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#they inspired me to art some more for this verse
sysig · 3 months
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I think the world is so wonderful... (Patreon)
#My art#Handplates#UT#Papyrus#I have not been able to get this idea out of my head for like - days now lol#It's only solidified the more I read! Heck!!#I dunno if I was necessarily hoping that reading further would point me in another direction but no now this is one of his songs lol#I really like Rugrats Theory actually :) The song of course it's lovely but I even have some nostalgia for the creepypasta haha#Been a while since I read it tho so that's probably just the soft haze of memory talking lol#But the song is still great! I'm partial to the English cover but I like the original as well :)#There are just so many fun lyrics! Especially for Papyrus specifically#''Everything I've been told I believe and yet people that I love just leave'' Gasterrr#''I think I'm old enough to understand so there's no reason to hide from me'' Sanssssssss#Once I returned to the scene of Sans trying to lie to him I just fjdslahfd these lyrics would Not leave me alone lol#I'm also Extremely partial to the second verse surrounding blindness and willful ignorance - his vision problems literal and metaphorical!#I wasn't planning to start a Handplates playlist but I guess by this point it's kinda too late haha#I also tried a different style of shading for this one ♪ Trying to style match a bit hehe#It's fun! Scratchy - tho some of that is from still using my usual brushes lol#I was Very inspired by watching the comic creation playlist - so cool! Very fun to watch and pick up ideas hehe#I knew I forgot something lol dang it - forgot the dash between WDG-2#S'what I get for using pre-plates references :P#For just a quick little thing I'm fairly pleased overall tho :)
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fakezircon · 5 months
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It's Done!
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Three months of work from start to finish! All so I could finally present to the world:
Pocket, Minecraft Edition:
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Some standard rambles and fun progress images under the cut :)
So, I started this project in early August, mostly as something I could do during downtime of a then upcoming trip.
I had seen some absolutely amazing art pieces by @royalnaym which kinda gave me the idea that minecraft rendered in pixel art has a pretty interesting while still very recognizable look. At the same time I came across @groupcritpowerdynamics 's speedrun pastel pieces and those really inspired me to try depicting my favourite game in one of my favourite mediums!
In the middle of August 6th, while in the middle of packing for my trip to the UK, I decided I wanted to do this and I wanted to have it to work on during the trip, so I loaded up minecraft and went looking for a screenshot worthy of immortalization. Unfortunately I couldn't find exactly what I was looking for so I made a brand new world and started looking around for the right vibes.
I knew I wanted a lone tree, and that if I ended up including the hot bar I wanted some hearts and food missing, so after running around for a few minutes I decided I would just do it myself and planted a sapling to serve as my centrepiece.
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I gotta say I think the resemblance is striking!
And now as promised, the progress gif: mind the slight flashing, I did take these in all manner of different places including but not limited to: a plane, a handful of buses, and a small inn on the shores of England (not in that order).
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It's pretty neat to me that you can see how different tones of lighting affect the perceived colour of the thread, I definitely noticed it more on this piece verses other larger stitch projects.
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lovings4turn · 1 month
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જ⁀➴  𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐌𝐄  . . .  (𝐋. 𝐍.)
— whilst you love the excitement that comes with dating a formula one driver, you cherish the quiet, private moments with lando far more
+ part of my 'be my valentine' mixtape series ! inspired by 'kiss me' by sixpence none the richer, which is one of my fav songs of all time <3
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whenever you told someone that your boyfriend drove formula one cars for a living, their initial response was always to 'ooh' and 'ahh' over how luxurious that must be for you. you must be so well travelled, spoiled with tons of gifts, showered with champagne any time he did well on track.
and you would agree - it was true, after all - but those were never your favourite parts of dating lando norris.
what you loved most about lando was how himself he was, no matter how bright the spotlight that shone on him became. it was lando being so quintessentially, well, lando, that had led you to the dreamlike date you were currently on together.
no longer phased by late night texts requesting your company at any hour of the day, you'd wasted no time in getting yourself dressed up for a mystery date the moment lando had messaged you about it.
and now, sat beneath the stars on the hood of his car, you felt like the luckiest person to walk the earth. how lando had found such a pretty, secluded location, you'd never know. part of the beauty was not knowing.
bar the moon acting as your chaperone, it was just you and lando for as far as you were aware. for one night, you were granted your own part of the earth, a land that could be your own.
lando, cheesy as ever, had began to play some romantic old love song from his car speakers, a gesture that was only briefly delayed by the house song he'd accidentally queued up first.
once you'd controlled your giggles, lando had held out his hand, stooping down into a bow and playing the part of a gentleman.
"can i have this dance?" he asked, grin so wide his eyes began to crinkle up at the corners.
hesitant was a feeling you never experienced around lando. your hand was in his before you had time to think.
neither of you were particularly well versed in the art of dance, but you knew each other like the back of your own hands, and each step and movement was fluid, second nature after years together.
the silver moon cast a glittering glow over your intertwined frames, a spotlight for your personal duet that caught lando's face perfectly in it's light.
"you're staring," lando mused, eyes sparkling in amusement as he realised he'd caught you.
"you're making it hard not to," you admitted, eyes flitting down to the curve of his top lip briefly before you met his eyes once more.
"so i'm a distraction, am i?"
it was a joke, yet his fondness for you outweighed the humour in the tone of his voice.
"well, you said it not me."
lando laughed at this, a sound that never failed to make your heart skip a beat.
"i think i can be even more of a distraction," he hummed.
in one swift move, lando's lips were on yours as his hands gripped your waist firmly. the kiss was soft, yet passionate, the movements of his tongue somehow tracing everything he could never say to you into the cavern of your mouth.
being at the track with lando was fun, as was the winter trips to ski lodges and summer holidays in resorts. but without a doubt, your favourite place to be with lando was underneath the haze of the milky twilight, lips locked as his heart bore roots into your own chest.
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random-twst-things · 2 months
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The Sweet Painter of Twisted things (Pt. 1)
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Hi annon! Love the concept. It's no bother at all, I do love to write after all!! Ty for the request and I apologize for taking so long 😭✨🍬 (I hope you like it!)
Characters involved: Riddle, Leona, Azul pt.1 (Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus pt.2)
Pairings: Riddle, Leona, Azul pt 1 (Kalim, Jamil, Vil, Idia, Malleus x Female reader pt.2) (Separate)
Warnings: Mentions of eerie/gory paintings
Word count: 1,630
Notes: you know what? I'm just gonna post it now and finish the rest in a different post, I don't want y'all to be kept waiting any longer 😭✨🍬
More notes: I'll be posting Pt.2 whenever I have time! I will say though, I have no idea how to write for some of the characters in Pt.2 😀✨🍬
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When you said you painted and wished to show him your art, Riddle had to admit he was a tad bit (a lot) excited to see
So, when you showed him your art he was absolutely bewildered.
You, the sweetest person he has ever had the chance in meeting, paints things that could cause nightmares.
Obviously, he isn't going to say that aloud, he has manners, but dear seven, how unexpected it was for him.
He's seen art before. He's been to museums by his mother to teach him strictly of the arts and the "rules" she put in place for them to determine how well a painting is.
It's been years since his mother taught him such things, and she only did it so often, and after time, those rules of art set by his mother have dwindled.
He's been able to go to museums before with Trey as a way to calm down when things are too much. Luckily, Trey was able to explain to Riddle how there are many forms of art and how it art doesn't necessarily have rules itself.
So it's safe to say he's a bit more well-versed in paintings now, even though he still finds it a bit difficult when there's no rules to follow (a habit hard to get rid of)
Now, his reaction all depends on what painting and image your showing him
He will ask you questions about why you would paint such uncanny things such as:
Why did you paint this? What caused you to begin painting such eerie things? What Inspiration were you given to paint this particular piece?
And many more questions about technique and practical things.
He can't say that he's a fan of these types of paintings, but he can say that he thinks you're very talented to be able to make such paintings
He'll praise how well done or real your painting(s) looks.
He's going to be a bit concerned about you, though, and he shows that by (trying to) subtly asking if you're okay
"What gave you the inspiration to draw this?" Riddle asks, the worry in his tone being quite evident even through his attempts in hiding it. "Have you witnessed such things for inspiration?" He asks again, his voice laced with even more worry than before.
"What? No!" You stand up from your seat to get closer to Riddle. "It's not like that," you laugh lightly, shaking your hands in the air. "I just happened to see a rotting piece of meat in the cafeteria kitchen one time while passing by."
Riddle breathes a sigh of relief he didn't know he was holding in. Bro was stressing and worrying.
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I say this in the nicest way possible to us all, but this man does not care but-!
Leona doesn't care in a sense like "I wanna show you something!" "Alright hurry it up and show me".
Maybe he's a bit smug that you're showing him something you like to do.
Anyways, when you said you wanted to show him your painting(s) he was being smug.
He didn't have any set expectations to what type of things you painted or what your style was.
Him seeing the eerie or gory painting didn't surprise him as much as Riddle either.
He doesn't have much to say, but this guy is still smug and is definitely showing it now.
Why? The guys got weird motives and definitions of respect and pride so we'll never know.
His does wonder how you acquired such Inspiration to paint like this.
He's not too curious about it to the point where he'll try to find out or becomes worried.
Again, he is smug and prideful but it's for you
He feels prideful FOR you. He's smug about you being able to paint such gory or eerie things FOR you.
(Bros so smitten with you)
You set your canvas/notebook down carefully against one of the plants nearby, careful not to get it dirty or damaged.
Leona lays there, back towards you, unbothered under the shade of a plant, but not for long as you bring your finger near his cheek and begin to poke.
Poke.
Poke.
PokePokePokePokePokePokePoke.
Leona swats your hand away, but not harshly. His tail swings left to right faster then he was asleep, another sign he's awake.
He looks at you, irked that you disturbed his so-called much needed nap. He glares at you, but his eyes lack the malice in them to even consider it threatening. You look at him innocently, hands behind your back as to show it wasn't you. (He knows better, only you would ever try to wake him up like that)
He sighs deeply. "What is it herbivore?" He asks as he shifts slightly to get into a more comfortable position to get a better view of you. You turn your body slightly to grab the canvas you set down behind you, careful not to accidentally show Leona just yet. "I wanna show you something," you beam, you're more excited then you thought you'd be showing him, for the first time, your most recent painting.
Leona's tail begins to swish even faster, thumping against the leaves of the plants nearby. His tail gives away that his curiosity has been piqued. Yet his face remains unchanged, besides the slight quirk of his eyebrow in questioning.
You turn the canvas around for Leona to see.
And there it is
The smirk
The smug
The eyes of pride *sound effects*
His smirk seems to widen even more as he looks at the painting and then back at you. "Looks nice herbivore, ya got anymore?"
You excitedly nod your head, "yeah, I do. Wanna see them?", you ask, gripping your painting, even more excited then before to show him.
Leona nods his head languidly while slowly closing his eyes, "sure, but after I finish this nap", he brings his arms down and begins to get comfortable. He softly pats his stomach, "Come, sleep".
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Azul knows you paint, he knows it's been a hobby of yours for a while now.
How does he know? Doesn't matter. Does he know what exactly the contents of your paintings are? No
His curiosity has been eating away at him. He was so very curious on what his darling was capable of
So, when you first told him that you wished to show him your paintings, he was elated. His curiosity will finally be quelled.
He may or may not have a set expectations of what you paint. Something sweet, something calm or maybe something like he'd find at a museum of old paintings.
What he saw was the complete opposite to say the least.
He's not disappointed, no, he's just shocked.
He's amazed. He's taken aback. He's a lot of emotions.
.....would you be willing to, perhaps, sell these paintings? Many people out there would be willing to buy, and the profits would be even and-
Old habits die hard, I suppose 🤷🏽‍♀️
You led Azul by the hand to your room/drawing room, much slower than he would like as he wished to see your paintings as soon as possible.
"Azul, i can feel you twitching in anticipation just by holding your hand," you laughed lightly. He sighed, bringing his free hand to his temple to calm his nerves. "I'm sorry, dear, but it feels as if you're walking slower just to build up anticipation," "Maaaybeee~". Azul chuckles at your antics.
Finally, after Azuls definition of agonizing seconds. He visibly relaxed as he saw the covered canvas. "My, you really know how to keep me on my toes", ",I most certainly do". You left go of his hand and stand next to the covered canvas. "Ready?", you put your hands on the sheet. Azul held his breath and nodded.
You clench the cover and quickly pull it off. You turn to face Azul to gouge his reaction. That reaction was him frozen in place, still holding his breath (you'd begun to think how he still hasn't passed out) "Azul?" You try to call out to him.
He slowly walks up to your painting, still holding his breath. He reaches out and touches the edges of the canvas delicately, scared he we're to break it if he put too much pressure. You watch his careful movements. You watch as his eyes rake over your painting as if he could take the painting and store it into his memory box. "Azul?" You try calling out again, only this time he responds.
He let's out a shaky breath, "it looks -" he turns his head to fade you. "It looks magnificent, dear," his words were barely above a whisper. You stand there absolutely frozen and shocked. Nobody has ever quite thought this kind of painting would be 'magnificent' before.
"Really?" He turns his head back at the painting."Yes, the detail is vert intricate, and it feels so eerie. It's as if you were truly there." You stare at him bewildered, mouth slightly agape.
He puts his hand on his chin in a thinking position. The gears turn in his head. He turns to face you so quickly that you'd think he'd have snapped his neck on accident. "Have you ever considered selling these?" He asks, with a twinkle in his eyes.
"Sell them?... No, I never really thought of that." You bring your fingers to your chin, now thinking as well. "Well, I'll say many would be lining up the door to buy these wonderful paintings!""Really?"
"Yes! With such talent and my business skills, we could -" and there goes the business man into his spiral of possibilities.
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crepesuzette2023 · 4 months
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Hi! Because someone just asked me, I'd love you hear your Top 5 favourite McLennon fics!
You made my day! Nothing could have made me happier than this ask.
I'm not going to evade your question. I will post my top-five, even though it hurts to choose. But you inspired me to finally write a longer (okay: very long) post about some (not nearly all!) of my favorites, which will be under the cut.
(Sorry for not knowing every writer's tumblr, by the way. Please feel free to let me know, so I can tag authors where appropriate. Thank you!)
My Top 5:
MIRACLE WORKER by @scurator. What can I say. Every time I need my heart broken and to feel an inkling of what grace truly means, I go to this masterpiece about Paul and Robert Fraser finding each other again at Cavendish in 1981.
COAST STARLIGHT by bookofapril is "Miracle Worker's" cosmic twin. The sun to its night. Paul and Robert Fraser on Fire Island in 1974. Nothing I can say will do it justice, so I won't try. This is the "other world" conjured in "Tug of War," so powerfully and joyfully imagined, it's real. (I'm always thinking of this story, but I did so extra hard when I came across a prompt recently: 'They aren't each other's first love, but they're each other's true love'.)
SAME AS IT EVER WAS by RedheadAmongWolves. My favorite Outsider's POV. An ageing newsstand owner from Liverpool remembers John and Paul as boys and young men. There's something magical about the relationship coming alive in these glimpses. A story filled with tenderness that reminds me to always look closely.
AN ORGASM OF SOUND by @pauls1967moustache. The insanity of John and Paul in 1967 got the tribute it deserves. I sleep easier since I read this story. It feels cosmically right that it exists.
PLANT A SEED by @eveepe. Paul in his slutty sailor outfit in Miami. He and John are into each other, and happy, and fuck slowly. Afterwards, Paul has an idea for a new song. That's it. Tender, glorious, hot perfection. Apply at least once a week for best results.
For more thoughts about some of my favorite stories, sorted into very much defined-ad-hoc categories, read under the cut.
Young Love:
I love the myth of their first meeting, and stories that speculate about the sexually loaded creative fireworks/gritty jealousies/tentative hand-holding/topping and tailing during the first years. Here are some faves:
Paul finds music, and John, and his life is changing. In STREETS OF OUR TOWN (@with-eyes-closed) you can taste the upheaval and promise of first love and growing up. Deeply sensual, even without on-page sex. The shaky, sweet, and all-consuming fire of John and Paul’s first kiss is immortalized in ALL I KNOW SINCE YESTERDAY (RedheadAmongWolves). In NON NOBIS SOLUM (@downtothe-lastdrop), art student John simply has to know how far grammar school boy Paul will go to please him. But Paul matches him play-by-play. In THE CAST IRON SHORE (@m1ssunderstanding) Paul earns extra money through music and sex. John finds out. They fall in love, and hide their mutual pining behind transactions—but in the end, they man up to pair up, and get their band back on track. (The first part is finished; I can’t wait for part 2.) John and Paul’s ’61 trip to Paris has been honored in fiction many times; WHEN YOU ARE YOUNG THEY ASSUME YOU KNOW NOTHING (@lilypadd23) is a slow-burning, blessedly long story that blossoms sweetly. DON’T THINK ABOUT IT is the concept by which Paul measures both his pining for John and their deeply satisfying (but surely not really queer?!) sex life. Perfectly realized Paul POV by @merseydreams. Finally: I NEED YOU DARLIN’ (verse) (by @beatlessideblog) would have fit many categories, but I put it here, because in the end, it’s about young John and Paul becoming friends, making music, having sex, and falling in love. No more, no less. Embedded in a late 50’s/early 60's Liverpool omegaverse in which there's a place for their bond. But, surprise (?!): It’s still complicated. I can’t overstate how charming and satisfying and funny and hot this work is.
Old John and Paul:
Is there anything as lovely as imagining John and Paul growing old together?
In HERE TODAY (@herspecialagent), John and Paul found happiness with each other in Scotland. On 8th December 1980, they invite friends for a party, and fight an inexplicable sense of doom. A reminder that our other lives can be closer than we think, and to keep our loved ones even closer.
GROW OLD WITH ME (@inherownwr1te): Old farmers and husbands John and Paul enjoy domestic bliss, deal with a broken arm, and make sweet love.
HAVING COFFEE (@feathersandblue): John Lennon and Paul McCartney, “one of the most iconic gay couples in history,” look back on their early love, the Beatles, and being outed in the 80’s, in this oh-so-glamourous, well-written 2020 portrait…
Magical re-tellings of J/P and/or the Beatles Story:
No matter where you come down on the blessed vs. cursed continuum—they were living through something magical.
In KISSING THE BLARNEY (@zilabee) the Beatles draw love and music from kissing Paul, and each other, until the stupid world interferes. But fear not, all ends well. How to tell the truth through whimsy: this story demonstrates it.
In WE ARE ALL TOGETHER (also by @zilabee), John and Paul switch bodies. It helps.
I WAS A YOUNGER MAN NOW (THEN) (POST HOC) BY @fingersfallingupwards: Paul is a time traveler and braids his life together with John’s, out of order, through the years. And yes, they do grow old together—but not without losing each other first. I’m in awe of this story.
A darker time-traveling story is A MATTER OF TIME (D12Fan), in which John and Paul love each other, over and over, and never manage to make it work—but Paul won’t give up.
FOR THOUGH THEY MAY BE PARTED (@downtothe-lastdrop): The misery of the 'Get Back' sessions and memory-stunting technology imported from “Severance” are not enough to kill off John and Paul’s attraction and longing for each other. Again, this is basically what happened, so.
John and Paul without the Beatles?
Yes, please! Sometimes, the best way to dissect and celebrate (and fix?) this mesmerizing and exasperating partnership is to lift it from its context and drop it elsewhere. Anything goes.
WHATEVER FATE DECREES by @dailyhowl: A gorgeous, finely spun, securely handled, self-contained vision of how John and Paul could have worked as artists in love, without a band to 'legitimize' and constrain their bond. I love this homage to their deep and complicated love that needed trust and breathing room.
1967 by @walkuntilthedaylight: What if John and Paul had gone to Spain together and not come back? This story not only explores their relationship layer by layer, it also dives into the the feelings of those who knew them 'before' and who now meet them again, as a couple. A fascinating alternate history. Not a fluffy one.
TOMORROW I'LL MISS YOU (@pauls1967moustache): Paul abandons John in Hamburg—or John stays behind without bothering to write, depending on who you ask. This "Before Sunset"—AU reunites them, years later. They ride a bus and write a song, and the love and tension are sweet and painful.
DOUBLE FANTASY (by @javelinbk): Modern AU in which John and Paul meet at John's flower shop and manage to ignore and creatively re-interpret their feelings for one another for a surprising amount of time, before fate has mercy. I love how their sweet, well-matched eccentricity makes the world a warmer place for both of them.
WE ARE STARDUST (Unchained_Daisychain): AU. John and Paul meet at Woodstock, fall hard and fast for each other, and have to decide what to do with it: Paul's life is back home in England...except...
Angst, darkness, and courage:
Pain, fear, grief, and other dark emotions are part of the real J/P story, so it makes sense to honor and harvest them in fiction. One of my favorite brands of McLennon angst is the one triggered by their feelings for each other, and the thing they become once they're together™. When they're scared of how much they need each other, and of what will happen next.
ONE AND ONE AND ONE IS THREE and MANAGING EXPECTATIONS (both by @pauls1967moustache), for instance. The first is a terrifying threesome with Yoko (at John's instigation, of course), in which trust is never rewarded and sex resolves nothing. The second is Paul wondering, in thoughts both messy and crystal clear, whether he exists independently of John. He turns to Brian for answers. They fuck. It feels like a human thing compared to what is going on in Paul's mind. Just astounding.
SUNDAY DRIVER (@boshemians) dives into the theme of Paul and John being afraid of themselves in the aftermath of Paul's accident (moped, sexual) with Tara Browne. This one, like "Managing Expectations," ends on a lovely grace note.
MACABRE (@dovetailjoints). Lennon and McCartney go too far.
OPEN HEART (@paisanas). Paul drinks John's blood. John lets him. But Paul starts to hate himself for how much he needs John, which John feels as rejection. I love how this story ends on Paul embracing his need. You can see the painful, bare bones of their malnourished love under the lush sensuality of the vampire sex. Raw and rich.
SILENCE (@ohjohnnysblog). Short and piercing. If there is someone you love—tell them. Don't wait.
THE LATE, GREAT JOHNNY ACE (@midchelle). Reeling with grief, Paul is recording an album in 1981. George and Ringo are there. John is not. But in the end—he is. And they touch. I've always admired Paul's resilience in the face of having to perform or "prove" his love of John in public, and this story showed me, without sugar-coating, where this resilience comes from.
Light, hope, and fixing things:
There is also much lightness and brightness in McLennon, because John and Paul were ridiculous, and horny, and weird. And also: they deserve a laugh. They deserve the fluffiest of happy endings. They deserve high-quality, life-affirming smut. They deserve silly, because silly is what they were. You know their names, look up their number.
1980. John is in BERMUDA (@scurator), Paul visits. Paul comes prepared, John just comes. Sometimes, it can be this simple. This story always leaves me in such a good mood. Paul is the (more) experienced one, and it...really works for me.
GOT TO GET DOWN (@eveepe): In praise of John's obsession with Paul's...precious. His small and perfect prick.
ADVENTURES IN TOTAL HONESTY (@merseydreams). Pithy and sexy, and, I quote from the tags: #Excessive Margarita Mixing.
ANINUT (@pauls1967moustache): The Beatles heal, together and separately, after Brian's death. Once more, I quote the writer: "The Beatles did not follow any of the Jewish mourning traditions, and frankly, they should have."
The unhinged weirdness of the Mad Day Out, with John and Paul escaping and Francie, Yoko and Mal not missing them...much, is rightfully celebrated in one of the insaner stories I read: JOHN, I'M ONLY DANCING (@skylikeaflame)
FAIR'S FAIR (@javelinbk): John and Paul are being silly during a press conference, resulting in acute arousal requiring John's skilled intervention. I love the unexpected care and tenderness in this one!
WHERE THE POETS WENT (RedheadAmongWolves): Tender and enchanted story in which Paul and John go to a bookstore, where they're not as famous as everywhere else. As delicate as the chiming doorbells and the pages murmuring around them.
TAKEN AWAY (@crumblingcookies) Extraterrestrial Intelligence intervenes to reunite John and Paul.
CAN I TAKE MY FRIEND TO BED? (manhattanvalleys). Paul fucks the band in sequence and gets off in the end, as is his due. This is a story like Prince's KISS. No filler, all effect.
THEY SAY IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY (@ohjohnnysblog). Warm and nostalgic phone sex in the 70's.
KEEP THE LIGHT WE'RE GIVEN (@backbenttulips). Amidst the rise of Beatlemania, Paul and John expect their first child. This is Paul's 1962 diary.
More Outsider POV's:
STILL MATES (@pauls1967moustache): in 1968, Peter Asher takes the leap to act on his feelings for his sister's spiraling ex fiancé. This isn't about Paul as much as about Peter, and who he wants to be. Gutting character study. It made me love Peter.
ANOTHER GIRL (@boshemians): Astrid reunites with the Beatles during the making of AHDN and registers their words and deeds with the same stark objectivity as her camera. I love how she seeks the shelter of obscurity while they are being dragged into the limelight. But she sees them, wherever they are. J/P in this story feels incredibly real to me.
WHY BUY THE COW (RedheadAmongWolves). The milkman sees everything on his early morning rounds: the arrival of a nice new family, the McCartneys, the mother's illness, the sadness after her death...and the arrival of a new love in the older son's life. He shouldn't approve—should say something, in fact. But a small inner voice holds him back.
SLEEPLESS IN WALES (thinkpink20). Mike overhears Paul and John whisper in bed. He doesn't understand everything they say. I do. Adorable.
Not each other's first love, but each other's true love
THIS YEAR'S FOR ME AND YOU (@skylikeaflame): After a long life, after deep and loving partnerships with other people, John and Paul, encouraged by their grown-up children, finally meet their mutual love head on. A festive story about waiting the perfect amount of time.
THERE ARE ALWAYS FLOWERS (tarenas): The Beatles are in the past; John and Paul's love is in ashes. Paul, who is fragile and bereft, lives with George, who is content. The four ex-Beatles unite for the second wedding of Mike McCartney. At times, the aching grief in this story is almost unbearable. But the love between George and Paul is unusual and real. This is unfinished. I'll keep waiting for the final chapter.
Beyond J/P
WANT ME WHEN I'M NOT THERE (@backbenttulips): Linda catches Paul cheating on her with John. She divorces him. Finally: a story that puts her most likely reaction front and center, with no mercy for the messed-up geniuses.
In the Rebecca-AU LOVE LIKE GHOSTS (@backbenttulips), Yoko becomes Mrs. Lennon. Soon, she discovers that her husband is haunted by the ghost of his first love. It's pleasing how well this re-telling matches the events as they (alas) (almost) happened. The ending is chilling. Genuinely horrifying. I love seeing Yoko as the sensible one and as the focus of empathy.
THE BASS LESSON (@aquarianshift). Paul and Stu fool around without letting go of their mutual resentment for even a moment. And it works. "Let's never do this again." I don't think so.
TELL ME ALL MY LOVE'S IN VAIN (@midchelle). Forget about quote unquote platonically obsessed male rock stars: This about about Maureen and Patti through the years. The web weaving continues.
SPOTLIGHT ON JOHN AND STU (@dailyhowl) A love story in letters—too brief, like Stu's life, but sounding as if the writer transcribed their dictation. Some of the best descriptions of what it must have been like to play on stage with the Beatles during the mania are in NO I IN THREESOME (@with-eyes-closed). George finds himself in the beam of attention between John and Paul, and nearly loses his mind. But he's determined to stay and become part of them. Paul is daddy and "fucks like music" as seen through George's eyes. The whole story is vicious and hot and uncomfortable—until there's the love and quiet at the eye of the storm.
Not for the faint of heart! WHAT THE CIGGIE CARTON SAW (@waveofhand): Paul McCartney having his way with cigarettes.
This is getting out of hand...but I'll stop here. There are so many more stories I love. And I can think of many other categories that would deserve their own post.
So, who knows: To be continued?
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stevenose · 8 months
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☾₊ ⊹ reaching for the moon (18+)
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pairing: steve x fem!reader with afab anatomy
contains: smut and a dumb amount of world building that was not necessary for this. set in 30s nyc, no hawkins. old money!steve; husband!steve; art historian!steve; not rich whatsoever!reader; they’re married your honor; steve’s parents (they’re the worst <3); slut shaming; allusions to bisexual steve; brief homophobia; soft!steve!!! he’s so damn soft!!!!; period typical everything lol
you might want to know: steve smokes and reader takes a drag; heated arguments which lead to some implied homophobia; reader wears an evening gown with a corset; car sex (info on said car here, for clarity sake)
author’s note: this is very heavily inspired by titanic 1997 (obviously) because it’s been rotting my brain. it’s very self indulgent but i’m hoping others like it!!
⋆⁺。˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚。⁺⋆
It’s always the same. A party, an invitation in the mail, embossed with gold foil. Steve fuming because they could have walked over instead of paying for postage, or called him on the telephone. Each time both of you thinking it’ll be different, each time leaving with Steve’s wounded ego or anger levels at an all time high. You don’t know why you torture yourselves other than the fact that his mother will make a tremendous deal out of it when you don’t show up. She’s not above telling guests gossip of your marriage when you’re not around, just so it can get back to you and hurt you again.
Your issue lies with both of them. Steve’s issue lies with his father. Old, rich, stupid. Too well-known for being a lawyer for companies that should be shuttered and closed for violations and accidents. A union buster. And Steve’s biggest critic.
He never wants to hear about Steve’s studies or projects. His mind appears to me hyper-focused on Steve’s shortfalls - no military experience, no investments, married to a poor girl he met at a bar in Manhattan. Steve is everything his father detests, and vice verse.
To his credit, Steve tries, even when he doesn’t want to. He talks to his mother first while she stares at you like you’re venomous. She’s good at reeling in her disappointment. Steve’s her only child and you figure she doesn’t want to lose that. His father, on the other hand, is closer to Steve’s cousins - successors of big oil, engineers, military men.
You smile at her while Steve tells her about his recent trip to Florence, about the chapels and art. You’re wearing her diamonds around her neck. You know she wants to strike them from you. You’d say you clean up well, wearing one of the tens of dresses Steve’s purchased for you, custom made and tailored. Satin and lace and silk, only the finest. His mother thinks she can still smell alcohol and cigarette smoke on you. She detests your miserable background, how unladylike and uneducated you are, that you’ve worked where women shouldn’t and have done things she’d consider unforgivable sin.
“They’d mix pigments with egg -“
“Egg?”
“Right, yes, they called it tempura. And the pigments - Jesus, should’ve been there to see Giotto’s blue, so rich and -“
“Are you talking about those paintings again?”
Steve tenses and turns to face his father. Your face falls slightly.
“I am.”
“How much was that trip, anyway?” his father presses. He gives you a wink as if you’re in on the joke. “Certainly more than your engagement ring?”
You clench your fist within its satin glove. The gold, Art Deco band digs into your ring finger. Steve’s jaw tenses.
“Not a penny more,” he says cooly. He adjusts his suit coat. His adams apple bobs under the stark white collar of his shirt. “Not that it’d matter, right?”
And Steve’s now doing your favorite thing, where he’ll pretend he actually agrees with his parent’s ridiculous world views until they pick up on the sarcasm. Your eyes meet and the corner of your mouth lifts slightly, but you’re back to being stone faced a moment later.
“Of course not!” his father bellows, hitting Steve on the shoulder like he’s a long time friend and not his son. He looks at you now. For reasons unexplained, his father likes you. Probably for some perverted reason, you figure. “And how’d you fare without him at home?”
“Probably enjoyed company downtown,” his mother says.
“I did.” You look at Steve again, speaking to him with a language only you two understand. It’s okay. “Don’t worry. I hardly had ten glasses of beer.”
His father laughs loudly again, making guests crane their necks to look. His mother narrows her eyes at you but smiles curtly.
“How wonderful.”
“And you’re all right with him going off overseas?” his father presses. “To go look at crumbling paintings and enjoy boat rides in that dirty canal?”
“Not any dirtier than the city, I’m sure,” you say, now taking Steve’s arm in yours. His jaw is set. “Besides, I like hearing about what he’s seen.”
“Pity he couldn’t take you with him,” his father continues. “Surely there’s a reason for that?”
You tighten your grip on Steve to remind him to not talk. “I’d be too distracting, don’t you think?”
“Certainly,” his mother says.
“Not as distracting as your friends’ headlines, though,” Steve says suddenly. “I heard about your latest union bust. How many fatalities did the factory have? Ten? How noble of you to save them from equity.”
You bite your cheek and squeeze his arm again. His father’s mouth twists like he’s tasted something sour.
“Steven,” his mother lulls, shaking her head almost imperceptibly. It’s the only thing you both have in common, trying to keep him cool and calm. It never works.
“And who’d you hear it from if not me?” His father’s tone has shifted. It feels suffocating in the small circle you stand in. “Oh, those dirty men you fraternize with.”
His father’s preoccupation with dirty things is ironic.
“Did they accompany you to Italy as well?” He looks at you now, eyes boring into yours. “Did you happen to see the Statue of David? I heard Michelangelo had an interest in the bodies of men.”
You can feel the heat radiating off of Steve, the implication making him see red.
“Ah, of course, yet another thing you’d rather refuse to understand than empathize with.”
“We should -“
“I’d love to talk to you about sexuality, actually, father. How many half-brothers do I have again?”
His mother looks like she might faint, but his father smirks. It’s as if he lives for arguments with his son. Loves seeing how far he can push him, for no other reason but to be a bastard. It might be the only time he’s ever fond of Steve.
“We’ll get going,” you say weakly, tugging Steve along, and he’s happy as long as he has the last word. “Always a pleasure.”
“You’d know much about pleasure and vices, wouldn’t you?”
It’s the first time John Harrington has ever made a verbal slight towards you. You pause, just barely, and continue moving, but Steve whips around, eyes wild. “I’m sorry?”
His voice is rigid and loud. Guests crane their necks again but this time, they keep staring. You and his mother both grit out “Steve,” but he strides towards his father. You fear he might actually strike him, so you lunge forward, putting your arm between them.
“Surely something we have in common, then, Mr. Harrington.” You glance up at Steve, his jaw clenching and unclenching, face red. “Good night.”
⋆⁺。˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚。⁺⋆
It’s cool outside. There are people on leisurely walks despite it nearly being so late. Steve’s still fuming beside you, toned arms flexing underneath his suit coat. He’s mumbling under his breath, then quickly whips around, heading back towards the door.
“I’m gonna-“
“Please,” you beg, grabbing onto his forearm. “Let’s leave it.”
“How?” he huffs. “How can I leave it? He was - he was - awful to you!”
“And he’s awful to you, too. What else is new?” You tug him, beckoning him with pleading eyes. “Follow me.”
He rolls his shoulders and tilts his head as he looks at you. He’s still fuming, nostrils flaring slightly, but all it takes is another little please? and he’s sighing, pulling out his cigarettes and a lighter as he follows you.
"The garage?” he asks, the white building coming into view. A billowing cloud of smoke follows. “What on earth do you want in there?”
You rip your gloves off and flex your fingers. “Indulge me.” You bump his hip with yours, trying to get him to smile.
Steve chuckles, easing up slightly, flicking the ash of his cigarette. "I don't know if committing vandalism is going to make me feel better this time."
“We aren’t vandalizing anything,” you promise. You reach for his hand and take a deep inhale of his tobacco. A needed stress reliever.
Steve seems a bit more giddy as you approach his father’s security detail. Steve’s known him since he was a boy. All he has to do is give a salute and a smile and you’re inside of the garage, door locked behind you, alone now with at least a dozen collectible cars and carriages.
"What do you have in mind, then?” he asks, leaning against the door. “Maybe we can use your heels to carve out some paint."
You step forward, taking the cigarette and throwing it on the ground before stomping it out with your shoe. You lean against him, hands pressed against his chest as you straighten his shirt. You’re looking at his neck as you speak. “Your father seems to think I’m somewhat of a whore.”
You don’t mean for him to get mad again, though it’s delicious when he is. “My father doesn’t have a clue -“
You interrupt, “So I reckon we make me one.”
His eyes widen, cheeks blooming red. "Oh?"
"Mmhm," you hum, and press your lips to his. He grabs you around the waist, fingers digging into your flesh, hidden by the satin and lace of your dress. Your lipstick smears as you move to the corner of his lips, then the stubble on his jaw, then up to the shell of his ear. "Pick a car and take me in it.”
“You - hold on,” he forces out, grip tight on you. “You aren’t a - a whore.” He says it like it’s scandalous, the worst word that could be uttered from his lips. It’s been thrown at him before, too. “You know that, right?”
You look up at him through your lashes. You can feel him starting to harden against your thigh. “Would it be such a bad thing if I was your whore?”
He swallows hard. “Do- do you want to be?”
You smile. “Pick a car before someone finds us.”
"Um." Steve forces his eyes open to look around. You begin unbuttoning his shirt while sucking a bruise into the delicate skin by his throat. He swallows hard. "Uh, the - the Renault.”
Your lips leave his neck so you can follow his gaze. You don’t know much about his father’s insane car collection, but you’ve always liked this one. Powder blue, gold accents. It’s like an upgraded horse and buggy, a large, enclosed carriage in the back with a bench for a driver at the front. It’s not very old, maybe twenty years, but it’s valuable and big and shiny and something his father prizes more than anything, including his own son.
“Plenty of leg room,” he explains sheepishly, and you smile, pulling him towards it. “Now, wait - wait - what’s the plan here?”
He’s so dense sometimes, but it’s because he wakes up everyday in disbelief that you’re laying next to him. The idea of undressing you and touching you seems so far fetched that many times he’s had to stop and think about it before engaging.
“The plan,” you say, swinging the door open and shoving him inside playfully, “is for you to have your way with me. And quickly, darling, we don’t have much time.”
Steve half-sits, half-lays down on the large bench, watching you as you duck inside and shut the door. He watches you with wide, adoring eyes as you climb on top of him, taking his hand gently. You pull it to your lips, kissing the pads of his fingers while he watches you intensely. When you look up at him, your stomach flips.
“My way with you,” he says evenly, “is to treat you like the angel you are.”
You smile and lay his hand gently on your chest. “Show me.”
His lips connect with yours softly. Despite the rush you’re both in, he still wants - needs - to take his time with you. He hikes your dress up as he kisses you, big hands caressing your thighs and ass. He sighs happily, pushing you down enough that you catch on the front of his dress pants, his cock pressing against your core. You gasp and giggle. “Excited?”
“As ever,” he promises.
You hold yourself up with a hand while the other struggles with the belt and buttons of his pants. He kisses down your neck, hot, open-mouthed. He latches on to a certain spot and you moan, breathing heavily into his hair.
“Need some help?” he murmurs, noticing your pause.
“Yes,” you breathe, eyes closing as he continues kissing along your exposed collarbone. You should be careful with your dress, taking it off and hanging it up, but Steve will just buy you another one. And another one. And another one. Anything your heart desires. Rich silk from Egypt, lace from Italy, hand embroidered and luscious against your skin. His life’s purpose seems to spoil you, as intended right now.
Steve finally frees himself, but you don’t have any time to stare. He’s quick to change places with you, laying you down on your back, pushing your dress and underskirt up. The material and color on your skin make him blush and growl lowly. The sliver of your corset that’s showing has him growing hard, too. They’re not always so comfortable for you, so you tend to wear them only on special occasions. And he’s keen on devouring you in only it after.
Neither of you are really expecting him to dive head-first between your legs, but you would never complain. His wet, warm tongue laves up your folds a few times before finally plunging in between them. You gasp and grab onto the seat, knuckles growing white. “Steve!” you cry, a hand curling into his hair, tugging on it.
“Worship you,” he mumbles into your skin, before forcing himself to pull back, chin slick. “I worship you.”
Your heart pounds. You’re at a loss. So lucky that you cannot possibly verbalize it.
Steve leans right back in, taking his sweet, non-existent time. “I- I hate to re-remind you, sweetheart,” you moan, fingers curling again, “but a-anyone could h-have! Have seen us com-coming in here.”
He hums, your back arching. He’s reluctant to pull away, but he finally does, coming back up to perch a knee on the seat below you. He’s quick to roll his sleeves up, muscled and toned forearms on view. Then he rubs his cock along your folds, both of you moaning. You tug at his shirt, now not so pristine, pulling him down to face you.
“Isn’t the idea to ruin the car?” he asks, smiling a little smug.
“Yes?”
“Then I’ve got to make a proper mess of you, don’t I?”
You burn. “You already have me melting.”
“Hmm. Let’s see what else I can do.”
When he pushes into you, it’s like the world stops. The only thing that matters is him above you. His hair tickling your forehead, eyes hazy and hooded, lip caught between his teeth. “Honey,” he groans, pulling a leg up over his hips to open you up, give him more access. His fingers dig into the fat of your thigh and he shivers at it. He always makes love like it’s the first time you’ve been together. Even during this quick romp, he’s taking his time, hearts in his eyes. “You’re incredible.”
“I love you,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. He slides in a little further. You wince and he kisses you gently, fingers moving towards your clit to take your mind off of it.
“I love you,” he mumbles. “So. God. Damn. Much.”
He’s sheathed fully in you now, both of you panting, sweating. The car’s windows are fogged. You can’t keep your lips off of each other as he sets his pace, languid and long, filling you up so completely it numbs your mind. Each thrust makes you gasp. His whines are low, but slowly become more high-pitched as he thrusts into you.
“Give yourself to me,” you whisper. “All of you.”
He would never deny you that.
Hips picking up, his thrusts get harsher. He’s chasing your high and his. Chasing away the thoughts of his father and his mother, of work, of anything except you. You, his angel, his promise that not all things in the world are so bad. Not when you’re with him. And certainly not when you’re writhing under him, your dress pulled taught over your tits, your lipstick smudged, mascara running.
Over and over and over, the thinks, The Divine is real. The Divine is real.
Your eyes catch as he’s pulled away to look at you. He’s soft, despite his thrusts. “I love you,” he groans. “God, I love you.”
“I love you,” you whisper, reaching for his face, cradling it. “My world.”
“My muse,” he moans, twitching within you, handsome face twisted in pleasure. His fingers work steadily on your clit and you reach up for your breasts, wishing desperately that you were wearing a nightgown instead. One that Steve likes, all pastel pink and blue, a ribbon of purple silk on the waist. It’s much less restricting and much more revealing. We can always continue at home, you think, your stomach tightening.
“You are….” you pant, eyes rolling back, leg tightening around his hips. “You are more th-than enough.”
His trusts slow. “As are you.”
“Sweet boy,” you laugh breathlessly, rolling your hips towards him. “Please keep going.”
“Oh!” he says, genuinely shocked, like he was truly so lost in your words that he forgot what he was doing. “S-sorry.”
“Just wa-want to show you how much I - how much I love you.”
“You show me,” he promises. “E-every. Day. And - and at these stupid p… oh, Christ - these parties.” His hips angle up towards your sweet spot and you’re gone, unable to hold back, brows marrying and face tightening in a lewd show of pleasure.
“Steve!” you moan, so loud you’re sure anyone walking by could hear. His hips move furiously and you have to reach up with your hand to steady yourself, making a handprint on the window. “Oh, my God!”
“Now it’s time to show you,” he groans, and his lips are back on yours. Half to consume you, overwhelmed with love and lust, and half to keep you quiet. You all but scream into his mouth, hand sliding off the window to clutch his shoulders while he works you into oblivion. “Close,” he chokes, a hand once again cradling your cheek. “With me now.”
You pant into each other as you cum, the car filled with sex and sweat and your crass noises. So unladylike, so perverse. You giggle mid-orgasm at the thought of his mother walking in on such a thing. A son raised as a level below royalty fucking his street-rat wife into a stupor, all in a thousand dollar car, would make her heart stop.
“What’s - so - funny?” Steve pants eventually, resting his head on your chest, his cock softening inside of you.
“Nothin’,” you promise, combing his hair with your fingers. “I love you.”
“Don’t leave me out,” he smiles.
You shake your head. “Tell you later. We should -“
“Uh-huh,” Steve says, pushing off of you and tucking himself back into his pants.
“You’re trembling,” you frown, reaching for him.
“I’m alright,” he promises, taking your hand and kissing it. “I’m happy.”
“So am I.”
He helps you fix yourself and slips your feet into your shoes for you, a kiss pressed into your knee. It turns into another, then another, and then his lips are creeping up your thigh.
“Stevie,” you whisper, the pet name making him blush. “Let’s finish at home.”
“Home,” he sighs dreamily. “Sounds wonderful.”
You’re proud of the stain left on the leather as you get up, your dress falling back down to your ankles. His father won’t check this car for weeks, if not months. You hope it’s fully ruined by then. But, for good measure, you let your heel scrape the paint on the way out.
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yeagerfate · 9 months
Note
Hey I saw your spider verse post on makeup, could you do one with the like the opposite effect? Like I don’t wear a lot of makeup (mostly because I am lazy lol) but maybe the Spider verse sees them with makeup for the first time?
Thanks! Have a lovely day! Xoxo
Don’t forget to eat, drink water, and get rest!!!!
seeing you with makeup for the first time
characters: miles morales (earth-1610), miguel o’hara, hobie brown, gwen stacy, pavitr prabhakar
notes: thanks for requesting and for ur kind words! ur the first one to send me a request so that’s :)) this is basically the opposite of my other post about them seeing you without makeup for the first time. so sorry if this isn’t want you wanted! i did more of a spin on this than the previous one lol #creativefreedom (not proofread sorry)
warnings: none lol
Prom was an extravagant event at Brooklyn Visions Academy, so Miles immediately knew that you were going to go all out for it. Though, he was a bit happy that you told him you didn’t want him to do some over the top promposal. Miles may be well-versed in subjects like art and physics, but his mind went blank when it came to stuff like that. Miles was really anxious about coming to pick you up, as your dad was super protective of you, but his own father gave him a pep-talk. He felt much better. When he saw you in your glamorous dress/suit, he was taken aback almost instantly. He’d never seen you in such magnificent makeup before. He felt…. bewitched. “W-wow,” He stuttered. “You look…. great.” He found himself at a loss for words. Your heart stuttered, and you felt like you’d never been happier. “You’re not too bad yourself,” You giggled. The way you smiled that day made Miles glad he got it in a picture.
Miguel knew that he shouldn’t get involved with one of his subordinates, especially if they were new, but he wanted to break the rules as soon as he saw you. You were…. beautiful, to say the least. The way your makeup perfectly complemented the color of your eyes and skin was glorious. Naturally, you were a bit shy because of your newness, so Jessica accompanied you on your first day with the permission of Miguel. He was very glad someone he was close to was helping you so he could get another good look at you. He felt a bit perverted, like a voyeur, but you were just so… alluring. The smile you radiantly gave him as you shook his hand for the first time was addicting. He wanted to know more about you, even if you were just meant to be a secretary to Jessica. Maybe it wouldn’t be too bad if he asked you out for coffee? It couldn’t be, right? He’d just have to make sure Lyla wouldn’t find out about it, as he wasn’t looking forward to being made fun of for weeks.
Hobie loved it when you attended his concerts, so when you came with makeup inspired by his own, he went wild. He found himself being much more clingy than usual, wanting to get a good look at your pretty face and hold you. It meant so much to him that you were involved in his music career… so many people in his life had dismissed it, or had told him to get a “real job”, so your support mattered so much to him. Hobie complimented you multiple times, each comment more sweet than the last, and so by the end of the night you were beaming. The firm kiss you’d given him backstage after his show had ended was something he wouldn’t trade the world for. It was so satisfying, so lovely, so…. you. He loved you. Hesitantly, Hobie asked you if he could walk you to your apartment. When you said yes, he found himself even more ecstatic than before. You were very tired after his show, and so was he, so you both took turns cleaning each others makeup off. You took your time, your hands gentle and benign. Hobie’s hands were a bit rough because of all of his calluses, so he was careful. “Thank you,” he’d whispered to you sincerely later in the night. “I love you.”
Gwen had done your makeup for you, and the way it turned out made her very happy. You looked absolutely incredible, and she almost wanted to dramatically drop her jaw to make you laugh the way she liked. The two of you were supposed to go to Miles’ state championship basketball game, so you both wanted to look nice for pictures later. Gwen spent a lot of time meticulously doing your makeup, wanting it to be exactly tailored to your taste. Any mistakes she’d made she’d immediately wipe off and start again. Excitedly, Gwen had you twirl around in your nice dress and makeup in a mini-fashion show. “You look beautiful,” she told you. Her voice was warm and genuine, her smile heartfelt. That night, after you’d gotten home, she’d kissed your soft lips tenderly, telling you how much she loved you. “Every time I look at you, you seem to get even more beautiful. I’m glad that in this universe, we’re happy together.”
Birthdays were really important to Pavitr’s family, so you wanted to go all out for it. You planned a perfect surprise party with his wonderful auntie. It was really hard to keep it a secret, but it eventually worked out. You were glad you never told him about it because of the joyous look on his face when he realized what was going on. Privately, he gave you a kind kiss and a warm hug, telling you how happy he was. The smile on his face was absolutely adorable and you wanted to squeeze him but you didn’t, not wanting to embarrass him. It didn’t take Pavitr long to compliment you on how beautiful you looked, especially with your amazing makeup. Mushy words were uttered that night, making you both cringe and smile at the same time. It was marvelous. His family had whispered to his aunt asking you when you were to be married, and she just shrugged happily. “Young love,” she muttered. It reminded her of when she was Pavitr’s age.
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itsbubbleteataro · 1 month
Text
Hehe inspiration is fun
I'm kinda in the mood for some angst so let's get to it! I ended up getting inspired by one of my favorite songs by my favorite band.
Please enjoy!
Pairing; human!Alastor x human!fem!reader
Warning; Alastor being Alastor, death, gore, murder, cannibalism 
Six feet under the stars
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Summer of 1932 in New Orleans
You and Alastor had been living together for quite some time now. You moved in with him around two years ago and have been engaged for a little over two months now.
Tonight was a rare night where Alastor had gone out again for both a hunt and a surprise for you. Yes, you knew about his hunts and to be honest you didn't mind them. I mean you yourself had been doing something similar.
You were the daughter of a tea salesman and were well versed in the art of tea. Sometimes when dealing with a rather rude customer as you worked at your father's shop, you snuck a little something extra into the teabag, just a pinch of arsenic. Okay well maybe not just a pinch but enough to kill a man.
Anyways you looked at yourself in the mirror checking your appearance once more in the mirror. You wore a simple sundress as it's the summer and summer in the bayou can get quite hot and swampy.
You looked at the paper on the dining room table double checking where it said to meet Alastor. You laced up your boots with the heels before you stepped outside, walking down to Thames street where your lover wait for you.
*******
When you approached your fiancé you saw that he had changed out of his hunting clothes, he must have stopped at home while you were busy getting yourself ready.
With a hum the two of you linked arms and walked towards the outskirts of a different part of the bayou. Don't get me wrong, Alastor still knew this part very well and you trusted him in every way shape and form and in turn he trusted you. Trusted you enough to see him covered in blood, eating human hearts, even his hair in its naturally curly state.
Alastor lead you over to a waiting blanket and picnic basket, taking your hand he brought you to sit down.
"I was hoping we could have a lovely picnic this fair evening baby" 
His eyes shown in the low lighting. You swooned. He was always doing sweet things like this for you. You helped him set up the food, your matching engagement rings sparkling in the starlight. He had picked out matching rings himself, the main stone in yours being a ruby with small diamonds around it. A blood red stone, fitting choice for two serial killers.
About halfway through your evening you both had finished the food. It was one of the rare occasions that you too indulged in the taste of human flesh. Your head was against his shoulder as you watched the fireflies dance in the distance, taking in each others peace when you felt Alastor stiffen.
You were pulling your head back to ask what was the matter when you felt it, a scorching, red hot, searing pain in your shoulder. Your hand flies to your shoulder as a scream is ripping from your throat. Alastor's eyes widen and for the first time in a long time he feels terror make its way into his heart.
You, his love, had been shot by a clumsy hunter who had mistaken the two of you for a pair of bobcats out of all things.
You hunched over, eyes full of tears as you even try to process of what happened when a second shot rings out, this one hitting your torso.
Alastor was furious, quickly confronting the hunter who had yet to realize that he had infant shot a person. All you could hear was the hunters scream as Alastor quite literally ripped him apart with his blade.
He first cut the tendons in the hunters legs so he couldn't run, then sliced the ones in his hands so he can't fight back. Then he stabbed and stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, stopping only after he had plunged his blade between the fools eyes and twisted it.
By the time he had finished with the hunter he turned to you. Quickly going down to you he held you in his arms. His hands were shaking and he was covered in both your blood and the hunters blood.
You were losing blood fast and you both knew it.
"I should have known better than to call you out tonight-"
"Oh hush up love"
You cut him off. You didn't want him blaming himself for your death. You knew you were going to die when you felt your fingers starting to tingle from blood loss.
Alastor gripped your face with one of his hands,
"My dear, I fear that if you're gone I won't be able to hold back. I may just tear this place apart."
Alastor choked out, feeling tears well in his eyes. You took a shaking breath, leaning into his touch.
"Then tear the world apart if you so desire. Just as long as you promise to meet me again someday"
Alastor nodded his head, his heart breaking in two as your voice became weaker and weaker.
"I love you Alastor"
You reached a hand up to his cheek, rubbing it gently.
"I love you too (y/n)"
Upon hearing such words you know that your body won't be long for this world. You let a gentle smile rest upon your lips, pulling his cheek weakly in an attempt for him to do the same.
He gets the message and forces himself to smile as tears rundown his cheeks. With one last breath your eyes flutter shut, your hand slipping from his face and your soul plummeting straight down to hell.
He holds your body close and sobs. The smile never leaving his face as he does. He sits back up, packing up the picnic and stuffing it all in the basket, blanket it and all. He pushes his arm through the loop of the basket so he can pick up your lifeless body.
He makes his way back to your shared cabin walking through the bayou as he didn't want anyone thinking he had killed you, his precious lover.
He knew he would have to give you the best burial money could buy, so he did just that. Your tombstone was made of marble, your name engraved as "(y/n) Hartfelt".
The day he buried you was one of the worst days of his life, right up when he had buried his mother. He visited your grave daily, telling you about his day. His never stopped grieving.
Fall of 1933
Alastor had been shot burying a body. He had gotten sloppy after your death, his hunts becoming more erratic as he worked through his loss. A hunter had mistaken him for a deer.
First his love had been mistaken for a bobcat and now him a deer, how fate has a way of working.
He welcomed his death, being found with a smile etched on his face for he knew that he could finally reunite with his lover as his soul plummeted down to hell.
He had a matching tombstone to yours, it being placed in the grave yard next to yours. As his coffin was lowered down into the ground and the dirt piled on, he rest easy.
As the two of you could finally be reunited,
Six feet under the stars
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carrrrino · 4 months
Note
hello!!!! I’m super inspired by what I’ve seen of this series, but I wanted to double check just to be sure. I’m not missing any existing animation, right?? I recall seeing some pictures of an old art style vs a new one for the project, and it had me worried I’ve missed a sort of pilot or kickstart episode??
Have a great day/night and take care of yourself :)) 💛
Thank you! As for the kickstart episode part, haha no, I wish! Those were verses of the prologue, but were deleted due to Flash, AKA Adobe, merking most if not all of the animations (they were all on one scene under one file, and the entire thing got corrupted/deleted).
Here I just post "teaser" animations, which are essentially just tests or actual scenes undergoing development. In other words, nope, there's no posted pilot/series yet! Actual scenes for the animations will be posted on @0utbreak2022, and the entire blog will be revamped. Next teaser animation coming soon! And other really cool stuff 👀🍿
AND thank you, take care of yourself as well!! 🖤🤍💛
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More posts coming up this month! Thank you guys for your patience 😵‍💫💛
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Personal Dionysian Ritual
This is the ritual form I use for my Sunday worship (or, in this case, first-day-of-Anthesteria worship). I think this may hit closer to Catholic or Christian formats than historic Greek pagan ritual formats, at least if the book Hellenic Polytheism - Household Worship is to be believed. But this format is just a bit easier on me in terms of supplies, time, and ability to keep it semi-covert. I don't have the ability to light fires in my current space, but when I do, I usually include a prayer to Hestia at the beginning and end.
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Dionysian Ritual (for Sundays) (Usually) (It's not set in stone)
Approach the altar or worship space. With you, there must be:
A bowl or other vessel filled with water (can be small).
Optionally, you may have:
Wine
Barley
Sea salt
Divination tools (I prefer tarot, or Sappho/Homeromanteions when I can get my hands on it).
A candle or other source of heat/light/incense (smells, basically)
Place the bowl of water either in front of your statue of Dionysos, or, if no statue is available, in a central spot in your space of worship. The wine and extra supplies may be placed anywhere else. Begin:
Orphic Hymn to Dionysos (Apostolos N. Athanassakis translation) I call upon loud-roaring and reveling Dionysos, primeval, two-natured, Thrice-born, Bacchic Lord, savage, ineffable, two-horned and two-shaped. Ivy-covered, bull-faced, warlike, howling, pure, You take raw flesh, You have triennial feasts, wrapped in foliage, decked in grape clusters. Resourceful Eubouleus, immortal God sired by Zeus when He mated with Persephone in unspeakable union, Harken to my voice, O blessed one, and with your fair-girdled nurses, Breathe on me in spirit of perfect kindness.
After the Orphic hymn, consecrate the bowl of water to make khernips. You may add salt if desired.
Dionysian Khernips Prayer (In between each verse of the Khernips Prayer, I move from just having the bowl on the altar, to holding the sides of the bowl, to holding the bowl up for the last verse.)
After the Khernips Prayer, I pray to Hagios as I actually ritually wash myself with the newly made khernips.
Hagios (For every verse of Hagios, I start with washing my face, then move to washing my hands, and finally sprinkle khernips on my feet, especially if I'm planning on dancing. This isn't actual washing, but more like lightly splashing water on the different parts of me that I wash.)
After Hagios, if there is wine, then I consecrate that, which I'll link my prayer for below. If there isn't, then I libate clean water (will be writing a prayer for that at some point soon), and move on to the next part of the ritual.
Wine Consecration to Dionysos (From the part where I say "This is the gift that..." through to "on the slopes of Mount Kithairon", I raise the wine towards my statue Dionysos as though toasting Him, which is inspired by art showing Maenads serving Dionysos wine.)
After the wine consecration, I pour out a libation of wine to Dionysos while praying my prayer to Dionysos Theoinos:
Theoinos
After the prayer to Theoinos, whatever happens next is up to you. If I'm doing any divination, I'll say a prayer to Dionysos Mantis before going ahead with it. Otherwise, I may dance, or talk about my day, or simply do prayer after prayer after prayer until I've kind of exhausted my talking point. Since most of my rituals are done at night, however, the consistent part is frequently the end, which is my second prayer to Dionysos Nyktelios:
Nyktelios II
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And there you have it! I definitely finished this a bit later than I was planning, but that's okay - I got it out, and that's all that matters! I hope everyone has a good night and a beautiful Anthesteria, and that this was helpful to some degree :)
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goddessofroyalty · 1 month
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Fandom: One Piece 
Pairing: Zoro/Sanji 
Tags: omegaverse, discussed-future-mpreg 
Someone shared a bit of non-omegaverse art in the ZoSan server of Zoro showering affection on Sanji’s stomach and it inspired me to write them talking about their future child in a verse where they agreed no pups until after they and Luffy achieve their dreams.
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Sanji lets out a huff as Zoro lays his head down against his stomach, one of the swordsman’s callused hands resting against what might one day become the peak of it as the other supports Sanji’s back as he enjoys his cigarette, blowing a puff of smoke out over the alpha’s head. The break in Sanji’s heat is nice even if they both know it will only last for a moment.  
“There isn’t anything in there moss,” Sanji says as Zoro’s thumb tickles against his skin. The necessary steps have been taken to ensure that for all their fucking no pup will result from this heat.  
“I know,” Zoro grunts, twisting his head and pressing a kiss against Sanji’s hip bone.  
“Once Luffy’s the Pirate King and I’m the world’s greatest swordsman and we’re living on your ocean,” Zoro continues, trailing kisses along Sanji’s hips as he recites the dreams they swore to achieve. “You’ll give me pups then right?”  
“I didn’t realise we agreed to pups plural?” Sanji jokes, more to try and keep himself from giving into the fantasy of it.  
“You know I could never be satisfied with just one. Not when it’s with you.” Zoro says, resting his forehead directly onto Sanji’s stomach, leaving him looking almost as if he’s praying over it. “You’ll even let some get my green hair right? And they’ll all get your eyebrows.” 
Sanji doesn’t know the last time he heard Zoro that excited. It reminds him of the headstrong alpha second in command on the pirate crew he decided to throw his lot into who had matured into his steadfast mate.  
“Maybe if you’re lucky.” Sanji hopes they do inherit the alpha’s hair. Oh he’ll bitch about it when it happens. Can’t let the mosshead’s ego get too large. But he now can’t think about his future children without at least one of them having coarse green hair and a stubborn attitude.  
Zoro grins up at him.  
“You will,” Zoro says, ducking his head back down to press a kiss against Sanji’s stomach, his hands grabbing at the omega’s hips. “You’re gonna’ look so fucking hot while you’re growing them as well.”  
Sanji does laugh at that.  
“I’m going to look like a waddling land-whale.” He doesn’t have the delicate curves of a lady which are only accentuated by pregnancy. Lacks their soft plump skin that glows with the life they are carrying.  
Zoro snorts at that.  
“You will not,” he says with a nip at Sanji’s hip. “You are going to look so good. So strong. Fuck I don’t know how I’m gonna’ keep my hands off you. All full with my pup. Hell I’ll fuck another one into you before you’re even finished growing the first.”  
“That’s-“ Impossible. And the idea of having pregnancies that overlap giving his body no time without one of Zoro’s children growing in him should be almost repulsive. Sanji is going to blame his heat for the fact he finds it weirdly insanely hot.  
“You’ll be great with them,” Zoro continues, uncaring of Sanji’s broken-off attempt at interruption. One of his hands coming up to grope at Sanji’s chest. “Gonna’ be feeding them from the moment they’re born. They won’t know shit food until they move out to take the world for themselves.”  
Of course they will. No matter what they decide their dream to be their children are bound to achieve it. Will have grown up learning from the best in so many fields. Never once doubting on their parents support for them.  
“Moss-“ Sanji says, running a hand through Zoro’s hair. He can feel his heat stir back to life under his skin and he’s pretty sure it’s affecting the alpha too. 
“Shit. I’m going to fuck you so good. Fill you with knot and my pups. Our strong healthy pups,” Zoro continues to babble.  
Strong pups that will be trained by the world’s greatest swordsman and fed on the abundance of fish in the All Blue. Who will never know real hunger and know that love and care is as important as training at being your best. Will learn to cook at Sanji’s side and take afternoon naps with Zoro.  
“Fuck – I need you to shut up now,” Sanji says, his grip on Zoro’s hair tugging the alpha up off him.  
Zoro gives a questioning hum like he isn’t aware of what he’s fucking doing.  
Sanji pulls him up by the hair for a kiss before he can open his stupid mouth again.  
“You need to shut the fuck up and fuck me,” Sanji orders. Because if the bastard keeps going Sanji might not be able to stay strong on their agreement that they weren’t going to have pups until all their dreams were achieved.  
Zoro grins at him like he knows but his hands grab at Sanji’s thighs as he does as he’s commanded.  
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gentlebeardsbarngrill · 2 months
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01/27/2024 Daily OFMD Recap
TLDR; Adopt Our Crew - Adopt Our Quiz!; Queerties Reminder; Cast & Crew Sightings; How to Help W/New Stuff; Hunt for The Pirate Home Twitter Watch Party; Articles; OurFlagMakesADifference; Love Notes; Goofy Shit For Morale
== Adopt Our Crew ==
Had some fun stuff going on across the platforms today with Adopt Our Quiz hosted by @adoptourcrew! You can still go do them! I'm including them here for those who don't have the platforms. Ordered from left to right 1, 2, 3. You can see the answers here on twitter (which have cool animations)
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Answers below in picture form:
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Twitter Thread Instagram Story
== Queerties ==
Just a reminder to vote for the Queerties if you're up for it!
TV Comedy Best TV Performance Wanna help another Taika/Rhys verse Queertie? Vote for Kaimana for Best Film Performance in Next Goal Wins!
== Cast And Crew Sightings ==
It's the weekend so as you can imagine there aren't many sightings. Definitely some personal stuff posted but nothing campaign related so I'll leave it out. Couple things I didn't know you could do was look at peoples likes on twitter, and now I know how to be a proper stalker if I ever wanna get into that kinda thing, which I don't, let me tell you. That being said, these are to make people feel warm fuzzies so here we are! Alex Sherman is out here liking our tweets all over the place! He's been doing it for days, just sweet to see the support.
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Kristian Nairn sending love and support to fans on their art!
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== How To Help ==
How To Help Save OFMD Task List - US
How to Help Save OFMD Task List - Outside US
Some new stuff added to our usual How to Help Lists, feel free to check them out!
== Talking About the shows Creativity ==
If you wanna talk about the shows creativity, referencing some of the awesome show-crew like Ra Vincent, Production Designer for OFMD can be great! Here's Ra Vincent's site Great inspiration and pictures to use to show off to the networks. Please be sure to credit them just like anything else you're using. Other great crew members for inspiration: Gypsy Taylor Costume Designer/Stylist!
== RADIO! ==
Some awesome new suggestions from @AdoptACrew Check out the thread here. Link to the NPR suggestion site: Here
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== Reminder - Twitter Watch Party ==
=HuntForThePirateHome=
HuntForThePirateHome Watch Party Starts Sunday Jan 28 at 3 PM EST, 12 PT, 8 PM GMT. Hashtags for that event are:
#HuntForThePirateHome
#AdoptOurCrew
#SaveOFMD
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== Petition Update ==
We hit 82,000!! Definitely things slowing down, but I think in generally we're focusing more on going after specific platforms (not saying more signatures isn't good, just saying we seem to have shifted priorities)
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== Articles ==
I didn't see any new articles today, but I did see one I didn't notice the other day so I'm including it now:
Why Our Flag Means Death’s Cancellation Should Make You Angry
==OurFlagMakesADifference==
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I had a couple people ask about what's going on with some fan led Palestine Efforts so I'm linking the current thread from Our Flag Makes A Differences Resource thread on Twitter. I know there is a great tumblr thread but tumblr search sucks so please share it with me if you have it!
== Love Notes ==
Just a little reminder for tonight--- you deserve happiness. You deserve kindness, and grace and you deserve a break from all the stressors that bug you on a day to day basis. Sometimes it's other people who can give you that break, and sometimes the only person who can give it to you is you. If you can, talk a little nicer to yourself today, give yourself a little extra time curled up in bed, or watch an extra episode of your favorite show. Remember to give yourself some love too, lovelies. You deserve it. You're gonna be okay.
== Goofy Shit for Morale ==
So I'm gonna combine a couple things tonight and end tonight with some fun goofy shit also feat. Rhys, Samba, and Taika
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@buckrogers2491's post
instagram
youtube
Alright, night lovelies! Let me know if I missed something or made any mistakes! (I think I double checked everything this time!)
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crispycreambacon · 6 days
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You fill your head with thoughts you find you can't even feel
Try to make room in your skull, but it’s full of them
All of the things that you think and then think about thinking
I know it’s hard, but they're not who you are
They're white noise
— White Noise, Will Wood —
Welcome one and all to "Mashing Two Interests Like Playdough", the first episode is Puppet History x Will Wood, specifically the Substitute x White Noise 'cause holy moly. It fits him so well. Omg.
I had so much fun creating this poster! I'm really proud of how the poses and the rendering turned out even though both gave me a rough time at first </3 I actually had an earlier version of this poster, but I scrapped it because it wasn't doing it for me ngl :,D I'm glad I did though!
Anyways if you'd like to know more about why I think this song fits the Substitute, you can read my interpretation of the lyrics and how they can relate to him below the "Read More" button. You can also find the glitchless + filterless version of the poster there.
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Note: A lot of this is speculation on my part, and you don't need to conform to this reading. This is just how I perceive him.
They paint the walls with colors that you're not meant to notice
They fill the halls with tunes you can't get into your head
Let's establish the obvious: The Substitute can't feel. The extent of his unfeelingness is unknown, but what is known is that he can't taste and can't have the sensation of touch. This may lead to him being isolated due to his inability to relate to experiences both humans and his fellow puppets seem to have, particularly the experiences of the one he is based on.
Yeah, it sorta sounds like a retro top-40 but wrong
You're not meant to sing along
It isn't that kind of song
It's white noise
Despite his unfeelingness, he still wants to have the experiences others have. After all, he literally almost killed someone just to have that chance, but his plan is not entirely well-thoughout. How was he going to dispose Ryan's body without getting caught? How was he going to sew the skin onto himself and dispose the rest of it? What was he going to do after he finally what he asked for?
In a way, he was doomed to fail. He was never meant to gain sentience anyway, let alone have the desire to feel like his counterpart. His existence is a complete accident. Now he has to deal with the consequences of actions he never even had a hand in doing.
But if you listen closely I swear, to God I swear
You can hear the ocean if you hold it up to your ear
This lyric directly inspired the pose of the Substitute listening to the conch shell. He has memories of some of the most wonderful sensations on Earth yet he can't connect with any of them. Perhaps when no one was looking, he tries to recreate some of them in a desperate attempt to find a scrap of semblance of feeling and gets increasingly frustrated with his inability to understand them.
Is it any wonder that he would do anything to regain that scrap of enjoyment? To end his torturous experience by any means necessary?
Its personality's a lack of identity
The entire second verse in general speaks about the meaningless of art and how people try to give it meaning anyway. The Substitute's only purpose was to replace the Professor either to console a dead mass or to continue the show. Now that the Professor is back... What can he do?
Moreover, he's also never allowed to have an identity of his own. Since he's meant to be a perfect copy of someone else, especially someone who's presumed to be dead, he can never really deviate from that role because it would break the illusion the puppets created to cope with their grief. No matter what his desires are, he can never really explore any of them because no one is allowing him to do so.
Also, the way the orchestra swells during this part kinda calls back to theatrical music for me. I feel like the Substitute would enjoy performace arts. His bombastic musical number implies he had a flair for the dramatics, and despite his lack of feeling, his expression of his ambitions is quite dramatic.
You fill your head with thoughts you find you can't even feel
This can relate to how the Subtitute is forced to relive the memories of the Professor despite not being able to experience the emotions connected with them. In a way, he has to so that he could remind himself of his motivations. Remembering the joy the Professor got through feeling would keep him going on this path in the hopes that some day, he could feel that joy too.
I know it's hard
But they're not who you are
They're white noise
This line can be taken in two ways. One is based on the speculated official meaning of the outro which is centered on intrusive thoughts. No doubt the Substitute deals with homicidal thoughts, but I wonder if he truly believes in them. Does he genuinely enjoy indulge in them, or does he act on them because it's all that he knows? For all the talk about him having the Professor's memories, at the end of the day, he was crudely coded for one simple purpose. His thoughts are very simplistic—as seen with how quickly he jumps to murder as the most logical solution for his problem—and I wonder if he was given a chance to grow beyond his purpose, he could've reliazed that homocide was not the right course of action.
The other way, which is likely more relevant, relates back to the Substitute being intrinsically tied to the Professor. His thoughts, his memories and his actions are all in a way influenced by the Professor. But it didn't have to be this way. As unlikely as it is, he could've had a life where he discovered his own interests and his own personality outside of being "the evil Professor". If he had gotten to learn more about the world on his own, if he had been able to act not as the Professor but as himself, he would've been able to develop more and find that joy he was missing. He could've had a life.
Unfortunately, he was never given that chance, and it is unlikely that he ever will be.
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chatterbox-73 · 7 months
Note
not sure if U take requests but could u do present mic or an aizawa fic?
.Sugar Daddy.
.Radio Sugar.
Hizashi Yamada x fem!Reader
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This story is a smut story, I’ll more characters x reader one shots in the future and if you want to see a character please let me know.
You must be 18 years or older to read this...
🔞⚠️NO MINORS ALLOWED⚠️🔞
Part two: Price of consoling (Shota Aizawa)
A/N: I was required to write about Mic or Aizawa, honestly had the hardest time choosing so will most likely post an Aizawa one-shot in the foreseeable future… though I also don’t want to jinx myself😁.
Summary/inspiration/prompt: you find yourself at a bar using your last few yen before meeting a stranger who teaches you a few very important lessons.
Word count: 1.4k
CW: NSFW and adult content, semi-public sex, oral (m!receiving and implied f!receiving), inexperienced reader, drinking.
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You were at university getting your major in music and performing arts, your parents hadn’t approved of your decision to study music and so they completely cut you off. You hadn’t spoken to or seen them in years and it was hard getting by at first that was until you met and got extremely close to a very popular pro hero, who also happened to be a teacher at a top hero academy and a host of a late night radio talk show.
You had been having no luck with any jobs, as all the places hiring wanted some oddly specific quirks for the jobs, some wanted strength based quirks while others wanted speed based quirks, both of which weren’t so fortunate to have. Instead you had a mutation quirk, you didn’t think it was ‘unsightly’, you actually believe yourself to be quite beautiful however you had been called ‘unsightly’ more times in this week alone then you had in your entire life; your quirk wasn’t even that bad.
Your quirk, ‘Four Eyes’ your childhood friend so cruelly named it gave you an extra set of eyes, your extra set of eyes were usually a cool gray but would change colours depending on your emotions. So all in all it wasn’t a weird or out of the ordinary type of quirk, but people still didn’t want to work with someone who had a mutation.
You found yourself at a bar drinking your last few hundred yen, your head laid against the bar counter and you watched the amber coloured liquid swirl around the cup, “now why’s a pretty lady, alone in a place like this?” Your eyes followed where the voice came from, to fine a blonde man with red eyes and a moustache. “Cheap beer and quiet… oh and of course mutant friendly… and you are?” you sat up and took a large swig of the beer almost finishing it all in one shot, he smiled at you and rested his elbows on the bar table, “Yamada… tough time, huh?” He throw his name in as it held no importance and made no attempt to hide that he looked at your breasts, you rolled your eyes and crossed your arms under your breasts to pushed them up. If some guy was going to hit on you, you were going to take full advantage of it… “yeah… so it should be easy for you to understand I don’t do this for free” you hummed, as if you knew what you were doing, but in actuality you had no clue. You’d seen plenty of movies and read copious amounts of books with scenarios like this but you had never sold yourself for money, you weren’t even very versed in the ‘act’ itself, but maybe you’d get lucky and he’ll take charge. Yamada lent in and whispered to you, his eyes still focused on your plump breasts “go to the bathroom and I’ll meet you there” he lightly kissed your neck and sat up straight, you got up and walked to the bathroom waiting for the man.
You sat on your feet looking directly at his hard member, it wasn’t massive but still large, it was covered in thick pulsing veins and curved to the side, his balls hung low and were mostly hairless despite the nicely trimmed dense dark blond carpet of pubes that surrounded his cock, in all honesty the sight was delicious, you felt a ache in your abdomen and throat, a dampness settled in your panties as a dryness sat in your mouth. Yamada grabbed the base of his cock and tapped it against your cheek before wiping his tip along your lips before using his other hand to tilt your head back and open your mouth, “suck it baby” he demanded and slide is tip over your tongue, you rested your hands flat on your thighs and began suckling on his tip, you continued this until he clicked his tongue and crossed his arms over his chest, “get up” he said and barely looked down at you, you stood and before you could anything he bet you to it. “You don’t do this often” Yamada said as he looked at you, his eyes cold and dark, you shook your head and went to apologise but was interrupted again, “tell me when I’ve got the number right” he held up a hand all five fingers up, before he put down his thumb, only leaving up four fingers, you watched his hand and he watched you. Yamada dropped another finger and then another, to this you blinked and looked to the ground, the man looked at his hand… two, how measly and pathetic, he thought. “And out of these two times, did you give a blowjob” he asked and your eyes stayed on the ground, he hummed and wrapped an arms around your waist pulling you into his chest, his other hand tangled onto your hair “don’t worry, I’ll teach you, sweetness” he chuckled as forced a kiss on your mouth, you gasped as he pressed his hips into yours and pushed his tongue into your mouth, you grabbed his shirt and whined before he pulled away from you and pushed you back onto your knees.
You panted and gasped as your heart raced, you looked up at him waiting for instructions, “grab the base with one hand” you followed the instruction, your hand wrapped around his tip and slowly slid down to the base making contact with Yamada’s rough carpet, he smirked and nodded “good girl, now gently cup my balls with your other hand” he said, your hand lightly cupped his sack, it was strange they were warm, heavy and strangely smooth, the man hissed slightly at the warmth of your hand, “now hurry up and start sucking… but don’t only suck, kiss and lick too” he eyed you as you took his tip into your mouth and sucked it, before you swirled your tongue around it and slowly slipped it out of your mouth, you continued to repeat this same action until you gained more confidence and with your new found confidence you took him deeper, you bobbed your head and light rubbed his ball, Yamada leaned his head back groaning and tangling a hand into your hair.
It was euphoric, his taste, his scent and his sound, he was enjoying your mouth wholly, Yamada wasn’t far from finished and somehow you could tell, you gently squeezed his sack and took him all the way in, it was uncomfortable and made you feel as though you’d vomited at any moment but the feeling of his body tense and the taste of his hot seed… your eyes rolled back and you hand disappeared under the waistband of your pants, you moaned allowing your fingers to explore your wetness, the man stiffened and pulled you off his member, pulling you to your feet.
Your body pressed to his, your fingers still occupied with your cunt, “that was sloppy…” Yamada hummed pulling your hand from your pants, “you came… didn’t you” you whined and glared at the man before your resentment quickly turned to shock as he took your dirty fingers into his mouth sucking them clean, Yamada chuckled lifting you onto the bathroom counter before yanking your pants off and disappearing between your thighs.
You looked at your very full bank account it had only been two hours since you allowed that strange to fuck you on the bathroom counter and now you stood at the ATM looking down at all the extra digits that weren’t there before, one single transaction from a Hizashi Yamada and you’re richer than you’d been in your entire life, all you had to do was have some sloppy mediocre sex with him, suddenly a thought crossed your mind; ‘if I get better at that and do everything he wants… I’d be living comfortably for the rest of my life’ you smile and draw out some money, just enough to get dinner and rent a couple of adult films… for studying of course…
__
That was three years ago, now you live in a high class apartment and wear the finest clothes and jewellery, everything and anything you want, only for the price of your body. However there’s one thing you weren’t prepared for was Yamada introducing you to his friend, A friend he explained has recently broken up with his girlfriend and needs some consoling… at the right price of course… to which you couldn’t refuse.
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More from the ‘Sugar Daddy’ series:
Masterlist (coming soon)
Previous - Satoru Gojo: ‘Not’ only you.
Next - Shota Aizawa: Price of consoling.
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ten-shi-fandoms · 11 months
Text
Painting buddies
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CW: Wally Darling x Artist Reader, gender neutral reader, reader and Wally have a pre established relationship (friendship with mutual crushing), minorly romantic, kissing (only on the hand and cheek) first person pov, just tooth rotting fluff
Short like Wally's legs (‐^▽^‐)
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Everything was perfect, if you could you would stay like this forever.
The sun high in the sky just slightly hidden by clouds. The birds chirping making soft sounds and songs. The wind blewing through your (h/c) hair and across your face. The soft grass that you sat on mildly damp from morning dew. Even the paint that so easily glided across the canvas you painted on as you sat behind your house in the woods not to far away was perfect.
It was easy to escape like this. No matter how much you loved the others sometimes they were a bit too much. They were loud, bright souls whom you loved deeply but sometimes the quiet just felt better. The others often tried their best to accommodate to you by trying their hardness not to be too loud or do too much and it always made you so happy. Though you needed some quiet and space which was why you sat out to paint. You had always loved painting, it helped calm you down and relax. The pretty colors, the ideas that filled your head, even the snell of paint all relaxed you, this time was no different. A small smile graced your lips as you heard the soft sound of the grass behind you start to move.
"How kind of you to join me." you called out to the figure behind you who was holding his easle along with a few brushes and canvas in his small arms obviously having a bit of difficulty but saying nothing about it. "I thought you might like some company, after all painting with someone else can offer new inspiration." Wally's soft voice rang through your ears as he made his way to you, sitting his things beside yours and getting his stuff organized. You noticed he brought no paints most likely opting to use yours instead which you didn't mind, you two had shared a paint pallette more than once so this made little difference. A small giggle left you at his statement your hand never once moving from the painting you started. "I guess so." with that there was comfortable silence aside from Wally settling in and the occasional movement of dipping paint brushes in paints or moving into better positions.
After a while Wally begun to hum, the sound easily cutting the silence filling it with a gentle sound. You recognized the song as one called "Beautiful Dreamer" a song Barnaby had taught you both albeit only the first verse. (E/c) eyes travelled from painting over to Wally who held a relaxed smile while he dragged his brush elegantly along his canvas. Turning your attention back to your own piece of art you begun to hum along with him, the sound of each of you humming mixing to make a gentle melody that laced the air around the two of you.
It seemed as if time moved slower when you were with Wally. The silence wasn't awkward or weird, it was comforting. The silence occasionally being cut with hums, small talk, and the occasional joke. It was nice, the entire atmosphere felt light and it made you happy knowing you had someone to share such a relaxing moment with. Soon enough the sun was beginning to set, the amber light from the sun glazing everything in a beautiful color. Luckly you were already finished with your painting and by the way Wally placed his brush aside it seemed he was finished aswell.
"How about we show each other what we painted on the count of three?" your suggested when you noticed Wally playing with the edge of his canvas as if he didn't wish to show his alone. With a curt nod you started to count. The moment you hit three you both turned your painting around to the other. Your painting contained (favorite thing) in (your art style). The contents of the painting making Wally smile. He had a feeling you would paint that, it was just like you too do something like that. As relaxed eyes stared at your painting, (e/c) eyes stared at the painting in front of you.
The painting had Home in the center with some of your friends but the thing that took you a bit by surprise was the main focus of the piece. Aside from that the base of the painting which was bright and colorful, your eyes were immediately drawn to the dark colors that laced the piece. There were black and red spirals along the piece, it was like Wally didn't like what he had painted and decided to change it last minute. You could feel Wally's eyes on you obviously excepting a comment on the painting he created. Closing your eyes you smiled warmly, a sight that made Wally's eyes widen and dilate.
"I think it's really cool!" you said, your voice happy and truthful making Wally's heart melt at the sweetness in the tone. Opening your eyes you saw Wally's wide eyed stare, the sight a bit creepy but ultimately looking rather cat like to you. Before you could speak Wally grabbed your hand placing a gentle kiss against the back of it then one against your cheek. As you stared at him shocked, confused and flustered he smiled at you with the same warmth you smiled at him with, causing warmth to spread across your cheeks and nose. "I'm glad you like it." his voice was warm, and soothing almost like it was coated in honey. "It's getting late, let's go back to Home and get some rest." he offered, his hand squeezing your firmly as you nodded happy to go along with him.
"That's fine by me." with a few more soft words exchanged you both gathering your things, you even grabbed some of Wally's stuff to help him out despite his protest. You both walked side by side, chatting away about what you should do once you got to Home. You were so caught up in the conversation that you missed the sets of eyes that followed you both as you made your way out of the woods, however Wally didn't but he said nothing deciding it was best to let the others have their moment while you both had yours. After all he could just confront Barnaby about it later.
Bonus:
"I knew it! See I told you Frank, Wally and (Y/N) are in love!" Julie's voice rang through the now empty woods. The male in question sighing, his hand covering his face as his bright eyed friend gushed about seeing how Wally treated you. "Julie it wasn't that hard to figure out. I mean really, do you see the way Wally looks at them?" Frank responded straightforwardly. It wasn't hard for anyone to see how Wally favorited you over the rest so it was easy to tell that their short friend might had been developing a crush on you.
"Calm down Frank, atleast now we know the feeling is mutual between them two." Barnaby butted in placing a hand on Frank's shoulder as he thought back to the sweet conversations you and Wally had shared. Eddie nodded along to Barnaby's words, his own hand reaching and cupping Frank's. "I agree with Barnaby, its good to know." Frank couldn't help but sigh and relax a bit as he looked at the path you and Wally took to leave the woods. A small smile pushed it's way onto his face no matter how hard he tried to hide it. "I guess your right." his voice low as he spoke, in a way he was happy for you more than anyone else. He understood your struggles when it came to noise and how energetic and outgoing everyone else was so seeing you enjoying yourself in your natural state made him happy even if it was with Wally of all people. "I guess your right."
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cowboydisaster · 1 year
Text
Aesthete
Aesthete (adj.) someone with deep sensitivity to the beauty of art or nature
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repost, originally posted on 12 march 2023
pairing: Arthur Morgan x fem!reader
word count: 4.7k
summary: when Arthur finds himself with a lack of inspiration, you offer yourself as a blank canvas
a/n: this was inspired by a post I saw about canon Arthur v fandom Arthur. Essentially that he isn't just some dumb himbo, he's intelligent and creative/artistic and has a clearer world view than most. I cant find the original post/er, but if you know it please drop me a message!
taglist: @margofiore @mrsarthurmorgan7 @woman-with-no-name @luvliewriting @tillith @pine4pple-b0i @photo1030 @dudsparrow
warning: nsfw, 18+, minors dni (teeth rottingly fluffy, emotional smut)
"a work of art that did not begin in emotion is not art"- paul cèzanne
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The rain is a steady, soothing thud on the roof, as you rest, sitting on Arthur’s bed at Shady Belle. It's a stormy day, with rain and lightning falling from the sky, painting everything in a gloomy gray hue. There are a few little puddles on the creaky, wooden floor from the broken window and the old roof, where water has leaked inside. You cherish days like this, days where you can huddle inside, wrapped in a thin blanket while reading a book. Now you are reading a relatively newer piece, Huckleberry Finn, while cozied up in Arthur’s bed. He sits opposite of you, against the footboard, while you are against the headboard. It’s a very comfortable silence, with only the rain and the thunder to break up the quiet afternoon. 
Arthur is very focused in his journal, sketching and scribbling away at something on the ivory pages. His eyebrows are drawn together, and every few minutes he holds the journal at an arm’s length away, ensuring he has the correct perspective. The more he draws, the less interested you find yourself in your novel. Your eyes flicker from him, to your page, and you find that you’ve been so interested in what Arthur is doing that you’ve been stuck re-reading the same paragraph for nearly five minutes. 
But can you blame yourself for being so easily distracted? Arthur is so detail oriented, so intelligent and creative. Very rarely does he allow people to see this vulnerable side of him, and you’ve been lucky enough to peek through the curtains into Arthur Morgan’s fragile, beautiful heart. He has a reputation among the gang of being thick headed and more of a brute than a thinker, and you chuckle at just how ignorant those opinions are. Arthur is one of the smartest men you know. He is an enjoyer of literature, although he prefers writing a novel rather than reading one, he is well versed in history and enjoys mythology. Arthur may not have gone to a school, or have fancy degrees on his wall, but he is a reteller of stories. Arthur soaks in the information he hears, and thinks over it heavily, oftentimes writing about it in his journal, like he is now.
His big hands have an expert grip on the charcoal as he sketches something, his face is contorted into a beautiful little confused pout as he tries to ascertain whether or not the perspective on this particular sketch is perfect. Your eyes trail from his hands up to his lips, the forbidden, soft lips that you dream about kissing at night. Oh, how you wish he was yours. You sigh, refocusing yourself and watching his hands. The curiosity becomes too great, and needing a distraction, you finally speak up.
“What are you drawin’?” You ask, leaning forward to try and catch a glimpse. He perks up at your voice, startled out of his deep focus. Before he responds, he runs his hand through his stubble in thought. 
“Finishin’ up a sketch from a few days ago. Just this old church I found, ain’t nothin special.” Arthur responds, flipping the little book around to show you. 
You recognize the church, he’s drawn a very good likeness. It’s the old, crumbling church just off the road from Shady Belle. The Lemoyne Raiders have been camping out there, and you recall Arthur stopping to inspect it when you’d rode past earlier. He’s perfectly captured the broken walls, and the way vines squeeze the old building like a cobra. You could step into the drawing, and never realize it wasn’t reality. 
“Oh, Arthur, it's beautiful.” You whisper, noticing the attention to detail. Arthur has managed to capture the swaying of the grass, alongside birds taking flight off the roof of the building. 
After some more inspecting of the intricate piece, you hand it back to him, smiling at the blush that colors his cheeks. He never was good at taking compliments. He continues the sketch, and you realize it's the first time you've seen him drawing in a while. Your eyebrows pull together as you try to think back to the last time you'd seen the outlaw with the book in his hands. 
"I noticed you haven't been drawin' as much…?" You inquire, picking Huckleberry back up and glancing over the printed words before looking back up to him.
"Ain't easy findin' pretty things' in the swamp. Back when we was in Valentine, there was so much to draw, so many things caught my eye." Arthur whispers, never bringing his eyes away from the paper as he shades the windows with his charcoal. You toy with your lip, feeling that it's your time to finally bite the bullet and be brave. You take a deep breath, setting your book down again. 
"So you draw beautiful things?" You ask, barely over a whisper. Your voice travels across the expanse of the bed like a breath on the wind. 
Arthur finally looks up to you, green eyes locking onto yours as he thinks over the meaning behind your question. He leans back against the footboard, and brings his knee up to lean on. 
"I- well yeah, mostly. I like to draw things how I find em, natural, beautiful and the like." Arthur responds, brushing through his beard with his hand while thinking of sketches of deer, flowers and birds, crumbled buildings and landscapes. 
Arthur's heart stops when you stand up, slowly tip-toeing to the center of the room and turning to him. Your eyes are locked onto each other, nothing can be heard but quiet breaths and the patter of rain on the ceiling. Warm light caresses your face as you bring your hands up to your shirt, heart pounding. 
"And… Do you think I'm beautiful…?" You ask, pulling your shirt out of your jeans so it's no longer tucked.
Arthur is frozen, shocked as his eyes glance between your own, laced with bravery and lust, and your hands which are slowly pulling your shirt out of your jeans. He swallows thickly, at a loss for words. 
"Well a course- I think you're, you're very beautiful…" 
Arthur's eyes are wide, his jaw open with shock, and cheeks pink as you unbutton your shirt. His face lasts only a moment before he schools himself, evening out his features to appear nonchalant.
"What are you uh…" Arthur clears his throat quietly, "What are you doin'?" Arthur asks, slipping his eyes closed and growling as your shirt hits the floor.
"Let me inspire you… in my natural state." You quote Arthur back to himself, unclasping your belt buckle and pulling the leather through the loops until the belt clunks to the floor. Your motions are slow, graceful, in the candlelight as you slowly hook your thumbs under your jeans and undergarments sliding them to the floor. Your jeans hit the floor with a thud, and as you step out of them, Arthur pulls out his journal. 
Your body is beautiful. Perfect in his eyes. Round and curved, full and feminine. Your legs, your hips, your collarbones and breasts, all he can do is sink in this canvas that is your body for a few moments. His lack of inspiration is completely gone, and Arthur thinks that with an infinite amount of blank paper he could reference your body as art forever. He's never seen anything so beautiful, so enchanting. You seem to beam with a golden light, shadowing the v in between your thighs and the valley between your breasts. All he can do is stare, and all he can think about doing is taking the time to study every inch of your beauty.
"I…" Arthur stops, speechless as you pull an old ottoman from the corner of the room.
"How do you want me?" You whisper, glossy lips shining in the candlelight, and all Arthur can think about is kissing the perfect rosy petals. 
"How do I- I want you?" Arthur asks, not understanding your question because he wants you in so many ways right now. You're nothing short of a goddess standing before him, an angel. 
"Yeah," You chuckle, "pose me. However you think, you're the artist after all. Go on, it's okay." You encourage when Arthur is hesitant to touch you. He doesn't want to overstep a boundary, and he's terrified to touch you, to taint you with his hands that have been the cause for so many terrible things. He truly thinks that you deserve so much better than him, but he is a fool for it. Because he is all that you want. 
With a nod, he comes over and helps you position yourself. He’s incredibly polite, of course he is, not wanting to touch you anywhere indecent even though you’ve just stripped in front of him. Your left leg is bent under you, and you sit under it, while your right is propped up at an angle, brought up almost to your chest. He positions your arm over the bottoms of your breasts, and your hand is placed on your shoulder. Once he steps back, checking that the position is to his liking, his fire hot touch leaves your skin. 
“Good?” You ask, stretching your neck back so that your hair falls down your back, exposing your throat. 
“Absolutely perfect…” Arthur whispers, sitting on the edge of the plush bed, just a few feet in front of you. He picks up his leather journal and the charcoal, turning to an empty page in the back of the book. 
The sound of thunder, rain and charcoal against paper fill your head as your eyelids flutter, watching Arthur. Seeing him like this, so focused and in his element, is both heartwarming and incredibly attractive. He bites at his bottom lip, hyper focused, as he follows the slopes and planes of your body, perfectly transferring them onto the paper. He gets to your breasts, watching the goosebumps that trickle down your stomach and arms. His eyes are hot on you, studying you. You blush when he steps forward, gently brushing a stray hair away that had fallen in front of your shoulder, tucking it behind your ear so as to not obstruct the view of his model. 
When he sits back down on the creaking bed, he crosses his ankle over his knee, leaning back to get another perspective before resting his journal on his calf. He resumes his sketching, and his eyes linger on you before every stroke of the charcoal. Arthur watches the charcoal trace the lines of your hips, your thighs and your breasts onto the paper, and more than anything, he wishes that it was his lips tracing your skin, instead of the charcoal. The sound of the rain is soothing, and the thunder is one and the same as the pounding of your heart when Arthur’s eyes linger on your lips, your body. Heat lightning flashes the sky through the broken window with warm tones of orange as a shiver runs down your spine, though you are far from cold. 
Arthur really focuses now, leaning into his journal, glancing up and down frequently to capture the tiny details of you, some of his favorites. Like the little flyaways of hair, slightly frizzy from the heat that falls around your face, the freckles on your skin, the scars and stretch marks, the imperfections that color you. Once he’s finished, he leans back, eyeing both you and the journal before writing your name at the bottom, all capital as if a title. 
“Alright, should be done.” Arthur whispers, leaning forward to hand you off his journal.
You take the heavily used book, and look at the mirror-like reflection on the pages. Arthur has captured you perfectly. You look up to his green eyes, with tears. He’s drawn you in his journal as if you are the most gorgeous of any of the sights his eyes have seen, because you are. Every detail is perfect.
“Arthur, this is incredible.” You praise, completely truthful. He is a wonderful artist, and doesn’t give himself enough credit. You stand up, and fold his journal carefully closed before sitting down on the bed beside him. Your hand meets his knee, and boldly you look up at him just hoping. You’ve been head over heels for the man for some time now, and if there was ever a time to bring it up, it's now.
“Arthur I'm gonna ask you somethin’ and I want you to be honest with me, yeah?” 
Arthur is sincere, maybe worried as his eyebrows draw together and he places his hand overtop of yours. 
“Of course, anythin.” Arthur says, quietly. 
You look down at your bare lap, gathering courage that causes your heart to pound in your ears before glancing back up.
“I… Do you want me?” You ask, words hanging heavy in the air as you wait for a response. But much to your embarrassment, Arthur doesn’t give you one. He looks into your eyes, glancing around with his jaw open slightly. He opens and closes it a few times, as if he can’t find the words he's searching for. After a few moments, you hang your head, blushing and feeling like a goddamn fool, because you’ve overstepped and he doesn’t want you. 
“Oh, I see. I’m so sorry, Arthur, I’ve misstepped terribly.” You mumble, shame and embarrassment starting to drag you down. You can’t bear to look at him as you stand up to grab your clothes and leave.
 As you do, his hand grabs onto your own. 
“Darlin’ wait-” Arthur pleads, and his eyes are overflowing with emotion as he sits back down onto the bed, holding your hands in his. For a moment, you feel hopeful, maybe you were wrong, and your best friend who you are desperately in love with, wants you back. 
“I aint so good with my words sometimes. Always been better at writin’ my feelins rather than sayin’ em out loud.” Arthur says, eyes locked onto your conjoined hands before trailing up your torso to those beautiful eyes. 
“I want you. God- more than anything, I want you, sweetheart,” he pauses, brushing another stray hair behind your ear, “But I want you to understand that this isn’t about just layin’ together.” He continues, and tears well up in your eyes at his words because your feelings are being reciprocated and he's all you’ve ever wanted.
“You see I want what's tucked away in here,” Arthur whispers, pointing to the left side of your chest, right over your heart, “and I love what’s in here.” Arthur smiles, tapping your temple.
“Do I want you? Yeah, I do, sweetheart. But I want all a’ you. Your heart, your mind, your body… God- I've been sweet on you longer than I care to admit.” Arthur squeezes your hand before running his thumb under your jaw, and pulling your chin up so he can look into your teary eyes, “and well, when you asked me to draw you just now, sayin’ yes was easier than breathin’ because darlin’ you are the art. I just had to transfer that beauty onto paper.”
You lean in, pressing your forehead against his own. His big, warm hand cups your jaw, and you feel as if you could melt into his touch. You want nothing more than to be enveloped by him, to have him in every way possible, because you want him too. His beautiful, creative mind, his soft heart with so many walls around it, and you've crumbled them all to nothing more than shattered ramparts. You’ve broken him, and rebuilt him back into the man he is now, changed him forever with your heart. 
He pulls you closer until your lips meet his own. It's shy at first, two strangers meeting in a coy peck. But the familiarity comes soon, because this is Arthur, and you find yourself clinging to him, like if you let go he may disappear, or bottle back up and you can’t lose him now. You open your mouth for him, letting him in to intertwine his tongue with your own as the kiss grows more passionate. He tastes like whiskey and tobacco and Arthur, and it's too much as tears silently fall down your cheeks. Arthur pulls away for a moment, smiling softly as his thumb brushes away your tears.
“It’s rainin, we have all day…” You smile as his eyes run over your face. 
“That we do,” Arthur whispers, kissing your temple before pulling away again, “Y’know… I've had gold and silver, horses, and books worth more than this estate, but darlin’ I ain’t never had anything in my hands that was as beautiful, or as priceless, as you.” He says before leaning into your neck, kissing your pulsepoint and your collarbone. His hands toy with your breasts, running over the soft skin until your nipples harden and you lean into him. 
“Oh, Arthur,” You whimper, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into you further. 
“You’re perfect.” Arthur nibbles at the flesh of your earlobe before whispering against your skin, “My blank canvas.”
Your hands come to either side of his face, pulling his gaze up to your eyes. 
“Then make me art, Arthur… mark me, have me, please I need you.” you whimper, pulling him down to your lips again, and savoring the feeling that you’ve been aching for for so long. As soon as the kiss breaks, he caresses your cheek. Again, the only sound is the rain and the thunder. His lips are swollen from where yours have left kisses, and you decide it's your favorite sight. 
“Sweetheart, I already told you. You are art, but markin’ you? Havin’ you? Now that I can do just fine.” Arthur whispers against your flush skin, illuminated as lightning flashes in the distance.
Everything makes sense, everything falls into place, when his lips crash against yours again. They are no longer shy, but needy and loving, lustful and wanting. Your hands reach to the buttons of his shirt as he lays you down on the bed, making sure the pillow under your head is comfortable before moving his lips to your neck. Once you’ve undone the buttons, he leans away to pull it off of his arms, throwing it to the side. It lands on the bedside table, knocking over a container of ink that spills onto the floor. You gasp, leaning up to inspect the damage, as Arthur anchors you, pushing you back down to the bed with his kisses. 
“It’s okay, it's alright, we’ll clean it up later sweetheart.” Arthur shushes, and you melt back into your state of euphoria with him between your legs. His lips caress your own as his hand swirls your nipple, toying with the hardened peak before it trails down to your hip. 
“I'm gonna touch you, okay?” Arthur whispers against your lips as another quiet rumble of thunder sounds out. You nod, spreading your legs for Arthur as he adjusts himself on top of you, leaning his weight on his forearm. 
“Please Arthur-” You beg as he trails his fingers down your knee to your inner thigh before running his fingers along your folds. He stops, and groans lightly, squeezing his eyes shut. 
“Shit- you’re so wet. I'm sorry, darlin’ it's been awhile since I-” Arthur starts, but you lean up, pressing a kiss against his lips before whispering to him. 
“It’s okay… been awhile for me too.”
He nods against your forehead, kissing it before continuing. You spread your legs even more for him, and he sinks two fingers into your pulsing heat. Immediately, your grip on him tightens, and you whimper, eyes squinted shut as he slowly works you open. 
“Shh…shh… that’s my girl.” Arthur coos, stretching you with his fingers as you cling to him, gasping for breath at the way he touches you like you’re his canvas, his masterpiece, and the more he caresses, kisses and touches, the more beautiful you become underneath him. He didn’t think it was possible for your appearance to become any more entrancing, but as you moan, arching your back so that your breasts find release against his chest, he finds that he was wrong. 
He curls his fingers inside you rhythmically, pressing down right in the perfect spot before gently stroking your clit with his thumb. It's a delirious combination, and the only thing anchoring you from ascending to the heavens, is him. 
“That’s it, darlin’. Let it go, let me watch you unfold.” Arthur whispers, keeping a steady pace with his hands while kissing your stomach, up to your breasts. He begins to lick at your breast, swirling his tongue over your stiff nipple and kissing your skin every chance he gets. It proves to be your undoing, and just as the rain pounds on the roof even harder, and thunder sounds out, you find your release. Your nails dig into Arthur’s back as you reach your climax, the building coming in waves that have you gasping for breath and moaning. 
“Arthur-” leaves your lips in a mantra as you clamp down on his fingers, the waves of your orgasm washing over you and drowning you in the most indescribable, emotional show of affection. You see stars, flashes of bright white as you gasp and shake, hanging onto the man who you love. 
“Good girl,” Arthur whispers, kissing your forehead a few times as you come down from your high. 
“Real good, darlin.” Arthur coos, sinking his fingers into you until he has completely drawn out your release. Once your back stops arching, and hits the bed again, you pull his face down to yours once more. His hand cups your neck, and you feel your juices on his fingers as he runs his hand from your neck to your jaw, holding it while he kisses you again. His forehead meets yours as you whine. 
“I need- Arthur, I need to feel you, please.” You cry, hands running down the muscles of his chest, down the trail of sandy blonde hair that runs down below his jeans. You pop the button open, biting your lip as you press the palm of your hand against the pressure there. Arthur releases a deep groan, thrusting involuntarily against your hand. 
He leans down, kissing your nose with a smile before standing up and shedding his jeans to the ground. He steps out of them, and you prop yourself up on your elbow to admire him. 
Arthur is big. A bit longer than average, but he is girthy and thick. You scan over his rosy head, and the vein that bulges from the underside of his shaft. And as you follow up the trail of hair, to Arthur’s chest and face, he sees the worry. It’s been a long time, and truthfully you’re not very experienced with this. You don’t know if you can take him, but god, you want to. 
“Arthur I… you’re beautiful.” You whisper, watching the flex of his muscles in the candlelight, the soft, light hair that falls into his face as he chuckles, looking down to hide his smile. 
“Beautiful? Really?” Arthur asks, sarcastically. 
“Yes, Arthur, beautiful.” 
He shakes his head, not agreeing with you really, as he comes back down to the bed. He rests himself between your legs again, kissing your thigh, then your hip… and so on until he reaches those plump, bruised lips. 
“You ready? You still want this sweetheart?” Arthur asks, massaging the tender skin of your thigh as you breath out shakily. You nod, but he senses the trepidation and doesn’t want to make you uncomfortable. 
“What is it?” He asks, pulling away from your lips to look into your eyes. He sees you smile, blushing before wrapping your legs around his waist. 
“Be gentle, please. You’re- well you’re big Arthur and I really want this…” You whisper, chuckling at yourself for a second. 
“I’ll be gentle, okay? N if it hurts, you tell me. Right away.” Arthur says, almost darkly. He does not want you putting up with any pain for his sake. You nod, before leaning into his chest and wrapping your hands around his neck. Your legs, around his waist, spread a bit more and you feel his head against your entrance. Slowly, Arthur thrusts into you, and everything you were worried about shatters to the ground. God- he feels so good. And before he's fully in, you feel so full, and so stretched. You’ll never get enough of this, you realize. It’s perfect, like two puzzle pieces fitting together as he enters to the hilt and you moan as he bumps your sensitive spot. 
“You okay?” Arthur asks, stopping his hips completely, and you dig your heel into his ass, begging him to do anything but stop.
“Move, Arthur, please. Oh, you feel so good.” You whimper, your hips rising to meet Arthur’s as he thrusts into you. Your moans mix with Arthur’s groans and the thunder, and it’s all washed away by the rain. Not a peep can be heard from outside, but inside the room there is so much raw emotion, lust and love, that even the air feels like it's intruding on you two.
“Shit, sweetheart.” Arthur growls, thrusting into you with more rhythm now that he knows you’re okay. The stretch is the perfect mixture of pleasure and pain that has you inching towards a climax. He kisses your lips, and you lean up to meet him halfway. The kiss is hot and passionate, with gasps for air in between and moans as you two commit the rawest act of love known to man. He rocks against you, swaying you with his hips. The pleasure combined with the emotion of him finally against you is overwhelming. You’ll never be closer, more whole than you are like this. He’s with you. The tightness in your stomach pulls, stretching and coiling all the like until it snaps. Once again, Arthur is your anchor, rocking you, and steadying you as you completely come undone beneath him. You constrict around him, muscles tightening and contracting as an intense wave of pleasure washes over you. Your moans are loud, breathy as you release the tension he’s created within you. It’s too much for Arthur, and as you squeeze around him, he thrusts into you a few times, hard and deep before he cums inside you, filling you completely with his seed. 
“You did so well, darlin. You’re so beautiful…” Arthur whispers, kissing your forehead before placing a long, slow kiss on your lips. He stays there for a moment, letting you catch your breath before sliding out of you. He lands on the bed beside you, and you curl up against his chest. 
“Arthur?” You ask, placing your hand on his chest and cuddling further into him. He takes a sheet from the bottom of the bed, pulling it over you until you’re decent.
“What is it sweetheart?” Arthur asks, brows furrowed as he runs his hand along your arm and watches the rise and fall of your body against his. 
“Did you mean it? Everything you said before…” You ask, propping your chin up to look into his eyes. He runs his hand up and down your back, soothing you while smiling. 
“Course I did.” Arthur whispers, leaning down to press another kiss to your forehead. 
“I… I love you, y’know.” You whisper back, leaning your head against his chest, too nervous to look into his eyes. Arthur only chuckles, pulling your head closer to his chest with his hand.
“I know, and I love ya too.”
The rest of the rainy day is spent in various forms of affection. You and Arthur lay together all day, whether sleeping or not, reading and drawing or just holding each other. Everything seems right now. Like for the first time in your life you’ve found your purpose, your person. He is your other half, your strength, your ecstasy, and he loves you too, your little aesthete.
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