#putting my lifeblood into that project | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

fishwithtitz · 7 months

Text

A Simple Existence (a Papa Emeritus IV x f!reader one shot)

A/N: This one was written specifically for my sweet cheese, my main babe Jen (@copias-juicebox). Her birthday was on Wednesday and this is a very belated present created with her in mind. Girl, you wanted subby sweet Copia, you got him! Love you so much and I'm so happy I met you. Alles Gute zum nachträglichen Geburtstag!

Also, special shout out to @anamelessfool, @eyeslikelilith, and @portaltothevoid for beta'ing and feedback <3

If you'd like to be on my tag list, please comment!

⛧⛧⛧

Rating: Explicit, 18+ MDNI

Papa Emeritus IV x f!reader / 5.1k words

Warnings: dom/sub relationship, hints at dub-con (if you squint?), oral sex, piv, language, cock worshipping

ao3 link

Over the past few weeks, it had become more commonplace for Papa Emeritus IV to be sitting at his cherry wood desk, pen in hand as he rifled through various Ministry tasks late into the night.

To many, Papa was a figurehead of the church — both through his leadership in the spiritual sector of the Ministry and as frontman of the Ghost project. But so many didn’t realize the influence he had within the planning and implementation of the church and its projects as a whole.

It was almost as if he breathed much-needed oxygen into the lungs of the abbey and transfused his own lifeblood into the theatrics of the band. The Ministry was, to put it simply, his everything. It was something you had come to love and loathe about the man.

Tonight was no different than any other night the past few weeks. Copia sat perched in his worn office chair (the one he’d taken with him from his stay at the abbey in Venice during his time as a bishop), papal paint smeared somewhat from the occasional swipe of his palm against his cheeks as he thought through a complex task. A banker’s lamp and the starlight were the only sources of illumination in the office space — a tell of how late into the evening it had become.

You’d sat up night after night waiting for your Papa to come back to his chambers at a reasonable hour. Most nights ended with you falling asleep as you sat against the headboard in your shared bed or lounged on the loveseat in the sitting room. Tonight, however, you’d had enough. You were worried that the ministry was taking advantage of the Satanic pope’s hardworking and passionate spirit and the last thing you wanted was for him to spiral into burn out. Tonight, you would put your foot down.

It was a short walk from the Papal chambers to Copia’s office. You’d made the trek what felt like hundreds of times and this specific time, it was as if the route had been cut in half. Perhaps that was the speed at which your bare feet carried you, or perhaps it was the simmering frustration you had bubbling in your chest. Nevertheless, you didn’t bother to knock before you pushed on the oaken double doors to Papa’s workspace.

As soon as you shut the heavy door behind you, Papa’s head sprung up in alarm as if he had been shaken out of a trance. You walked into the spacious office, nightgown flowing behind you like an estuary, and stopped a couple of meters away from where he sat.

“Il amore mio, what are you doing h-”

“Do you have any idea what time it is?” You found yourself cutting off his tired greeting.

Copia pressed his thumb and forefinger against his temples, gently rubbing them as he closed his eyes in defeated frustration. “I haven’t looked at the clock in a while.”

“It’s nearly one in the morning,” you answered for him, taking a step towards the cherrywood desk. “Come to bed. It’s not doing you any good burning the midnight oil.”

Copia’s hand dropped from his temples and on any other occasion, you would smirk at the sight of the smudged paint on his fingertips. “I assure you that I have plenty of fuel left for this candle’s flame, amore mio,” he said.

“But you’re burning it at both ends!” you retorted, voice raising in a mix of sympathy and frustration. “Copia, it’s not a matter of if you’ll drive yourself into the ground but when.” You moved to round the large wooden desk, and as you approached him, your expression softened. “All of this can wait until tomorrow,” you said, voice slightly calmer now.

You shifted behind him and snaked your arms around his shoulders, resting them on his strong chest. Your lips pressed to the hair atop his head. The salt-and-pepper streaked strands that once were combed back on his head but had since begun to fall into his eyes and around his temples. “Just, come to sleep. I miss you. I miss my Papa.”

And you realized that this man, this hopelessly devoted man beneath the cloak of your arms was the picture of leadership. A perfect blend of authority and quiet strength. Measured. Loving. Dedicated. And when necessary, absolutely ruthless.

Papa sighed at your admission and reached up to place his non-dominant hand over one of yours, his pen still gripped tight in the other. “Il mio amore,” he began, voice apologetic and oddly tinged with dampened annoyance, “you must understand that I am everyone’s Papa. The work I do is necessary to maintain and grow the ministry — our outreach, our education, charity — the very diffusion of our beliefs lies within my leadership.”

At his dismissal, you felt your grip around him loosen, your hands sliding from around his shoulders as you stepped away from him. “You think I don’t know that? You are one man, Copia. You can’t do it all,” you began as you ran your hand through your hair in frustration. You stepped to the side to better face him, hoping to see him — even just a glance at the mismatched eyes you were growing to love. “I’m tired of watching you run yourself ragged trying. And quite frankly, I’m tired of being left behind while you choose your work over everything else in your life.”

Copia’s eyes finally rose to meet yours. His voice changed from his more understanding and apologetic (possibly even patronizing) tone to one of seriousness. “My work is my duty…my oath to the lightbringer, to his infernal majesty.”

The earlier simmering of frustration in your chest came to a roaring boil at his retort and you moved to face him, arms crossed over your chest as you leaned just slightly over his desk. “Well, I suppose it’s good to know where your duties lie.”

With that, you left the office, leaving Copia to ruminate in the reverberating slam of the heavy oak door and the ringing of your words repeating in his head.

Copia tried his best to finish up the task he’d been in the middle of when you’d stopped by his office at the end of the clergy wing, but no matter how much he attempted to focus, he couldn’t drag his mind away from the argument you’d just shared. Perhaps you were right. Perhaps he had been neglectful in other areas of his life. After a light yawn escaped from his lips, he decided to pack up his work and return back to your shared room. Afterall, he probably owes you an apology.

He didn’t even remember walking back to the papal chambers, the weight of his exhaustion being so heavy that it dulled his sense of time. Despite this, when he entered your shared room, he still had the wherewithal to show slight shock that you were still awake and waiting for him on the sitting room chaise.

“Tesoro,” he started, walking around the loveseat to approach you, “I am sorry for the way that I spoke earlier—”

His apology was cut off, however, when you held up a hand as if to nonverbally signal for him to stop. His eyebrows creased just slightly in confusion.

“Go to our bedroom and get undressed,” you said, voice devoid of any emotion yet strangely demanding given your usual countenance. As he opened his mouth to protest, you raised an eyebrow, holding your hand up again to silence him once more. With this, Copia’s eyes adopted a slight glimmer and his lips fought the desire to curve into a smirk. He knew what this meant.

He took a step closer to you and his voice lowered as he spoke. “You want to play Papa tonight, dolcezza?” As he approached you, you fought the desire to conform to him, to allow him to take hold of the reins that he so often gripped.

You steadied your countenance and gave him a simple nod in retort.

This time, his lips made the final curve into the smirk he had tried to withhold. As he made his way into the bedroom, his gloveless hand reached towards his neck to loosen his blue cravat (a favorite of yours, he remembered), and unfasten the buttons lining the center of his shirt. He shrugged both of them off and set them on the bench at the foot of the bed before working to remove his pants, belt, shoes, and socks. Soon enough, he was left only in his boxers, and he began to move towards the bed, assuming your insistence that he get some rest.

Instead, you nonchalantly walked by him as you rounded the four-poster bed. “I said undressed, Papa,” you remarked coolly.

He turned to look at you, eyebrows raised once more, before his expression crinkled slightly. “As you wish, amore mio,” he said. Your face remained stoic.

The truth was, as you waited for him to return from his office after your discussion, you realized that you had two choices. You could be angry with him for the neglect he’d shown to your relationship. It would definitely be well-founded, and you had every right to give him a prolonged cold shoulder in retaliation.

Or, you could approach the situation with the empathy you had craved from him. You could help him realize that his ascension to papacy did not require him to work himself to the bone. On the contrary, it should allow him to revel in the devotion that others craved to provide to him.

You’d decided on the latter.

Papa slid the silken fabric of his boxers down his toned legs (oh, how you’d love to worship those legs) and let them pool on the floor below as he stepped out of them. You motioned to the bed with nothing more than a flick of your gaze, and he sat against the edge.

“Back against the headboard, Papa.” Your voice felt weirdly not your own. Not that you were complaining, by any means. You felt a surge of confidence and power prickling through your body and you couldn’t help but wonder if this is what he felt like when he presided over Mass.

Copia scooted his body back to the headboard, back flush against the aged wood, and set his palms down against the pillows. After reaching down to grab his discarded cravat (to which you internally smiled as you noticed the blue hue), your feet carried you towards him, padding softly against the carpet in the papal suite, and you pulled up the sheer organza of your nightgown to reveal the thigh-high stockings you’d adorned while waiting for him to finish in his office. His pupils widened.

Slipping them off with deliberate purpose, you gathered them both in your hands by their length and reached to grab his right wrist. Without hesitation, you looped the black nylon fabric around him and began securing him to the headboard. “You better than anyone know the values of our church,” -the nylon tightens- “the importance of self indulgence” -pull- “practicing the sin of lust” -loop- “showing our devotion to the one below through celebration of carnal desire.” He watched as you tightened the knot, testing its strength, his eyes deeply curious as he allowed this scenario to play out. You then brought forth his cravat and secured his left hand to the other side in symmetry.

You backed away and admired your prize. There he sat — the leader of the Ministry of Satan, Papa Emeritus IV, his Unholy Eminence, looking back at you while restrained against the bed with his infernal eye burning. With what? You wondered. Curiosity? Anger? Lust? Annoyance? Intrigue? He opened his mouth to speak, and you reached forward to press a single finger to his lips.

“You’ve spent so much time speaking on behalf of the church that I think you’ve forgotten how to listen.”

And it was true. All of his duties hung heavy on his shoulders. His ascension to papacy only seemed to increase the workload, and in recognizing his competence, the other senior clergy members dumped task after task upon him that he knew were not required of his predecessors. But, he’d wanted this. He’d yearned for it for so long. How could he stand up against the very ministry that he vowed to serve eternally?

Once more, you lifted up the flowy nightgown to reveal a pair of white satin lace panties. A symbol of purity, innocence — a stark contrast to your actions and the wicked man in front of you. Your thumbs hooked under the waistband and you slid them off, before neatly balling them up in your fist. “Open,” you directed. Surprisingly, Copia obeyed. You smirked and pushed the fabric past his lips and into his mouth, effectively silencing him.

Your attention turned to his legs splayed out before you. His strong thighs sat parallel to one another as they rested against the pillow-top mattress. Stretching forward, you began to run your hands along each thigh, enjoying the feel of the muscles beneath your palms as they lightly flexed under your touch. “I love these thighs,” you murmured, almost to yourself. You moved to straddle him, climbing just above his knees with your legs on either side of his. Lifting your arms slightly, you loosened the front tie to the bodice of your nightgown, then pulled both breasts out of the scoop neck. They sat directly in front of his painted face, and your eyes watched his as they traveled across the expanse of your chest, his kohl-colored lips barely parted. You swore you heard a noise escape from them.

You leaned in, breasts brushing against his bare skin as you hovered your mouth by his ear. “Patience,” you breathed, a smirk evident in your tone. As you pulled away, you licked your lips and continued. “You’ve proven that you’re very good at doling out orders. Now,” you trailed your finger down his chest, pausing at the bottom of his sternum, “let’s see if you know how to follow them.”

You knew at this moment that your attention, your affection, was what he craved. However, you also knew that for him to learn to let go, you couldn’t give him what he wanted so easily. Not just yet. So, you leaned back slightly and hovered your bare crotch against his own. You could feel the heat of the both of you and you smiled, pushing down just barely to push your mons against his length. It involuntarily twitched against you and you used this moment to pull back further, earning you a near whine from him (which you purposefully ignored).

As you sat back against his legs, you looked back down at them, biting your lip. “Fuck, touring has done so much for you. I can’t get enough of these,” you spoke, running your hands along the skin of his quads. “You never have time to let me feel them against me. How sculpted the muscles are, how strong they feel…”

With that, you shuffled your body so that you were straddling his left thigh, your own heat ghosting against the skin of it. You began to press your core down against him, putting pressure against your clit. Looking up, you locked eyes with him. “Do you feel what they do to me?” you asked, beginning to move your hips just slightly, just so, so that he could feel your wetness slipping against him. “How wet it makes me just thinking about touching you?”

Copia groaned against the fabric of the panties in his mouth. It was muffled but audible, which made you realize just how loud it would be without the gag.

“And yet…you deny me? All for your work?” Your voice took on a tone of inquisitive mock innocence and hurt, and you creased your eyebrows for effect. Forgetting about the restraints, Copia moved his arms to grab onto you, but groaned again as he realized he was secured into place.

“What was the saying? ‘All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy?’” At this, you reached down and grabbed onto his erection, trapping it between your leg and his as you ground down on the top of his thigh, pussy pushing down much more forcefully. You let out a moan and tilted your head back at the feeling. He was nearly shaking beneath you.

Your hips found a slow yet strong rhythm as you gyrated against him. With every forward movement, your leg squeezed against his cock and he let out a series of noises — muffled whimpers and moans — and eventually, his eyelids tightly pressed shut.

“Is…is pastoral care one of your duties, Papa?” You breathed out, your own voice becoming more lust-dipped as you moved against him. “When you’re taking care of your flock…all of your flock…does that include their desires?” You reached up and grabbed his jaw, forcing him to look at you. “Aren’t I not part of your flock, Papa?”

He nodded in your hand, eyes nearly ablaze as he all but came undone beneath you. He was so hard it was almost painful, and as you moved above him, riding his thigh like a fucking mechanical bull, your own visage was morphed into one of powerful pleasure. Your tempo increased and you let out a shaky moan at the pressure building low in your abdomen. You were close to feeling the release you’d craved from him for god knows how long. This, along with his own impending orgasm, caused him to spit out the panties from his mouth.

“Dolcezza, please, do not tease me like this,” he whined, words dripping with need. His papal paints were smeared around the mouth and chin from your touch and you bit your lip at the sight. He pulled on the wrist restraints. “Need you,” he choked out. You smirked and immediately ceased your motions against him. His face fell.

“Let’s see if you can use your mouth for something more useful.”

You moved from his thigh, leaving his cock unattended as it dripped for you, hungry and red, nearly pulsating. Suddenly, you stood up and straddled him, bringing your core directly to his face. His increased breath danced across the slick of your pussy and you held back a groan of your own. “If your duties lie only to the church, then maybe you should prove your devotion to honoring the one below.”

Without warning, you slid your hand into his hair and brought his mouth to your wet heat. A strangled groan erupted from him and he immediately dove in, nose against your mound as he fervently moved his tongue between your impossibly slick folds. You reached out with the hand not currently lost within his hair and gripped onto the top of the headboard to steady yourself.

Copia flattened out his tongue and you began to buck your hips against his face, riding him as he broadly licked up and down your clit and to your entrance. You were certain you were making some sort of pleasurable sound, but at the moment, it was as if the world and all of its stimulation paused. The only thing you could focus on was the feeling of his skillful mouth against you, his eyes shut as he ate you out like a starved man.

His tongue moved to flick against your sensitive bud and he wrapped his lips around it before sucking harshly. It was a move that he knew drove you crazy, and the burning in your thighs as you tried to stabilize yourself heightened the pressure. You could feel your own legs shaking, but you continued to grind against him, and for the first time, you wished his hands weren’t restrained so that he could fuck you with his fingers, too.

“You are so good at this,” you hummed out, looking down to watch him as you rode his face. The previous tension from your near orgasm on his thigh was back, and your own reserve was faltering. He flickered his eyes open and growled against your cunt at the sight of you above him, trembling and absolutely wrecked from arousal, and the combination of the vibration of his noises and intensity of his stare sent you reeling over the edge.

You cried out his name, head snapped back as your hand gripping onto the headboard turned white-knuckled. He continued to move his tongue up and down your folds, occasionally flicking his tongue against your oversensitive clit as he helped you through your orgasm.

Eventually, you pulled away sea-legged and released your grasp from his now messed coif, sinking down onto your knees. Your own breath was ragged and you gripped onto his shoulders as you tried to steady yourself. He looked directly ahead at you with a prurient expression, the paint of his cheeks and nose and chin smeared and saturated with your arousal. In a normal situation, he’d make a racy or teasing remark, but he remained silent. It was as if he had finally learned his place.

You leaned forward, bracing your hands on his shoulders as you placed a solitary kiss to his sternum, relishing in the feeling of his chest hair against your lips and chin. You then moved south, mouth lightly kissing and sucking on the skin of his abdomen, the angular hip bones that framed his cock, and the trail of hair right below his belly button.

His neglected length twitched as your face brushed against it and you smirked, sitting up just barely to look at it. Reaching out, you grasped onto him, grip firm, and began to languidly stroke.

“How could I forget about you?” you cooed, thumb pad pressing against his frenulum before you continued your pace. “You deserve to feel good.” He groaned at the contact and his head jerked back against the solid headboard. You chuckled darkly and licked your lips at the sight of him below you. “The lightbringer would be disappointed if their chosen figurehead didn’t properly spoil in self-indulgent sins of the flesh? Wouldn’t he?”

Copia whined beneath you, but you paid no mind, continuing your slow movements. You lowered your head, breath tickling against the end of him, and began to rub his shaft and tip against your cheeks and lips. “I love your dick,” you said, voice barely above a sultry whisper. You began to press kisses to every inch of his cock, savoring him, worshiping him.

He squirmed beneath you, and unable to restrain himself, he groaned out, “Cazzo, please.”

You stopped and peered up at him. His eyes were shining with tears of frustration and you were sure that the mix of submission and denial was pushing him to his limits. But despite the look of exasperation on his face, you knew him well enough to know what he truly desired in this moment. And he trusted you completely, fully, to deliver him to reverie.

“Let me take care of you,” you said, pressing a kiss to the very tip of him before laving your tongue over him slowly. Copia moaned loudly and his hips twitched up into your mouth, requiring you to hold him down with your other hand. “You don’t need to control everything,” you responded, mouth still pressed against his length.

Had you been looking up, you’d have seen him nod in response, but you were too focused on what was throbbing in front of you to pay him any mind. Lips parted, you descended down his length, taking him as far into your mouth as you possibly could. Copia hissed in response and you smirked around him. You knew that the sudden sensation of warmth would be nearly unbearable, too much, and you delighted in being the one controlling his fire.

You hollowed out your cheeks and slowly popped off of him. With a swift readjustment of your frame, you straddled his thighs (marveling at the drying slick on the left one), and took his chin in hand. “Look at me,” you murmured, and he obliged. Your non-dominant hand traced the contour of his jaw, fingertips now glazed in white and grey paint, and you dipped your index finger between his lips as you positioned yourself over his cock and sunk down.

The Satanic Pope’s mouth dipped open and a low groan slipped past your finger still perched on his lip. Your own center was still sensitive from your recent orgasm and the sensation of fullness was almost overwhelming, so you stilled your movement to allow for the both of you to adjust to the feeling. For the first time, you dipped your head forward and rested your forehead against his own, your hand cupping his jaw. You could feel the sweat slicked between the both of you and you closed your eyes as a soft, shaky breath escaped you.

After a moment of blissful stillness, you opened your eyes to look at the man you currently had caged in by your arms and thighs, and you carded your fingers through his hair. His gaze held a knowing fire that you recognized as one of silent permission, of need, desire, of his own restrained dominance. With that, you gripped at his hair near the scalp and tipped his head back as you lifted yourself almost completely off of his length.

“Out there, you might be the leader of our congregation. You might proselytize to millions of siblings and fans. But right here,” your grip tightened, and you leaned in to whisper against the shell of his ear, “right now, you answer to me. How badly do you want it?”

“Merda, badly, so badly,” he growled. You pulled away and your telltale smirk returned to your features. He looked positively sinister. His face flushed beneath his skull paint and sweat was beading across his brow. Both of his eyes nearly black from lust-blown pupils. A manifestation of evil incarnate.

“Then take it. Take everything you need.”

And take he did. His hips canted up into you and he slid in to the hilt, flesh pressed against flesh, and you fell forward into his shoulder with a near-howl of your own at the fullness. Your hands found purchase against his pecs and you matched his movements as he pumped into you frantically. Every movement stretched you further, licked flames against the sore muscles of your legs, but you ignored the pain and moved with purpose. Your lips found his and you kissed him for the first time this evening, pouring out your loyalty into the action as his tongue pushed greedily into your mouth.

As you shifted your position atop him just slightly, his cock brushed against your g-spot and you cried out in euphoria. The corners of his lips curled against yours as he panted through his movements, knowingly hitting that spot with every single upward thrust.

You swallowed back another moan as you tried to speak. “Fill me so good,” you nearly slurred as you pulled from the kiss. “Look at me,” you said, voice less commanding and more sweet. You knew your release was imminent and you wanted him to visualize the effect he had on you. How he made your body implode as he dragged you down to hell himself.

Your own words were rushed, nearly babbled as you continued. “Look at how good you make me feel.” His eyes locked with yours and you rested one hand on his chest, the other snaking to grasp onto the nape of his neck, while moonbeams erupted in your skin as your climax took hold. Your jaw dropped just slightly and although your mouth threatened a moan, no sound came out as he fervently bucked up into you.

Your shared motions sped up and you could feel how close he was by the sloppiness of his thrusts as he helped you ride out your release. “Take what you need,” you repeated in a pant. “Take everything you need from me.”

You pushed through the overstimulation and watched as his hands balled into fists in the restraints and he planted his feet firmly onto the bed, fucking up into you like he never had before. His eyes shone with unsprung tears and he was spitting out a slew of curses in Italian, with affirmations of love peppered in throughout.

“Cazzo, dolcezza, I-” And just as hard as he had climbed, he crashed down violently. He came roughly with a sound that sounded like a mix between a groan and a sob, hips jerking as he pumped his spend into you with wild abandon. He filled you so deeply that you could feel him beginning to leak down your inner thigh as he pistoned through his orgasm.

“So good for me,” you purred, pressing a kiss to the place where his hairline began at the top of his forehead, ignoring the sweat-soaked strands that fell into his tear-filled eyes. As you pulled away, you saw one of those tears fall and you quickly swiped it with your thumb. And with that, it was as if the dam had been broken, and both eyes began spilling rushed streams down his cheeks.

You moved to quickly untie his wrists from the headboard and as soon as he was set free, his arms wrapped around your middle and his head fell to your chest. “So good for me,” you repeated, more of a coo this time, and you pressed another kiss to the top of his head as your hands lovingly traced up and down his back.

You sat like that for a while, holding him as he softened inside of you, his tears and quiet sobs the backdrop of your denouement. He almost surprised you when he lifted his head to properly look at you.

“Mi dispiace, tesoro. I don’t know…I’m not sure where this is coming from,” he admitted, thumbs rubbing against the curve of your spine.

You smiled softly, reassuringly, and brought one of his wrists to your mouth. A red mark had formed from the friction of the cravat, and you kissed at it soothingly. “You have needs too, Papa,” you said as you continued to kiss at the sensitive skin. He hummed in response and you smiled again, this time a little wider.

“Thank you for letting me love you.”

And in his eyes, you saw a dawning realization, a comfort of sorts that came to flood his mind. He had known this had been an exercise of shared power, of course, of allowing you to express your needs in a way that the both of you enjoyed, even though you hadn’t previously explored the swap in control. However, as you took the reins, you’d gifted him with something he hadn’t anticipated — you’d guided him to liberation, encouraging him to release his expectations (the ones he’d built up of himself and the ministry) and just be.

Your permission for simple existence was the best thing he hadn’t known to ask for.

image/gif credit: imgur

#ghost band #ghost bc #copia #papa emeritus iv #the band ghost #ghost band fanfic #copia x reader #popia x reader #papa iv x reader #sub copia #dom/sub relationship #ghost fanfic

292 notes · View notes

infinite-orangepeel · 8 months

Text

“get too close to your muse & you, the artist, will lose all ability to decipher one shade from the next on your palette. keep your distance…”

fall quarter begins at the curly roots of eddie munson’s ineffable head, runs its’ labyrinthian course through passageways of blue veins & black ink, & ends at a set of hairy crimson painted toes.

steve finds himself squandering every waking moment of his lifeblood & attention somewhere, egregiously, in the middle.

“say you’re drawing a bed of flowers,” his professor lectured a few weeks back, “what happens if you put your nose in the middle of those flowers & try to recreate the details on your canvas? you come up with color and shape, sure, but it’s blurry—isn’t it? it’s a big blobby blur of nothing. that’s not very good life drawing, i’m afraid.”

flash forward to the present—

the bed is firm but comfortable. reminding you of its’ presence.

it doesn’t encourage daydreaming &, yet, steve is ignoring the better advice of his mentor & pressing his curious nose directly into the bud of an all too striking flower.

he knows the intimate contact could kill the rose, is aware of the thorns lining the stem, but he can’t stay away.

he’s struck by fear and temptation and self-loathing and a beauty that stings like a slap across the face.

eddie’s his roommate, his friend, his muse for the most important project of steve’s career as an art student.

& getting too close is lethal, so he creates a sort of optical illusion.

designs an environment in which he can pretend they are star-crossed lovers in a broken world that won’t let them be together. in which touch is a small death each and every time.

steve flits to eddie like a dragonfly to water—

never touching.

never spending too much time in his orbit before making up an excuse to leave & jerk off to the smell of old cigarettes in the bathroom.

everything he really wants to say sits in the back of his throat like a painful, malignant lump & gets spat out onto his sketchbook in a tragically romantic exorcism.

doing the dishes next to him is enough to drive him insane.

drawing him, butt-naked, is another story.

“is it supposed to be so….erotic?”

eddie arches an eyebrow as steve traces the outline of his cock into his sketchbook.

“it’s not that erotic,” steve says, blushing into his charcoals, “besides no one will know it’s you. it’s art.”

art is supposed to be weird & naked. now, hold still, & let me draw you.”

it’s definitely erotic.

there are roses—de-thorned, for safety—shrouding eddie’s dick & leaving a trail of pink petals across his pale thighs.

eddie’s hand is draped over his head; exuding a certain brattiness, lust, boredom—

as if he’s lying there because he wants someone, like steve, to stumble upon him & use his body the way it so clearly needs to be.

his lips are parted on the precipice of whispering some filthy secret into steve’s ear while milking him like a simple farm girl with nothing better to do.

fuck.

he can’t be this close to eddie without losing his mind.

fuck. fuck. fuck.

it’s just a body. just limbs and a huge cock and—

eddie’s quiet for a little while which is rare for him, before he pipes up again.

“what if we painted the flowers together?”

steve wipes the sweat from his brow, drops his pencil, and looks up at eddie across the mattress. working overtime to avoid staring at the erection sticking out amongst the bouquet of roses.

“the piece isn’t supposed to be very colorful. i’m going for muted tones. that’s why i picked the pale pinks and whites.”

eddie giggles a little and, it’s so cute, steve has to pinch his own thigh through his shorts just to maintain composure.

“i don’t think you’re understanding—the colors wouldn’t change much. except for some more white, if you catch my drift,” eddie pumps his hand over his cock several times and mimes cumming stop the petals, “might look cool. might get you extra points with that asshole professor of yours. you’ve said he likes ‘shock value.’”

“i—i guess you’re right. that’s a pretty….different and unique….um….idea. yeah.”

it’s like this that steve strips naked and clambers as close to eddie as he can possibly get without laying a finger on him. adhering to the rules—keeping a particular distance between artist & muse.

they lay side by side. sunlight streaming in through the blinds & bathing eddie’s spindly fingers in gold as he touches himself.

“harrington, don’t act like you haven’t been dreaming about this since day one,” eddie snarks, “i’ve seen the way you look at me, sweetheart. your eyes are gonna burn holes in my ass if you’re not careful. touch that pretty cock of yours, lemme see you.”

before steve can do anything about it or change his mind, he’s got a fist wrapped around his own cock and the other hand pinching his nipples. left and right, back and forth, dragging his nails through the hair sprouting around them.

“didn’t think you thought about me like that,” steve whines, watching as eddie edges himself methodically—

moving faster, slower, squeezing at the base, thumbing over the slit, cupping his balls, slapping the insides of his own thighs until they match the pink petals.

“i like a little pain,” he comments when he catches steve’s wide eyes, “and i’ve always was hallucinating the first time i walked into this room and saw you on the bed—thought i was going into the light and seeing an angel.”

“you’re so full of it.”

“i’d like to be full of you,” eddie breathes against steve’s neck, not allowing his lips to pass the barrier, “but i don’t know if you can handle me, big boy. you’re blushing like a nervous little schoolgirl.”

“am not—”

“are too, &, you’re about to cum just listening to my voice. it’s so crystal clear. look at you—fucking yourself so stupid.”

eddie looks so beautiful.

laying there like a forsaken god locked out of heaven.

steve’s been so good about keeping his hands to himself, about keeping his nose out of the flowers, but desire and temptation are stronger than any amount of remaining willpower he has.

he grabs eddie’s shoulder with his freehand & kisses him until they’re both seeing stars.

celestial explosions of pleasure & truth & this thing that’s been growing violently between them since the moment they first met.

“i’m cumming. i’m gonna—fuck steve, it’s gonna be on the flowers—i hope that’s okay—”

they cum in tandem over petals of pink and white and thornless stems.

steve gets an A+.

taglist (message me to be added or removed at any time <3): @estrellami-1 @disastardly @ilovecupcakesandtea @the-redthread @asbealthgn @bestofbucky @vampireinthesun @carlyv @shrimply-a-menace @lordrrascal @malachitedevil @anxiouseds @gay-little-bitch @jhrc666 @pinkdaisies1998 @perseus-notjackson @eiddets @corroded-coffin-groupie @three-possums-playing-human @stevesbipanic @plutoshelm @arkenstoned @indiearr @they-reap-what-we-sow @gleek4twd @bunnyweasley23 @livingoutload @a-little-unsteddie @novelnovella @neverlandwaitingforme @swiss-cheeze

179 notes · View notes

elkyralt · 15 days

Text

I'm going to write this now as I'm watching the goodbye stream, to add my two cents and whatnot.

The community has always been a huge part of the project, if we put the actual server aside for one second. The fanart, fanfics, headcannons, theories, comics, analysis, videos, memes, all of it was just as important as the actual players and server happening. The community was as much the lifeblood of the project as the actors involved were, and for that I can give a big thank you to all of you in the QSMP tag reblogging and creating under QSMPblr. I've adored each passing moment here - that including the rougher eras because as a community I've seen very measured responses from people truly passionate about the purpose the QSMP was there to serve - to unite communities.

As I'm watching Quackity talking about the fact that even if the QSMP as a project has ended, his desire in bridging cultural and language gaps is still present and something he wants to continue creating for. So yes, even if the server is currently ending, what has been achieved will forever be present. I'd never even thought that I'd be in a community with so many different nationalities who are not afraid to express themselves in their own languages and cultures, and especially I'd never thought that I'd be eagerly waiting to congratulate mutuals on their national holidays and things like that. In that, it's made me want to get closer to my own culture since I've never really properly grown up where I come from and I think that is something to be cherished.

I'd never thought I'd rekindle my passion for language learning and now be able to watch videos and streams in Spanish to understand the majority of what's being said and laugh along in chat, nevermind that same passion being rekindled or created for thousands of others. We have so many languages here and it's insane to even think about isn't it? People in the community that speak: Portugese, French, English, Spanish, German, Korean and probably more! I've been trilingual for the major part of my life, and have known Italian really well for a long time on top of that, but the QSMP as a whole has opened up my perspective on language like I'd never thought anything could.

THAT BEING SAID. Thank you to the creators involved in the project. It was clear to me as early as from the first days - before the translator - when the creativity and passion of the creators broke through those initial barriers and helped form the meaningful connections we find today. The roleplayers that created stories and characters very near and dear to me are absolutely to be praised, personally, I'd say q!Cellbit, q!Roier and q!Etoiles are my favourite characters to come out of this and those that I will keep creating and blogging about. Every character that came out of this is incredible though, everyone even down to Jorgito the IV drip and Posolito the capybara are utterly, indisputably, definantly: peak. Im greatful to the duos or groups that have emerged thanks to the translator and opportunity, just a few examples being: Cellbit and Roier, Badboy and YD, Pierre and Maximus, Etoiles and Phil, Missa and Phil, Cellbit and Baghera, Tubbo and Pac, etcetera! All of these connections between CCs were really entertaining to watch, and all due to the QSMP.

ALSO THAT BEING SAID. Thank you to the actors behind the scenes doing as much of a part as the streamers themselves. The eggs were all absolutely wonderful as NPCs and breathed life into the server like no other. All of them, all portrayed such different characters with realistic personalities and struggles that to me have always been stupendous at staying in character at all points. Lullah, Chayanne, Richas, Tupperware (Dapper), Patitas de cheto (Bobby), Leo, Tillin, Juanna, Trump, Chunsik, Em, Pepito, Sunny, all of you eggos have made the QSMP an unforgettable experience, and you admins deserve to get recognition. Massive thanks also go to the designers, writers, actors and managers behind the project as well, just as important in keeping the server running and fresh in how it was.

General thanks to the project for achieving what it has. Uniting communities, creating an incredibly story and characters, opening mine and other's eyes to more diverse cultures, rekindling passion for language learning and just so much more shit I could talk about for hours. This server has been an incredible ride, but that doesn't mean I'm leaving it completely.

Of course, the QSMP was by no means perfect and I'm not trying to make it out to be. It has it's issues and I'm completely aware of that. I think the impact and beauty the server has had is something to be celebrated regardless because it's something on a scale not done before.

I'm still going to be here, posting and creating about this SMP even after it closes. I'm still gonna be here posting silly clips and making long posts like this one that will maybe get 5 notes - but that's fine with me. I'm proud to be part of this community and experience as a whole, since Day fucking 1 - and I regret none of it. To all the people I've met over this thank you so much for being the people you are, keep creating and learning.

Thank you, QSMP, QSMPblr and Quackity Studios.

#qsmp #qsmp pos #elk rambles #forgive me for such a long post #but I felt this whole adventure deserved a post like this because of how much its impacted my online life #i wont stop being a part of QSMPblr and posting clips and textposts and reblogging the fuck out of everything because I love it here #never change QSMPblr #thank you <3 #liveblogging #QSMP liveblogging #qsmpblr

71 notes · View notes

90percentstudios · 1 day

Text

THE FINAL EPISODE OF COOL KID CODY IS OUT!!!

(((sorry no update illustration this time because i spent all my time working on the episode, maybe i'll draw one later for fun tho)))

hey yall, it's me, past denny, writing at 12:44 am because in proper 90% fashion we're pulling an all nighter to make sure this episode's as good as possible before it goes out, and in the looks at watch many years of game devving i've had, i now have enough foresight to know i'll be unable to write a single word come morning, and there's a lot i want to say, mainly THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR PLAYING!!

okay that's all.

hahah jk, i seriously don't know how to show my appreciation for all that you guys have contributed to this lil fandom, all your theorizing, memery, fanart and simping for cody's dad is the lifeblood of 90%, and i'm forever grateful for it. this is the most time and effort we've EVER put into a project, so thanks for making it all worthwhile! we had a lot of fun working on it, getting to know the characters, man, i like don't want to let go................. anyway have a great friday, i hope the finale wrapped things up as nicely as possible and if it didn't, welllll maybe i'll do something about that next year.

#cool kid cody #90% denny #steam game #indie game

16 notes · View notes

eff-plays · 9 months

Text

I see your "Tav fell first but Astarion fell harder" and raise you no. The opposite.

Hiraeth got hurt by people they loved before and are deeply distrustful of everyone they meet, even if you'll never know it. They treat him with kindness and are attracted to him but that's the extent of it. They don't allow themself to hope for more because this man's more of a project than they're willing to put effort into. They see glimpses of what he could be, but those glimpses are still lost in so much darkness that only he can navigate, and he insists he doesn't even want to, that he wants to stay in the dark, so what's the point? All you can do it keep the light on and hope he finds his way.

Astarion is desperate to pour their kindness like lifeblood into himself and clings to them quickly. They're the first person to treat him like an individual instead of a piece of meat. He can't let them go just yet, he wants more of whatever this is, even if he can't define it. He's aiming for power, yes, but can't he have both? Can't they stay, with him? He wants them, too. Wants what he's never had before. He wants that warmth and softness and it even stirs the same in him, which he thought was impossible.

So they go along, and enjoy this almost-relationship for what it is, constantly and consciously snuffing out each flicker of hope without letting it show. They care about him, of course they do, but they don't dare do anything else. They can't handle another betrayal.

Then comes the choice. Take everything you thought you wanted, change forever, never fear anything again, or ... stay with me. Stay weak but free, and with me. I will do anything for you as you are now. Don't change. We'll figure something out, I promise. I will stay by your side no matter what. Because I care about you and I want the best for you, but only you. Not whatever you'll become. That thing will be a stranger to me. Make your choice.

And once he does, and he stays, and he lets go, it's like oh, okay. I don't have to fear him leaving or betraying me anymore. He had his one chance at ultimate power and he didn't take it. He listened to me and he stayed with me.

Time to tell him I love him and he's my darling and my heart and my starlight and my muse and I will do anything for him and my soul would've died if he chose to leave and I'm so happy he's with me and we can be together and gods I was so scared I thought you would leave me like everyone else but you stayed and I will do anything for you forever and always.

They are instantly so down bad it's embarrassing, like the floodgates opened and now they're drowning in what they've been swallowing down for so long.

And it's like damn. I wanted to have sex on my grave but you're ruining the mood by making me kind of sad and emotional again, actually.

#hiraeth is like cool 95% of the time and then the final 5% is like NOTHING IS COOL AND WILL NEVER BE COOL AGAIN #anyway after this they are so fucking annoying with the PDA it's unsightly and cringe #oc: hiraeth #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #worsties to lovers #astarion

48 notes · View notes

maaarine · 8 months

Text

Doppelganger: A Trip Into the Mirror World (Naomi Klein, 2023)

"The housing market isn’t about homes; it’s about hedge funds and speculators.

Universities aren’t about education; they’re about turning young people into lifelong debtors.

Long-term care facilities aren’t about care; they’re about draining our elders in the last years of life and real estate plays.

Many news sites aren’t about news; they’re about tricking us into clicking on autoplaying ads and advertorials that eat up the bottom half of nearly every site.

Nothing is as it seems.

This kind of predatory, extractive capitalism necessarily breeds mistrust and paranoia.

In this context, it’s not surprising that QAnon, a conspiracy theory that tells of elites harvesting the young for their lifeblood (adrenochrome), has gone viral.

Elites are sucking us dry—our money, our labor, our time, our data. So dry that large parts of our planet are beginning to spontaneously combust.

The Davos elite aren’t eating our children, but they are eating our children’s futures, and that is plenty bad.

QAnon believers imagine secret tunnels underneath pizza parlors and Central Park, the better to traffic children.

This is fantasy, but there are tunnels—literal Shadow Lands—under some major cities, and they do house and hide the poor, the sick, the drug-dependent, the discarded.

Under the flashing lights of Las Vegas, hundreds or even thousands of people really do live in a sprawling network of storm tunnels.

Like my doppelganger projecting all of our surveillance fears on a vaccine app, conspiracy theorists get the facts wrong but often get the feelings right—the feeling of living in a world with Shadow Lands, the feeling that every human misery is someone else’s profit, the feeling of being exhausted by predation and extraction, the feeling that important truths are being hidden.

The word for the system driving those feelings starts with c, but if no one ever taught you how capitalism works, and instead told you it was all about freedom and sunshine and Big Macs and playing by the rules to get the life you deserve, then it’s easy to see how you might confuse it with another c-word: conspiracy.

As Gilroy-Ware puts it, “Conspiracy theories are a misfiring of a healthy and justifiable political instinct: suspicion.”

But suspicion directed at the wrong target is a very dangerous thing."

#naomi klein #doppelganger #book

22 notes · View notes

marisoft-paint-adventures · 1 year

Text

Pgs. 446 - 613

jumpscare.

YOU.

You start thrashing up stunts something uncannybrutal on your quest for "MAD SNACKS YO" and get this way rude hunger under control. Shit is basically flying off the hook. It's like shit wants nothing to do with that hook. The hook is dead to that shit.

I remember when Skate was the punching bag of the internet.

he’s so lame.

Your BRO's computer is password protected of course to protect all the incredible top secret shit he's got on the burners. Of course you know what the password is, and he knows you know it, and you're both cool with that because the password is the most awesome thing it can be.

what is it.

this is the most important mystery in all of Homestuck that is never answered, what the fuck is his password.

I know multiple people who have a desktop that looks just like this.

also Delirious Biznasty.

Complete Bullshit is my favorite weird parody thing Hussie puts in because I know many content aggregators that were as fucking unusable as this, and you would just put page after page of shit because you wanted all of your funny little things in 1 site.

it’s a really good, general spit take on the internet, that does not name any CURRENT or RELEVANT BRANDS of SOCIAL MEDIA that MAY OR MAY NOT DATE THE COMIC and also COME OFF AS FUCKING STUPID.

anyways.

Your BRO keeps up with your projects in his aggregator, just like you keep up with his. He's tuned into your various blogs, and of course SWEET BRO AND HELLA JEFF.

I like the little detail of the 2 Striders keeping up on each other’s work in their bro rival irony shitcore thing.

oh god here we go.

there’s a lot of signs that Hussie was indeed a forum guy, the general humor, the unabashed shitting on other people’s work, the focus on, well, forums, all that jazz. but this really signals that status to me, this weird and esoteric fetish site that burns your eyeballs. because the age old tradition of a forum user is to find and laugh at obscure fetishes discovered in the depths of the internet, like discovering that guy on DeviantArt who made an image of Joker about to drink the ocean water, shit like that is the lifeblood of forum humor. to see how accurate this mock porn site is, speaks volumes about where Hussie was online.

now, I say shit about obscure fetishes, but...

SMUPPETS are a multi-billion dollar a year enterprise, and it's awfully hard to resist taking a firm squeeze from the plump udder of that cash cow.

honest to god the funniest fucking detail to ever exist surrounding Bro, there is enough people in this world to fund the Smut Puppet empire, worth billions, but also this fucking guy lives in TEXAS, in a SHITTY BRICK APARTMENT, and just eats TAKEOUT all day in his fucking disaster of a room. he just uses none of the money I guess.

It's not unfair to suspect the regulars who frequent the little chat box on plushrump.com are just chatbots that bro programmed to talk to each other about puppet smut, to help lure curious visitors into the squishy fold of expensive platinum memberships and such.

I want to consider this canon solely because it feels like a peak Dirk thing to do to make realistic AI that only just get off digitally to weird shit like puppets.

You know this is ironic and all, and your BRO reaches echelons of irony you could only dream of daring to fathom. But on rare occasions, when your guard is down, it all seems just a tad unsettling to you.

NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE NIGHTMARE.

fear.

true fear.

I like how Dave’s 1st way of responding to the Puppet Realizations is to just constantly chat to everyone about how cool they are and not totally living nightmare creatures.

TG: hey what is up TG: what happened with the monster that is totally definitely in your room did you kill it TG: where are you man TG: anyway TG: things are cool here TG: totally cool TG: puppets are still awesome TG: no problems with them or anything TG: like TG: just TG: really really awesome

just “PUPPETS ARE SO DAMN COOL!!! I LOVE PUPPETS!!! SO AWESOME!!!” as he is internally seething like no tomorrow.

Cringe Ass iPhone User.

ok we revisit that conversation where Rose talks about visiting the puppet porn sites and there’s commentary but...

Rose likes bro's puppet porn sites. It's almost like they would have similar styles and would get along pretty well if bro was her age. Oh well, that's the end of that fruitless hypothetical reverie.

THAT DOESN’T TELL ME ANYTHING, HUSSIE.

WHY DID SHE GO TO THE SITES, HUSSIE.

WHAT DID SHE MEAN BY THAT????

murderous intent.

imagine you’re in your suburban American house and next door you hear some fucking child just screaming next door about cakes and clowns and shit, imagine that and you have now known what it’s like to be neighbors to the Egberts.

yeah I’m a bit of a gamer.

he’s SO SAD, augh.

girl’s so silly, girl’s so silly.

EB: did you know he thinks puppets are cool? TT: Does he? EB: he's so dumb!!

John you are unaware of horrors beyond your imagination.

die.

FUCKING BEATDOWN BABY YEAAAH!!!

I’m a big fan of John going hog fucking wild on these imps and then WV is just like “good morrow fine sire Johnathan!”

fuck yes, fridge wins the game.

dumbass.

he eats books, this is important to the plot, you need to know this.

oh shit it’s THE puppet pesterlog.

TG: ok wait hold on why am i getting this stupid game for you TG: youre the one who should be wrist deep in puppet ass TT: What is the specific problem? TG: the problem is i am up to my goddamn neck in fucking puppet dong TT: You know you like the mannequin dick. Accept it. TG: i am enrobed in chafing, wriggling god fucking damned puppet pelvis TG: an obscenely long, coarse kermit cock is being dragged across my anguished face TT: Let's put this into perspective. You put up with the puppet prostate because you love it. TT: Also, coarse is a good word. TG: you dont seem to harbor any sympathy for the fact that ive burrowed fuck deep into lively, fluffy muppet buttock TG: im whirling in the terrible cyclone at the epicenter of my own personal holocaust of twitching foam noses TG: its like a fucking apocalypse of perky proboscis here TG: like TG: the proboscalypse i guess TT: Are you going to start rapping about this? TG: what no TG: no listen TT: Prong of flesh bereft of home TT: Found solace 'twixt a cleft of foam. TG: no oh jesus TT: Of apocalypse your thoughts eclipse TT: A painted pair of parted lips TT: That dare through kiss to stir the air TT: That teases tufts of orange hair. TT: And though faces flush in lovers' fits, TT: Hands snug in plush as gloves befit. TG: ok dickinson if you can shut your perfumey trap for a half second TG: this is serious TG: i am just saying TG: if i see one more soft bulbous bottom being like TG: kind of jutting out and impudent or whatever TG: im gonna fly off the handle TG: im gonna do some sort of acrobatic fucking PIROUETTE off the handle and win like a medal or some shit TT: Then let's hope there will be a squishy derriere somewhere below the handle to break your fall.

truly iconic words never spoken any better. I have no idea how Hussie said any of this on the fly in real life before plopping it in this comic.

GET IT??? IT’S A CAPTCHALOGUE CARD BECAUSE IT HAS A CAPTCHA ON THE BACK!!!!

I love how Hussie planned out an entire cipher for punch card patterns, like a crazy person.

KILL.

TG: PUPPETS TG: AWESOME TG: THATS REALLY ALL THERE IS TO SAY ON THE MATTER

-- turntechGodhead [TG] changed his mood to RANCOROUS--

this is ominous, he is fucking fuming.

this is an amazing panel and I will hang this up on the wall.

this is the 1st instance of the guardians being knowledgeable of the events of Sburb, except this one doesn’t really go anywhere because Dad doesn’t really do anything involving it, so it’s just kind of weird.

I enjoy the implication that Dad fully expected John to just fucking deadlift a safe in a showcase of pure Man-Ness.

fuck this hat.

your racism levels are increasing!!!!

the tub is not racist, it levels up in uh

clean.

and such is the best part of this object leveling gag.

fucking Vaulthalla.

HELP HIM! HE’S GOING TO FALL!!!

AND THE BIG MAN IS HERE!!! HOW WILL HE SURVIVE????

the inhuman Strider ability of flashstepping is observed.

oh my god it’s the Muppet Babies comic.

Cheerfulbear Play With Me is genuinely some of the funniest shit I have ever read, this strip alone is pure genius, the fucking zoomed in Kermit Billy with the cutoff text always gets me.

Ok, some of this stuff you KNOW he's just leaving around to get under your skin. This is obviously another ploy in his relentless siege of one-upsmanship to get your goat (the same goat you've been meaning to bleat like ironically, but that will still have to wait for a more appropriate time). You think he knows that deep down you feel like you're still not ironic enough to get stuff like this, and this is probably some weird gauntlet he's throwing down to see if you will "GET IT". But honestly you think this material is just a little TOO ironic. You just don't need to see this shit right now.

Bro Strider might be the only man on Earth who has successfully committed psychological warfare via puppets.

trying to fucking microwave my pizza but I cut myself on the inconveniently placed BATARANG on the counter.

You spot one of your BRO'S many WEBCAMS nearby, recording the incident. It seems you may have just been an unwitting accessory to some sort of grisly puppet snuff film. You're not totally sure how you feel about that.

how much did Bro pay the FBI to not swat his shitbox apartment for creation of Not So Good Content.

Game Over. (Saw Reference. (Reference To The Movie Saw. (The Movie.)))

now imagine a world where the Buster Sword was used to alchemize, the possibilities, endless.

See, like, his hobbies are cool and all, and you guess he's got to put his shit SOMEWHERE. But what if you just wanted to heat up a burrito or something? This kitchen is pretty much useless.

circling back to the puppet industry, billions of dollars earned, everyone in the house eats reheated shit like takeout and frozen meals. truly dining like kings.

It would have been badass to go with the authentic Japanese names for each weapon, but sometimes you've just got to compromise with this modus.

WEEB!

creature.

Oh god more shitty swords. Of course you knew these were in here. You're not even sure why you looked. If you want to keep any food or beverages in this apartment, you've pretty much got no choice but to hide stuff away in your closet.

ok can I just say that malnourished Dave is 1 of the weirdest headcanons I’ve seen out of this fandom.

like, you can take the abusive Bro angle anywhere and extrapolate it from a lot of early writing, but the “ im a starving child starving to death” one is where I am just left confused. I saw him talk about eating a burrito, you saw him talk about eating a burrito, he uses the microwave to consume, there is a kitchen that is used as best as it can for food despite the fucking BUSTER SWORD there, he even refuses to eat fuckin carrots as a baby. man’s entire diet must consist of dried ramen, Hungry Man steaks, and reheated pizza.

which is still a terrible way to feed your kid, give that little man a fucking apple or something, but I feel that’s a world’s difference from Dave Strider Is Malnourished.

yeah he does hide the food away but I feel like that was supposed to be a part of Bro’s, uh, bro-ness, by that I mean the general extreme brother rivalry going on.

if you’ve grown up with siblings, you know exactly what I mean, they steal ALL OF YOUR FUCKING FOOD, all the time. to the point where you have to strategically place shit so you can be sure that no one else can touch your fuckin sacred frozen pizza slice.

I haven’t even mentioned the fact that Swords In The Fridge probably violates several safety codes at once just for existing. then again hammering fathers and stabbing mothers are the ordinary.

little boy rampaging killing puppet men in fury.

It's the hatch to the crawlspace above your apartment. BRO'S always tucking away in there when he's busting out his rad stealth stunts. He's so slick that dangling cord never even jostles. You just know he's being ironic with these weird mind games. There's no way anyone could be serious about aping those shitty movies.

HEY!

SAW’S GOOD!

the 1st one.

It is time to face your destiny. No going back now.

it is time to beat the shit out of my brother.

aw FUCK.

he is full of fury.

also good to know the puppet ass conversation was happening while he was literally covered in puppet ass.

I wonder how bro hung that there, unassisted? Wait, that's a dumb thing to wonder. He just held the paper in position, then let go of it and flashstepped at warp speed backwards, and threw that batarang at it before the note could fall even a single nanometer.

he’s so cool.

moral: sometimes, Dave is cool.

81 notes · View notes

moss-bride · 5 months

Text

You make me want to believe in love chapter: 9

Here's a fun little doodle I did:

Today's sky color is the line between piss and milk and its charm is lost on him. He had spent so many years under a blue sky, then under fluorescent lights of a cell, that the sight isn't as welcome as it ought to be.

Court here is not so dissimilar from the court of Spain. The duke and dukessa treat him with a smile and inquire upon his travel. Mostly it's the duke and bishop that control the conversation. The whole court looks at him in whispers. Nothing they would proclaim to him directly. He'd skewer them on the spot. Yet the word spreads

‘Here comes the disgraced lord to beg at Red’s feet. ‘ He doesn't mind the whispers. It's flattering that they are thinking of him. Salivating to take a bite of his assumed bruised pride.

Those upper-class nobles that are spared the worst of the plague and still able to think, gather at his court. Clinging to his curtails when he arrives. They chose his old courtroom for this procession. To ‘christen the sheets again’ as Yellow had put it though he knows it's to rub salt in the wounds.

He enters the council house as White demands the attention of all those in the room. “Sit down, everyone. The meeting commences fully.”

Mirth is on him in an instant. In the midst of an argument. He holds a parchment in his hand ( a battle plan that bears Yellow’s handwriting) he shoves it to his face. “Oh good. You're here. Please tell Yellow that this is a stupid idea and the ones that find it funny are idiots and fartguzzlers.”

Yellow spits the words out of his throat like venom, his infamous temper rising to defend the crumpled document he struggles to read (his chicken scratch writing has not improved). “We have new land and people to subjugate to our rule. Surely our lord would be more than entertained with the ways we can spill their lifeblood." His side of the court shines in their golden armor. Arguing in defense of Odious and thudding boots against the ground in an attempt to drown the noise the crimson councilmen are making.

“The King would much prefer my idea of a festival.” slapping his hand on the podium. His antennae stick up in excitement of his own words. “ I announce ‘The hunt for a hare.’” his part of the court appropriately ‘ooh’ and ‘aah’ at his every word.

But one pipes up. A public servant twiddling his thumbs. “We just got finished with the spring festival.”

Mirth climbs into the councilmen's stands and points an accusatory finger. The man tries to escape the sudden attention but others hold him firm.“Well, no one asked you. Guards! Throw him to the incinerator!”

They spring into action and drag the councilmen away

#x reader #ao3 fanfic #fanfic #scp fandom #scp 035 #scp foundation #alagadda

12 notes · View notes

seeingteacupsindragons · 4 months

Note

Canvas, Adhesive, Finger painting :)

One day, us Tumblrites gotta take a stand against "weird question names that require you to consult the question list 1000 times when answering because ???"

Anyway.

Canvas: Do you ever "prep" your fics with outlines or warmups before you start writing, or do you just dive right in?

Yeah, no. Very occasionally, I will make a notepad document I call "squishy red crap" (because it is the viscera and organs and lifeblood of a story all kind of blended up into mush) before writing a thing.

They, uh, look like this. After I clean it up.

I prefer to write the way I prefer to read, which is that I slowly put things together by what details I have, and editing is when I clean this up into a sharp, pointed blade to actually accomplish something.

Adhesive: When you write, do you usually "stick" to one character or story for a while, or bounce around various characters and ideas?

I do now, because I have less time for things, but I used to have at least two or three things running at a time so I could take breaks when my brain wanted to focus on a different type of project for a while. But now it's harder to make time for all of that at once, and I'd like to finish things, so I focus more.

Finger Painting: Share a small snippet from your earliest work (or the earliest that you can get back to). How would you rewrite it today? Either share the rewrite itself or just describe how you'd do it.

HRM. Okay, I'm going to do this in two parts: The oldest thing I can find on my computer, and the oldest thing I have hanging around on paper. But I'm not retyping the paper, so you'll have to see a pic for that.

This is the oldest thing I currently have handwritten. I was 12 when I wrote this, so have some mercy. I actually tried to throw this out at one point, but my former best friend saved it and got it back from her in college, at which point it was more funny to keep than anything.

The first most major changes I would make are start this with Misha in the bathroom mirror sort of explaining what all led her to get there.

Actually, no, the first would be getting rid of these names, which are far from the worst at the time, but ah, I had a "faux Japanese name" thing for a long time.

Mostly, this just has to be cleaned up. There's a very stilted, childish voice I can hear inexpertly telling this story.

Although props to little me for shoving "futile" in there properly at age 12. Just hanging out there, lmao.

This is the oldest thing I can copy-paste from my computer. I was 14 or 15 at the time, and only have this because I'd been emailing a friend updates as I wrote them. The 16.5k words I have weren't all that was written, but it's what I have salvaged.

“Hey, cutie. What are you doing around here?” Seitou whispered suggestively to me. “Oh, screw you, Seitou,” I shot back. “You know I’m taken.” “Aw, but sweetie, you’re just too cute. That girl doesn’t deserve you,” he answered, sweet as honey, but I could taste the venom under it. “Unfortunately, I’m not interested in other males. So find someone else to prey on,” I snapped. Seitou has had a fixation on me for as long as I can remember. Even though I’ve told him I am not interested in guys from the second he started hitting on me, he seems to be too thick headed to get it. I am completely straight, and I have a long-term girlfriend to prove it. Reisha is the most unbelievably beautiful girl I’ve ever seen, supermodels included. From her long black hair to her perfectly almond-shaped blue eyes. I’m not the only guy infatuated with her. Seitou is a completely different story. Besides being apparently gay, he has never had a known relationship, even with another guy. I have to admit; even though I’m straight, - which means don’t take this the wrong way- he is pretty decent looking. He has shaggy brown hair that is just a little long. And his piercing green eyes unnerve me just a bit. Myself, well, I consider myself average looking. The name’s Hakiro. I can’t figure how I nailed both a hot male and female. My own black hair never behaves the way it should, my brown eyes are a pretty bland color. Sure, I’m definitely my own person, never really fitting in anywhere, but will someone explain how that’s attractive? But even though I don’t fit in much, I have plenty of friends. As I was mulling over these thoughts, I noticed Reisha walking up to me. “I have something to tell you.” She said, sounding slightly grim. Even though I was completely secure in our relationship, her tone concerned me. My instincts proved to be functioning correctly. “I think we should end this.” She announced.

Okay, aside the fact that good lord is there some grammar fuckery going on here, and the names, good lord the names, there's some interesting growth you can note over the two-three years between these. Obviously I, ahhhhhh, had read some BL by then. Because wow is this BL tropey from the time.

But it also just starts straight in the action this time. It's much more active, despite the fact that Hakiro still spends a bunch of time navel gazing. Hakiro is pretty voicey--it's not the best voice, but you can start to see my real knack for dialogue and mimicking speech patterns starting to pop already. The, ah, dialogue tags are not as good. But there's some good things happening on this front that will continue to develop as I continue to write.

I think I would (after changing all the names), importantly change this story to make Hakiro a clearly bisexual kid who doesn't know that yet instead of this gay-for-you thing, because Jesus Christ is he bisexual.

I would also...not start the story here? I don't think this is where the story of Seitou and Hakiro's romance even starts anyway. And almost nothing about this scene makes sense.

Also, the way this is written just has so much unnecessary exposition and description that could be handled much more expertly.

#writing #my writing

3 notes · View notes

hpysprkl · 6 months

Note

4, 11, 15, 19 for writer asks 😊 have a good weekend!

Ooh, good ones, thanks for the ask @twosides--samecoin (btw, I just started reading Long Time Running the other day, I love it so far)!

4. How many WIPs do you have right now?

Five. Three are Fallout 4, one Fallout 76, and one Starfield (love me some space cowboy!).

11. Do you have specific playlists for writing fics?

ABSOLUTELY. When I start outlining a new fic, I start putting together a playlist that captures an overall mood for the thing, and that's what I listen to whenever I work on it. Makes it a lot easier to switch between projects or just get back in the right headspace for writing.

15. How do you come up with titles for your fics/chapters?

The aforementioned playlists. Titles are always song lyrics from the fic's playlist.

19. Give us a small teaser from one of your WIPs.

Here's a bit from the prologue of my main Fallout 4 fic, Holding Out For a Hero. Been working on this baby for a little over a year now 😬

Winlock's corpse (or what's left of it) is still smoking on the overpass where the fusion core's explosion ripped his body into several now-lifeless pieces. MacCready glances at the boss, standing over the body of a Gunner, reloading her pistols. Lifeblood is still percolating from a hole in the man's forehead. She's scanning the broken highway, always on the lookout for threats, but all is quiet. It's over. The Gunners will never bother him again, after sending them a message like that. It's hard to reconcile the woman in front of him - this vengeful goddess of death and fire and destruction - with the empty shell she'd become just a couple months ago, the day they'd gone to the Memory Den with Valentine, the day they'd learned what had happened to her son. The day she knew she wasn't his mother anymore. She'd seen that boy in Kellogg's memories, probably ten or eleven years old, the boy with his mother's eyes framed in his father's face, and she was done. He has a life, a home, a family, and it's not me, she'd sobbed as Nick held her. What kind of monster would I be if I stole him away from that? MacCready agreed, not that it was his place or his business. At the end of the day, biology wasn't everything; she understood that, wanted what was best for the kid, even if it broke her heart. At the end of the day, that's what being a good parent was - putting your child first, no matter how much it hurt or how hard it was. It's what earned her Mac's undying loyalty and respect that day, which was not something he bestowed lightly. He could count on one hand the number of people who had it, and he'd still have fingers to spare.

#fanfic writing #fallout 4 #wip #ask

3 notes · View notes

shadow-pixelle · 7 months

Text

Fic Writer 20 Questions

Ta for the tag, @shootingstarpilot!

(These ask games are always so long, so under the cut!)

1.) How many works do you have on ao3?

Thirty four! Which is a lot more than I thought I had.

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

475, 955. All hail oneshots.

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

Currently the top one is Star Wars, but I've most recently been writing for DC.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Mission Files, Into the Archives, A Credit To The Order, Lineage Dinner, and Chasing a Beacon. (Three of these are from the same series, lol. Kinda great.)

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Yesssss. Comments are great. I sometimes take a month or two to reply, because of a combo of 'I like to let them build up and answer them all at once' and 'there's comments to answer and I have no energy to do it'. But I do like replying to things, it's very fun. People screaming about my work is my lifeblood and I like screaming back.

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

Hm. So the obvious answer would be Shattering Point, the Pokemon minific I wrote a few years back. I'm not much of one for angsty endings, though. Angsty beginnings, sure, but most of the time if I write a fic I'm aiming for a happy ending, even if I'm gonna put the characters through it in the meanwhile. Even Tomorrow and Tomorrow and Tomorrow, my other angsty fic, ends at least hopefully if not necessarily happily.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Proooobably Second Sun, so far. That one's just comfy and I like it a lot.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

Rarely, but yeah. I've had a few sarcastic/snappy comments about the whole 'oh the Jedi suck', but my personal favourite one was when I got an angry comment on an MCU fic- it was actually my first real nasty comment on AO3, which was cool. It's only not deleted because someone else in the comment jumped in to argue back and the entire comment chain ended up like 40 comments of 'angry screaming versus reasoned debate' which was honestly just funny to read through.

(That part only happened because the entire thing went down while I was asleep and then in class, so I couldn't actually do anything to it.)

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

Nope.

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I've written a few, yeah. Not sure really what the craziest would be... from posted stuff I guess it's the Worm/Pokemon fic, A Shadow, an Eon, and a Worm, which is slightly gravebound atm because I am so tired and so busy. Other than that I've got an in progress Star Wars crossover that I will eventually finish and then reveal the whole crossover of, and a very tiny DC crossover I'm working on.

(This does not count the ideas, of which I have several.)

But yeah I guess Worm/Pokemon is my craziest.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of, no. Thankfully.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Also a no! This would be cool, though.

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yup! A couple of my really old fics (that have been confined to the basement from Early Writing Cringe) were co-written, and a current project, The Spare, is being written with Kali! It's fun, if a bit slow sometimes because we both have the attention span of cracked out squirrels.

silently ignores that I'm the one causing the delays this time

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Uuuh. Y'know I don't know if I really have a favourite? I'm pretty down to swap ships really. If I find a fic and like the ship, into the box of model ships it goes.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

Hey I actually have an answer for this this time! As much as I like to say I want to finish everything I write, the real goal has always been finish everything I post. Just that I tend to post most of what I write.

BUT! There is one fic that I probably won't finish because it's very angsty and depressing, and in the end of things I got maybe half way in and never did pick it up again. It's called Letters to the Abyss, and it's a Star Wars fic that deals with a lot of the later Clone Wars stuff.

So y'know. You can probably guess how that goes, between 'angsty' and 'late Clone Wars era'.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

Personally I don't think I'm good at anything, but apparently I'm good at characters and utterly breaking people's hearts with the characters. So yay that.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

I hate writing descriptions. I just really struggle with doing it. Apparently it usually comes out ok, but that's after a lot of work with it. I'm also really bad for keep repeating words in one section and then never using them again.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I'm a disaster for this. I like it, so long as it is either a) sparse, b) frequently repeated words, or c) translated shortly after. My personal method is a mix of A and B, I only do a little really and tend to use the same words more. I also make sure to add hovertext translations; I know those only really help if you're reading on computer, but it's still something. If I knew how to do that thing where clicking a word makes it a different word, I'd use that too.

If I'm doing any writing where it's a long stream of dialogue in a different language, then I either go with a) written in English, but in italics to denote that it's a different language (if the PoV understands it), b) a section of 'X and Y spoke for a moment in (language)', or very rarely option c) where I just have the PoV character summarise the conversation in internal dialogue. I don't do that much because I kinda dislike it, so usually it's A or B again.

Literally the only thing I don't like is 'long stream of foreign language that is only translated in the end notes' or similar, and I try and avoid that as much as I can.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Pokemon! Was fun.

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

Hmm. Hard one, because I get emotionally attached to all of my fics. Quick hit list, probably A Shadow, an Eon, and a Worm, just for the length, Meanings of Master as a whole for the worldbuilding, and I'm super fond of Ornithology at the moment because it was super fun to mess with.

(I also like Maskless a lot but that's a WIP. I mean technically all but Ornithology is a WIP but y'know. It's an unposted WIP.)

Some if-you-fancy tags for @kalicofox, @clockwayswrites, and @greentrickster! Have fun!

#ask game #my writing #writing #my life be like #it always feels like such bullshit when I open my AO3 page and see how many works I have #it's just like 'eh? when'd that happen'#fun though

2 notes · View notes