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dinogoofymutated · 7 days

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So I'm warming up to the idea of Cable now with this new animation style. And now I can't help but imagine a mutant reader seeing him shirtless for the first time 👉🏽👈🏽. Maybe she's helping him treat a wound he cant reach on his back and he's too worn out to rely on his telekinesis for it. Sure she knows that he has a metal arm. Techno-organic viruses were nasty business. But she never imagined she'd get to see the stark contrast of metal and flesh up close. Just a tender moment where she gets to see him at his most vulnerable. Preferably sfw. Sorry if this is too long winded or specific. Really love your writing and enjoy what you share with us regardless if u choose this one or not 🫶🏽

SFW!Cable/GN!Reader OOOOGHHHH when I tell you I have been thinking about this since you sent me the ask!! I've been dying to write this but forced myself to follow a schedule :( I've never really been a Cable girly but this scenario has been in my head non-stop! I just hope this fic does the same to others!!! Speaking of which, I hope this isn't too OOC for him! This also might get a pt 2 with some smooching 😘

Read pt. 2 Here :)

-Ps- Heads up, finals week is coming up for me and I have a lot of essays and work to do. my writing is sadly going to slow down a bit. I don't think I'm going to close requests for now but it's not out of the realm of possibility! TWs: Can't really think of any. Gross depictions of techno-organic shit. As always, Reader written while picturing fem! but no pronouns mentioned. The reader is short in this one, sorry to all my Amazonian friends.

Prime sentinels were like wasps. Squashing one could be relatively easy with the right tools, but it was difficult to handle multiples at once. It had been a rough day, and your ears were still ringing from the sounds of blaster fire when you got to the safe house. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, body exhausted from overusing your mutant powers. Bruises are forming all over you, and despite the pain and soreness, you know you got off easy compared to Cable.

He’s got an arm slung around your shoulder, using you as a crutch as you help him limp over to the table- although you’re sure you’re not a very good one, too short for him to properly lean on. His gun clanks on the floor as he sits, grunting as the movement sends shooting pains through his body. You can tell his left arm is aching, the techno-organic virus fighting to beat the telekinetic powers keeping them still. You weren’t the only one who overdid it today, but you also weren’t the one who had to keep a virus from eating you alive.

Once Cable is settled, the routine starts. You cautiously make a round through the safe house, making sure blinds are drawn and entryways secured. Usually, the task was split between the two of you, being faster and safer than it would be alone- but he would take it over when you were badly hurt. It was only natural that you would do the same. You feel the sting of anxiety and worry in your heart. Cable had saved your ass today. He had done so many times, but normally the fighting wasn’t this extreme. You had been stupid, and he was suffering the consequences.

A series of pained grunts lead you back into the kitchen once you’ve finished, and you can tell Cable is pissed just by the tone of them. You’re facing his back when you walk in, noticing the large red stain that spans across the width of his shoulders. You try to hide the worry on your face as you approach him. He has the medkit sprawled out on the counter, sorting through the various items in it.

“Can’t believe this thing doesn’t have a damn mirror.” He grunts. You hum in response, looking him over before examining the items on the table.

“What do you need a mirror for?” You ask, voice coming out a little hoarse. You clear your throat, must be from the smoke earlier. Cable sends you a look, tossing his head towards his back. You mouth an “oh” before looking at him, unable to hide your worried expression. You’d seen him stitch his wounds up with his telekinesis before, when the fight was all guns and no powers. An action like that was child’s play for someone of his capabilities. For him to actively avoid it, and the way his arm seemed to be bothering him more than normal… It made you worried. It made you feel guilty.

You look down at the suture kit, open on the table from where Cable had unzipped it, and then look back at him, wordlessly asking. He gives you a cautious look for a moment, before it shifts into something much softer. He doesn’t bother nodding, choosing to simply take his shirt off instead.

You blush a little but quickly get to work, grabbing a pair of gloves and pulling them on. They’re too big for you, meant to fit Cable’s sturdy hands instead of your own smaller ones. You try not to get distracted by the sight of him shirtless as you pick up what you need and get behind him. The air has shifted between the two of you, forming into something a little more intimate. Something that builds itself on words unspoken, truths that neither of you is quite ready to communicate yet.

His back is broad and beautiful, dotted with scars and bruises. The gash on his shoulders is from a stray blast, starting at the top of his left shoulder and ending at the lower shoulder blade of his right.

You’re not sure if you had been ready to see the cut-off between flesh and metal.

The cords of metal attach to the skin of his shoulder in a way that makes your skin crawl. They sprout from underneath the skin, winding against each other in a way that makes no clear sense to you. The top layers of skin are rough, keloid scarring having formed at the impasse of skin and metal. It's horrific, the way the virus has both eaten and forced its way under the skin. The top of the gash is somewhat deep, the deep inner cording revealed by the wound cutting through the top of his skin has you unable to look away despite the horror that has taken you.

“I can feel you staring, you know.” Cable’s rumbling voice causes you to snap back to reality.

“Right. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…” You trail off, not fully able to place the words. He sighs, and you mistake it for annoyance. You quickly get back on track and begin to disinfect the wound. Cable hardly flinches as you do so. You’re overly cautious as you stitch him up, focusing on each stitch being perfectly placed. You know they wouldn’t stay for long. Cable had a habit of tearing his stitches. You hope that maybe you’d be able to keep that from happening this time.

You place both hands on his shoulder blades when you are done. The nerves have worn off as the pseudo-doctor in you took over. You’re trying to examine the stitches, but find that your attention keeps being drawn back to that stark contrast of his shoulder. If Cable notices, he doesn’t say anything. You glance at the back of his head, trying to gauge what he’s feeling.

Your left hand drifts a little. Cable shudders as your thumb gently traces that line of scarring, the metal of his arm feeling extra cold compared to the heat of his skin. You’re waiting for him to say something. To tell you to back off. To grumble and shake you off and avoid speaking to you like he used to when you first started to work together- when he was so determined not to get attached.

But he doesn’t say anything. Not at first, anyway. The tenseness of his shoulders slowly gives as the gently touching morphed into more purposeful touches, working the stiff muscles- what was left of the organic ones, anyway.

It’s intimate. It’s quiet. It’s… nice. Part of you wishes it would last a little longer. Part of you wishes he would let you touch him like this more often.

Cable stiffens again as the thought crosses your mind, recoiling away from you. He stands suddenly, turning around to face you. His towering stature used to make you nervous out of fear. Now you’re nervous for a completely different reason. Part of you had forgotten about the glimpses he takes into your mind. A flicker of anxiety ignites when you realize how much he might have seen. The two of you just look at each other for a moment, his brown eyes hard compared to the softness from earlier. You hadn’t meant to think so much. You didn’t think he was horrific. It was the virus. What it was doing to him. The energy and effort it takes out of him. That was what scared you.

Cable was used to the stares. The horror. Most recoiled at the sight of his flesh. It only made sense to him when you did too.

But Nathan… Nathan wasn’t ready for the depth of your thoughts. The care in your eyes. He wasn’t ready for the depth of his own feelings. The ones that cause such a storm within him. The ones that cause him to be stupid. The ones that make him focus more on saving you than the goal of every mission.

“Is this… Are we okay?” You ask. He didn’t need to be a telepath to sense the fear that has swelled within you. Most of your emotions were always written on your face. It made things easier for him when he didn’t have to search for your thoughts. That hardness in his eyes softens yet again, and he glances away for a moment.

“... Yeah.” Is all he says. His heart feels light when you finally smile at him, even though an underlying nervousness still resides behind that smile. You let out a relieved sigh, and he can’t bear to look at you any longer. Instead, he sits back down. He faces away from you, giving you the space to finish taking care of the wound on his back.

You don’t realize how late it is until you’re finished, and the mess on the counter has been cleaned and contained back in the medkit. The two of you sit together as you eat. The food isn’t great- consisting of an MRE that’s not exactly as advanced as the futuristic weapons and technology would lead you to believe. He doesn’t say anything when you lean on his shoulder, or when your breathing evens out, having fallen asleep on his side.

The aches and pains don’t really bother Nathan as he carries you to bed, but the thoughts of you, your feelings, your thoughts… Those keep him awake longer than any wound would.

#x men 97 #x men #x men comics #x men 97 x reader #x men headcannons #cable headcannons #cable x reader #cable xmen #nathan summers x reader #nathan summers #nathan summers headcannons #Cable imagines

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goodstories08 · 1 year

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I'm not sure if you're taking requests but if you can it would be really cool to see a luke x male reader where the reader is his tutor and luke if trying to flirt but it's just going over the reader's head

I just thing it'd be really cool

Favorite Boy

Luke Dunphy X Male Reader

“So your here to tutor MY son, am I hearing you right?” Luke’s mom said while leaning over the kitchen island. Her eyebrows scrunched as she tried to process the information. You bit your lip, still a little confused to why Luke of all people asked for Tutoring. “Yes you are mam,” You mumble while looking down into your bag to make sure you had everything. “Please don’t… Just call me Claire.”

The front door slammed shut quickly, followed by Luke’s figure stepping into the kitchen. His head turned downward. “Hey mom I have a friend coming over to tu….” He stopped and looked up at you, his eyes widened. “Oh Um your here, great.” He looked like he was at at a loss for words, his stuttering and constant blinking was kind of cute. You wrapped your fingers around your backpack and pulled it off the chair you sat on. “So y-you wanna go up to my room.”

A grin formed in your face as you squeezed by the nervous boy, stopping before you made your way upstairs. “Lead the way Dunphy.” He nodded before quickly running up the stairs, not before warning you about one of the broken steps though. You followed him to his room, the overpowering smell of fresh Febreze hitting your nose as you took a step through the door. “Does it always smell like Flowers in here?” You giggle while taking a seat at Luke’s desk. “W-why do you like it.” The boy said, eyes pleading for approval, like a tiny sad puppy.

A small smile grew on your face, as your eyes wandered the room you couldn’t help but notice how clean it was. The baby blue curtains across the room lightly blew in the breeze that came through the window. To the left of the window frame was an old bunk bed, and to the right was a large desk. His dresser was wiped clean from any dust that may have been there, and the floors where vacuumed clean.

“Yea it smells nice,” You paused while looking around for a place to sit. “Oh! Sorry you could sit in my chair, I’ll sit on the bed.” He spun the office chair around and quickly fell back into the blue and white stripped covers of his bed. You slowly walked over after leaning your backpack on one of the desk’s legs. “So what’s the first thing you need help with?” His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed. In this moment you realized how cute Luke actually was. You had always seen him around in school, but he wasn’t too popular. Yea he had friends, but he definitely wasn’t as well known as you.

You where always considered smart even if you where barley above average, but what really made you known was your relationship with one of your schools best Football players, Dereck Sans. He wound up cheating and after the two of you broke up, most people took your side surprisingly. Even Luke, who made sure you where ok the day after the break up, for some reason.

“English, Im really stuck on my essay,” he finally spoke while reaching into his desk to pulling out a folder of papers and a singular book. “Romeo and Juliet,” you hummed as his eyes traced over your lips. “Have you read it.” You smiled and flipped through the first few pages. “Honestly,” you giggled as he continued to watch you, “I read bits and pieces, but I just wound up watching the movie.” He smiled while you slid the paper from the desk toward yourself. “Do you like romance movies?”

You chewed on your lip, “Yea I guess.” He leaned closer, you quickly looked back to the paper and began to read the questions. His right hand slightly brushed against your, sending butterflies through your stomach. Suddenly the door flung open, two girls stood in the frame watching you with wide eyes. “Hayley! Alex! Get out of my room!” Luke ran toward the door and shut it, the two girls let out a loud sigh. “Ok, fine. We just wanted to meet our future brother-in law.”

Luke blushed like a tomato, thinking that you where going to be disgusted. But to his surprise, you still seemed clueless. “Oh, I didn’t know you had sisters?” Luke slowly sat up, a defeated frown on his face. He slowly walked over to the bed, his head hung low. “Did I say something wrong?” He asked quietly, you looked up from the book and scrunched your eyebrows. “No why?”

He shifted around before looking up at you, his eyes pleading like a puppy. “I didn’t ask you to come here to study.”

“But, wait. You did ask me for help. That’s why I’m here. Sorry, I’m confused.” He stepped up and looked down at you. “I-I like you. I really really like you. And I have for a long time.” Silence overtook the room, the two of you just stood there. He stare into your eyes, and his lips looked perfect. “I get it if you wanna leave.” It seemed like a rock had grown in your stomach. You felt like you couldn’t move, but you pushed through it. You took a step forward, placing your hand on the side of the taller boys face. He is teary eyes traced over your expressions, you pulled his head down and sealed your lips with his.

His lips where warm, everything felt right. Better than any other guy you had ever kissed. You attempted to pull back but the desperate boy tried to hold the kiss. When your lips finally part you where both out of breath. “I like you too, but I think we should take things slow. It’s just my last relationship I…”

“I get it, It’s ok.” He said, a huge smile on his face. You grabbed your bag and walked toward the door. “We’ll, you do have my snap. So text me.” He stepped toward you, his arms wrapping around your waist. “Can’t wait for our next study session.” He mumbled causing you to giggle. “See you then.” He leaned in this time, eyes closed as the two of you shared a passionate kiss.

“Awww,” Haley and Alex said in unison, causing you both to split apart immediately. “Oh my god. Go away!”

#modern family #luke dunphy #x male reader #lgbtq #gay #lukedunphyxmalereader

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hello-kuni · 2 years

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𝚸𝐑𝚶𝐌𝚰𝐒𝚬 𝚰𝚴 𝐇𝚬𝐋𝐋

♱ — starring : toji fushiguro

♱ — collection : kinktober masterlist

♱ — synopsis : his on-again off-again nature can be so tiring, but every time he shows up your door can't help cut let him in. things take a heated turn after a painful confrontation.

♱ — length : 4.5k

♱ — warnings : 18+ mdni, f!reader, angst, size kink, dacryphilia, minor cnc, fingering, tit sucking, one instance of sir kink, overstimulation, creampie

♱ — notes : toji canonically loved megumi's mom so why can't he love reader the same way? in this essay i will—

for the better part of the night, toji’s phone was pinging with a slew of texts from you. he tapped a finger on the rim of his glass, staring at the other end of the bar from his place in the corner, and slipped the phone from his pocket. it took him a moment to look at the screen. a dull pang shot through him.

please, i just need to know you’re ok.

the words twisted his heart. he read the ones that came in before. a mix of pleas for him to talk to you and cursing his entire existence. with the occasional, i’m just worried about you thrown into the mix. he shouldn’t be surprised. this always happened and it was always his fault. he wasn’t too far up his own ass that he didn’t realize it. and while he felt guilty for causing you so much distress tonight, he was tired. you should get this hint if he wasn’t answering.

he brought his glass to his lips and shut off his phone.

—

two days had passed and toji still hadn’t responded to you. you stopped trying to reach him yesterday afternoon when you realized your messages weren’t being delivered. the anxiety ebbed away steadily over the last day, replaced with anger. rain hit the window in the living room, a sound that normally you’d enjoy, but now was just a nuisance.

curled up on the couch in nothing but your underwear and his t-shirt, you stared at the tv, trying to get lost in the show but it was no use. even though you didn’t want to, your mind kept wandering back to him. wondering what the hell he could be doing that he couldn’t text you a simple im fine. tears welled in your eyes against your will, forming a painful lump in your throat you tried to swallow away.

heavy knocks landed on your front door, louder than the rain pounding on the windows, and drew your attention away from the tv. you knew who it was standing on the other side. no one knocked like that except for him. steady, firm, and never more or less than three. you took your time turning off the tv and making your way over to the door. if he wanted to keep his distance why was he always crawling back to your apartment? he could wait a little longer.

you inched the door open and peered at him through the crack. he looked relaxed as ever, hands tucked in his pockets and eyes looking distantly down the hall. he looked to you when the door creaked. “what?” the word came out sharper than you’d intended.

“let me stay the night.”

a crease formed between your brows, eyes narrowing. “you go from avoiding me to asking for a place to stay? i don’t think so.”

you started to close the door but he shoved his foot into the gap. his hand wrapped around the edge of the door, prying it open enough that he could see you. “don’t be like that,” he said. he held up a finger to cut you off when you opened your mouth to argue. “you send me a thousand texts to come see you and now you turn me away—”

“because you disappeared without a word,” you shouted, his raised hand unable to prevent your outburst. inside, you prayed your neighbors magically had worse than average hearing, lest you get hit with a noise complaint in the morning. “a whole week, toji. a whole week of you ignoring my texts and calls. i thought you were dead. how long have you kept this up? do you have any idea?”

“a year.” his answer was quick, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t shock you. “the first six months were fine. after that it was hell.” “hell?” you could do nothing to hide the hurt washing over your face, twisting every beautiful feature into something so painful for him to look at. tears brimmed in your eyes, voice wobbling as you spoke. “is being with me really hell for you?”

“the hell isn’t being with you,” he said slowly. “it’s thinking i deserve to be with you.”

your face fell at his confession. there were no words that came to you that would be an appropriate response. you both stood there, staring wordlessly at each other. he broke eye contact first, looking at a point over your shoulder and swallowing hard.

he hated this. he hated that he’d ever met you. he hated that you offered him a soul. hated that you made him believe he could be something more than he was. most of all, he hated that he couldn’t voice any of the things he truly wanted to say to you—the things that actually mattered and needed to be said.

“let me stay the night,” he repeated, still not looking at you. that expression on your face was too much for him to bear. hidden in his pockets, his hand clenched tightly into fists. but he relaxed if only a bit at your next action.

you took a step back, letting the door open as you moved, and mumbled out an, “ok.”

he stepped inside, arm brushing yours as he walked past you. he let the warmth of your apartment envelope him. there was something so comforting about the place you called home. but it was shadowed by delusion.

after locking the door, you hovered there. a myriad of thoughts rushed in your mind, each one more confusing than the last. you let your forehead fall against the cold door, arms hanging uselessly by your sides. taking a steadying breath, you peered over your shoulder. toji had found a place on your couch, broad back hunched over with his arms on his knees. his back was to you, but you could just imagine how his hands were tightly clasped, mouth pressed into a firm line and tugging at the scar on the right side of his mouth. a similar intensity he watched games with.

on quiet feet, you walked towards him. the couch had a low back, which wasn’t always comfortable but it was what you could afford. it was perfect right now, it allowed you to reach over and wrap your arms around his muscular shoulders. holding him in a similar fashion to the way he’d once held you after watching a tragic romance movie. it was such a mundane moment, one you cradled in your heart. his body had always been hard and so much bigger than yours. but it was comforting.

he laid a gentle hand over where your wrists overlapped. six months of bliss. frequent dates, late nights, mind-blowing sex. and then alternating periods of no contact followed by him turning up at your door with zero explanations. you had put up with it for so long, but not anymore. you wanted to be with him and to do that you needed to understand him. he had to be willing to give as much as he took.

“talk to me,” you murmured into the back of his neck, placing a soft kiss where his hair curled against the skin.

he shook his head. you swung a leg over the back of the couch and hauled yourself beside him. you hugged his arm, speaking softly, “do you remember the night we met?”

he turned his head to look at you, curiosity piqued. you continued, “i thought you were scary. attractive, but scary. when you approached me i swore you were going to say something corny.”

toji narrowed his eyes at you. “is this supposed a way for you to insult me disguised as a sweet moment?”

“it’s nice to know you do have a heart,” you teased, patting his arm lightly. “as i was saying, you gave me a heartfelt compliment about my outfit instead.” you smiled dreamily at the memory. “talking to you that night was as easy as breathing. i can still remember the way you smiled when you made me laugh so hard i almost fell off the bar stool. that was the first time i’d ever gone to a bar alone. i was so nervous.”

in all the time you’d been together, he’d never heard the story of your first encounter. not through your eyes. there were so many things he wanted to say. yet the words evaded him. what excuse could he give for his treatment of you for the last year?

after he left his family, changing his name in the process, he began to lose himself. getting with you when he did was meant to be a distraction. it wasn’t supposed to become something so real. something so consuming. when you weren’t around, you plagued his mind. every smile, every soft curve and hard angle, every laugh. all of it—all of you was staked into his mind. to think someone such as yourself would see anything of value in him. to believe you thought him worthy of your time, your affection. he couldn’t fathom it. he tried to destroy what you had built together in that short time. but he kept finding himself back at your door, aching for your touch and to touch you. and you let him in every time.

he truly didn’t know what he could say.

“i want to hate you,” you said seriously, surprising him. it stung. but he couldn’t blame you. he opened his mouth to say something but you cut him off. “but i can’t.”

it was like the entire world stopped for an extended moment. his breath pulled from his chest, heart squeezing, the air around him going cold. your hands on his face, forcing him to look at you, brought him back to the present, the world starting up again.

“i need you to commit to me,” you said, voice low and soft but stern, sure in your conviction. “i need your full effort. no more disappearing. no more distance. if you really want this to work, you have to give me your everything.”

he’d been a man of few attachments for so long. cast aside by his family for things outside of his control, unable to reach their impossible standards. and now here he was, with a woman opening her heart to him. offering him something he never thought possible.

looking at him like this, warring inside himself, so quiet and distraught…it twisted your heart. it was so at odds with the confident, sometimes cold-natured man you were accustomed to. this was an inevitable conversation, but you wanted it to be over just as much as he did. you wanted to fall back into your old ways, as you always had after arguments or distant periods. because pretending nothing was wrong was easier than facing it head on. but this time that wouldn’t be possible. not anymore. not after your ultimatum.

all you wanted was your toji back. the one you knew and fell for. plus a little more.

you swung a leg over his, placing yourself in his lap. his hands instinctively went to your hips. with your hands still cupping his face, you pressed your forehead against his. and waited for his answer. your breaths mixed together, his smelling faintly of smoke—an occasional habit you always chided him for. you stared into his eyes. such a pretty green you could get lost in them for hours. your thumbs stroked his cheeks.

“i can't promise to be perfect,” he said, voice a low rumble.

you smiled a little. “i didn’t ask for perfect. only that you’ll be by my side. at least for a while longer.”

his eyes bore into yours, his conviction conveying the words before he spoke, “i promise.”

he repeated the phrase again, chanting it as he connected his lips with yours, hesitantly at first and then with an unwavering surety. your hands slid to the back of his neck, twining in the hair that curled at his nape, and pulled him closer. he groaned against you, tongue licking your bottom lip, a silent request. you let his tongue slide against your own.

pent up emotions bled out from each of you, an opening gate into something still shrouded in secrets. but it would be fine. he’d tell you in his own time. each glide of his tongue said it all.

it had been so long since you last had your hands on him. you were greedy and so was he. his hands slid around your back, trailing lower until they cupped your ass. you sighed against his lips, fingers tightening in his hair.

the shirt of his you wore had bunched around your hips, exposing your panties.

he pulled you closer to him, against the growing bulge in his loose pants.

you parted from his lips long enough to moan his name. and then you were back on him, craving the taste of his mouth.

one of his hands grazed along the exposed skin of your thigh until it found its home between your legs. he dragged his fingers along your clothes cunt, groaning low in his throat at the wetness already pooling there.

“look at you, doll,” he said, pulling away from your lips and leaving you to give a pathetic whimper. “so needy.”

there it was, that pet name you loved to hear. it made your heart skip a beat. you almost didn’t care how cold your lips felt in the absence of his, he was a completely different man compared to a few moments ago. like a fire lit his soul. having you in the palm of his hands always drove him crazy.

he circled your clit through your panties with a calloused thumb, a slow and tortuous movement.

“toji, please,” you bit out, pushing your hips against his hand.

“please, what?” he said. “c’mon, you were so good at using your words earlier.”

you whimpered. the sudden change in personality had thrown you off a little at first, and now you were cursing it. the same toji you’d known from your first encounter was back, teasing you to your limits. and no amount of begging or pleading would get him to easily comply with your wishes.

“use that pretty mouth of yours to tell me what you want, doll.” he moved your panties to the side, fingers dancing along your folds, smearing the slick that collected there.

your focus zeroed in on his touch. words abandoned you. all you could do was hope he gave you what your body ached for. your nails dug into the back of his neck, hips trying to grind on his hand.

he clicked his tongue at you, pinching your ass in disapproval. he pulled his hand away from your pussy, toying with the hem of the shirt you wore. “what happened? you were so talkative earlier.”

“touch me,” you whined, tugging on his neck. “please, touch me.”

“now we’re getting somewhere,” he said, grin tugging at his scar. his hand was back between your thighs, mouth attaching to your neck. your back arched at the contact, his fingers rubbing at your clit with more force this time. before drawing away again.

he hooked his fingers in the waistband of your panties and tore them off with ease, tossing the remains aside. you looked to the ruins discarded on the floor with a pout. “i really liked those.”

he nibbled on your neck, drawing a soft gasp from you. “i’ll make it up to you,” he promised, words muffled against your skin.

his fingers dragged through your pussy, teasing your hole and eliciting a low moan from you. finally, he slipped one thick finger inside. in his long absence, all you had was your own hand, which could never stretch you the way he could. he didn’t pump his hand, rather he curled his finger inside you, searching for that one spot. never was he careless when it came to your pleasure, he knew your body better than anyone before him. he knew just what to do to make you sing.

he knew he hit that spot, not by the way it felt on the rough pad of his finger, but by the way your back arched, the sudden rut of your hips. a blissful moan falling past your lips. he placed a trail of open-mouth kisses up your neck, stopping just below your ear. his breath caressed the shell of your ear.

“so fuckin’ pretty, doll,” he groaned, adding another finger with ease, your pussy sucking him in. he curled them again and gave a subtle pump of his hand, the heel of his palm grazing your clit. you clenched around him at the contact.

“more,” you moaned, hips matching the pace of his hand. all you could think about was the delightful stretch of your pussy and wanting to cum by his hand alone. you told him as much, words slurred with pleasure.

“already? you’re so sensitive,” he teased. his pace slowed to a cruel dragging along your walls, pointedly ignoring the spot that had your toes curling just moments ago. “all that begging, but i don’t hear you askin’ right. that’s not how you get what you want.”

you whimpered, bottom lip wobbling. this was the toji you’d known, the one you wanted back. you were glad for it, heart racing at the prospect of what was about to unfold. the shift in his demeanor unleashed with that one kiss. you’d give him whatever he wanted right now if it ensured you got what you wanted as well. and you knew what made him cave every time.

“please, sir,” you said, breath heaving and hips desperately trying to get some friction, “‘want you to make me cum.”

his lips curled, eyes glinting with hunger. he loved it when you called him that. it gave him a sense of power over you. he curled his fingers to hit that spongy spot with every quick pump of his hand.

moans poured from your lips in a never-ending stream. he coaxed you to the edge of your pleasure, guiding you through the fall. his hand never faltered as your trembled in his lap, pussy spasming around his fingers. your hands fell from their place at his neck, beating lightly at his chest and he stopped his movements. you let your head fall to his shoulder, panting as your heart calmed its racing rhythm. he slipped his fingers out of you, leaving you to feel empty and aching to be filled once more.

“toji,” his name came out no more than a whisper. you leveraged yourself against his body, looking up at him with doe eyes he could never resist. “i want you.”

he grasped the meaning between the words. his cock twitched at the thought of how he was going to ruin you tonight. both of his hands slid under you to cup the backs of your thighs. “if i’m gonna fuck you,” he said, standing with you in his arms, “i’m gonna fuck you right. i’m takin’ my time with you tonight.”

your pussy throbbed at the promise. you clung to his shoulders for stability as he walked to your bedroom. before you knew it, he was tossing you onto the edge of the bed, his shirt you wore riding up to expose your belly; legs and pussy on full display for him. he stalked towards you, coming to stand between your legs. large hands ran up your thighs, spreading you as wide as possible. his thumbs spread your pussy. he marveled at the sight of you.

he hauled you up by your arm, swiftly ridding you of his stolen shirt. finally bearing to him what he’d been missing tonight since that first heated kiss. his focus zeroed in on your tits, their perfection displayed for his eyes alone.

he dipped his head down and swirled his tongue around one nipple. one hand supported him on the bed and the other one came up to massage your neglected breast.

your arms, supporting your weight, trembled on the mattress. he had a wickedly skillful tongue, making it known even with just its attention on your tits. he pulled away before you could beg him to give you what you needed. the ache between your legs only growing with each second he dragged this on.

in one smooth motion, he pulled his shirt over his head and tossed it on your floor. his bare chest rose and fell quickly as he stared at you, eyes devouring you with an insatiable hunger. those same eyes that had looked so lost and despondent when you had clung to his arm and asked him to give you all of him.

you focused on the slow motion of him undoing the tie of his pants. he hooked his thumbs in the waistband and tugged them down, cock springing free. your mouth watered at the sight of his tip already leaking precum. and you hadn’t even touched him yet. nor would you. he wouldn’t give you the chance. not tonight, at least.

he kicked his pants to the side and stepped closer to the edge of the bed, hands rubbing your thighs. he pulled you by your hips as close to him as possible without you falling off the bed. he towered over you, making you feel so small in his presence. the wide breadth of his shoulders, the size of his hands on your body, his height. all of it coming together to dwarf you in comparison. it made your heart beat wildly. one hand stayed on your hip while the other wrapped around his cock, dragging the tip through your slick folds. and then he slowly pushed in.

you whined at the stretching of your pussy. “‘s too big, toji,” you sniffled, tears brimming your eyes. not even the foreplay was enough to prepare you. it had only been two weeks since the last time he’d fucked you. how could you forget just how big he was above you—and in you?

“relax, doll,” he said, voice a low rumble, “it’ll fit. it always does.”

you collapsed onto your back as he sank all the way in, biting your thumb to keep from crying out. for a brief moment, he didn’t move, but then he pulled back, leaving only the tip. and sank back in with one swift thrust.

he swore, groaning at the feeling of your pussy swallowing him whole. “you have no idea what you do to me.”

it wasn’t long before he picked up a ruthless pace, slamming his cock into you repeatedly with a slight brutality you missed. yet he wasn’t unkind in his movements. something vaguely gentle lay within his thrusts.

both hands were firmly on your hips again, keeping you right where he wanted you. he couldn’t decide what to focus on: your tits bouncing in time with each thrust; your pussy taking his cock; your face melting with pleasure and a hint of pain. all of it was mesmerizing.

you still had yet to adjust to his sheer size splitting you in half. but each drag of his cock had you seeing stars. your hands fisted the sheets at your sides, pussy already beginning to clench around him, the tell-tale sign of your impending orgasm.

he brought one foot up to rest on the bed, giving him a deeper reach into your cunt. the new angle eliminated any gap between you, letting him hit the spot that had your toes curling.

“c’mon,” he coaxed, voice reaching you through your own string moans, “don’t hold back on me.”

as if on command, you came, back arching and hands clasping the sheets even tighter. your pussy spasmed around him and he never stopped his movements, guiding you through your high and beyond it. it wasn’t enough for him. he wanted more. needed it.

he picked you up, cock still buried inside you, and crawled onto the bed. he set you against the pillows, propping himself on his knees between your spread legs.

your mind was too fuzzy with the lingering orgasm to realize he had moved you until he pulled your hips up off the bed, introducing a new angle. you looked so small under him as he bullied his cock into you. the sight drove him crazy, spurring on the pace of his thrusts. his thumbs rubbed soothingly on your hips, mimicking your earlier action, so at odds with his brutal pace.

roughness and passion blurred lines with each drag of cock against your sensitive walls, melding and separating until you couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. but you found it hard to care, not when he made you feel like this. so full and wanted in this moment.

another orgasm washed over you, thighs trembling where they rested over his own. he kept a vise grip on your hips as he rode you through your pleasure, enough to leave bruises in the morning. little reminders of the night.

still, he didn’t stop, chasing his own high. he wanted to see you come undone again.

you pawed weakly at his arms, tears streaming down into your hair. “toji, please,” you cried, “can’t do it. no more.”

his hands tightened their hold on you ever so slightly. “i know you can, doll. just give me one more.”

you gave a wordless sob in response. he wanted to lick your tears away, wanted to taste the salty evidence of the pleasure he elicited in you.

it didn’t take long for his wish to be fulfilled. between his thick cock stretching you to your limit and each thrust grazing your poor abused cunt, you were clenching him around him with a broken cry.

“i promised you i’d give you everything i have,” he said, hips faltering. “and i meant it.”

with that, and a few more quick strokes, he was cumming inside you. he remained buried in you for a long moment, catching his breath. his cum began to spill out of you before he pulled out. and when he finally did, it came in a thick rush, your hole clenching around nothing as if it missed him already.

he collapsed on the bed beside you, wiping the remains of your tears with the rough pad of his thumb. he looked down at the fingerprints marring your hips. this could be considered one of his gentler nights.

you turned onto your side, facing him fully. he wrapped his arms around you, tucking your head beneath his chin. you didn’t want to move just yet. being there, in his arms as he drew shapes on your back, was all you needed.

neither of you said anything. you didn’t need to. the unspoken words hung in the air around you. traveled with you as he drew a bath and carried you to it. they stayed with you through the night as you slept tangled in each other’s limbs.

this night, all of it, a reconciliation in a way he best knew how to communicate.

#jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen smut #jjk x reader #jjk smut #toji x reader #toji smut #toji fushiguro x reader #toji fushiguro smut #゜ﾟ*☆*ﾟlyn writes

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chaosofmanyfandoms · 1 year

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Hi!! Could you maybe do a rowan x fem reader request where she’s a new student at nevermore and first meets him when he’s having an asthma flare up or something? And while most other students are making fun of him bc of it, she helps him and they form a friendship/eventual relationship? Thank you so much! 💝✨

Adorable | Rowan Laslow x fem reader

I don't know much about asthma so this probably isn't completely accurate.

It was your first day of class at Nevermore, and to say you were nervous was an understatement. You hardly knew anyone and your roomie, who you had become quick friends with, wasn't in any of your classes until later in the day.

You had struggled to find your first class, almost ending up late. There was only one seat open, so you sat down making the boy next to you look up.

"Hi." You said, getting your pencil and notebook out of your bag.

The teacher didn't give the boy a chance to respond, starting the lesson. You took notes for just about everything the teacher said, trying to absorb all of the information.

About halfway thought the lesson you noticed the boy next to you coughing and taking a puff of his inhaler. When he started breathing quickly you started getting a little worried.

The teacher now noticed that the boy was struggling to breath.

"Can someone please take Rowan to the nurse?" The teacher asked.

When the boy, Rowan, stood up to leave and nobody offered to go with him you shoved your things in your bag.

"I'll go with him." You said, slinging your bag onto your shoulder.

The teacher thanked you, but you just grabbed Rowan's bag and walked with him out the door.

"I hope you know where we're going because I sure as hell don't." You said, making him laugh a little making him couch again. He took another puff of his inhaler that didn’t seem to be working.

"Yeah, I do." He took a moment to breath.

"Thanks for...coming with me." Rowan said, sending you a shy smile.

"Yeah, no problem. I just want you to be okay." You said, pushing open the door to the nurse's office.

"Oh dear, take a seat Rowan." The nurse said, apparently used to this.

"You can go back to class now, I can handle him." The nurse said with a smile as she dug around in a cabinet.

"Okay, I'll see you later." You said, smiling at Rowan before leaving.

"She's cute." The nurse said as soon as you left, handing Rowan a new inhaler.

After that the two of you sat together in classes when you could and helped eachother with homework. You quickly became friends, hanging out whenever you got the chance.

"Do you want to go with me to Jericho this weekend?" He asked nervously.

The two of you were sitting side by side on his bed in his dorm, working on an essay. Rowan had been trying to get the guts to ask you out all week, but was too scared that you would reject him.

"I thought we were already planning on it?" You asked, looking up from your notebook.

"We were, I was just thinking that maybe we could do it as a date? But if you don't want to, that's fine." He said, nervously watching you for an answer.

"I'd love to." You said, leaning over to kiss him on the cheek.

He grinned at you, his cheeks turning pink.

"Can I kiss you?" Rowan asked softly.

You smiled pressing you lips softly to his. When you pulled away, he pulled you back to peck you on the lips.

"You're adorable." You said, making his cheeks go red again.

"You're doing it on purpose." He groaned.

"Doing what on purpose?" You asked, knowing exactly what.

"You're making me blush." Rowan said, playfully glaring at you.

"Only because you're so freaking cute when you're flustered." You grinned.

"Stop it." He said, feeling his face getting warmer and probably growing more red.

"Never."

#rowan laslow x reader #rowan laslow #wednesday #fem reader

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contemplatingoutlander · 4 months

Text

Our true feelings about race and identity are revealed in six words

This is a poignant article about a project that Michele Norris started that tapped into people's thoughts about race in a profound way--using only six words. This is a gift🎁link, so anyone can read the full interactive article, even if they don't subscribe to The Washington Post. Below are some excerpts from the article:

I have always cringed when the accusations fly about someone allegedly “playing the race card.” It’s usually a proxy for “You’re making me uncomfortable, so please stop talking.” Or a diversionary tactic used to avoid having to speak about race with any kind of precision or specificity. A shorthand for “Just shut up.” And so, in 2010, I flipped the script, turning that accusatory phrase into a prompt to spark conversation. I printed 200 black postcards at my local FedEx Kinko’s on upper Wisconsin Avenue asking people to condense their thoughts on race or cultural identity into one sentence of six words. The front of the cards simply read:

Race. Your thoughts. 6 words. Please send.

I left the cards everywhere I traveled: in bookstores, in restaurants, at the information kiosks in airports, on the writing desks at all my hotels. Sometimes I snuck them inside airline in-flight magazines or left them at the sugar station at Starbucks. I hoped a few of those postcards would come back, thinking it would be worth the trouble if even a dozen people responded. Much to my surprise, strangers who stumbled on the cards would follow the instructions and use postage stamps to mail their six-word stories back to me in D.C. Since my parents were both postal workers, this gave me an extra thrill. Here I was, doing my part to support the Postal Service. Who says snail mail is dead? Half a dozen cards arrived within a week, then 12, then 20. Over time, that trickle became a tide. I have received more than 500,000 of these stories — and more arrive every day, though the vast majority of submissions now arrive through a website portal online. They have come from all 50 states and more than 100 countries. Though limited to six words, the stories are often shocking in their candor and intimacy. They reveal fear, disappointment, regret and resentment. Some are kissed by grace or triumph. A surprising number arrive in the form of a question, which suggests that many people hunger not just for answers but for permission to speak their truths. It was amazing what people could pack into such a small package:

Reason I ended a sweet relationship

Too Black for Black men’s love

Urban living has made me racist

Took 21 years to be Latina

Was considered White until after 9/11

Gay, but at least I’m White

I’m only Asian when it’s convenient

To keep the conversation going, I created a complementary website for the Race Card Project, where people could submit their six-word stories online. Over time we added two words to the submission form: “Anything else?” That changed everything. People sent in poems, essays, memos and historical documents to explain why they chose their six words. The archive came alive. It became an international forum where people could share their own stories but also learn much about life, as if it were lived by someone else.

I highly recommend reading the entire article, using the above gift link. As an olive-skinned Italian American, with curly hair, I have often felt like I am a walking Rorschach test for race. Even though I'm classified as "white" in the U.S., I've had people ask me if I'm a Latina, a Native American, Black, Egyptian, Jewish, and even a South Pacific Islander. Given my history, here are my six words on race.

A book is not it's cover.

I welcome people adding to this post their own 6 words on race.

#race #six words #feelings about race and identity #martin luther king day #michele norris #the washington post #gift link

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dulcesiabits · 1 year

Text

Intro

Hey guys! This post is a bit different from what I usually write, but it’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot recently, and that I talk about with fellow fanfic writers. I’ve talked a little before about how self insert fanfic culture has changed over the years, and this post is just an attempt for me to (somewhat) compile and organize my thoughts.

This post (or informal essay) will be divided into two main sections: one on content creators and burnout, which goes into topics such as why writers leave and the difficulty of maintaining a writing blog, and one on what readers and authors owe each other, which delves into the relationships between authors and their audience, and everything that entails. As a disclaimer, all opinions are my own, and anyone is free to agree or disagree. I wouldn’t mind civil discussion on this topic, but I will ignore anything out of line.

Content Creators and Burnout

First up on the agenda: the term content creators. This isn’t a term specific to writers, as other creators such as artists have also fallen under this label. Content creators are people who produce content for fandom, and Merriam-Webster defines content as “the principle substance... offered by a website” (content has several definitions, but this one was what I found most relevant). Though there’s nothing inherently wrong with this definition, but it does have an impersonal connotation. There is power in words, and I think the shift to calling writers content creators reduces their art down to what they produce. It turns writing, a labor of love, creativity and passion, into simple content, something to be consumed. This correlates to a shift in general fandom culture of treating writing (and any art by extension) as something to be passively consumed, instead of interacted with. Of course, lurkers and shy fans have always been a part of any fandom, but it seems like interaction is far rarer than it was even ten years ago (the infamous reblog to like ratio changing to favor likes instead of reblogs being a prime example).

I have seen writers express discontent at how it feels like they’re putting writing into a void. There’s no comments, no replies, no asks; it’s disheartening not to receive any feedback on something you’ve worked hard on. Even if you know people enjoyed it enough to reblog it or leave a like, it doesn’t feel like it if you can’t see actual evidence or read any feedback. Another part of the issue is that reblogs are the only way to share fic; likes on tumblr, unlike on other social media, don’t really do anything other than serve as a bookmark at best. Writers write for their enjoyment, but they also write so their stories can be shared and enjoyed.

The shift to treating writing as “content” and the lack of engagement means that self insert fanfiction blogs have a short-shelf life. Most writers will only stay for as long as they’re interested in a media, and then stop when that interest dries up. Without that personal motivation, the lack of engagement feels even more disheartening. Additionally, most self-insert blogs are also request based, so they rely on people being interested enough to send in a request to thrive. However, this also lends to treating writing as “content,” because there will invariably be some who treat writers as machines, instead of people with their own inner worlds. Insert a request, and get a fic spit out a few business days later. This also demotivates writers, who feel like their work isn’t being enjoyed, but simply taken for granted. Writers will then burnout, and quit their blogs.

Another factor in this conversation is how self-insert fanfiction is self indulgent, and seen as “bottom of the barrel” because of this. It has a reputation for being cringy, in short, and is usually not as respected as other forms of writing. Though people who read self-insert fanfiction might not take this attitude themselves, this could affect how writers are treated regardless. I’ve often jokingly compared self-insert fanfiction to pulpy romance paperbacks: they’re both self-indulgent (and looked down on for being self-indulgent), consumed en mass, and never taken very seriously.

Of course, not all readers view writers as simple content machines, and there are always readers who leave nice comments and send asks. Silent readers are not the issue, either, because engagement isn’t something that can be forced. Readers will also lose interest in media, and fandoms will sometimes die for natural reasons. This not an attempt to pass judgement or blame, but simply an observation on general trends.

What Do Readers and Writers Owe Each Other?

So. Let’s say that you are an inspiring writer, and you start a blog. You receive a request, but it contains a subject matter you don’t feel comfortable writing with. What do you do?

This is a situation I see crop up often when people run request based blogs. Even if you have rules in place to stop this precise situation, there will always be people who either ignore or don’t read your rules. In most cases, people would just delete it and move on, or address it to ensure people do not do it again.

What allows these sorts of situations to happen, though? I believe part of it stems back to the prior section. If writers are seen as content machines, then they aren’t human; it doesn’t matter what you send them, because there isn’t a real person on the other side of the screen, with their own feelings.

I don’t believe requests that want to deal with sensitive subject matter are inherently bad; some writers are comfortable with writing that material, and everyone wants comfort from their favorite character when they’re in a tough situation. I do believe, however, that there should also be care taken to ensure you aren’t overstepping any boundaries with the writer. Perhaps the writer has experience with that particular subject that makes them unable to write about it, feel unequipped to write it, or they simply want to avoid it. Whatever the case, different writers will have different standards and expectations.

I’ve also seen another phenomenon where someone will send the same request to multiple different blogs. Some writers are fine with this, but some are not; for those who are uncomfortable, it feels like another instance of being viewed as a machine. Someone wants a particular idea written, and doesn’t care who writes it. It makes for an awkward situation when you work on a request and realize that a different writer has already posted their version of it.

It’s easy for the relationship between a writer and reader to feel one-sided. A writer doesn’t know who reads their posts, or how many people do, or how others will react to it. A reader can’t truly get to know a writer based solely on what the writer selectively post and reveal about themself on their blog. A reader might know about a writer, but the writer does not know them.

However, I believe that readers are just as important to writers when it comes to fandom community. If you write something, what would you do if there was no one to read it? An audience is vital to the maintenance of community, and writing blogs and fics wouldn’t grow without people to support and read their works. Though there will always be uncomfortable situations or overstepped boundaries, I don’t think it’s true that readers and writers don’t owe each other anything, or that it’s a wholly one-sided relationship. Writers write, and readers read. Readers provide feedback, whether through a comment or ask or message, and writers will be encouraged by their words to write more.

(Of course, if someone is making you uncomfortable or breaking your boundaries, you have every right to take whatever action you deem necessary to prevent this. Readers and writers owe each other basic respect and courtesy, like you would give to any fellow human. You don’t owe anything to anyone who breaks this courtesy).

It was more common in the past for writers to respond to a reader’s comments (and it doesn’t help that tumblr’s system makes it difficult to respond to tags and replies), though some writers still continue to do this. There’s something to be said about how readers will read a piece of writing without responding, and writers might read feedback without engaging in return.

Are these inherently terrible behaviors? I don’t believe so, but it does contribute to the current culture where writing sometimes feels less like a community, and more like an individual pursuit.

Conclusion

Too long of a post for you to read? Skimmed through it? In short, what I’m discussing in this post is this:

(1) how writers are being reduced to the content they produce, and being treated like writing machines. This, as well as the lack of engagement, can cause people to burnout from maintaining blogs and leave,

and

(2) readers and writers owe each other basic respect, and readers are a vital part of any fandom community, even if the writer-reader relationship can feel one-sided at times.

I don’t think any of the situations I bring up have easy answers. If there were easy answers, I wouldn’t be holding a discussion on this in the first place. But I do think it’s necessary to think about them and how we approach each other as writers, readers, and fellow human beings.

#liya chats #THANKS FOR READING if you made it all the way through!!#if anyone has their own opinion on the matter please feel free to share #as a very longtime self insert fic writing #I think about these matters... so much...#I have seen a lot over my tumblr writing career lol

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opinated-user · 4 months

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https:/ / archive. ph/ svv67

archive for lily telling britt to unalive herself.

thank you, anon! you're a real one!

reading through this, i have no doubt in my mind that LO send that to herself just to have an excuse to try to one up Brittany... even though Brittany has her own blog to do that on her own space. which brings the question, LO, if you have anything specific to say about anything we claim, what exactly is stopping you from just screenshotting those pots and respond to them directly instead of this weird "anon brought me this thing you say and therefore i get to rant about it while pretending i had nothing to do with how this information came to me" you do? just about in general, you comes off less trustworthy because of this because nobody is actually seeing what you're reacting to. you can make all the angry anons you want. doesn't mean that people are going to actually believe that is Brittany. anyway, there are some point in the response of LO that i want to talk about for a second.

so, sincerely speaking? from my bottom of my heart, hypothetically, if LO was actually a ghost writer and she was earning enough for a comfortable living, enough that she can drop youtube entirely, i'd be honestly happy for her. i'd prefer that she became a full time ghost writer than a youtuber, because you can't groom people with ghost writing gigs. you can't form an audience around being a ghost writer, only inside clients who need your services, who are all pressumably going to be adults in the first place. whatever bigotry or misinformation you spread on that job comes from what a clent asked of you, not from you having horrible opinions about issues that either don't affect you or you don't actually care about or generally being an awful person. because the thing that LO is missing is that nobody is trying to deplatform her because. we want to do that and encourage people to not give her views ever, no matter what kind of video she's making about what topic (which is why my pinned post will always be resources for people to avoid going to give her clicks), not because we want her to become homeless and struggle to have her basic needs met. we know that it's not going to happen anyway because she's daddy's girl and will always count with his money when this youtuber thing completely fails for her, but even if that wasn't a factor, nobody is aiming for that. we want to deplatform LO because she has actively used her platform to abuse, hurt and traumatize people. i'm not talking about her bad takes on anime or show or animation or anything she claims we have an issue with. i'm talking about the way she has groomed people, used her money to make vulnerable people do things they wouldn't otherwise, exposed minors to think they shouldn't have been exposed to by a trusted adult and spread outright lies to defend rapist or other dangerous people because it was convenient for her narrative. we want LO to not be watched anymore by anyone because she has shown, time and time again, that she'll never try to not hurt someone the moment she has a chance for it. because as long she gets views, has subscribers and has any level of influence, she's still a danger.

i'm sure that the Brittany hivemind agrees with all of this as well. so no, LO, you had it all wrong. if you had a job outside of youtube or any social media, we'd love that for you. if anything, we'd encourage it so much more than keep creating bad essays in video form. but we both know that it's not true and you told us that yourself without realizing. so we have to call out the obvious lie you naively expect people to just take.

literally the first result in google search when you type "do ghost writer write fiction":

the second one:

who is the one who looks like they have no idea how this industry works? (although, if i want to get extra petty here, another reason why people can have reasonable doubt about your ghost writing job, beyond the fact that we have evidence of the many lies you tell on a regular basis... a ghost writer by definition has to know to be versatile and write on an more than acceptable level, if not being also good for the editing. LO, you don't even edit your own scripts. you record them in the first draft. your writing style is terrible, both in a grammar sense as an stylistic sense. so you mean to tell me that for your fanfiction, videos, posts, and everything to do with your name, you make zero effort into making it look decent and reserve all your hidden abilities for... writting for crappy apps? oh and flavor text on some unnamed RPG? seriously? how is anyone supposed to believe that?) anyway, the relevant portion is this:

LO, you're a despicable horrible human being. every ounce of compassion or grace i was ever willing to give you have killed it, smothered it, turned it into ashes and then piss on the debris just to spite me. every chance i gave you to be a better person, to do the right thing, you have squandered it and ignored it. you genuinely disgust me. you're repulsive. i feel sorry only for myself for ever believing you were more than a parasite, a groomer and an abuser. Brittany has never been better than the day you both stopped being friends. your sibling, who never liked you in the way you wanted them to and never would have, is a better friend you never was. everyone who has left you is better for it and someday that fact will fully crush you, but there won't be anyone there to console you and tell you that you "deserved better" because you'll be all alone. nobody will be responsible for that when it happens. not me, not Brittany, not Courtney, not any of the other blogs who criticize you. you. you always be your worst enemy and, the best part is, that is the one you'll never get rid of.

#lily orchard

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sunshine-zenith · 24 days

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1, 4, 18, 19, 24 from this ask game

Thank you for the asks!

Heads up y'all, this one is a bit long and the questions dig deep, so mind the tags lol

1) What font do you write in? Do you actually care or is that just the default setting?

I stick with default Ariel Size 11. Times New Roman is kinda the only other font I can take seriously when writing, and it’s kinda tainted from years of typing out essays and media releases for school and my old job

4. What’s a word that makes you go absolutely feral?

Recalcitrant and pluperfect — two words that I don’t think I’ve used in any of my writing but I love working into conversations when I can (bonus — they’re both words I learned from reading fics)

18. Choose a passage from your writing. Tell me about the backstory of this moment. How you came up with it, how it changed from start to end.

From By Your Side Again (sorry, this is a long one, with even longer rambles, probably, but I put a lot of thought behind the headcanons I included here)

Spoilers for Nimona (both the film and the graphic novel), and obviously the fic

“...Your arm?” Ballister eventually asks.

“Just dislocated, don’t worry. I can move it fine, the sling is probably overkill.”

“I heard Todd broke his.”

“Good for him.”

They both chuckle weakly before Ambrosius stands.

Ballister’s eyes glance away before meeting his again, looking apprehensive. “Speaking of, could you… plug my arm in? If you’re okay with it.”

Ambrosius blinks, turning to face the arm on the counter. “I- sure. Of course.” Walking towards it, he sees the robotic prosthetic is in three parts -- the arm itself, laying palm up (-Ballister’s arm falling, almost mockingly slow, the sword falling from it as Bal screams and looks at him in shock-). He sighs through his nose, counting to ten and grounding himself back in this moment. As horrible as he feels about his actions, this arm, right here -- it's not about him and he’s not about to make it about him. He’s not going to make Ballister pretend the arm doesn’t exist. Beside it is something that looking like the upper right part of their chest armor, but thinner and more form fitting, with straps attached to it -- what the arm connects to, Ambrosius guesses, with the straps presumably going across Ballister’s chest and under his left arm to hold the whole thing in place. On the other side is a thin, tiny crystal-like device on a tray. Ambrosius runs a finger along the edge before giving Ballister a hesitant look. Ballister quirks an eyebrow that had Ambrosius nodding, confirming his curiosity.

“That chip reads my brain’s signals, sending it to my arm to make it work like my other one,” Ballister begins. “It's not necessary for the arm to work, but without it, my arm wouldn’t be quite as….” he wiggles his fingers as explanation. Ambrosius nods again, silently urging him on. “It's a hybrid -- electronic and body powered, as well as mind controlled. When it has no charge and the chip isn’t connected, the wires react to movement in my shoulder, which can open and close my hand and- you’re smiling at me.”

“Am I?” Ambrosius asks absently. It's hard not to smile when Ballister gets passionate about something. “Should I stop?”

“No, no, It's just… I missed your smile.” Ballister’s voice dips low enough Ambrosius almost misses it. Clearing his throat, he says, “Anyway…?”

Just another thing they need to talk about eventually. Ambrosius lets it go for now, because he’s worried he’ll get choked up if he gets into it. “How would this even reach your brain?” He asks.

“Well, I cracked my skull open when the ground gave out that night.”

Ambrosius laughs at the unexpected answer. “Oh, of freaking course you would, Bal!”

“Wait- I- That was a joke, obviously I was joking!” Bal gives him an offended look that only makes him laugh again. “It goes in my ear, why would I- why would you think-?”

“That you’d do DIY brain surgery? Because you’re you, Bal. I mean….” Ambrosius gestures to the arm behind him. “I always said if you weren’t so squeamish, in another life, you’d be a mad scientist.”

So—

I specifically wrote Ambrosius with his arm as in a sling to both nod to the moment in the Nimona Graphic Novel this fic based on (where Ballister Blackheart’s arm is in a sling). I specifically gave him a dislocated shoulder because a) you can see his injured arm hanging limply as he approaches Bal after Nimona’s sacrifice, and b) I wanted to give him an injury that didn’t break continuity — his arm clearly being injured after the Director shot him and he was blasted to the ground, but it not being in a sling in the epilogue while Todd’s was

I wrote Bal’s prosthetic as a hybrid — biotic, mind controlled and body powered — instead of just biotic for a couple reasons.

In universe: he DIY’d it himself while on the run from the law, so it doesn’t need to fit solidly into one or the other. Who’s gonna stop him? Insurance coverage? Research funding? Nah, he’s out there probably salvaging parts from abandoned flying cars, he can do whatever he wants with his design

Out of universe/my personal experiences: my mother was in an electric wheelchair nearly the last decade she was alive, and while thing offered her a lot of autonomy, it was also, frankly, a clunker. One time when I was a teenager, we were going down the sidewalk when the battery that powered her chair just fell out.

I remember spending a good ten minutes trying to just pick the thing up to put it back in, it was so heavy. Luckily a nice jogger happened to be running by and stopped to help me lift it, but like. Y’all. When the cheapest electric wheelchair insurance will swing you loses its battery, it does not convert into a manual wheelchair. My mother physically could not move from that spot. Neither of us had good cellphones at the time and anyone we could’ve called wouldn’t get back to us very quickly, so if that jogger hadn’t stopped to help me lift that battery who knows how long we would’ve been stuck there

Since then, whenever I encounter fantasy mobility aids that rely on super high technology or magic or whatever, I just mentally tell myself that it’s a convertible/hybrid model that also functions without electricity/magic/etc or that they totally have a backup readily available just off screen, just because this memory is not a super fun one for me

As for why I specifically had Bal need to charge his arm/likened Bal’s arm charger to a phone charger, it’s because I’ve seen battery prosthetic users with above joint amputations (specifically, admittedly, above the knee amputees) describe charging their prosthetic as being like charging a phone

(Video examples by Alex1leg and Josh Sundquist, both above the knee amputees.)

I specifically took a moment to make Ambrosius unconsciously smile because I love his smile. I love his smiles for Bal. I love that little moment at the beginning of the movie where he tells Bal, “they’re going to love you,” before a smile grows on his face as he says, “like I do” — likes he’s excited and overjoyed he already gets to love Bal and the thought of others loving Bal makes him so happy. I love that moment where, when they see each other for the first time post-chop, when Ambrosius says, “Bal,” you can see his lip quirk up, like Bal’s name is just of of those sounds you can’t make without smiling a little. I love Ambrosius smiling because of Bal

The “chip” was my hand waving how Bal’s prosthetic could balance so well and had such fine motor skills when he’s basically finished DIYing it right before rushing off to the Institute. Many advanced biotic arm prosthetics do use brain scanning to interpret their user’s brain signals. Eh, its the future, if they can include holographic coins when venmoing tips to street musicians, Bal can DIY a neurolink in an alleyway while on the run from the law and probably having a hemoglobin of 3.6. I made it “crystal shaped” to mirror the crystals Nimona left behind after stopping the Director

Also Bal is absolutely feral enough to casually do brain surgery on himself. I just didn’t go that route because his signature finisher in the movie is headbutting people wearing helmets with his bare forehead, and thinking about it too long made my head hurt

Lastly, my favorite bit of characterization from the graphic novel was Blackheart’s love of science (I even specifically referenced Nimona shapeshifting into Blackheart and shouting “SCIENCE” in a set of notes I took for my friend for our cell bio class), and while I love the movie I am a little sad they didn’t lean into it. The “in another lifetime” line is a blatant reference to the epilogue of the graphic novel

19. Tell me a story about your writing journey. When did you start? Why did you start? Were there bumps along the way? Where are you now and where are you going?

I guess my “journey” started in elementary school — I would draw pictures and tell admittedly impressively sequential stories about them. My mother would transcribed these stories, stable them together, and show my teachers, who in turns told me I should become a published author one day. I wasn’t sold on it at the time, admittedly (I’m dyslexic and I was bitter about it as a kid), but all the adults around me figured I’d either go into healthcare or become a writer (my peers figured I’d either cure all disease one day or become the next Jack the Ripper, so make of that what you will).

(spoilers, I'm going with both)

(the healthcare/writer thing, to clarify. Not the scientist/serial killer thing)

My first degree was in English/Creative Writing, and I worked as a journalist for a couple years. I’ve even got a couple poems and a short story published in small magazines.

My mental health took a dive after some personal loses, including the death of a beloved irl writing partner, combined with a shitty work schedule (listen if your job promises only 35 hours a week but actually has you working 50 across five days, not including travel, with promises of punishment if you call out and refuses to offer part time, run), so I haven’t had the motivation to publish anything original lately. I’m hoping once I’ve got my second degree in nursing, I’ll be able to land a job that lets me survive off of three day work weeks, so I’ll have time to focus on poems and novels (I don't care if my work days are long, as long as I enjoy what I do and can get them out of the way as soon as possible)

For now, I’ve dedicated myself to my fanfics (instant gratification upon publication babay)

24. How much prep work do you put into your stories? What does that look like for you? Do you enjoy this part or do you just want to get on with it?

If you can’t tell, I overthink as many small details as I can lol. I try to plot my stories out in advance and research things in advance. This part of the process does lead me to procrastinating often, though — I’ll plot the entire thing meticulously, tell myself, “wow that was a lot of work,” then I won’t touch the story again for weeks. The thing is, once I do start writing, I let myself have freedom — the characters and plot will go where they go whether I want them to or not, so I don’t try to fight it. If there’s a specific bit of dialogue or action that I want, I’ll write that part of the story first and hope the before bits don’t go too off track to get there smoothly

I’m also the worst as guessing what my word count will be — it’ll either be half as much or twice as much as predicted and I won’t be able to tell you what the word count will be until it’s ready to go live

#ask #zyrafowe-sny #death mention tw #mental health hit reference #toxic workplace #I promise there’s neat/fun stuff in here

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crookedkryptonitebeliever · 1 year

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I almost hate how much i switched teams from 2718 to abacus, but its just bc he's new and shiny and pretty and pushy. He stifles autonomy so i know 2817 is better in the long run bc u can reason w him and he puts mcs best interests first. Abacus gives me the kind of vibe that he'd let mc get hurt so long as shes his, and tbh i feel like he might enjoy it? Like he'd like to fix her up and *accidentally* press a lil too hard into her wounds wheras 2718 would just use his abilities so that she wont feel the pain to begin w. That's just my assumption tho given what we've seen. Abacus seem the type to only use his powers thingy to subdue reader.

We know that 2718 has met readers past forms/reincarnation w.e u call it and i originally thought abacus did too. Maybe he was her affair or lover in a previous reincarnation methinks? I just felt like he knows her before. This changed a bit towards the end when they were walkin thru the streets while he was giving her the endoscopy (😮‍💨💦) and we learned just how badly mc is seen. Now im starting to wonder if aba is just greedy n wanted her as his lil disabled spouse genuinely, no past relation. Idk. I still feel like they know each other previously. Or maybe he sensed something abt her back when 2817 brought her in to that place all the way back then. Mc is key to the universe type thing. Doubt that tho.

Neyways i think aba is gnna take her home where he reveals that he not only has four arms, but also two dicks n he's gnna try to fawk her but some event will inconveniently stop him. I also think he lives in an oasis like place, their version of natural wood everywhere, running waterfalls from the cieling, tons of glass that he can mentally control and shatter at will to threaten reader while having a saccharine smile on his face, the works really.

I wnna believe translator(TA) is gnna get 2718 and theyll find mc but now im thinking maybe they might not meet up like that. 2718 might find TA n ditch her to find mc and TA has to scramble to keep up, might even meet her on the way back after 2718 saves the day. Also wondering whts gnna happen to TA bc i dont think anything criminally bad happened to her even tho we heard her screaming. Be real interesting if she were screaming bc 2817 found her and juuuust missed mc and aba. I think when 2718 finds mc and aba they're gnna be familiar w eachother but not fight bc aba is one slippery bastard. Or maybe itll be convenient where aba leaves mc unattended for a bit and someone tries to harm her and then 2718 makes him big appearance, like when mc was first dropped into the world and 2718 saved her. I have more thoughts on that but ive already wrote an essay here and in my other ask 😭

Anywhooo ty fr the chapter, hope your healing well 💕💕💕 -🐰

Damn this sure is a well written essay 😳 its either ur a really good analyst or im just a predictable writer cause it almost seems like u have access to my drafts

Cuase that... Kinda exactly whats gonna happen ngl, its still pretty rough around the edges part 15 is just still in its embryo stage with a 50 word list of whars going to hapoen, but yea it pretty similar to what you just described , havent been writing cause i regained my leg freedom finally and i spent literally every waking hour outside, driving and shit

There is going to be a fawking scene in p15 ill tell u and whoevers reading that. Similar to what you descibe with their anatomy but a little different in sequence of events

Thanks for sending in this ask bunny anon this is so cool and i had a great read ❤️❤️ lovely motivation youve given me and i really appreciatte the essay asks -- like, i appreciate if A LOT actually, thanks for reading language barrier too

#bunny emoji anon

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dracomalfoy7 · 2 years

Text

The Other Half | II

Draco Malfoy x Slytherin!Reader Fling!Marco Flint x Slytherin!Reader Harry Potter x Sister!Reader

Summary: Harry Potter's twin sister y/n Potter transfers to Hogwarts during the third year. With Harry being a Gryffindor being sorted into Slytherin was hard enough. Now having to battle the shadow that comes with being the twin of the chosen one. On top of being the only girl on the Slytherin quidditch team. In the notorious cold-blooded house, y/n leans on the Bronze 5. Eventually falling for the pureblood prince, himself Draco Malfoy.

Word Count: 1k+

Warnings: Retired Voldy AU, Angst, Fluff, Cursing

A/N: I'm sorry I took a while I was busy writing my college essay 😭 #23nior. I also wanted you guys to have a longer part plus I had a little writing block. But I started some one shots that I'll release soon 😌. I also made a google forms in my bio if you want me to tag you in future parts and/or one shots. Go check it out! ps. I don't own this gif

Mischief glitters in your eyes as you respond.

"No one told me how...charming the captain of the quidditch team was" you smile

You heard Draco peep a laugh, but it's drowned out by the music in the background. Thankfully, you send him a glare which he catches and returns an eye roll. Of course, you knew about the misogynistic history of Marcus Flint. But who are you to judge before getting to know him?

"Why don't we go grab a drink?" Marcus asks offering you his hand

"I'd love too" you return

Over at the makeshift bar you ask for a nice hardy cup of fireball. As you were drowning your weight in fireball a soft voice reached you.

"Would you like some herds? You look like you could use some the first batch is on me"

You turn and see Luna Lovegood sitting at a table selling "herbs" and good old fashion muggle weed. Sitting next to her unexpectedly is Neville Longbottom.

"Not tonight" you smile

"Oh, you're Harry's twin aren't you?"

"Harry's sister?" Neville turns

"Yup and your Luna and Neville, right?"

"Yes, we are" they both answer

"Ah so you're responsible for getting my brother so high that one time, he threw up so much he slept with a bucket in his arms."

You laugh and exchange pleasantries until a firm hand finds its way to your waist. You turn to see Marcus.

"There you are lost you for a second"

"Well, here I am"

"Actually if you don't mind do you have a pack of cigarettes by any chance?"

Luna smiles "Your in luck I always have a small stock for the boys and this is my last one"

"Thank you" you reach in the band of your bra for a bill but she stops you

"Please to make up for your brother"

You laugh "Fine but I'm paying next time" you affirm

You and Marcus make your way over to the couch and sit together. He talks about himself for what seems like a little too long. He then asks about you and Ilvermonry to which you then talk about yourself a little. As you guys talk, he finds ways to be closer to you, eventually putting his arm around your shoulder.

In the distance you see Draco standing at the beer pong table watching Pans and Blake play against Blaise and Enzo. You don't notice but his jaw tightens at the sight of Marcus with his arm around you. He doesn't even notice himself tensing up, his grip around his cup tighter. He doesn't like seeing you guys together but he doesn't know why. As you talk to Marcus about Ilvermorny he asks if you guys had quidditch to which you answer.

"I've actually been playing since first year"

"Oh really"

"Ya got on the team first year guess I'm kinda an ace they actually nicknamed me the Horned Viper"

"Damn I mean looks, brains, and quidditch you’re the whole package aren't you"

"I would like to think"

The evening continues with you and Marcus squeezed into the love seat couch deep in conversation.

As it hits 1 am people start leaving

Draco and the group walks over

“Hey Y/N/N we gonna head home if you wanna come”

Marcus stands up and helps you to your feet

“I'll walk you were in the same house anyways”

You smile “Here I thought chivalry was dead”

He gives you his arm and you take it head for the door with the rest of the group behind you. Enzo is holding a buzzed Blake hand on her waist in an effort to stead her. Draco and Blaise are walking with Pans in the middle, her arms around their shoulders. You and Marcus walk a few paces in front of the group. You're a bit more than buzzed but you try to walk on your own suddenly you stumble a little but Marcus catches you. He bridal carries you up the stairs into the shared dorm of Blake, Pans, and sets you down on the bed. Your eyes feel heavy and the last thing you hear before drifting off to sleep is “goodnight vip”.

The next morning you wake up groggy and in last night's clothes you get up and go to the bathroom. After a refreshing shower and some meds for the monster headache you see Pansy and Blake.

“Ugh what happened last night my head's killing me” Pansy says holding her head in her hands

“No literally it's a miracle we got home “ Blake agrees

“Well then you should thank the boys they were with you guys all night”

You guys get dressed and head to the great hall for breakfast. You walk in and spot the boys already at the table. As you guys sit down Blaise starts “good morning sleeping beauties how was your beauty sleep?”

“Killer” Pansy responds

“It's like I got hit by a train. How are you guys okay?” Blake cries out

Enzo responds “We didn't drink like animals that's how”

Draco looks at you and pushes a piece of buttered toast in front of you.

“Eat it'll make you feel better”

You mustier up a smile

“Thanks”

As you dig into the toast you feel someone come up behind you.

“Good morning vip, how'd you sleep?”

“Like a baby”

“Good I'm glad you were knockout cool when I got you home”

“Ya thanks for that by the way”

“No worries anytime” He winks

He puts a cup down on the table

“What is that?”

“Hair of the dog something muggles use for hangovers”

Draco contests “No she does not need more alcohol in her system right now she needs to soak it up”

Marcus turns to look at him “Relax Malfoy she'll be fine”

You stare at the cup “I don't know my hangovers almost passed”

You push the cup away “I'll just ride this one out”

Marcus eyes flash with what seems to be disappointment before it's replaced with his signature smile.

“No worries just trying to help”

“By the way vip you wanna play some quidditch later?”

You give him a smile “Ya definitely I'll be there”

“Great I'll see you later” He says before turning around and leaving”

Enzos is jaw dropped

Blaise is stunned but manages to say “I’ll be damned, how did you get Marcus Flint to eat out of your hand?”

Which Enzos adds on “Damn girl you work fast”

You just smile and say “A lady never tells” before breaking down in laughter with Enzo.

tags: @venomsvl @kaverichauhan @marplest

#draco #malfoy #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x you #draco x reader #draco x y/n #slytherin #draco x slytherin!reader #draco malfoy x fem!reader #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy angst #harry potter #harry potter writing

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