#slowly unspooling | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

inkskinned · 1 year

Text

hey it's nanowrimo. i have tips bc i've done it about 34 times.

Don't edit. Ever. Stop it. If you just decide to start a new project half thru this one with all new characters, no problem. pick up and keep writing as if you'd already written the first half of that.

"but i spelled it wrong" whatever. "but the grammar" whatever. make it exist first. no time for sense. think like you're working on a typewriter. no backspace. only forward go.

Don't re-read further than a paragraph or two backwards. "did i mention the gun before?" listen - it doesn't matter. if you need there to be a gun there, the gun is there. put it back in once you finish the book.

"i forgot the specifics of X thing i already wrote" whatever. change it, make a note/comment to figure it out later, and just write what makes sense for the moment. "no raquel it's legit the characters name and origin" idc that character is now reborn as Claudius from Elsewhere. it's fine.

only you see your mistakes. nobody else knows. one of the ways writing and dance overlap - only you know the choreography. nobody else will know if you miss a step, so just keep dancing and pretend you meant to do it like that.

it's an illusion that you need to write linearly - from point A to point B to point C. Nah; that's just timeline propaganda. I've written a LOT of books out of order and just reordered them once i've finished. if you have a scene you'd LOVE to write but can't get there yet because of plot, just fuckin write the scene. I've always found its easier to establish "point F" "point J" and "Point A" and then wiggle my way between those scenes.

write what you WANT to write. 230 pages of smut? of well-researched discussion on bread? whatever. the point is to strengthen muscles however you can.

if you miss a day, a week, whatever. not the end of the world. we all have dry days. also time is a myth so u can do this challenge whenever u want.

as soon as you try to write for a specific audience, you kill your voice. you are writing for yourself. stop thinking about how people will take ur book. it don't matter. what matter is u, enjoying writing. i luv u.

play to your strengths. i have characters talk so much because i don't know how to write a plot if it kills me but i'm really good at dialogue so.

i love a flight of fancy. write a poem in there. shift tactics and write in code. keep it fun for yourself.

see what happens if you shift something major about ur main characters - gender, wealth, superpowers. or if you change point-of-view. or if you kill everyone in a big explosion. do NOT edit anything before this or after it. often these little weird one-off exercises teach me what interests me about what i'm working on. it is never what i thought. plus it is a fun way to add like 1k words.

stretch.

it's for fun and for practice. stop doing that project if it's giving you anxiety. once my nano was literally 50k words of half-started stories. just things i tried and tried and tried and wasn't able to flesh out. oops. but i am now 50k words of a better writer.

add dragons?

read books/listen to books on tape/etc. people often make the mistake of "buckling down" to just write. you need inspiration. you need to like. fill up on words. you need to remember how it feels to lose yourself in a story.

i don't have the time or space to really talk about this in this post but a lot of creative people turn to drugs/alcohol because it can help you be more creative. this is harmful, and walking a blade that only cuts deep. if you notice you and your loved ones are turning more to substances, please know i love you and i hope you are able to get help soon. i feel like this almost never gets mentioned because it's kind of a hazy underbelly to art. you are always more important than the work.

on that note. drink your fukin. water.

don't talk about a story until you've finished it. once you tell the story, it exists already, and isn't about discovery. i usually have a very canned "haha we'll see" response.

grapes :) tasty snack.

i love you be free.

#edit: the command not to talk about it is from personal experience!#i have heard Otherwise in the tags so i will edit to say:#if you've noticed that you tend to like Talk A Lot about ur piece but never WRITE it -#consider voice-to-text #also #u might be like me and ... need to figure it out on the PAGE and not OUT LOUD #i am often an auditory processor so i wont tell people specifics but i'll be like #huh. so i have a character who is in love .... and they don't know it #and my friend will be like ''oh they should kiss' and meanwhile #somehow #saying it out loud im like #yeah thank u ur right the dress SHOULD be purple that's what the problem has been <3 #idk!!! it's up to you!!! my suggestion is to say LESS until you know for a FACT that saying MORE works better for you #-- always better to slowly unspool in ur exploration of that #than to accidentally talk too much and get Bored Of Project #idk idk idk #i have adhd so every book surprises me bc im like #wait where did any of this even COME FROM #and whatever little gremlin in my brain that writes is like :)#''heyyy girlie.......''#WHICH IS A LONG WAY TO SAY:#i didn't know about Not Talking About It as an option until i'd ruined a few projects!!#but there are people who need to do the other thing!!! and i love us both!!!!#wow brains are so funny!!!!

2K notes · View notes

juniepops · 8 months

Text

If a gorilla wanted to kill me it would punch me apart with a single strike. If a chimpanzee or a gibbon wanted to kill me it would shred me slowly and painfully. But if an orangutan wanted to kill me it would gently, methodically unspool me like thread and I would feel none of it

8K notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 2 months

Text

Throwing your shoe at them—headcanons

a/n: maybe had a little too much fun creating these scenarios, oops (again, thank you 🩰)

warnings: all round suggestiveness, hinted somnophilia w/ Eris, slight ‘enemies to loves’ vibes with Lucien

Azriel:

“The last time your legs were shaking this badly—”

“Don’t you dare.” You hiss, glaring up at him with fire blazing in your eyes from where you’re lying on the floor, downed by the exercises he put you through.

He crouches at your side, the heel of his palm pressed leisurely against his cheek, glancing down at you smugly, a glint in his hazel eyes.

“I thought you liked it when I pushed you over that edge,” he muses, that obnoxiously prideful look on his features.

Outrage pounds through your blood as you stare up at him with an open mouth.

He raises a provoking brow, a smirk curving his mouth. “Continuously.”

“You shut your mouth, Shadowsinger,” you snap, hands tightening into fists as you try to get to your feet. “I’m done for the day.”

He huff a low laugh, getting to his feet. “Five more. Then we can stop.”

He pauses, turning to glance at you over his shoulder, a smug grin on his mouth. “I could make you do more, if I wanted.”

The boot is off your foot and flying through the air before either of you can blink, and his shadows seem to intentionally dart away, allowing it to pass into his personal space.

Azriel catches it—barely in time—shooting a fed-up glance to his shadows, that has a spark of triumph lighting in your chest.

His attention switches to you, marking your expression, something hungry flitting through his gaze, wings flaring slightly at his back with male interest. Then his mouth curves at the edges, tossing the boot back, turning to stand beside you, again crouching down.

“Fine. You want to be a brat, that’s fine,” he murmurs lowly, having heat unspool in your lower abdomen. “But you’re doing ten more. Then I’ll really make your legs shake.”

Cassian:

“I think this one will look lovely,” Cassian remarks, holding up the red dress with a deep cut down the neckline that plunges to the base of your sternum.

“The colour won’t go with my earrings,” you reason, holding up the gold and emerald earrings you’d picked out for the night, appropriate for the dinner being held at Spring—making efforts to mend relations after centuries of unfriendly silence.

“I was thinking for me, actually,” Cassian counters, holding the lovely fabric up to himself, splaying out the skirts.

You pause, fingers poised to set the clip into your hair, before setting it down and turning to him. “Cassian…” you begin slowly, “I’m sure you’d look wonderful, but that was given to me by Mor, so you will not be getting your hands on it. You’d rip it to shreds.”

“Maybe if it was on you,” he returns lowly, eyes taking on a hungry gleam, dress lowering as his mind wanders elsewhere.

“Keep it to yourself,” you laugh, “we have a dinner to go to tonight, and I need to get ready.”

“I know something you could do a lipstick test on.”

You gape at him. “And where did that come from?”

“I listen to the things you talk about,” he counters, putting the dress aside as he walks over to you, sat prettily at your vanity. “I pay attention to every single word that comes from that lovely mouth of yours.”

You flush, something about his tone having heat warming your lower abdomen.

He smirks, leaning closer, bracing one hand on your vanity, the other on the back of your chair. “Every, filthy, word.”

Laughter breaks from your chest, grabbing one of the slippers you’d been trying to sew a pattern onto and throwing it at him. “I’m serious, Cass! I need to get ready. Don’t try to distract me.”

He chuckles, standing up, stepping back with a smile in his eyes. “Alright, alright,” he says, holding his hands up as he retreats. “I’ll let you get on with your routine.”

You roll your eyes, but return to the mirror, a smile warming your mouth.

“I’ll save the teasing for dinner.”

Eris:

Sunlight burns into your lids, and you groan, shoving your head under the pillow. “Eris please, I’m begging you to learn the concept of sleeping in,” you moan, pulling the cushion tighter as you snuggle beneath the duvet.

“If the sun’s up, so should you be,” he reminds, coming to a stop at the side of the bed, trying to pry the pillow from your clutched fingers, having to rip it away, making you whine, shying from the light.

“It’s not that bad,” he mutters fondly, pulling the duvet back and you make a show of shivering, his rosey lips cutting up faintly at the corners. “Maybe if you weren’t reading so late into the night this would be easier for you.”

You glare up at him, curling tight into a ball to preserve as much warmth as you can, rolling into the heat of the soft mattress. “Maybe if you didn’t get up so early you’d be able to stand late nights,” you grumble, finally getting up as he walks away.

“You know, early mornings wouldn’t be so awful if it was something else getting up with the sun,” you muse, legs swinging over the side, feet sliding into warm slippers.

“We both know you’d be drooling all over the place and half asleep,” he scoffs, back to you as he glances through your wardrobe.

You gasp, brows pulling together in an offended fashion, grabbing a slipper and launching it across the room, watching with distinct satisfaction as it smacks into the back of his head.

Eris pauses, as if registering what happened, before he glances over his shoulder, looking down at the shoe, then back to you. Unimpressed. “Am I wrong?”

You huff, folding your arms over your chest indignantly. “Maybe I’d like that…”

Eris stiffens, arms pausing as the confession slinks down his spine. “Maybe you’d like that,” he repeats quietly, taking a moment to comprehend.

Then he nods to himself, turning to peer at you over a broad shoulder, a mischievous gleam in his swirling amber eyes.

“Perhaps we’ll try that out…”

Lucien:

“You didn’t have to do that,” you say slightly tersely.

“He didn’t have to put his hand on your waist, either,” Lucien counters smoothly, but the tightness to his jaw belies his casual calm.

You look away, posture rigid as he walks you toward your chambers, escorting you politely. “I thought he was rather dashing,” you muse lightly, watching through your peripherals.

“Is that so?” He muses with equal lightness. “I think your standards should be raised. At least higher than a limbo bar.”

“Is that a hint of jealousy, Vanserra?” You remark, keeping your gaze off him as you open the door, allowing him entrance as you walk further into the room.

“Not in the slightest,” he drawls, though you can feel his gaze burning into your back. “Rather, I had assumed you were a lady of substance.”

“And what’s that supposed to mean?” You ask, not quite able to keep the snappiness from your tone.

“If all it takes is a light touch to your waist to prepare you for bed…” he responds lowly, and you’re able to hear the smirk on his mouth.

“Finish that sentence, Vanserra,” you say sharply, turning to where he’s stood by the door. “I dare you.”

His lips quirk, gaze a little more intense than before, and a surprising heat blossoms across your skin as he practically strips you naked, his eyes sweeping over you.

“I think your mind will provide ample endings there,” he remarks lowly, the light catching on the sharp canines that have dragged over your shoulder.

You seethe, nails biting into your palms as you glare at him from across the room. “You should learn when to keep your mouth shut.”

“I think you enjoyed my mouth being open.”

The heel shoots across the room with such force it thuds against the swiftly closed doors, being thrown hard enough to almost lodge into the ornately carved wood.

You hear him chuckling in the hall, thighs pressing together at the delicious sound.

“If you’re in need of a reminder…” he calls through the door, and you throw the other shoe, this one indeed lodging in the wood, calling another low laugh from his chest as he at last leaves you to your own devices.

Leaving your blood boiling and a flustered heat over your cheeks, traitorous arousal warming between your things.

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @amygdtjhddzvb @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy

az taglist: @azrielshadows1nger

#azriel x reader #cassian x reader #eris x reader #lucien x reader #acotar drabbles

588 notes · View notes

the-modern-typewriter · 5 months

Note

May I request a supervillian x villian where the villian begs the supervillian to let them go save their sidekick.

"Don't," the supervillain said, warning.

The villain's fingers curled, nails digging into the end of the armchair. The soft material was threadbare from years of them digging their claws in watching the news, from reason or another, but they'd never...

"I promised I'd protect them," the villain said.

"It's a trap."

"I have to go. I promised."

"And I promised I'd protect you." The supervillain stopped behind them, a looming shadow. It felt icy cold where their shadow fell, raising the hair on the villain's arms. It didn't frighten them though.

"Then protect my heart." It was a whisper.

The supervillain's fingers curled around the villain's throat, tilting their attention away from the corporate horror on the screen and onto the supervillain. Even knowing that their sidekick was in trouble, knowing that every second they sat there was a day where their sidekick could be hurting, they couldn't help but focus on the supervillain.

They were like that. They absorbed everything, whether the villain wanted it to or not.

The supervillain stroked their thumb over the villain's pulse, forcibly slowing it, calming it.

The villain exhaled a broken breath.

"Please," they said again, even as they sagged against the chair, fists unspooling.

"Say you pull this off, say you get them back without getting yourself caught." The supervillain's head tilted, studying them. "Do you think it won't happen again?"

The villain swallowed.

"Loving anything too fiercely in this game is a weakness." The supervillain's eyes blistered into them. "If you go, all it proves is that your sidekick is a target they can hit and hit and hit again until it either no longer gets a reaction from you or there's nothing left. It saves nothing. It protects nothing. Do you understand?"

It made sense. The villain knew that it made sense, but everything inside of them still screamed.

The supervillain's grip tightened a fraction, biting.

The villain's air stuttered.

"Please," they said again. "I'm - I'm asking."

"That's not what you're doing."

"I'm begging. Please."

It was all they could say. There was no logic to the decision, no grand strategic argument. They could say that not going made their enemies believe they could do what they want, take what they want, without consequence, but...

The supervillain sighed. They leaned down to press a kiss atop the villain's head, letting go of the villain's throat.

"No," the supervillain said.

The villain's stomach bottomed out. It crumpled. It compacted, roiling, like so much garbage. Their vision swam as they gasped.

"I said I'd protect you," the supervillain said. "You're not going anywhere." They straightened, battle-gear shrouding them in an instant, transforming them from the villain's sometimes-lover to something else entirely. "I'll take care of this."

The villain twisted, eyes wide.

The villain returned an agonising two hours later, with the villain's sidekick terrified in tow.

The villain stood.

The sidekick flung themselves into the villain's arms, clinging to them for dear life, shaking all over.

The villain met the supervillain's gaze above their sidekick's shoulder, taking in the blood splattered their armour; none of the supervillain's own. They wrapped their arms slowly around their sidekick.

The supervillain smiled, full of teeth.

"The only proper reaction to someone finding a weakness, love," they said, "is to obliterate them. Don't let this happen again."

Then, once again, they were gone.

#villain x villain #villain x supervillain #supervillains #villains #writing #story #short story #creative writing #writeblr

586 notes · View notes

juletheghoul · 1 year

Text

tease

a/n: Continuation of new beginnings, this is the Joel we deserve. I am of the firm belief that he'd be a total menace, and would make it his mission to drive you crazy. Shoutout to my girl @wheresarizona for betaing, and for generally just being amazing. Enjoy! xoxo

reblogs are appreciated

Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader

Word count: 1.5k

Warnings: 18+ no minors, big-legal age gap, some playful, sexy Joel (I feel he needs his own warning), piv sex, dirty talk, creampie, a few little slaps on the😸👀, some feelings, let me know if I missed any!

Masterlist

The room is warm, and so is he. His comforting weight grounds you, pinning you to the bed so wonderfully, so perfectly.

He’s been at it for hours, a slow, torturous, effective endeavor to drive you mad with lust. His tongue licks into your mouth over and over, his hands slide across every inch of skin he can reach, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

Not for the first time, has he overtaken your senses like this. The spicy-sweet smell of his skin filling your nose, the comforting weight of him pressing you into the mattress; the addictive taste of his kiss in your mouth. He groans when your hips cant up to grind against the thickness of him, drowning out the soft din of tv playing in the background.

The tips of his fingers find your nipples again, flicking at them, drawing out an endless stream of slick from between your legs.

He pulls away, and you take in the kiss-swollen lips, the lust-blown pupils staring down at you, no doubt taking in the matching expression on your face.

“Come on, Joel, give it to me.” You run your fingers through the soft, unruly mess of his hair, smiling to yourself when he nuzzles gently into the touch.

“I like seein’ you like this, though.” He dips his head where he’s pushed your shirt up and captures a nipple in his mouth, his tongue swirling around the sensitive bud slowly, letting it go with a pop. “I like how wet your pretty little pussy gets for me.” He smiles to himself, nudging at your shiny, spit-slicked nipple with the tip of his nose.

“You’re such a tease.” You whine, but he isn’t wrong. Strings of arousal keep unspooling, flooding, soaking through your panties—the fabric of which sticks to your aching cunt. It doesn’t help, or maybe it does, that his cock is rock hard, slotted perfectly against the lips of your sex, and he grinds it against you just right. Letting you feel every ridge and vein.

“You like when I tease you.” He smiles, his pretty brown eyes crinkling with delight. He moves away, pulling his shirt up and off, and for a moment, you think he might finally fuck you, but he settles back on top of you with a bigger smile, enjoying your frustration.

“Joel-“ you whine, your nails scratching softly at the golden expanse of his back, feeling the muscles cord and ripple as he moves on top of you. “Please.” He kisses at your neck, sucking at the pulse point.

“Please, what, darlin’?” His hand moves down and cups your cunt, “Want my fingers?” He nuzzles at your neck, taking advantage of the way you hold your breath in hopes he’ll give you something, anything. “Want me to make you come just like this?” He presses the palm of his hand against your clit, and it’s good, so good.

“I want you-“ a moan slips out involuntarily while your neck cranes to see his big hand between your legs. “Want more, Joel—please.” Your hips cant up again, chasing more friction.

“More, huh?” He leans onto one elbow, watching the way you writhe for him, “How about my tongue? Want me to lick it?” He looks down to where his hand is, presses it a little harder, and smiles when he’s rewarded with a pained moan. “I can feel you soakin’ through, so fuckin’ wet for me. I think I know what you want.” He pulls his hand away, shushing your whine with a low tsk.

“You want my cock, huh, baby, want it nice and deep—“He curls his fingers around your bottom layers, taking everything off at once, and you feel the heartbeat in your cunt at the way he’s got you so excited. “Want me to fill up this greedy little pussy, huh?” He pushes your leg open to stare at the glossy mess he caused “Look at that, so fuckin’ pretty.” His voice is low, the twang pronounced.

He gives your clit a little tap with two fingers. You gasp, your pussy pulsing with need, arousal flowing evermore. Another tap, and it sounds wet, lewd, and, god, so fucking hot you moan.

“You wanna come like that?” He dips his head down to lick at your nipple again. “Think my little love taps can get you there?” He taps again, and you clench, your nerves alight, your heart pounding.

“Stop teasing me, Joel, and fuck me.” You all but yell at him, and he laughs into your skin. Moving up and off of you, finally shedding his bottom layers, and you’re happy to see that he’s not unaffected by all the teasing. The tip of him is slick, sticky with his own arousal, and it makes you want to pin him down and swallow his dick until he cries, but you’re too excited for all that just now.

“Hurry, hurry baby, I want it, want your big dick inside me.” You pull him into the cradle of your thighs, cherishing his groan at your words. “Want it to stretch me open just how I like.” He slots his hips and guides himself to where you pulse for him, gliding inside so sweetly.

The stretch is almost overwhelming, the thickness of him pushing everything but him right out of your head.

“God, you feel so fuckin’ good every time.” He sounds as wrecked as you feel.

“I love having you inside me.” You pull him down, wrapping your arms around his neck, your legs around his waist. “So fucking deep.” You breathe the words into his mouth, needing to taste his tongue once more.

He starts almost too slow, sliding almost all the way out before pushing back in, coating himself in your slick with every thrust. He brings one hand down between your legs and feels you stretched around him, his fingers slipping through the mess of your desire before he focuses on the ripe little berry of your clit.

“Need you to come for me, so I can fuck you into this mattress just how you wanted me to.” He knows exactly how to touch you, exactly how to circle your clit to have you coming undone fast. “You want that, right, baby?” His voice is clipped, a velvet rasp against your lips. “Want me to fuck you hard, rail into you, want me to come deep inside this cunt—my cunt.” His words send trails of fire along your veins, a network of sparks along your skin, and you mewl as his cock rubs along that one spot he knows makes you see god.

“Yes, god, yes, it’s yours, fuck, Joel—“ it’s there, at the edge of your very being, “fuck, I’m gonna come—“ your body clenches, everything winds up tight and with a final delicious swirl the wave crests, your body shakes, and a filthy moan fills the air before he swallows it with a kiss.

He’s true to his word, and his pace picks up before you’ve come down from your orgasm. His hips snap hard, his cock battering against something ethereal, something that has your mouth open in a silent scream. One minute you’re holding onto his neck for dear life, legs trembling around his waist, but he moves quickly, and now he’s kneeling between your legs, his hands gripping onto your hips for leverage.

The way his muscles tense, the way he bites his lip with a frown, and the way he pants out his breaths is mesmerizing. You take in the details of him with delight, all those little things that you find attractive are so pronounced now as he chases his bliss inside your body. Your fingers reach up to hold onto his strong forearms, catching his eyes for a moment before they follow the bounce of your breasts, and you pull a breathy smile from him when you push them together.

You can tell he's close by the way he squeezes his eyes together and speeds up, and now you’re close too. That lovely familiar heat crawls up your spine, makes your body tense up and the wet sounds of your joining only adds to your steady climb.

“I’m gonna come–” His voice is thick and low, a caress in itself and when he presses his thumb against your clit you fall apart again, this time more intense with the way he fucks into you. The scream claws its way from your throat and the force of your orgasm pulls him down with you. He comes with a loud groan, the quick snap of his hips turns into a deep grind. You feel the hot spurt of him deep inside, filling you to the brim before he collapses onto you–panting into your neck.

The moments pass, and the blood cools before he pulls out with a hiss, lifting himself up and away. He lays beside you in the low light of your room, a dopey, satisfied smile on his handsome face, a smile you can’t help but match.

“Can I stay the night?” He pulls you close, pressing soft kisses to your lips, before divesting you of the shirt he’d pulled up to your neck. Your heart fills with something you aren’t willing to name, and you do your best to calm it before answering him.

“Of course, I’d love that.” You say it with a smile, your hands pushing his sweat-damp hair away from his forehead, meaning every word.

Tag list: @foli-vora @frannyzooey @greeneyedblondie44 @lola4pedro @ezrasbirdie @221bshrlocked @artsymaddie @supernaturalgirl20 @sleep-tight1 @sherala007 @marydjarin @cannedsoupsucks @thirstworldproblemss @ilikechocolatemilkh @freeshavocadoooo @hrk-fic-recs @maxwell--lord @princessxkenobi @the-feckless-wonder @kirsteng42 @thisshipwillsail316 @feministfanboi @dihra-vesa @stevie75 @readsalot73 @pedrostories @tobealostwanderer @mandocrasis @elegantduckturtle @diogodxlot @alczysz17 @evyiione @absurdthirst @beskarboobs @andruxx @littlemissoblivious @1800-fight-me @maievdenoir @gracie7209 @omlwhatamidoinghere @magikfanatic @frankiecatfish @mrs-ghuleh @pedritoispunk @studythoreauly @missswriter @pintsizemama @mswarriorbabe80 @a-trial-run-on-paper @la-le-lu @chickadee-djarin @dobbyjen @rosiefridayrogersunday @ajeff855 @johnsrevelation @the-witty-pen-name @zombiesnips-blog @quica-quica-quica @sarahjkl82-blog @fan-of-encouragement @queenofthecloudss @deadhumourist @felicisimor @sophiefatale2495 @toomanystoriessolittletime @what-iwish-you-knew @pedrostories @athalien @bi-thewayy @literallydontlook @pedrosbrat @gamingaquarius @localddreamers @luxmundee @iamafadedmoon @nakhudanyx @littlemisspascal @grogusmum @recklessworry @heyitmelexie @killyspinacoladas @gothicxbarbie @evildxad @dragonslarimar @spideysimpossiblegirl @chemtrail-mix @maievdenoir @breezythesimp @altarsw @artooies-scream @staygolddindjarin @softsweetedbeauty @littlemisspascal @yuiopiklmn @squidwell @allthatsleftbehind @just-blogging-around @bbyanarchist @girlofchaos @maddiedrmr @frasmotic @acourtofsnakes @buckybarneshairpullingkink @astoryisaloveaffair @harriedandharassed @swtaura @send-me-to-valhalla @shirks-all-responsibilities @androah @alwaysachorusgirl @dindjarinsmut @captain-jebi @gallowsjoker @oliviajdjarin @actuallyanita @tusk89 @dadbodfanatic-x @naiomiwinchester @blazedprince @rosymythologies @avidreader73 @mr-underhills-things @avengersfan25 @tastygoldentaters @nyotamalfoy

#joel miller x f!reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x reader #joel x reader #joelyyyy #tlou fanfiction #hbo the last of us #the last of us au #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader #joel x you

960 notes · View notes

saintvainglorious · 3 months

Text

10 Best Black Sails Fics I Read in 2023

In honor of Black Sails' 10th anniversary, here's a list of my top 10 favorite Black Sails fics I read in 2023, in order from shortest to longest. Most Black Sails fic rec posts I've seen are now around 2 or 3 years old (though not all, bless @jaynovz and your #jay's esoteric rec lists tag) so nearly half of the recs in this list spotlight newer fics. It's amazing to see fantastic fics still being written and updated years after the show ended - y'all are keeping this fandom alive!

I didn't read that much Black Sails fic this year, comparatively speaking, so I'm sure there's plenty of newer gems that I missed. All the fics in this rec list are Silverflint unless otherwise stated.

1 - Gone To Port Royal by Apetslife (G, 3k) - a delightful oneshot from Gates' POV where they all go to a pirate afterlife. every scene is perfect. endlessly re-readable and never fails to make me smile.

Definition of Valhalla 1: the great hall in Norse mythology where heroes slain in battle are received 2 : a place of honor, glory, or happiness: heaven

2 - i’ll be seeing you by youatemytailor/@annevbonny (NR, 19k) - this is THEE post-canon Silverflint reunion fic. the anguish, the rage, the quiet jokes, the tenderness, it's all devastatingly in-character. particularly the chapter 5 climactic unspooling leaves me in awe upon every reread.

Silver is out of his chair and across the room before he knows it. He has a grip on the barkeep’s shirt before he knows it, and he’s pulling him up, hauling him eye-level, only to head-butt him to the ground again. The barkeep’s mouth is thrown open in a wail, but there’s no sound, Silver thinks, no sound at all, save for the blood rushing in his ears as he looks at the other man on the ground, watches him roll to his side with a groan. Flint, Silver thinks, and nothing else. It beats around the knife in his gut like a drum. Flint. And then Flint is looking at him.

3 - The Dark Lord Proprietor by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (M, 19k, Silverflintham) - a fuckin hysterical supervillain AU. Thomas has amnesia, Flint is pining, Silver tries to get them back together. what could go wrong? could not stop cackling.

A year ago, James Flint was in a stable relationship and was within spitting distance of taking over London. Now he’s single, with a dubiously loyal henchman, a lairmate determined to learn his every weakness, and a Secret Past with the new supervillain on the scene. And thanks to a new government program, it’s all a race to the bottom.

4 - the cross dimensional nassau bar of getting izzy hands laid by FortinbrasFTW/@fortinbrasftw (E, 19k ~WIP~, Flint/OFMD Izzy Hands) - a Black Sails OFMD Flint/Izzy Hands crossover. the very best kind of smut-as-character study. funny, gripping, and endlessly re-readable.

The first thing Izzy realizes is he looks absolutely fucking furious — which yeah, alright, fair enough. He’s got shorter ginger hair. A beard like Izzy’s but kept neater. Earrings like Izzy’s but worn simpler. Bleeding like Izzy but, well, maybe a bit less. And he’s handsome. Izzy realizes it suddenly and slowly somehow all at once. Bit like a bloody painting even. The kind you saw up on walls in rich folk’s houses. Only, well, no painting had eyes like that, did it? You’d have to be mad to keep a painting with eyes like that in your home. They were bright and clear and looked — honest-to-fucking-Christ — ready to set the whole damned world on fire. Izzy's terrible, horrible, no good, very bad night takes an interesting turn thanks to a completely different sort of pirate captain.

5 - frail and fragile bars by Ajaxthegreat/@francisthegreat (E, 21k) - Silver realizes, post-shark date, that he's in love with Flint. an instant, iconic fave fic. SO many delicious scenes and quotes that live rent free in my head. just read it, you won't regret it.

“I think you fuck,” Silver says. By which he means, with great intent: I think you are human. I know you are human. I see you.

6 - the whole estate of mortal man by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (T, 43k) - Creature Silver AU where he'll grant wishes in exchange for souls. first read this fic in 2020 and cried. reread it this year and cried again. the nature of the AU intersects so cleverly with Black Sails' themes, and the end result is devastating.

Silver has a limited memory, an unlimited lifespan, and a need for human souls. He spends months trying to buy Flint’s.

7 - our feast is but beginning by x_etoile_x/@etoilesombre (E, 55k) - Flint teaches season 1 Silver how to cook. they're definitely not dating. no, really. this writer writes dialogue so in-character that it cuts like a knife. features sensual cooking, Flint being a queer mentor for Silver, fun genderfuckery, and Them Being Real Tender.

Flint should walk away. Silver can figure out how to feed the men, it isn’t his problem. But roasting a pig is so easy, and when was the last time he had a hand in creating something rather than destroying it? Anyway, what else is he doing, with Billy taking the crew in hand with such annoying competency? He absolutely does not think about why he is reluctant for this interaction with Silver to end. “Go get another pig,” he says before he can reconsider. “Do exactly as I say.”

8 - With Strange Aeons by Amiril/@runawaymarbles (M, 60k, Silverflint + Flinthamilton + Jackanne) - Came for the Silverflint, stayed for the Silverflint but also for holy fuck Jack and Anne are sent to Savannah and break out of there with Thomas to battle literal Cthulhu. How can you NOT read this. I don't typically read Flinthamilton, but by god Thomas is amazing in this.

After the disappearance and presumed death of Captain Flint and Long John Silver, Max smuggles Jack and Anne to Oglethorpe’s plantation. Thomas learns that not only do the three of them have a friend in common, but he is not the only one whose dreams are haunted by a strange city and a terrifying name. Meanwhile, Flint and Silver try to escape an island trapped in time, impossibly built and impossibly old. Along the way they’re forced question reality, each other, and themselves. And in his house in R’lyeh, dead Cthulhu waits dreaming.

9 - The Salt and the Sea by x_etoile_x/@etoilesombre (E, 60k) - a between season 2 and 3 recovery fic. i still remembered months after reading that chapter 4 in particular left me undone. a harrowing journey into the ruins of post-leg loss Silver's mind, plus exquisite hurt/comfort.

John Silver was always able to make the best of a situation. If this particular situation had started to feel complicated, well, a vast fortune ought to prove clarifying. Whatever he might have imagined he’d seen in Flint, the reality was they had used each other. And he had been set to walk away on top. Except now he couldn’t. Now he was trapped.

10 - the straight walk home by vowelinthug/@vowel-in-thug (E, 73k, Silverflint + Jackanne + Maxanne + Billy/Vane) - A western AU and one of the best long fics in the fandom. Excellent comedy, amazing AU twists on our favorite characters, found family vibes, nail-biting action, and a fucking fantastic climax. Also, I can't believe this fic got me invested in Billy/Vane.

Let me tell you a story, about a vaquero named Vasquez...

#black sails #black sails fic recs #silverflint #fanfiction #fic recs #bsanniversary #10yearsblacksails #10bsfest

132 notes · View notes

jael-dub · 11 days

Text

AU. The Legion falls back to regroup after the Battle of Hoover Dam. Years later, an intrepid courier joins the ranks of snipers who fail to kill the Malpais Legate, and is subsequently captured.

The woman stares up at them, barely visible from the arena. Her opponent’s dark blood pools beneath her feet, smeared across her cheek. Slowly, she raises her balled fist, thumb pointed down.

“Cheeky bitch,” Edward mutters, but Joshua barely hears him.

His fingers catch the end of the bandages wrapped around his brow, and he yanks it carelessly, the bandages unspooling and falling to the ground, the rasp of gauze stinging against the half-healed wound at his temple.

Not enough to kill him, just like everything else.

#joshua graham #courier six #fallout new vegas #my art #i've been calling this white bread josh au in my head

54 notes · View notes

foursaints · 16 days

Note

Alright Saints, I had a thought. We all love and adore little psycho Evan who foams at the mouth at the thought of tearing into Barty’s skin and seeing how he ticks inside. We love dentist Evan who likes to pry his teeth and knock him out with laughing gas for experiments. I was thinking about earlier Evan, maybe in medical school but I think even before that, who sees someone one day with body modifications (like implants on their arm or tiny horns on their head) and he becomes obsessed with it. He wants to perform these little surgeries on Barty, dig into his skin and leave something behind. Change his appearance forever with bits of Evan under his skin. Changing him slowly on the outside to match the beloved monster on the inside. Anyways, just a random thought I had the other day that was 100% inspired by your Evan, I adore you Saints, I’d love to know your thoughts

asks like these make me feel like i’m sitting down across a coffee table and having a conference (in the best way). i love your energy!! let’s discuss…

i’ve reached a point where i don’t think evan would want to leave his mark on barty. i maintain that barty is the exception to evan’s rule of wanting to dissect & unspool everything he loves — evan only loves his Sister & his Lover. he loves his twin because she is the only thing he understands completely, and he loves his lover because he is the one thing he never will. <- in both these cases, evan doesn’t feel the need to take them apart. i think that’s as close as he gets to real love.

taking parts of barty for himself is different (keeping a tooth, some blood, a pinkie) but i don’t think he would want to tamper with the strange enigmatic Whole that barty is. even the way barty moves (hyperaware of himself, unsettlingly limber, fake-casual and frighteningly Intentional) is just fascinating for evan to watch. in my vision for them evan is covered head to toe in hickeys & bite marks & scratches and barty is just completely unblemished standing next to him like :-) 👍

#a #rose & thorn #i might disagree with myself later on this one. they contain multitudes

50 notes · View notes

imaginebetterfutures · 5 months

Text

I'm back with another sculpture! To be completely honest, this one was a real struggle for me to work out, idea wise. I love working abstractly (see earlier pieces!) but for this one our prompt in class was "objects and identity." We were asked to cast an object from life, and use it to speak to some aspect of ourselves that we want to explore. Not only am I an extremely closed book (pour one out for my therapist) but I'm also really not that interested in replicating objects?

So... I sort of cheated. This isn't *really* a cast of VHS tapes (although I did try to do that, and it failed miserably) but I'm still pleased with the outcome. Sound on for what I think is the best part — the pleasing and/or sinister snick snick snick sound of the tape unspooling and piling up.

If you like long, corny artist statements, boy howdy do I have one for you!

~~ GEODE ~~

My day job is as a journalist, and while I find a lot of the posturing that journalists do about our role as storytellers to be pretentious and often egotistical, I also can't deny that I got into this because I love to see into people's lives. Why do people do what they do? Why do we make the choices we make? How did we get here, as individuals and as a collective?

Much of journalism is about the big moments — wars and chaos and game changing plays. But those don't come out of nowhere. They come from a history, both personal and communal. We are products of our childhoods, our cultures, our teachers, our parents. We come from places that have smells and sounds and textures. And we document those things — and here I don't mean "we" journalists, I mean "we" as people. Humans have, for our entire history, recorded ourselves in one way or another. We write on walls, we tell each other stories, we come up with words that have deep meanings that stretch back into time.

Some journalists see their job as speaking truth to power. Or telling the important stories in the face of chaos and misinformation. Or staking a claim to truth, and defending it. All of that is true, of course. But when I think about my job I don't think about those things. I think about excavation. About telling the story in such a way that you can feel the texture of the people in it. I think of stories like geodes.

Do you know how a geode forms? They start with a volcanic eruption. Lava flows from a hot, angry vent, and mixes with the gases in the air. Most of the time, those gases don't stay put — they escape into the air and go off to become the wind in your hair, or carry pollen, or sweep under a bird's wing. But sometimes, bubbles of gas can't escape the boiling weight of the lava and become trapped. As the lava cools, those bubbles remain. It is only then — held tight and encased in cooling rock — that the crystals characteristic of geodes form.

There is something sad about opening a geode. It can reveal a great beauty, but it is also inherently destructive. You are taking a hammer to something hard and protected and asking it to open, to be seen, to be commented on. Not all geodes want to open. Not all geodes should be opened, perhaps. Not all geodes are beautiful inside. How do you know when to break one, and when to leave it be?

Once you break a geode, you open the crystals up to damage. UV light can bleach the colors inside and the oils on your skin can slowly eat away at the glittering growths.

I think a lot, as a journalist, about the stories that we lose when people die. The small things that they knew — the color of a lover's hair, the name of their neighborhood dog, the true identity of a soldier — that go to the ground with them. I have to stop myself from buying home movies when I see them at garage sales and thrift shops — each one, to me, a geode. Inside they might contain nothing, or everything. Wrapped tight in metallic film they recorded things people thought were important, things people wanted to remember. Trapped in plastic and now, broken open.

My piece is a VHS geode. I have broken it, and it is unspooling, and we are forgetting. It is beautiful and terrible all at once.

#sculpture #moving sculpture #kinetic sculpture #plaster #plaster casting #VHS #geode #cheesy artist statements #art class #art

123 notes · View notes

slowly-unspooling · 1 year

Text

Slowly Unspooling is a upcoming serial fiction podcast that follows Kai and their journey to discover the secrets of some tapes that showed up one day. Tapes with their voice on it.

Kai will have to battle with themself and their family to unspool the mystery that has decided to involve them.

Slowly Unspooling is written and produced by Aspen Rayne, and will include voice acting from a variety of people. Stay tuned for those announcements coming up!

You can follow this page here, our facebook at www.facebook.com/slowlyunspooling, or if you want to support us in a more personal way, our patreon is www.patreon.com/SlowlyUnspooling

#podcast #podcast writer #writing #horror #serial fiction #slowly unspooling #new show #acast #new podcast #podcast announcement #audio content #patreon #horror podcast #podcast recommendation #podcast community #audio storytelling #podcasters of tumblr

16 notes · View notes

saltpepperbeard · 3 months

Text

Rated T | 2.6k | Complete Stede drew a sharp breath. Whiplash; no, he couldn’t spiral. It was not the time to spiral. Ed needed him. Ed was vulnerable, and alone, and hurt, and needed him. He needed a hand to hold. He needed a friend. He needed love. All of which Stede was more than willing to offer. He was going to apologize for everything he had wrought. He was going to try and slowly unspool all the consequences from his actions. He was going to fight to show his devotion, his care, his affection again. But that all was down the road; in the meantime, he was going to address what lay before him. He was going to focus on the physical before the emotional, the visible before the invisible. After finally reuniting with Ed, Stede sits with all the subsequent emotions, and begins the first little steps towards healing, towards mending their love.

Read on AO3 Here

#OFMD #Our Flag Means Death #Gentlebeard fic #Blackbonnet fic #ofmd fanfic #Gentlebeard fanfiction #Blackbonnet fanfiction #Write! That's the spirit!#Revenge rambles #Stede Bonnet #Edward Teach #OFMD Season 2 #Wanted to make a proper story post for ~*~organizational purposes~*~#And also I will leap at any opportunity to gif their HANDS TBH HSJKDLS #AND TO DO THE BLUE/BORPLE COLORING SHDKJLSDHLS #yes yes i know can we pretend that airplanes in the night sky SHSHSHSSHHHSHSH SHDJKLS

55 notes · View notes

silverskye13 · 1 year

Text

Mortals are insane. That goes without saying, but Cub likes to remind himself every once in a while, just in case he’d somehow forgotten. Mortals are insane. Granted, most mortals think he’s insane, but that’s just the baffling way mortals perceive the vex. In fairness, vex are insane. He knows this about himself. It's just that he’s insane in a very different way to mortals. The word “crazy” is a lot more fluid than people think it is.

For instance, crazy mortals will see a massive crack in time and space growing beneath Grian’s base, and they’ll walk right in. A crazy vex will follow, just to see what happens. Mortals are crazy because they’re daring and curious. Vex are crazy because they want to see what chaos ensues. See? Very different. It’s not that Cub isn’t excited to see what’s on the other side, it’s that he’s more excited to see how what’s on the other side is about to break, irreparably, because his pack of mortals sauntered in. It puts a smile on his face, like watching an artist make a new painting. It’s exciting. It's unpredictable. It’s insane.

The world on the other side is beautiful. It’s a world of empires. It's full of glorious, wondrous things, and people, and places, and all of them Cub comfortably calls insane. There are not-mortals living here. None of them are vex, but some of them are incredibly not-mortal. Granted, some of the friends he follows are not-mortal, but they’re not-mortal in a familiar way. He's defined their edges. This is an edgeless world he's walked into, off the side of the familiar into whatever's beyond it.

Katherine is mortal, he thinks. The colorful ruler of Chromia, Scott, is barely-mortal. Pearl is not-mortal in a fundamentally different way to how she normally is back home, and Cub thinks that’s fantastic. That’s the kind of chaos he’s here for: irreparable changes, the fabric of the world reweaving itself.

Katherine's kingdom, Glimmer Grove, is beautiful. Cub immediately takes in the clash of black and gray against pink and white, some curse, he thinks, spreading through her lands. If he really tapped into the magic of it, he might be able to tell what it is, but there's no fun in that. Secrets are at their best when they're unspooled slowly in their own time, sowing their little seeds of chaos. So Cub instead walks with the others and feigns ignorance when Scott points out the oddities in the architecture. He can't tell if Pearl and Impulse are playing along too, or if they really can't see it, but that just adds to the fun. How long can they dance around what each other knows?

Insane.

Katherine gives a flourish of her pink dress as she stops them before a building. She's bouncing on her toes with excitement. Cub thinks she's terrible at keeping secrets, and those are the best kind of people. She leans in toward them, grinning, "Can you keep a secret?"

She is the best kind of people.

Cub plays with a humble smirk, "I can keep a secret, yeah."

Impulse gives him a sidelong glance that Cub pointedly ignores. He's too busy looking trustworthy. The rest of them agree, yes, we love secrets. Katherine, in that lovely way the best kinds of people do, believes them only because she has a secret she desperately wants to tell. She laughs and beckons them after her, leading them to a false door in her keep. It's a secret base, she tells them in an exuberant sing-song, a secret she's never told anyone, that she's giving to these complete strangers. Mortals are insane.

Impulse shoots Cub another look, this time disapproving. Cub shrugs. He can't explain to Impulse that, vex or not, he hadn't coerced this with magic - though Impulse is right in thinking that's something he'd do. Explaining this would mean telling Katherine and Scott (and maybe Pearl, if more than just her not-mortal-ness has changed without her knowing) that he's vex, and he doesn't want to do that. Not yet anyway. You can never really tell what people think about vex. Besides, Katherine isn't done sharing secrets, and it would be bad form to reveal his own secret while listening to another. It makes him look less trustworthy, and it takes away from the impact of a well-placed reveal. He’d never steal another secret-sharer’s thunder.

"So the real secret," Katherine grins as she closes the door behind them, "is I'm a monster slayer."

She takes a wicked looking battle ax down from its mount on the wall. The blade is sharp as shattered glass, and carries the dangerous aura of a weapon lovingly and frequently used. Cub thinks, maybe, it could kill him. He tries to hide his grin.

There is a noticeable silence after Katherine reveals the ax, a pause that breathes just a moment too long. Scott looks bemused, like he'd somehow expected this. His magic eye glitters, trying to decide if it's monstrous. Pearl looks excitedly curious, like this is the most interesting thing she's learned all day. Impulse looks at Cub again. This time instead of being suspicious, he looks nervous. Cub squints his eyes and smirks.

"That's amazing," he says, and he means it. Mortals are full of wonders. She also reveals to them a deadly looking bow, and tells them about a magical transformations she does to “murder the bad guys”. The room is peppered with applause and praise, and Cub is grinning wide and excited, and he hopes it doesn’t look too terribly vex of him. He loves heroes. He loves seeing what they’ll do. Chaos. When he was an evoker-tied vex, he loved watching them suffer too, but he’s shaken that part of his vex-ness at least. He does think Katherine is the most interesting person he’s met today. Katherine swears them into secrecy and they leave, and Impulse watches the spring in Cub’s step dubiously.

“You should stay away from her, buddy,” Impulse cautions. “You’re a monster. She's a monster slayer.”

“Oh definitely, definitely,” Cub chimes a little too enthusiastically, and Impulse frowns at him. “But Impulse, she kills bad guys, and I’m on my best behavior.”

“Cub we just got here,” Impulse groans. “You need to stay out of trouble until we feel these people out. Some of them are scary, and they have their own agendas they’re pushing.”

“When have I ever started trouble?”

Impulse pauses to think about this. The answer is “often”, but people are rarely around to watch Cub start trouble. They’re generally only in the know when he escalates and finishes it. Impulse shakes his head, “You should still be careful.”

“I’ll be careful.” This, at least, is truthful. It’d do no good to go and get himself killed by a monster slayer two days into this new wonderful world, especially when it’s very possible vex magic will be needed to fix the portal. Vex have unpredictable magic; there’s no telling if it’ll help or harm a situation. In truth, Cub isn’t completely unconvinced his magic broke the portal in the first place, just by merit of him stepping through. What he does know is that he doesn’t want to leave. Not now. Not when there’s so much going on here. This world, he decides with the utmost fondness, is insane.

They take a tour. They meet gods and goblins, a witch in the woods. None of these, Cub notes to himself, are considered monsters by the monster slayer. Katherine speaks of them fondly, with no signs of magical transformations or smiting. Of course, it is daytime. Who's to know what will happen when the moon rises?

He's to know, as it turns out, because Katherine calls him, Impulse and Pearl back to her place. She's a little more nervous this time. Cub can't smell mortal fear -- that's not really a vex trait -- but he's known mortal fear enough times to know there's a little bit of it here in Katherine. She wants them to prove their loyalty, and then once they prove it, to give them an ax and a uniform. It’s insurance, Cub thinks. It’s a lot harder to share a secret once it’s yours. Not that he was planning on sharing it anyway. He wants to see how this plays out. Impulse keeps throwing him sideways glances, getting increasingly nervous as the evening goes on. Cub remains unflappable, smiling, because why wouldn’t he find this fun? A vex that’s a monster slayer.

The moon rises.

As it’s rising, Katherine gives them a challenge. Prove you’re a monster hunter. Bring back the head of a monster. The vex in Cub goes to war with itself briefly, while it ignores another of Impulse’s furtive glances. He thinks it would be incredibly fun, incredibly chaotic, if he gave his own head to Katherine. But then again, that goes back to the problem of Cub wanting to know how all this plays out, wanting to chase the chaos of a new world, and needing to be alive to see how the Rift gets fixed. So he does something better.

The moon rises, and Katherine turns her back on them and raises her ax to begin her transformation. Pearl and Impulse start to scurry into corners to change into their uniforms. Cub waits until the Monster Slayer is mid-transformation, too caught up in her glitter and moonlight to watch. Then he snaps his fingers.

He, Impulse and Pearl are showered in glittering moonlight. Music only they can hear strikes up to the sound of rock guitar and drums. Who doesn’t love a good anime magical girl transformation? Cub finds himself laughing through his.

They land back on their feet, decked out in Monster Slayer regalia. Pearl is beaming. So is Cub. Impulse looks even more unsettled than he did before.

“Alright Monster Slayers!” Katherine calls, before Impulse can chastise Cub for the reckless use of vex magic in front of someone who probably kills vex in her spare time. “Bring me some monster heads!”

"Cub," Impulse whispers to him just before the all scatter in different directions. "You're insane."

Cub thinks that's funny, coming from a mortal. He grins. "I know."

#the barking writer #hermitcraft x empires #katherine elizabeth #esmp katherine #cubfan135 #impulsesv #empires s2 #hermitcraft #hermitcraft spoilers #empires smp spoilers #vex!cub #i just love that cub is working with katherine okau #i feel like its pleasantly ironic

628 notes · View notes

the-wayside · 4 months

Text

I don't know whether I want to write a fic about it or a meta about it. Maybe both, so here we go.

Babe was raised with love by his father. He knows what unconditional love looks like, even in the darkest of days and hardest of times. I don't believe for one second that a man who did everything to keep his son happy while living on the streets would do anything less than try to give his son a better life. And a parent who loves like that wouldn't just disappear. Babe should have been able to find him as an adult so I think Tony did something.

Anyways.

He has this love that he holds in his heart from his father and he goes through this whole trauma of being raised like superpowered chattel and gets free but now he can't trust people. He can't get the love he so desperately craves and remembers. So he takes what he can get. He likes alphas because he likes to dominate but in a different way so he has to posture to keep the mask of being a "traditional" alpha with traditional aggressive traits. He can't get around the toxic smell of them that comes with these traditional traits.

Then comes Charlie who is essentially a blank slate. He's non-toxic, non-traditional, just...Charlie. And he's super into Babe. Hitting his walls like a battering ram. He doesn't disappear. He doesn't fuck Babe and consider it a notch in his bedpost. He wants to know Babe better. He can take the bark worse than his bite when Babe pushes him away. He's still soft and kind and Babe starts to relax. One kiss couldn't hurt.

What we've watched over the last six/seven episodes is Babe's unspooling of his armor that he built the day he lost his father. The day he stopped being whoever Babe was supposed to be if he hadn't endured all his hurts. Babe isn't any more or less of anything now. He's the most honest version of himself he's been in years. He wants love, he craves love because he knows exactly what he's missing. Each episode, he gives a bit more to Charlie and it's as much about him as it is about Charlie.

This person can love me, can accept me; I feel safe, I can let him in, I can love him. He's slowly feeding that part of himself that he's cut off for so long and it's beautiful and painful and sad. How sad it is that it has taken him this long, but beautiful because it's definitely with the person he's supposed to be with.

I just need y'all to know that Babe has so much love in him, he always did, but his life, his trauma, took that from him, made it feel impossible and unsafe but he's reclaiming it back by choosing Charlie, by choosing a future with love in it. He deserves only love from his bestest boy and I will accept no alternatives. Thank you.

#pit babe the series #babe my dearest beloved ilysm

63 notes · View notes

tadpolesonalgae · 1 month

Text

Give and Take

Feyre x reader

Day 1: Lady of Many Faces

Synopsis: as High Lady, many citizens of Velaris have come to know her as kind; compassionate. Lending mercy where others would falter. As her lover, you bear witness to her more…unforgiving, tendencies.

a/n: I can’t manage a whole week, but I thought it would be nice to participate in @feyreweekofficial for a little 🧡💛

warnings: smut, references to poly!feysand though it’s strictly feyre x reader, slightly mean!feyre, face sitting, pussy spanking

word count: 2,096

——————————————————————————————————————————————

Feyre sends you a dark glance as Mor looks away to check on a friend, a stern warning if you’ve ever felt one.

She pastes a warm smile back on her rosey lips as Mor returns her attention to the two of you, shifting to stand closer, raising her glass to sip from, smoothly concealing her steadily thinning patience. The bubbly blonde gives a wince, making an excuse to slip away and check on her partner, leaving you alone with your mate.

“Enjoying the evening?” You ask lightly, hastily searching the room for a group to escape to, able to feel her tension rippling down the bond. “Not as much as you, apparently,” she replies, blue-grey eyes flicking sharply over the rim of her glass.

You offer her a sheepish half-smile, still searching for your third, maybe the only one who’d be able to spare you from her growing impatience. “Feyre, we were just joking,” you try, reaching to take her hand, “you know, having some fun at a boring party.” She hums, unfaltering from her position, pulling her hand away to pluck your glass away. “I think you’ve been having a little too much to drink. Maybe you should retire for the night.”

In a move of alcohol fuelled stupidity, you roll your eyes, huffing. “Jealousy isn’t a pretty colour, feyre,” you pout, shifting your weight to one leg, folding your arms over your chest. You offer a small smile, stepping into her space, both hands wrapping around her free palm, eyes twinkling. “You could retire with me…?”

Piercing blue-grey sweeps over you, and you press closer, breasts brushing against her ink-laced arm. She moves, lightly but firmly gripping your hip, keeping you still. “You have ten minutes,” she whispers beside your ear, hair prickling at the nape of your neck. “If you aren’t ready when I find you…” Her gaze cuts to you, but it’s not your High Lady, nor is it your mate.

The gaze you meet belongs to the ruler of the Hewn City.

————

Pleasure shivers down your spine, cool air pebbling your skin into goosebumps as you strip away your dress, fabric pooling in a lake of pale silk upon the hardwood floor.

You’d been anticipating a reaction of some kind, but not to this extent, and you find yourself relieved to have slipped into the lace beforehand. Pulling the ribbon from your hair, you allow it free, excitement unspooling in your lower abdomen as you move toward the bed, spine curving as the mattress dips beneath your knee, crawling to its head.

The doors open barely even a second after you’ve settled down, a wolf hunting her prey, herding you to right where she wants. An easy meal, her eyes gleaming with vulpine hunger, sweeping over your bare skin. Greedily settling on the blue-grey underthings you’d slid into while preparing for the ball.

She stalks forward, slowly discarding her dress like a second skin, the kind, adoring mask of the High Lady giving way to starving hunger, those years in the forest not leaving her without scars. Her ravenous touches burn at your skin sometimes, so intense, so set on devouring you whole you’re convinced along with her powers she carries the magic to drink straight from your soul, feeding off your adoration.

“Want to try and explain your way out of it,” she drawls lowly, elegantly climbing onto the bed, crawling toward you. “Or are you going to be quiet and accept the inevitable?”

Your head dips, heat flushing your body as your toes curl, meeting her simmering gaze as you part your thighs, making room for her to settle. Her rosey lips curve, eyes gleaming with menace, “the latter, I suppose?”

“What do you want me to do?” You ask softly, bracing your upper body on your forearms, jaw inclining to peer up at her as she pauses above you. Keeping you in. She angles her head, watching you with predatory interest, sizing up her next meal. “Make it up to me.”

Blinking, your lips part, tongue swiping out over your lower one as heat unravels through your body. “Any way?” You murmur, mind already considering what you could do. “Whatever you think suitable, considering your actions,” she drawls, knowing how all the options will surely overwhelm you. Every fantasy you can create playing out behind your eyes, easy for her to observe.

Feyre feels arousal warm between her legs as your eyes dip to her mouth pleadingly, any sort of abrasiveness melted away beneath her attention, your attitude fading now she’s giving you what you want. She can practically scent how soaked your underwear is, how eager and ready you are to take and give and devour.

Your mouths meet, and former thought is washed away, lips slanting hotly against one another with a familiarity that has both of you fracturing a little. Moving with a swift undercurrent, tension tightening as teeth come into play, growing rougher and hungrier with each passing second. Hands tangle in hair, bodies press tight, tongues lick over one another.

Desire gets the better of you first, your hand sliding down her spine, encouraging her to arc against you, breasts flushing with your own, and you moan into her mouth. Palms settle over her hips and you roll over, her silky hair cascading over pillows like a messy halo, her cheeks warm and flushed, eyes glinting with demand. A queen waiting to be served.

You’re more than happy to obey.

You kiss down the length of her throat, licking and sucking where you can, ultimately focused on your end point as you inch down her wonderfully trained body. The muscle of her arms that helps her handle you into position when you’re being insolent, the thighs that trap and squeeze you when you’re being a brat beneath her, those lovely inner muscles that clamp down around your tongue and fingers when you eat her out.

Teeth drag over your lip, half a thought and the lace over her breasts vanishes, eyeing up her dusty pink nipples with arousal at the feast before you. Without any more pause, you dip down, giving an appreciative lap to one before fully putting your mouth over her as she moans lowly. Fingers tangle in your hair, gripping as her legs wrap around your hips, pulling you closer so she can find friction.

“Sweetness,” she warns when your teeth nip out, unable to resist. You blink up at her with false innocence, and you’re rewarded with a disciplinary tug on your hair, reminding you of your task: making it up to her.

You offer a smile in response, thumbs skating across her nipples before reaching where you want. Palms run over the tops of her thighs before slipping beneath her knees, bending them so she can be spread wider, more than familiar with the mechanics of her body.

You waste no time in dipping forward, pressing your face between her thighs, eyes fluttering shut with pleasure as her arousal washes over you, stark and concentrated. Heat bursts in your lower tummy, both of you moaning as you bury deeper, nosing at her cunt, fingers dancing over the tops of her thighs, ticklish and light. Feyre rolls her hips down, hand still kept in your hair to hold you in place as she gently finds her pleasure.

Arousal dims your mind, wanting to taste her, to lick, suck, and touch everything you can. Your mouth opens over her clothed cunt, dragging the wet heat of your tongue over her sopping underwear, sealing your lips against her, drinking her flavour from the fabric. Feyre groans lowly, foot dragging over your back, raising her hips out of instinct to invite more pleasure into her body.

You moan, swept away as she encompasses your senses, eagerly applying yourself to her until neither of you can take it.

“On your back,” Feyre breathes, hurriedly shifting into motion, causing you to whine as she pulls away. “On your back,” she repeats, harsher this time, and you hasten to obey. To do anything if it’ll return her to you. You need to feel her weight on your mouth, set on your tongue.

The second you’ve settled, she’s swinging her thigh over your head, having already discarded her underwear and you hardly have the time to comprehend that before she’s sat down, rightfully over you. Your eyes roll back, able to feel the heat that rolls from her cunt, her thighs, the wetness that glosses your lips, surely gleaming on your cheeks as she winds over you.

“Fuck,” she groans lowly, thighs spreading wider as her hands roam over your chest, thumbs flicking over your lace covered nipples before she vanishes the clothing. “So pretty. So fucking pretty.” You moan, tongue flicking out, lips sealing against her cunt as you swipe over her, pushing at her entrance, circling her clit eagerly, suckling on the sensitive bud, pressing closer between her thighs.

You gasp as she travels lower, fingers dancing over your abdomen, snapping the band of your underwear back against your hip teasingly, hauling a whimper from your chest. She laughs breathlessly, “should I touch you?” Beneath her you whine, thighs parting, urging her on as you make out with her cunt with a conviction that has more arousal dripping onto your tongue.

She hums, amused by your determination, raising her palm and you whimper at the lack of attention.

You yelp when she brings her palm down, connecting with your heat, slapping your cunt with a sharp, unrelenting motion. She gives you no reprieve before repeating it, unforgiving and relentless, keeping you beneath her as she takes her pleasure. One, then another, and another—unending as surprising arousal and heat gathers in response, so desperate for her touch you’d take pain over numbness.

“How many do you think you deserve, sweet girl?” She muses lightly, rolling her hips down, your mouth remaining open beneath her cunt, licking eagerly, drinking her down. “Five more? Ten?”

Your toes curl, thighs pressing together, heat swirling down your spine as she laughs again, gently plying you apart. “Start misbehaving now and it’ll only get worse,” she reminds, amusement prominent in her tone. “I thought you’d decided to be quiet and accept what’s coming?”

Again you whimper, arms wrapping over her hips to show your conviction, your need for her pleasure, to have her releasing on your tongue.

Feyre pauses, feeling how you’re blindly reaching for her across that mental bridge, stumbling through the dark in search of her. Her lips curve, bringing you in, opening the gates to allow access, curious what you have to offer. It’s not an image, but senses flood her own, the heat, stark arousal, the wetness that you’re licking through, obscene slurping sounds emphasised through the bond, receiving pleasure in both the mental and physical parts of herself, and the high hits her hard.

She gasps, movements increasing in pace, hips grinding over your mouth, pressing her clit to your tongue as she flutters with mind-numbing pleasure. Waves rush her body, rolling beneath her skin, palming her breasts as she sits back on your mouth, indulging in the repetitive flick of your tongue until the heat begins to fade.

You continue lapping gently, desperate to clean the release from between her thighs, to commit her flavour to memory as her hips still, panting softly above you. “That was good,” she pants, smiling faintly as she eases off you, threads of saliva joining from your lips to her heat. “So good for me, hm?”

You lick her flavour away, certain your skin is gleaming, but neither of your care as she crawls over you, pushing her mouth to yours eagerly, lapping at her taste as you share the slice of heaven with her. It’s hot and messy, open and needful as arousal twines gently between you until she pulls away, straddling your hips.

“But you know, you still need a little more discipline,” she breathes lowly, reaching back, loving how you flush when her hand cups your wet heat, underwear drenched. “Are you going to be good and take it?” She asks, smirking.

Your lips part on a gasp as she slips her hand down your underwear, the pads of her fingers brushing against the bare heat of your clit, locating it effortlessly.

Pushing the heat away, you manage a nod, meeting her lustful gaze.

“I’ll take it,” you murmur, hands settling on her hips, and she smiles.

“Good girl,” she croons, palm pulling back. “Just five more.”

——————————————————————————————————————————————

general taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22 @slut4acotar @sfhsgrad-blog @needylilgal022 @hannzoaks @hnyclover @skyesayshi @nyotamalfoy @decomposing-writer @soph1644 @lilah-asteria

#feyre x reader #feyreweek2024 #feyre x fem!reader #feyre smut #feyre x reader smut #x f!reader

87 notes · View notes

canonizzyhours · 4 months

Note

I've been dying to talk about this, so bless whoever is running this blog. Really appreciate having the space to do so. But okay, the sudden jump in Izzy's characterization and motives in season 2 really quite bothered me, to the point where I can't even jump on the "Calypso's Birthday is the best episode" train and things equivalent. As someone who did view him as more of an antagonistic presence in season 1, and someone who believes him to be rife with toxic masculinity, a lot of the jumps in this season just felt...unearned?

Maybe unearned isn't quite the right word, because I don't think anyone has to earn kindness or anything of the sort. Maybe jarring is a little better suited.

But I digress. It was just so odd to me to see him go from telling Ed that his softness and femininity was "a fate worse than death" to wearing drag makeup and singing a love song in front of the entire crew. You know??

I was actually quite on board for the developments in the earlier episodes—excited, even! To see him experience the repercussions of his actions, and have to quickly backpedal and change his tune before even more damage could be wrought was very interesting. I also liked seeing the rough and tough façade crack. I adore seeing any sort of toxic masculinity begin to falter. So I actually really loved seeing him cry, seeing him receive comfort from Frenchie and Fang, and just...slowly unspooling whatever mentality he had been locked in.

That's just the thing though—slowly. It felt natural in episodes 1-5 to me, because he was working alongside the crew and being more receptive to their kindness—to the atmosphere Stede had fostered. And even him working alongside Stede felt natural to me because it was like, "Okay, this twat is here and he's here to stay, so I might as well learn to work alongside him just as I have with everyone else." Not to mention also that Stede showed kindness and mercy numerous times, which I'm sure has to resonate with anyone on receiving end.

But then all of a sudden comes episodes 6-7, and so many moments that just had me scratching my head or feeling outright uncomfortable. The drag show in particular, but also the morning after interruption, the "made your boyfriend blush," the "I think you're good for him," etc etc. Because, genuinely, where did any of that come from? Where did acceptance and vulnerability to that degree come from?

The morning after interruption just feels so off to me that it has almost become my new "Oooo Daddy" moment. Meaning, I watch Ed and Stede talking, but then skip over Izzy interrupting them. I just can't even watch it. Because, Izzy joking about gay sex?? Izzy congratulating them for having sex??? Where and how???

Him being more receptive to kindness and camaraderie is one thing, as is working better alongside those he had a problem with. I'll gladly take both of those developments. But him suddenly just being okay with the things he thought deserving of death? The things he called Ed a slur for? The things he thought "did something to his boss' brain?" And then some, because he was even allowed more open vulnerability and femininity than Ed was???

And also, I know that a lot of his vitriol and toxicity stemmed from the fact that he didn't want to lose his anchor: Blackbeard. Blackbeard was power. Blackbeard was a threatening name to stand behind. Blackbeard was something of a shield for him. With Blackbeard in place, he had credibility and power of his own—the ability to throw his first-mate status around. Without Blackbeard, as shown at the end of episode 9 in the first season, he has none of that. No backing, no power, no credibility, no ground to stand on. And anything that came to threaten that, aka Stede, was immediately a giant no-no, because it would take that safety net from him.

But then, when he crams Ed back into that box at the end of the first season, I think it's the breaking point. The horrible pit Ed falls into finally clicks something in his brain, and makes him realize it's not sustainable for anyone. Like, after years and years and years of trying to hold Ed in place, it's finally bad and severe enough for him to realize that that's no longer an option, that it's damaging and that there are repercussions.

Which, again, nifty development! No longer being ugly towards Ed for his own personal gain? And maybe trying to stand a bit on his own? Sign me up!

Yet, to me, that still doesn't explain the sudden jaunts towards queerness and femininity! It still feels out of place with everything he said and did in the first season! Not only to Ed, but to Stede, Lucius, etc etc!

And maybe, admittedly, I'm even more bothered by all of this because it throws even more fuel onto the "he's the main character" fire. He gets so much of this limelight, and for what? Surely because his days were numbered, and so there was this inclination to give him his moments. But I couldn't really enjoy any of them, because they just felt so...off, and I knew they would only give a select group even more kindling.

Which is unfortunate, because queer joy is beautiful, and should be celebrated. As should growth. As should kindness. But in this instance, it just feels like so many pieces are ill-fitting, or that, with an ironic quote usage here, that, "the atmosphere on this ship is...fucked."

Anyway, thanks again for the space, and for allowing me to say my piece, as jumbled as it may be.

#124.

#ofmd #izzy hands #canonizzyhours #❤️

62 notes · View notes