while they were still on the road and before they arrived in Alexandria. Y/N was somehow able to understand the grunts and huffs of the archer, she was the one who was able to calm him down whenever things escalated. He wouldn’t flinch at her touches, and sometimes they would sit in complete silence for hours, since they didn’t need words anymore to communicate.

 So, for Abraham, it was clear, that if someone would settle down as well, it would be these two. Why not? Daryl and Y/N were also good with kids, from what the redhead could tell.

 "You ever think about it? Settlin’ down?"

 Daryl raised his head, looking at Abraham. What was going on with the redhead?

 "You know… marriage, kids, the whole package. Come on, everyone knows about you and Y/N" Abraham chuckled a bit.

 "So, you have never thought about it?"

 "Ya think shit’s settled?"

 Daryl let out a gruff, slowly walking away, over to you. What did Abraham expect from Daryl? A conversation about marriage? Children? Not only was Daryl a very private person, but there was another reason behind it.

 Of course, you have talked about it. Actually, not that long ago…

  It was one of the first nights in Alexandria, and he couldn’t sleep and didn’t want to. This place wasn’t as safe as it seemed, or as people wanted to believe it. He couldn’t let his guard down, he had to protect his family….Judith, Carl… you. His partner. He never liked the term girlfriend. It sounded like you were in high school.

 When he heard your steps on the porch, he didn’t look up until you sat down next to him on the stairs. You handed him a cup of coffee – black coffee, no milk or sugar, exactly how he liked it. Daryl looked at you, a slight nod – thank you.

 You two sat in silence for a long time. The dark, innocent city lay in front of you, and for a moment, the world didn’t seem so cruel. Maybe peace was an option. Maybe coming home was finally an option.

 "What’s on your mind?"

 Your quite voice broke the silence and he looked at you. Yet you knew him to well that something was bugging him. He was staring into the night and you knew him, you knew him well enough.

 "Do ya think this place can be a home?"

 You let your eyes wander around, thinking about it for a moment. The clean streets, the smell of fresh flowers, running water …a soft bed…

 "I want to."

 You really wanted it but yet you couldn’t fully believe and understand it. But one part of you wanted to believe it, that maybe finally you could have a place you can call a home. This feeling was burning inside your chest, now a small flame but who knew maybe a fire in a few weeks.

 "What ‘bout a … home for us?"

 Your eyes grew bigger when you heard this question. You two never really put a name on it, you didn’t have to. You never pushed Daryl to give it a name, and he never gave you a reason that you needed a name for it.

 "Sounds…like a good future for us…"

 You smiled at him, leaned your head against his shoulder, as you closed your eyes.

 "I really like the idea."

 You could feel how Daryl smiled slightly as well. You two have never talked about the future, since you never knew if there was a future for you. Would you survive the next day? Next week? Month?

 "Ya do?"

 Daryl never thought about settling down with a woman. Before the world went down, he had been shamed by Merle for having any romantic feelings. Or being soft for someone.

 "Yes,… even this is new and it still feels weird, I want that. I want a future with you and I want… this to work out here… for us."

 "Wha’ da ya wish for?"

 Daryl wanted to give you everything. He wanted to make you happy, to feel safe and protected. He would do everything for you, just to see the beautiful smile of yours.

You snuggled closer to him, thinking about it.

 "I want to wake up next to you, in a cozy bed and none of us has to get up right away. I want to try to cook with you…"

 He let out a chuckle, knowing very well that you are a terrible cook.

 "… and then end up at Carols place, because otherwise we wouldn’t get a nice dinner. I want to listen to music with you, read a book while you work on your bike. I want to wash our clothe and-"

 "Ya wanna’ wash our clothes?" Daryl raised an eyebrow at your unusual wish "What kind of dream is that?"

 "It’s something normal. I want normal things with you, Daryl. I don’t need something fancy or adventurous, all I want is normality with you. I am sorry that this is so boring."

 "No…, ‘sounds good."

 You giggled a bit "That’s good, because I think I want this boring future with you."

 After everything you all went through boring sounded perfect.

 "What ‘bout children?"

 Daryl was afraid.  He didn’t know if he was a good dad and he didn’t want to ruin a wish you had.

 "I… don’t know…"

 He could tell in the sound of your voice that there was something else. He shifted and looked at you "What’s da matter?"

 You looked away from him into the dark night. Daryl waited for your response, not wanting to force you. He would never do this but you knew you had to tell him the truth. It wouldn’t be fair to keep this a secret.

 "I can’t."

 "Ya don’t have ta’ explain anythin’, darlin’."

 "No, I mean I can’t…can’t get pregnant… I’ve found it out years ago and that was why my boyfriend left me before the world ended."

 You were so insecure about it, you knew Daryl was different and you knew that Daryl loved you and yet, you were afraid that he would leave you for it. You weren’t afraid; you knew that Daryl would make a fantastic dad. You saw how he would handle Judith, how he fought for Carols lost daughter…

 Daryl grunted next to you; he lifted an arm to put it around your shoulder. A kiss on your temple followed.

"Don’t ya dare ta’ think ‘m gonna leave ya because of that" he murmured.

 "But-"

 "Listen, when it comes to ya, there is no but for me."

 His voice was firm, yet caring. This was enough, more than you could ask for. Daryl was a man of few words and he was able to shut down your dark thoughts right away. Daryl would stay, you knew it.

 You snuggled closer to him, enjoying the warm summer night a bit more.

#daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon imagine #twd scenario #twd imagine #daryl x reader #daryl imagine #darly dixon x fem!reader #daryl x fem!reader #the walking dead imagine #the walking dead scenario #i havent posted anything in years...literally #but i wanted to write this #and maybe a few more things #please keep in mind that english is not my first language #and writing daryls accent is a struggle for me #so i tried it lelelelee

[lord-squiggletits]

One of my favorite parts of phase 2 (and indeed one of the few moments I resonated with IDW Prowl) was when the neutrals were coming back to Cybertron and Prowl said that he refused to let Autobots be pushed aside and overruled after they were the ones who fought for freedom for 4 million years (the exact wording escapes me atm).

And I mean, that resentment still holds true even once the colonists come on bc like. As much as it's true that Cybertron's culture is fucked up, and as funny as it can be to paint Cybertronians as a bunch of weirdos who consider trying to kill someone as a common greeting not important enough to hold a grudge over.... The colonists POV kind of pissed me off a lot of times, as did the narrative tone/implications that Cybertronians are forever warlike and doomed to die by their own hands bc it just strikes me as an extremely judgemental and unsympathetic way to deal with a huge group of people with massive war PTSD and political/social tensions that were rampant even before the war?

Like, imagine living in a society rife with bigotry and discrimination where you get locked into certain occupations and social strata based on how you were born. The political tension is so bad there's a string of assassinations of politicians and leaders. The whole planet erupts into an outright war that leads (even unintentionally) to famine and chemical/biological warfare that destroys your planet. Both sides of the war are so entrenched in their pre-war sides and resentment for each other that this war lasts 4 million years and you don't even have a home planet any more. Then your home planet gets restored and a bunch of sheltered fucks come home and go "ewww why are you so violent?? You're a bunch of freaks just go live in the wilderness so that our home can belong to The Pure People Who Weren't Stupid And Evil Enough To Be Trapped In War" and then a bunch of colonists from places that know nothing about your history go "lol you people are so weird?? 🤣🤣 I don't get why y'all are fighting can't you just like, stop??? Oh okay you people are just fucked up and evil and stupid then" ((their planets are based on colonialism where their Primes wiped out the native populations btw whereas the Autobots and OP in particular fought to save organics. But that never gets brought up as a point in their favor)) as if the damage of a lifetime of war and a society that was broken even before the war can just magically go away now that the war is over.

Prowl fucking sucks but he was basically the only person that pointed out the injustice of that.

And then from then on out most of the characters from other colonies like Caminus and wherever else are going "i fucking hate you and your conflicts" w/ people like literal-nobody Slide and various Camiens getting to just sit there lecturing Optimus about how Cybertronians are too violent for their own good and how their conflicts are stupid, with only brief sympathetic moments where the Cybertronians get to be recognized as their own ppl who deserve sympathy before going right back to being lambasted.

Like I literally struggled to enjoy the story at multiple points because there was only so much I could take of the characters I knew and loved being raked over coals constantly while barely getting to defend themselves or be defended by the narrative so like. It was just fucking depressing and a little infuriating to read exRID/OP

#squiggposting #and like dont get me wrong barber wasnt trying to make cybertronians the bad guys or whatever #it's just a problem with his writing where like. he has A Message he wants to send #and so he uses the entire story literally just for The Message even if it involves bullshit plotlines #or familiar characters ppl were reading about for the past decade being shit on by OCs made up to fill a new roster #like barber's writing tends to lean way too much on a sort of lecturing tone #without giving proper care towards including moments where characters get to like. fucking express themselves and share their side #sort of like how barber couldnt be bothered to write pyra magna and optimus actually talking to each other during exrid #and instead during OP ongoing pyra is suddenly screaming about how OP is unteachable #even tho she never even tried to teach him bc she and OP never interacted bc i guess barber couldnt be bothered #he just needed someone to lecture OP so fuck making the story make sense or like letting OP get to say anything in defense #this is the infuriating part of barber's writing bc i think he has incredible IDEAS and was in charge of the lore i was most interested in #but most of the time his execution sucks and he's basically just mid with a few brilliant moments occasionally #or like he has a message about the cycle of violence he wants to convey #but his narrative choices trying to convey that theme made his story come off as super unsympathetic to the ppl who suffered #to the point where barber actively kneecapped some scenes that couldve been super fucking intense and emotional #in favor of the characters lecturing each other or some stupid plot to criticize OP #that time in unicron where windblade screamed about how this is their fault and then arcee replied that her planet is build on coloniation #shouldve happened more often than literally the last series of the ocntinuity. like goddamn stfu about your moral superiority #when your own sins are right fhere lol

[charlie-artlie]

#murderbot #the murderbot diaries #murderbot 2.0 #software ghost #arts #tw blood #being the only person who knows anything about this au is literal torture #what do you MEAN if i want to read fanfiction about this scenario i made up i have to write it MYSELF #just shoot me now

[teruthecreator]

i hate doing this but i got let go from my job a month before i expected my contract to end and i haven’t been able to rebound with a new job yet. i only have enough money for rent and internet, but that means i can’t afford anything that isn’t that (like toilet paper, ibuprofen, cleaners, etc.). i literally would not be able to eat rn if it weren’t for food stamps

my venmo is @/michthememelord if you have a few bucks to throw my way i’d sincerely appreciate it <3 but only do so if it’s money to spare i don’t wanna make poor people poorer

#ignorance cloud on #i’m not tagging this w anything bc i know tumblr likes to silence posts like this in the first place #but anyways ig like. if y’all like my writing maybe consider throwing me a dollar #idk how long i’m gonna keep this post up bc taking money from people literally makes me sick #but idk what else to do