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hazelfoureyes · 8 days

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A Doe in Fall (part 5)

⟢HumanAlastor x FemaleBurlesquerReader - A Doe in Fall

Part 1 - Pretty in Red smut💦 Part 2 - Liar smut💦 Part 3 - A Tragedy smut💦 Part 4 - Enough Part 5 - Too Much Part 6 - Learning smut💦

Part 5 Too Much

Actions famously speak louder than words, so what did you say, exactly, to Alastor with your actions that night? You were briefly rattled by what happened in the park but not for the obvious reasons. Despite everything, despite your fears, you found the situation deepening between you two when he suddenly invites to stay the night at his home. Perhaps he had fears of his own?

「Warnings/Promises: Human Alastor x Fem Burlesquer reader, No smut! That’s next part because this part was already super fucking long 😭 , but we do flirt our asses off and get taken by the hand, crying, panic attacks, discussions of murder, dead bodies, you really have to stop smoking, deer, adorably nervous Alastor, this man owns more than one mug you fucking know it」

19 days later… 😩 please don’t kill me. 5000 words here, Another like 6000 words are posting this Thursday, also tumblr wouldn’t let me post this for like an hour , just gave me error messages, I had to copy and paste 4 times so there may be some errors in here so let me know if you find spelling or format issues🙏

When he came to, momentarily either unconscious or just incapacitated as his brain started up again, he was frantic for his glasses. He could hear the sounds of a brutal death, the crunch of anger, the squish of rage.

His eyes focused now, slightly askew and smudged glasses helping him see you clearly.

Leaning over the man, hands red and face twisted in a marriage of fear and wrath, you were bringing a large rock down on the man’s unrecognizable face over and over and over and—

You flinched when Alastor’s hands delicately slipped down your arms and peeled your fingers from the rock.

Full body shaking, “He was going to kill you!” You said it too loud, too fast. “He was going to—,” Your breath got caught in your throat, “He wanted to— He was trying to kill you, Alastor.”

Wet with mud and blood and the rain still left on the grass, you were pulled into Alastor’s lap. He tucked your head into the crook of his neck with a small wince and hugged you. “He was. He almost did.” Low and slow, his chest rumbled when he said it. “You did such a good job.”

You looked down at your hands, but he pulled your face back up to look at his, “Always surprising me in the best ways.”

You’d forgotten already, how when adrenaline wanes you’re left with terrible tremors and a suddenly clear head. Alastor almost died. You hadn’t thought at all when it happened. Everything had taken place so fast, faster than your brain could process.

You had seen Alastor stop struggling against the man, his body went still and your eyes were blinded with tears, there was a horrible sound that may have come from you, and then there was nothing. A flash of running Colors. Distant muddled sounds.

Maybe you saw someone grab a rock.

You might have hit the man on the back of the head.

You think he fell down and something didn’t stop moving against him.

Perhaps you thought if you hit him enough you could make it have not happened at all. If you killed him fast enough, Alastor would have been fine and standing.

But you weren’t sure. You blinked and Alastor was touching you and underneath you was a pulp of a man’s face.

Alastor’s heart was racking against his ribs. Arms tightening around you unconsciously as his eyes landed on the dead man.

He’d gotten too comfortable. He pushed too hard. He wanted too much. He was too much.

He felt himself spilling over and staining your hands metaphorically and now literally.

You didn’t feel anything. Not during. Now you felt too much.

Your mind was filled with an echoing chorus of, ‘He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost killed him. He almost died. He almost died. He almost died.”

There was a strange fear that Alastor had died, and any second you’d blink again and be alone in the trees with two dead men. You twisted in his lap, hands rocketing to Alastor’s face and gripping the sides of his head. You were staring into his eyes, panting.

“You can’t die. I’ll—,” tears poured down your face in streams not drops. Your throat closed around the words. Short and fast, your breath ran wild. Hands tingling, your lips felt like they were pricked with a hundred tiny needles.

Alastor pushed down his own mess of emotions, “One deep breath in.” His hands settled on yours, still on his face. He could feel the familiar stickiness of drying blood in his hair. “Keep breathing in.” You coughed, shaking your head no. “You can, I promise it. Would I lie to you?”

You laughed, managing to catch your breath for a moment, “Y-yes.”

“Well, now you’re adding insult to injury.” He made a show of rubbing his neck. You smacked his chest lightly, breathing in twice in a row.

He held both of your hands in both of his, “Name a time I’ve ever lied.” He distracted you but wounded himself. He could name a time.

You tried to think. “I don’t know. Maybe you’re just a really good liar.” Your voice was hoarse.

Alastor nodded, “That’s true, there’s actually nothing I can’t do well.”

Another laugh, a cry, “Stop it.”

His warm, clean hands wiped your tears. “You’re being aggressive again, sweetheart. You know I prefer soft spoken women.”

The laughter helped break the cycle of hyperventilating. As your breathing finally got to a manageable speed you felt exhaustion deep in your bones.

All at once the sensations became prominent. Your knees were red and muddy, your hands bloody, your left side and back wet. You were sticky and sore and cold. “Alastor,” his legs were framing you, yours now folded under yourself and digging into rocks, “I wanna go home.” You adjusted his glasses, “Together.”

If he had a reason to say no, he ignored it.

“I thought I was the messy one.” He washed your hands with the water cans and settled you into the passenger seat of his car. Alastor took care of filling the trunk and cleaning the ground before sliding into the driver's seat.

He turned to you, his face dirty and clothes worse. You looked down at yourself; knees a color of wine, and blue dress now dyed brown.

“I know you have to get rid of him. So, I won’t ask you to sleep over. Just,” you felt sleepy, mind asking you to let it catch up, “let me take care of you for a little bit. Okay?”

His hand slipped onto your leg, he wanted to make a joke about sex or murder hoping to make you laugh again. But it was obvious he needed to be quiet, so he just nodded.

Alastor left the car on a side street behind your building. The man whose name you never asked concealed under canvas and red oil tins.

Luckily everything was clean in your apartment. It was small, just one room and a bathroom. The other apartments you’d seen had communal toilets and showers so you were quite proud of your space. You’d made it yours, gifted trinkets here and there, walls decorated with hanging dried flowers you'd had thrown at your feet. A shrine to your abilities.

You peeled off his clothes, tossing them in the kitchen sink and wiping off as much dirt as you could with a damp rag.

Clothing hanging over the radiator, you both got into the shower. Cold and wet now hot and soaking, you took his hands and sat you both down in the tub while the water ran down. Taking your time, you gently scratched the blood and mud from his hair and let it all wash away.

When fully cleaned and dried off he slipped on the only bit of clothing he had left, a loose pair of boxer shorts. You had a slip, silky and soft, to comfort you. Your mother wore silk, and it always made you feel safe. The way the fabric slid around its self and others, never catching or bunching up, was something you always hoped to emulate; smooth and cool, but always in need of a little caution and care.

A small bed meant for one, but you offered it. When Alastor motioned for you to slide in too, you didn’t hesitate.

Nose to nose, the room was quickly heating up with the radiator's help.

You hadn’t been in a bed with Alastor in nearly two months, not since that first time. His words stuck to you like embroidered messages lovingly stitched into a handkerchief you didn’t want to lose. So you kept your hands between your thighs, still and away, to make sure he had space to exist in your bed.

“You saved my life.” Alastor whispered, one of you finally bringing up the obvious.

A hummed acknowledgment, “That makes us even.” He saved you before, you did the same in turn. A little piece of you worried the contract was done and he’d disappear.

“No, my dear. I owe you so much more.” A kiss to your cheek.

A terrifying thought took hold of you. “Roll over.” He looked confused but did. You were always asking him to turn away, always trying to hide your face when you said things that scared you. You hooked your arms under his and held tightly.

“If I wasn’t there, there’s no one to have told me. How long would I have waited,” another torrent of tears into his back you couldn’t keep in if you tried, “at the phone booth for you to call in the morning.”

You were crying like a child, uncontrolled and with your entire body. Pathetic.

He had never had someone to worry about those details. Everyone truly close to him was dead. Until now, of course.

Of course.

What a natural addition you provided to him. He thought it like that it was a long standing fact.

He hugged your arms tighter to his chest.

A shiver of fear in the warm bed as you continued, “I want to be there. With you. Always.” You gathered your courage. Shields completely down, if just for a moment, “I know there was nothing right about tonight but,” you wiped your tears off his back with your palm, reabsorbing that pain before he could soak it in, “Please. Don’t shut me out now. I’ll go to hell tomorrow for you but please don’t damn me to picking up a newspaper and seeing your name in the headlines; Learning you died in block letters for a nickel. I wouldn’t survive it.”

You didn’t want to meet his eyes, worried rejection was waiting for you there, so you’d asked him to turn so you could hide. He picked up your hands and kissed your knuckles one by one. “Please don’t say things like that outloud. Things like ‘go to hell’ and ‘tomorrow’ so close together. The spirits can hear you.” A kiss to your palm, “And I wouldn’t dare shut you out.” He couldn’t. The very idea of going back to how he was before, alone and mumbling to the dead, made his heart race with his own panic. If you disappeared tomorrow he was scared to think what would happen to him. “Plus, I know you’d just find me anyway. You always do.”

Had you not been there, he would have still tried to kill the man. Waiting in an alley or for a walk home through an empty space. You weren’t at fault. He’d been hurt before, but this was by far the worst situation he had been in. But he would have been in it regardless of your participation. Alastor pressed his lips into your hand, smelling the soap you’d washed him with.

You hadn’t hesitated. He had thought you would run, that he’d slip away into death and you’d book it to safety. Something he never planned to ask you to do, to kill someone, you’d done it for him when it was the most selfless option. Did he mean so much to you? He wanted to ask, but if you said anything other than an immediate yes he feared he would turn to a pillar of salt and crumble.

If you both could find the courage to just look at each other you’d have all your answers. But you couldn’t. The fear still too strong. So you changed the topic for a chance at an escape.

A small confession, to turn the conversation away from death. “After our dates, your cologne always lingers on my clothes. Sometimes I just fall asleep in them. When I wake up, my pillow smells like you.” Your body formed against his back, pressing as tightly as you could. How was that less embarrassing than everything else you’d said when it was arguably more pathetic?

He was quiet. You worried you’d pushed too far. Alastor worried he’d already hurt you too much.

“If you asked me,” he spoke slowly, hands resting on yours above his heart, a deep breath, “I’d stop.” He would.

But, “I’d never ask that of you.” You said it so quickly, like blinking or yawning it happened without you needing to think about it. Alastor did something he felt he needed to do, you saw that look in his eyes before and understood this was Alastor at his truest. And the people he killed weren’t good people. He provided a service to New Orleans that no one appreciated.

He smiled against your palm, making sure you felt it, “Why are you so good to me?”

Without hesitation, Because I love you.

After a beat of silence, “Because you know where I live, obviously.”

A huff, “And where you work.”

“And the park where I like to get fingered.”

Finally, his unburdened laugh, “I didn’t expect you to say that.” That sound of his joy bounced off the thin walls around you both. He rarely expected anything you said or did. It was part of your charm. Normally he could predict what people would say like reading a bad story, but you were something else. Effortlessly entertaining, was that a compliment? He was sure you’d say no and make that face you always did, something between a pout and a glare, between sad and angry.

He had been asking genuinely. Why were you so good to him? Why so patient? Why care at all?

“Can you sleep? Or do you need to go?”

Alastor thought about it, if he left early enough he could still get home in time to empty the trunk. He hummed an affirmative, when he didn’t move you understood it was the former. He didn’t want to go. He needed more time. He needed to feel you nearby. An odd sense that if he pulled away now the thread holding you two together would pull him apart at the seams with the distance.

You would think nightmares would plague you after killing someone in cold blood, but no. You practically killed Tommy, when you considered it thoroughly. And while this night was not a joy, you had defended yourself and Alastor. You didn’t feel bad. You didn’t regret it. You were just scared you did a bad job. That you’d get caught.

The kind of dreams you had were different kinds of scary. Of Alastor always leaving a room when you entered, of falling off the stage and landing too far down, of waking up to feel Alastor cold beside you.

When you did wake, your arms were still tight around him and he was warm. Your forehead rested between his shoulder blades. You didn’t feel different this time, you didn’t feel changed like after Tommy.

Alastor always had nightmares so he wasn’t surprised to have them in your bed. He dreamt he awoke on the ground, the man was gone but you were there broken into several pieces.

Had it been a dream though?

After he dressed, you brushing his hair over a shared cup of coffee (you only had the single mug), you walked him to his car. The sun was nearly up and luckily no one else was. You had just wrapped a coat around your slip, not exactly acceptable clothing for being in public.

A shared kiss, small and chaste, Alastor’s mind elsewhere. He opened the door but stopped and turned back to you. It was always in these moments before you two parted that he felt the most frantic.

“I know we love talking in circles and making jokes, but I have to ask you, bluntly. You killed a man. Are you alright?” When you only blinked, he quickly added, “It’s okay if you’re not.” His expression was pure worry, furrowed brows and flat mouth. “Nothing will change if you say you’re not.”

When you started to smile, Alastor thought he had lost his mind. The sun was rising behind you, making the shadows on your face slowly shift. He took a second to take in the scene. Ankles naked with sockless shoes. To your right was a trunk full of a dead man. And you just smiling like he’d made a joke. Which he explicitly said he wasn’t going to do.

“I don’t feel like I killed anyone.” You said it with a levity that made him glance around, wondering if you’d hit your head a little too hard earlier, “I feel like I stopped someone from killing you. Which feels,” you fought to suppress your smile from growing any further, “kinda good. Like I’m strong. I’m just scared I made a mistake and police will find out. I’m terrified we’ll be seperated. But I don’t feel bad.”

A normal man would be deeply concerned. You didn’t feel bad? For killing a man with a rock? Arguably one of the most brutal ways to murder a person. A normal man would worry he would be next.

Luckily for you both, Alastor was not a normal man. He stared at your face, trying to discern any hints of deceit there before he fell into the comfort of trust.

Your pinky came out, “I’m fine, and if I’m ever not, I will tell you. Promise.” His eyes left your face to stare at the tiny digit, “If I break the promise, you get to break the pinky.”

“Pinkies are useless, we should use a finger that matters.” He offered his index. You let yourself laugh, hooking your pointer finger with his.

Smile to smile, he exhaled his stress and slipped into his normal demeanor, “No worries, darling! No one will ever know what happened to him.” He leaned beside you and patted the trunk. “Leave it to me.”

Alastor drove away with the man, ready to disappear the body and try to sleep before work if possible. A nagging still sat in his stomach, a little pull that maybe you’d change your mind.

He asked you the next morning, on your routine call, if he could stop by the theater when he finished with work that night. No reason in particular. He’d pull into the side street, and you could run out to see him.

When he arrived, you were in your stage outfit waiting to greet the crowd. Alastor smiled, “The prettiest bird I’ve ever seen!”

“A bird? Alastor just ‘pretty’ woulda been a fine compliment.”

He offered an apology by way of kiss, soft hands coming to your cheek as he leaned against the door of his car. “I just wanted to see you. Steal a kiss before you stole some hearts. May I return tomorrow?”

Ah, that feeling again. Stupid school girl with her first crush, her first taste of love. “I wouldn’t complain.”

That flow of conversation eased Alastor, things felt normal already. For you, they were. A small worry remained he may begin to act differently but the only difference was he seemed to be embracing you deeper.

After your delivered kiss, you took the stage like a woman reborn. The warmth of the light felt like the sun. Pointed toes as you moved along the stage, hips loose and smile coy.

As you looked around the backlit crowd you didn’t search for a good mark. The times you did play a man’s attention for Alastor were different, it felt like art when you lured men into Alastor’s claws.

A shake of your feathered fans, a very controlled lowering of your head, you let a hip rock out into view. A little flash of inner thigh. Then, your favorite part. One hand gripped your fans as you them with the aide of practiced fingers. Free hand undoing your still remarkably heavy and glittering bra and handing it behind the curtain.

Surprise reveal, a naked magic trick done behind distracting whirling feathers. Arms open, fans high, you waited for the applause to die down. Deep breaths were not possible, adrenaline and the weight of your costume keeping you from hiding the heaving of your chest.

The whistles were your favorite. You couldn’t imagine Alastor whistling but you were sure it would be flawless in its ability to capture your attention.

“Anyone wanna smoke? I don’t want to go into the alley alone.” You asked the room, several girls glancing your way and shaking their heads no as you hurried back in from your set.

“Just take the fire escape to the roof. That’s where we’ve been smoking since Mr. Brady said it was dangerous at night.” Florence was normally a perfect smoking partner, never talking too much. The name Brady made your stomach flip though, you had forgotten about him for a second. You’d managed to avoid him until Tommy’s bloody trail went cold, but you knew he still stalked around the jazz and music district.

A dancer laughed, “Nighttime has always been dangerous for women.”

Someone you didn’t see added, “Fuck, daytimes not safe either.”

You climbed the creaky and seemingly forgotten-about fire escape to the roof. The breeze hit your face before your feet even left the metal railing.

It was… a roof. Grey painted floors and brick sides. Nothing special, but you could see the bowl full of discarded cigarettes near the front of the building. You looked over the short wall that edged the front, you were able to see the pigeon shit covered marquee. What an unattractive view, the lights flashing out from beneath actual shit.

There was a metaphor there, you were sure.

Looking around, there were a few wicker chairs hidden in the shadow of the street’s lights, thankfully upside down to keep them clean from the birds.

If more people used roofs instead of alleys Alastor would be out of luck. Tommy was difficult enough with a staircase, the fire escape would have been the nail in that coffin.

It had been a lovely night, absolutely jarring compared to the night before. You leaned back in the chair, you knew you weren’t the best at saying what you meant. Especially when the words you offered could be used to hurt you. Words of affection and love, when true, were daggers given handle-first to someone else.

So you hoped Alastor could guess how much he meant to you. You shouldn’t need to say it, right? Actions speak louder than words. You bludgeoned a man to death for what you had thought was a lost cause. It had seemed Alastor was already dead when you first brought down the rock.

Diamonds are rocks, you considered. The most expensive costume the theater had was peacock feathered with shining crystals. You wanted to say you felt like a peacock, spirit large and wide and colorful. But those were males. Of course they were. The animal kingdom had males compete for mates with pretty colors and lovely songs. Now ladies pranced around in painted faces and short dresses. You didn’t feel pale or small like the ‘fairer sex’ peacock.

You felt like the swan. Vicious and beautiful, not out shone by anyone.

Well there was someone you’d allow to shine brighter. Someone you’d happily let take the lead. You’d thought letting a man walk in front of you was a sign of subservience. It hadn’t ever occurred to you that there could be respect in trusting someone else to go ahead. That the act of going first could be for protection and not power.

“Hey!”

You hurried to the fire escape, “yeah?”

“There’s a man asking for you. Tall guy named Frank?”

Frank?

Oh, Frank.

You’d forgotten about him. He’d left months ago. He was a whale, rich and generous. You took a moment to consider sitting down with him, smiling and laughing at his jokes, letting his hand settle on your thigh. It had been weeks since you entertained scamming anyone, and now you couldn’t even stomach the idea of faking interest in another man. Frank wasn’t one to scam, he just liked having a pretty lady on his arm to make him feel young and wanted, and in exchange you got into private parties and were gifted jewelry and clothing.

“Tell him I’m busy and send him off.” You hollered down. You could buy your own clothes.

“Did he leave?” Alastor asked you the next morning, you leaning against the glass phone booth in the early morning light.

Your finger wrapped around the phone cord, “No of course not! They never do. I snuck out the back.”

There was a hum, “Well my dear, you’ve offered me a wonderful transition into my next question.” Alastor was sitting at his kitchen table, nervously turning his coffee cup around in circles, “Would you like to come over tomorrow night? I can pick you up after your show.”

Like a glacier drifting away from shore, you very slowly crouched down in the booth. “To your home?”

“No, to Alabama.” He waited a beat, “Yes of course my home. I can show you what happens after I drive away.” A cheeky smile evident through his voice.

You pressed the phone receiver into your chest, teeth chewing on your bottom lip. What happens when he drives away? So…where the bodies go. But most importantly, the biggest part of this—where he lives. So much can be gleaned about someone from their home. A bookshelf alone could make or break an attraction. You brought the receiver back to your mouth. “Lovely! Sure thing— Alastor. Yes.” you almost added on an awkward nickname like daddy-o or mister man, like an idiot, because your brain was misfiring like you’d seen him in the sunlight again.

Ah, you could see his bed.

Where he slept.

Did he ever dream of you?

What if it was terribly dirty? Could you still love him if he was a slob?

“I’m quite far from downtown, pack an overnight bag, okay?” He stopped fidgeting with the mug. When the call ended he sat at the table for some time, staring around the kitchen. The home was large by city standards, but it was old. His mother’s charm was evident through every part. A finger scratched at the wooden table, heavy and solid. Why was his heart racing?

He walked to the screened back door, looking from the weathered patio steps to the greenhouse.

No one had ever been to his home. Ever. A teensy part of him was panicking. Was this a mistake? Was he going to fuck up the budding relationship? Throw off the peace of his safest place?

Budding. Okay that was ridiculous even for him. The kind of intimacy gained through murder did not allow any union to be called budding. He’d shared pieces of himself no other living soul knew of. Your image of him was possibly even more complete than his own mother had held, even though he tried to always be the most sincere with her. Even people he did care for and consider close friends had never knew where he lived. Never heard what kept him up at night. Never learned his distaste for a random lay.

Opening the screen door with a signature creak, the sound many southerners could call comforting, he walked to the greenhouse.

The newest part of the property, the glass walled structure was built shortly after his mother’s death. Double doors: locked. Just beyond the glass was a forest of plants and potted trees. They had no need for a greenhouse, but Alastor had a need for them.

He set about preparing his home for another occupant, a task that brought him such a shock of joy and anxiety he began to wonder who he was. New sheets on the bed, extra pillows set against his wooden headboard. Large glass jar in the backyard full of water and tea bags.

It was also unexpected he was thinking so much of his mother. In a perfect world she’d be there to greet you. Though if she was alive, he wouldn’t have been in that alley that night. He made a mental note to not mention his mother, at least not as much as he was remembering her as he walked around the two story home tidying.

Would he have met you if he wasn’t a killer?

A flicker of fear was quickly extinguished by romance. Definitely. You both ran in the same scenes. He’d seen you before that night, he just never approached you. He hadn’t anticipated how much more you were than the facade you put on. Nothing about your sweet face said, ‘I have a high tolerance for murder.’

Alastor spent the day at work physically present but mentally pacing his living room. He nodded along to discussions of who was to be live on set next, smile never faltering as he worried if he had breakfast foods. He rarely ate breakfast, did you? How had he not thought to ask. Sloppy.

The only outward sign he was feeling any stress was the tapping of his finger on his desk, which he hadn’t even noticed until the stage manager commented.

“Alastoooor,” her voice was high, like it seemed many women’s voices were recently. Was it a trend? “Impatient? Hot date with a young lady this evening?”

While she meant well, she always pried, always asked questions he didn’t appreciate.

Alastor shook his head, smile strained. A perceptive person would have picked up on it, but Brenda was not perceptive.

“Oh.” A noticeable disappointment, “That’s boring.”

Actually on second thought maybe she didn’t mean well.

“I’ve had too much coffee, is all, Brenda.” He pulled his hand into his lap. “Was there anything you needed?”

“No,” she pouted, much less endearing than you.

If he murdered purely for fun Debra would be dead before sunset. Unfortunately her only crime was being remarkably annoying.

Alastor waited behind the theater, where it was less likely any staff would see him. It was still important to avoid connecting the two of you together, at least at your workplace yet.

He was quick to grab your bag for you.

“Not the trunk, please.” You said, it took him a second to catch the joke. He set it on the back seat after opening your door for you. You’d only been in his car a few times but he never failed to be a perfect gentleman.

Your palms were sweating, when his hand rested on your leg while he drove you resisted the urge to hold it. Instead you slipped yours under his. Alastor asked you about your day, about work, about if Frank came back. Typically as soon as you left the theater you were in a cone of silence until your phone call with him the next day. It was kind of nice, having someone to speak to. Before meeting him there were times you worried you’d forget how to talk naturally, how to sound like yourself.

The glowing eyes of deer popped up from the side of the road, startling you. Eerie. You held your breath, would they run, stay still, or sprint into the road.

“Is it true their antlers can break car windshields?” You asked not breaking eye contact with a doe as you drove past.

Alastor nodded, “If a buck hits your car the wrong way, not even the car will make it out of the accident.”

“Are there a lot of bucks around?”

“Will be soon, as fall— wait why am I telling you this,” he laughed, “Miss Autumn Hind already knows what makes the bucks run wild.”

You shouldn’t be smiling, it was a dumb rut joke, but it felt like a compliment.

The car lights passed over the home as he turned into the dirt driveway. Powder blue. It wasn’t a color you associated with Alastor. He was caramel, honey, midnight blue, red. His sometimes sinister smile didn’t look quite right against powder blue. But, for a home, it was lovely.

“Is someone home?” You saw a light on in an upstairs room.

Alastor reached behind you for your bag, “No, I leave it on when I’m gone. Gives the impression that the house isn’t empty.”

A minor bit of acting, Alastor opening the door and offering to bring your bag upstairs before a tour like a good host. His anxious energy was barely contained by that grin of his. For your part you played the appropriately impressed guest.

But deep down you were very impressed. An actual house. Your mother struggled to keep apartments rented. Alastor had a home. With stairs. That went to more home, not a neighbor. What a lovely thing. What did he do with all this space?

He could probably hide quite a few bodies in there.

Alastor opened his bedroom door and motioned for you to enter.

You took in every detail as shrewdly as you could. Two circular nightstands, a wide dresser with a few framed photos and a radio. One large window facing the yard, you could see the car outside from where you were standing. “Wow a man’s bedroom. I tend to avoid these.”

“What a coincidence, so do I. Bedrooms in general, really.” He placed your bag on the dresser, offering to unpack it for you. Your smile screwed up, shaking your head no. You couldn’t imagine Alastor folding your panties and setting them into a drawer.

Well.

“Yes please.” You took a seat on the end of his bed, watching him tenderly empty the bag before beginning to put things away like you’d come home from a trip. “A bed big enough for two people. You didn’t tell me you were a fancy man. Ooh la la.”

Alastor laughed, “Your bed was quite comfortable.” He set your dress onto a hook attached to the closet door, hands running down the fabric to straighten out the wrinkles, “But I have a feeling that had more to do with you than anything else.”

The floor was clean, the rug beneath the bed a simple but pristine white. What an odd color for a rug.

You truly did avoid men’s homes. The power dynamic shifts too much.

“Are all men so clean?”

“Oh god no. Have you really never been to a man’s home?” Without a moment of hesitancy his long fingers flattened out your underthings and neatly folded them. You could call it erotic, knowing what else his fingers could do.

A hum, you swayed side to side, “Too much risk. I don’t know where the knife drawer is, which locks stick, what windows open all the way.”

He set the empty bag into a reading chair in the corner, “That sounds stressful.”

You shrugged, “My mother taught me to always have an escape. From situations, from rooms, from people. Not terrible advice.”

That was true, he thought. If the few women he killed had considered that, he would be less prolific. Women tended to be easier in some regards.

Alastor finally let himself look at you sitting on his bed. Were you wearing the black garters today? He liked those. He appreciated the red dress you’d worn.

Taking off his jacket and vest, he hung them up while his eyes kept returning to you. Your legs were crossed, thighs soft and pressed together. He remembered feeling them against his ears. A little cough to clear his throat and mind.

“Are you hungry?”

You werent, but you weren’t ready for sleep either, so you asked for some bread and butter. Alastor sat beside you at the table, watching you look around. It didn’t look like a killer's home.

“Ya know, I was going to rob you. I had been wanting to talk to you, before that guy caught me off guard when I was smoking.” You said it easily.

He smiled, “Oh, why’d you change your mind?”

“Well, you slit a man’s throat in front of me.”

“Tsk tsk, you give up too easily, my dear.”

Salted butter, soft bread. Simple. Happy. “You were so handsome-,”

“We’re?”

A snort of a laugh, rolling your eyes dramatically, “and you looked well off. I was searching the room for the lights reflecting off of your glasses all night.”

Alastor grimaced, fighting the well of his ego, and leaned on his elbows, “Is it too morbid to say I’m glad that man tried to kill you? I like this timeline more than being robbed and never seeing you again.”

“That’s very selfish. I would have enjoyed chasing you down and finessing your wallet off you.” You set the glass lid back over the butter dish, content with the snack. “Some men come back actually and confront me at the theater.”

He howled. The idea was ridiculous, “Seriously? Why not just tell the cops.”

“Men don’t like telling other men they got taken for a ride by a dame.”

Alastor stood, “What would you have done if you had robbed me and I marched into the theater demanding my cash back.” It took a second to realize he was being serious in wanting you to play along.

You popped the last piece of bread into your mouth and stood too, “You rake!” A fake smack to his chest, “I booted you to the curb! You had more hands than an octopus!”

Alastor tried to stay in character but his smile kept cracking through his serious face. “And my wallet? None of my hands can find it.” You took a few steps back, feigning shock at the accusation.

“Sir! You were so drunk I’m not surprised you lost it.” When Alastor closed the space between you with two wide steps and pulled you into his chest you giggled, hitting softly at him, “You should be ashamed of yourself. Trying to take advantage,” his hands wandered down your hips, making your voice catch in your throat, “of a good woman like me.”

His mouth came to your ear, “Well, miss, I think you owe me the opportunity to try again.”

You went stiff against him, the sudden turn of his voice into seduction taking you by surprise, “If you were a real mark, I’d punch you in the face for saying that.”

“But for me?” Breath against your neck.

Your hands slid up his chest and to his collar, pulling him down and into a kiss. His smile spread across your lips.

His mouth stayed against your cheek as he pulled you into a hug, “Ready for bed?”

“Are you sleepy, hun?” You pulled away, a sincerely worried face. Two nights now you’d interrupted his normal routine.

Alastor’s eyes seemed to sparkle behind his glasses, head shaking, “No, not at all.” You felt the heat rise up your face. Wanting to avoid assumptions, you tried to temper your expectations.

His hand pulled you toward the stairs, you dragging your feet, “Did you want to show me around?”

“In the daylight.” He led you up the stairs and to the right.

“Oh okay….”, your mind was reeling, mouth dry. No dead body in sight. No blood. You hadn’t pressed him or asked for anything. Maybe he just wanted a good cuddle, or some kisses. You often enjoyed necking near the car before he would go home. Right. Let him lead.

You followed him, letting him guide you hand in hand back to his bedroom.

ᡣ𐭩ˋ°•*⁀➷ masterlist

∰ Summoning the Horny Little Deer Cult (general tag list):

@cxrsedwxrlds , @nonetheartist , @tsunaki , @janchei , @wettiny-in-smutland , @moonmark98 , @hoebihoeshi , @pansexual-opera-house , @polytheatrix , @lorddiabigmommymilkers , @backinthefkingbuildingagain , @harley2223-blog , @coffee-colored-hopeless-romantic , @poinappel , @midnightnoiserose , @spookieroz , @missmidorima , @ivebeenthearchersstuff , @downbadforfictionalppl , @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx , @sleepylittledemon , @aether-th3-enby , @dontfuckbutimfab , @breathlessaura , @aperfectidiot , @certainlygay , @jth12 , @star-kujo-platinum ,

@ivebeenthearchersstuffn, @rubyninja1 , @simphornies , @alleystore , @readergirlstuff , @berry-demon , @chirimeimei , @fairyv-ice , @olive-frog , @thonethatflies620 , @tiredkiwiii , @ilikemyteawithmilk , @whateverlololo , @psipies , @howabouticallyou , @roxxie-wolf , @ive-no-idea-what-to-call-this , @fizzled-phoenix , @fjorjestertealeaf , @phobophobular , @surusurusuru , @mariaclarade-la-cruz1 , @whateverlololo , @simplyonehellofanotaku , @xixflower , @i-am-nonbinary-bean-deal-with-it , @roxxie-wolf , @a-case-of-attachment , @multifandomfanatic02 , @watereddownmilk , @raynerrold , @crazii-saber-wolf , @valkyrie-expeditions , @bontensbabygirl , @sillyb0nez , @oo0lady-mad0oo , @jazzmasternot , @pseudobun , @fraugwinska✨, @alitaar,@straows , @alastorssimp , @angelicwillows , @b-o-n-e-daddy , @one-and-only-tay , @asleeponelmstreet , @tremendoushearttaco , @mutifandomkid , @sapphirecaelis , @itzzzkiramylove@saccharine-nectarine , @viannasthings , @looking1016 , @ultimate-duck-king-lucifer , @blakeaha , @astraechos , @reath-solia ,

🏹Alastor stalkers: @celestial-vomit , @amurtan

@faeoffaith , @sailorsmouth , @jeannyjaykaydeh , @jyoongim , @cosmic-lavender , @saturn-alone , @lustylita , @radio-darling , @kaylopolis , @dickmastersworld , @leviskittywh0re , @asianfrustration13 @alittletiredcry @sirens-and-moonflowers @alastorssimp , @angelxx7 , @katgirl05 , @impulsivethoughtsat2am , @sugurubabe , @zzzykiek , @phamtasic

#human alastor x reader #alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel smut #hazbin hotel alastor #human alastor #alastor smut #alastor x you

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mitigatedchaos · 8 months

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Kontextmaschine is Dead

(~1,000 words, 5m)

Noted blogger @kontextmaschine is presumed dead, following the discovery that the sole resident at his most likely residence was found deceased during a wellness check initiated by concerned Redditors.

Prior to his last post on Aug 22, which indicated a serious health problem, he reported taking over twice the dose of creatine he had been taking at the beginning of his lengthy post-COVID health saga, in which he also reported becoming bisexual, having "zero" anxiety, gaining 3D vision after years of not having it, becoming incredibly convincing, and having to learn to walk and use his muscles properly again. At the time, he felt he was becoming trimmer and physically stronger, and reported engaging in a long project of yard work, although photos from the inside of his house generally looked somewhat messy.

A Tumblr user who met him briefly in person after the beginning of the health saga but before these most recent events reported that he was friendly, charismatic, hospitable, and clean, but "physically, a mess," with motor control issues on one side of his body.

Topics of discussion were similar to the content of kontextmaschine's blog, such as differences in east and west coast government in America, said to be "totally on brand," but it was said that the prolific poster seemed "less self-grandiose" in person.

Redditors theorize that the decline of kontextmaschine's health following his first self-report of COVID-19 infection may have been due to undiagnosed brain cancer, which could be more consistent with observed changes in behavior than the after-effects of a viral infection, given that most reports of "long covid" are about effects like fatigue, and not total loss of anxiety or alteration of sexual orientation.

Despite multiple suggestions, from both anonymous and pseudonymous users, kontextmaschine refused to seek professional medical care for his condition.

Regarding the mourning of public figures, in 2018, a period of increased Progressive sensitivity during the Trump Administration, kontextmaschine wrote,

through the years realized that through whatever blind groping the ‘90s-ass “edgelords” were desperately trying to save us from this, through proper gatekeeping and filtering at first I’d thought it was gratuitous and supported it being relaxed, maybe not shaming everyone who publicly mourned a suicide, mea culpa, mea culpa, I have debts to pay

In 2019, he added:

That was how we kept the internet culture from growing mawkish and cry-bullyish: basically, if you were so weak as to get weepy over corpsemeat you got cancelled, the shame would follow you forever and you’d never be allowed to forget it.

Given his writing, it is likely that kontextmaschine would not have supported excessive public mourning over his death, though in 2017, following the theft of his motorcycle, when the popular blogger @argumate jokingly criticized him by writing, "no references to pinball, no insight into historical Americana, this isn’t the kontext I signed up for," kontextmaschine wrote,

“when bad shit happens people mock me accurately” is the community I’ve been looking for my whole life so

Like argumate, perhaps the most famous of the rationalist-adjacent bloggers on Tumblr, screenshots of kontextmaschine's Tumblr posts would end up on outside websites.

Kontextmaschine was generally considered an interesting, if controversial writer. One Tumblr user characterized him as a member of the "obnoxious Tumblr right," though another user asked, "wait, how is kontextmaschine is right wing?" After another user claimed that the nuclear bombing of Oregon would be a net improvement in the world due to kontextmaschine's residence in Portland, tumblr user @random-thought-depository wrote a 2,400 word theory post arguing that kontextmaschine's philosophy was a means to coordinate to join a future political coalition favoring the formation of a more brutal and oppressive hierarchy in pursuit of his own advantage.

Though kontextmaschine's ideology advocates that humanity should adopt "r-selection," meaning more offspring with less investment in each (or youth, sex, and death), this blog dissented against the coalition theory, arguing that motorcycles, kung fu, women, Hollywood, and not having to report to HR are all traditionally cool, and the causality of the kontextmaschine ideology could easily run the other way.

Though he had a period of identifying as female in his youth, appropriately LGBTQ for a Tumblr user, his 2011 statement of principles, including "the lesser yields to the greater" and "suffering is the mark of a wrong person," and general body of work, could be described as a strain of right-wing thought, though not of the traditionalist Christian or rational technocratic varieties.

Prior to the post-covid health saga, kontextmaschine's health posting was primarily about his bipolar disorder, with both manic and depressive phases.

Kontextmaschine maintained generally friendly relations with other bloggers in his sphere of discourse, sometimes debating but rarely aggressive, except in response to anonymous hatemail. In response to one particular piece of hatemail, kontextmaschine stated that as a writer, of course his primary form of influence would be his posts.

In a post chain reblogged by dozens of Tumblr users, multiple Tumblr users wrote that they enjoyed his writing and are disappointed by his death, describing him as a unique thinker that will not be easily replaced. Several felt that there was not much they could have done, as after returning from his covid infection, he was not taking medical advice.

One Tumblr user wrote, "rip. Inspirational manic poster," while long-time and prolific poster argumate described him as, "one of the bloggers of all time."

Internet users speculate that Kontextmaschine is survived by his outdoor cat, Badger, about whom he posted frequently. He may also be survived by other members of his family, with whom he apparently did not live, and rarely spoke about.

It is recommended that enthusiasts of kontextmaschine's blog make backups of his writing for archival purposes.

#tumblr tumblr tumblr #mitigated news #kontextmaschine #longpost #flagpost #obituary

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moonlitnyx · 1 month

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—𝐀𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐎𝐎𝐍 𝐒𝐔𝐍—

You see the Vil Schoenheit sleeping in class, and you never seen him more peaceful.

—STARRING: VIL SCHOENHEIT X GN READER

—CONTENT: Fluff, reader had classic fan behavior of Vil (before getting to know him) reader thought that Vil had no “imperfections” (before getting to know him) Some (?) angst but idk if you can call that angst, Reader can be seen as yuu, set after the VDC (book 5) Vil believes he can’t show flaws (my poor baby lemme kiss him)

—FORMAT: Drabble (less than 1k words)

—AUTHORS NOTE: I haven’t written in like…months 😥 anyway I wrote this at like night so I bet theirs bound to be some mistakes…lemme know if you see any and I’ll fix it!! ALSO VILS NEW CARD HAS GOT ME BARKING LIKE A DOG!

Seeing Vil Schoenheit, the Vil Schoenheit, sleep was something you never thought would spark much interest for you.

Vil Schoenheit was pristine. Prim and proper. A hair never out of place. The very definition of perfect. He excelled in everything he put his mind to, and was the most hardworking person you knew. It just never hit you that Vil was also human, and the very thought of that made your ears heat up in shame.

Vil’s head was resting on his desk, golden locks of hair lightly framing his face as he inhaled and exhaled softly. Every once and a while his eye would twitch, and you would amusedly wonder what he was dreaming about.

You always had a teeny, tiny crush on Vil. He was everything a person wanted. Well-mannered, dedicated, and pretty (really, really pretty). Your parents would have loved him–and at the thought you can feel your face heat up even more.

You tuck a small strand of gold behind Vil’s ear, grinning when he mutters something incomprehensible. You think he looks absolutely ethereal like this, with the sun illuminating his sharp features.

You get up, trying not to disturb Vil when-

“Wait.”

Your eyes widen, meeting Vil’s lavender eyes. He’s smiling, lips curled into a teasing half-smirk. “I thought you were asleep!” Your voice comes out in a high-pitch, and you're rightfully angry (more like embarrassed). Was he watching you fawn over him this whole entire time?

He curls a strand of hair around his index, looking around the now-empty classroom. He looks slightly dazed, a cute expression of both confusion and abject horror. (He’s probably aghast that he might have been sleeping in class.) “How long have I been asleep? “ He muses, a frown on his face.

“You were probably tired from the VDC,” You pause as his violet eyes land on you. “I don’t think anyone would blame you for snoozin’ in class.”

Vil looks like he’s about to object, and you frown at that. You had always thought of Vil as perfect-and you’re half-afraid that he thinks so too. That he isn’t allowed to feel exhausted as well.

“I’ll walk you back to your dorm, if you're okay with that. And I can give you my notes from class! We didn’t really learn anything new much, but if you have questions-”

“Thank you.” He cuts you off with a small smile, eyes warm as he relaxes. “And I’m honored that you’d walk me back to my dorm.”

@ MOONLITNYX. do not plagiarize, claim my work as your own, translate or share my posts on any platform outside of tumblr. do not put my works in AI.

#͙͘͡★𝐍𝐘𝐗.𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐄𝐒 #Twisted wonderland #Twst #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland x you #Twst x reader #twst x you #Twst x y/n #Vil schoenheit x reader #vil schoenheit x you #Twst vil x reader #twst Vil x you #Twisted wonderland imagines #twst imagines

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powdermelonkeg · 8 months

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Something websites (*cough* Tumblr *cough*) need to learn is that what retains an audience isn't an abundance of new bells and whistles to play with, it's a coherent experience overall.

When someone joins a website, you don't need to grab their attention and hold it. They're already testing the waters. They've agreed to sign up. You've won on that front, and they're there for something specific you already have that they're hoping works well.

What drives them away is frustration.

Frustration, frustration, frustration.

Learning curves are going to be a part of any new website experience; they're something the user comes to terms with, in their own time. But broken or bad features are going to make them jump sites.

On top of that, constantly adding new features makes them feel like all the hard work they've put in to learning what you have isn't worth it; your website looks unstable and your staff looks incompetent, because it gives the impression that you don't know what you're doing.

You are floundering. It makes your new users nervous. It makes your old users hesitate to bring anyone else on board. And why should they? Why should they put effort into it if you're going to throw that effort away next Tuesday? Why get used to a UI that you're not going to bother to keep? Why customize anything if you're going to whittle that customization away?

Between that and the broken, unattended features of this site—the tag organization failing, the inability to look up posts word-for-word, the video player either refusing to play or yanking you to the top of the dashboard, images taking forever to load, advertisements blaring at full volume when you scroll past, you have your problem.

You have the reason why your numbers are failing.

It's not that you're not interesting enough.

It's not that you're too difficult to understand.

It's that you aren't improving what you have, yet you keep adding more half-broken things and unwanted copycat features to the pile.

It's that you're losing your identity in pursuit of a hypothetical perfect customer.

It's that you are actively telling your user base that you prefer those hypothetical customers over them. And your user base, your real people who make you happen, are smart enough to know where your priorities lie.

The bulk of this post talks about Tumblr, but other sites have gone the same way. Twitter is dead and its corpse is decaying in the street. Reddit has sabotaged any trust its users had in its management. If you'd like a really old example—I used to use Fanfiction Net. It's not the most intuitive website in the world, but it was the first one I called home.

I used it to host my works. The adware now on it makes it a hassle to navigate. The bots make comment sections and private messages a dread rather than a joy. So I moved on.

I also used to use it to collaborate on stories with my now-roommate. The message limit was 300 a day. When you're writing dialogue between characters, that's nothing.

So I moved on. We started messaging on Facebook. It was better, it didn't have a limit. But then I learned Discord existed, and I could edit messages, make dedicated channels, etc. So I moved on from Facebook to Discord. And Discord had a steep learning curve, especially if you're trying to make your own server rather than contribute to one. But, most importantly, the payoff was worth it.

If Discord changed its layout every other month while I was learning it, and broke how its reactions worked, and kept shifting what it meant to create a channel? If it opted me into servers I didn't sign up for, in hopes of engagement? If its text never formatted correctly, or its search function only went back a day or two?

I would have gone right back to Facebook. Even if it's a more basic experience, basic is always preferable to unstable.

Figure out what you want, websites.

Slow growth, or a gamble?

You're paying for your magic slot machine in users.

#negative salt #long post #this has been on my mind a lot lately

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iintervallum · 12 days

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Sometimes I think about how the dndads cast should be on tumblr, with them having a subreddit(you know how they can be) and dndadstwt being like 10 people, tumblr would be the perfect place for them to see more of the fandom, if they wish to that is. Since quite a lot of people on here are way less honed in on negativity than reddit and twitter.

My edit of this is getting long lol so I'm putting it under a cut

Especially reddit, the people on there honestly I think just get too attached to a specific format or way of doing things, its a common pattern in any long running show fandoms i've been in where its reddit that constantly complains about the "good ol' days" and hate any new changes made. I would sometimes drop in and just see a lot of Scary hate at times, or people getting very irritated with the rule breaking, or just complaining that they're "forcing" the humor. I saw a post like that when i just started s2 and that couldnt have been more incorrect (yeah the piss jokes got a bit much but every other part was golden!...pun not intended)

There were absolutely points where I felt my interest wanning, but I think people would get pretty vicious about it and make a lot of mean spirited accusations. Like if anything the things I really enjoyed about this season was how different it was to s1, the contrast was really nice and i liked a lot of the story choices made, i still think about the apollo four teens and the fucking goof realm episodes, they were amazing. Which is why I remember thinking it was odd that they suddenly started involving the dads from s1 more, but knowing now that Anthony was struggling with people not liking this season as much it makes perfect sense.

Idk if it were just me, but i liked the earlier parts of the season for how the teens were still kind of discovering more about themselves and through gathering each anchor, learning more that their parents are people too, with their own fuck ups revealed and the teens have to clean up after them, so having it shift to be about Willy again was a little odd if i'm being honest(I didnt hate it but a repeat villian is hard to do, and for what its worth i think Willy did get the end he deserved and i loved the finale).

Funnily, in its own way it fits the theme of being a teenager and having to live up to your parents expectations. In a meta sense this being the successor to the first season and it being awkward at points and having issues with its identity is very fitting and just like how teenhood actually is.

I've gotten off topic but my point is fandom is just fandom, and letting it influence the way creators can view their own work is an interesting side effect of the internet and the way we navigate with the media we enjoy or hate. And spaces like reddit are grown in a way to encourage more brutally critical ways of analysing media which has very little consideration for the creator. By no means am I saying that the creators of things should be coddled, heck I literally airing my own annoyances with the podcast in space where i'm uplifting the positivity of tumblr over those spaces lol. I just mean that seeing the more genuine side of the fanbase would be more of a better time for them.

EDIT: (I just phrased things better, fixed the spelling and grammer errors and added more thoughts) The more I ruminate on this the more I think that it would honestly be a good idea. Like I do get the base worry of being too close to the more intense side of the fandom, as people on here are unafraid to gush about the show in ways that can be a little much and theres parasociality and all that jazz.

But it would be really good at least to see some actual genuine positivity, so many people provide their thoughtful meta and theories that even if widely off base are just interesting to read through because of how various different people see themselves in the characters they play. And even the critiques people give are not unkind, they come from a place of wanting to understand the choices made better.

I mentioned this in the old version of this post but having a blacklisted tag that only the people who don't wish their post to be seen by the cast use, something along the lines like how the magnus archives fandom has "do not archive", would be a very useful tool to create a barrier in the fanbase. I know i'm someone who feels very nervous about creators seeing the posts I make. Something like "not safe for dads" could work well or any other joke or pun about it being hidden. I doubt it would be filled with discourse or whatever it would mainly be people hornyposting since i know fandom well enough lol.

#aster.txt #dndads #dungeons and daddies #i think people understandably may not want the creators of things here because it's very fandomy #and that sort of known idea that the creator could be seeing what you post can make people be less honest #at least i never feel comfortable with the creators seeing my posts about things i get shy over it #like idk it's embarrassing lol: they know now how much i enjoy the thing they make #I've edited the post!#Please reblog this version instead its more comphrehensive to my actual thoughts #that arent just a half assed post i put randomly in the main tag #dungeons and daddies podcast #fandom commentary

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keysorsomething · 6 months

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The Shape

2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

Just a little fluff fic I wrote a couple days ago :) I compulsively check the Nikto tag so maybe I can make someone else who does that happy! And it mighttt have a pt. 2 in the works ! Also sorry if the format is weird I was never a tumblr girl

Cross-posted on Ao3

Nikto was hardly a man. Hardly a person. Hardly alive. He was just a shape. Just a thing. All he did was kill who he was told to. But, you didn’t think that. You didn’t believe that. He was a person to you. And you treated him as one.

You didn’t force anything. You didn’t push, pull, twist. You let him do what he wanted. He wasn't sure why. For as long as he could remember, where the memories of childhood - memories before him - become fuzzy, he was never treated like that. No one asked his opinion. Even if it was for something simple, like what was for dinner.

You were always so gentle with him. It was almost nauseating. With you, it was always “Aw, hey, Nikto! How are you?” or “What's the word for that in Russian?” He didn't understand it. You were not friends. He did not reciprocate your politeness. Maybe that was just normal where you're from. But, his current running theory was that you must have some form of brain damage. Perhaps you were dropped as a baby.

He stood in the doorway of the armory, head slowly leaning to the side as he studied you. His bright blue eyes broke through the dim lighting as if they were backlit by two LED bulbs in his skull.

You sigh. You really weren't in the mood for it at the moment. You've had a really sucky day and were just trying to clean your gun before you put it up for the night. His gaze burning through your skin as he studies you like a zoo animal is not what you need at the moment. But, you know him enough. You’ve learned a few things from your interactions with him. You know asking nicely, or even demanding won't do much for him in this state. He doesn't mean anything by it - at least you're pretty sure it's just harmless curiosity. Still, you just aren't in the headspace for it. So you have to shoo him off. And luckily, you know just how. You place your gun on the table, rising up.

He doesn't back away as you approach, instead turning his head more. Slowly, you reach out. He’ll snap out of it if you move to touch him. He'll jump back, then growl and stalk off. You're sure of it, that's how it is anytime anyone tries to touch him.

So when the tips of your fingers meet his chest plate, you're the one to flinch. His eyes look wider from under the mask, but he doesn't move or even open his mouth to speak. He simply blinks at you, one eye closing and then the other. Like a frog.

Okay, he's staying when you touch him. That is completely out of the ordinary. Maybe you could weird him out enough for him to leave you be..? You raise your eyes to meet his, and something about the way they shine down on you is… unusual. You can't tell if he's staring at you affectionately, or with the look of a girl in a horror movie that stumbled upon a dead body. Or perhaps both.

Still, you swallow down your confusion, any reservations you have, and shame. Slowly, while maintaining as intense eye contact as you can, you drag two fingers down his chest, like petting a stingray at an aquarium. Before you go lower than his peck, you pick your fingers up and place them back at the top - where his chestplate covers his neck.

He blinks again, looming over you, his shoulders are squared. He's clearly tense. He'll back away soon. You repeat the action several times over, becoming more confused and frustrated the more he doesn't back away. Eventually, his hand raises, and he places two of his fingers on the squishy part of your neck, where it meets your chest. Your breath hitches, fear creeping into the back of your mind that he was trying to kill you.

Slowly, and with a lot more pressure than you were doing on him, he drags his fingers down your chest. He was mimicking you. You tense up, watching as he drags his finger down your chest before circling back to start at the top of your neck again. His hand is almost suffocating, even if he’s only putting two fingers on your neck. And you’re sure he could put so much more weight into it. He could snap your neck, pin you to the wall and strangle you. He’d probably cock his head to the side as he did it. Like fucking Micheal Meyers.

You shiver, closing your eyes. But the violence never comes. He’s very gentle with you, as gentle as a man of his… caliber in his profession can be. He does take his other hand to yours, dragging your hand down and circling back up. He was trying to get you to do it again. You crack your eye open, meeting his piercing blue stare, like hot water down the back of your shirt.

Slowly, you start to move your hand again. You stand there for a moment, your fingers starting at the peak of his neck guard and sliding down his chest as he mimics you. You look at his eyes, as he looks at yours. It was a strange, somber moment between the two of you. You watch his shoulders fall, relaxing under your touch and gaze. He's breathing heavily, like someone hyperventilating after being jumped out at. Your own hands are shaking, still unsure if this is a vulnerable moment or a trap. And his hand is going to flatten against your neck. And then it was going to be lights out. You swallow thickly, but you don't move your eyes from his. His pupils keep dilating and constricting, which you're not too sure is healthy. You hope this doesn't kill him.

All at once, he pulls away. His hand from your neck, his neck from your hand. His eyes narrow at you. He holds his hand at his chest as if it were covered in some form of filth. He looks down at it like it betrayed him before his eyes turn back to you.

“Спасибо,” He growls out before his dark form melts into the shadows of KorTac base after dark. Once more just a shape, he stalks off, leaving you standing in the doorway of the armory, shock running through your body. His footsteps fade into nothing as he leaves you all alone, frozen in shock.

You just touched him. He just touched you. And then he thanked you? You stare off into the dark, now bare walls. They are an uncomforting grey. You look down at your own hand, turning it over in your sight. You... pet Nikto. On the chest. With two fingers. Like a stingray, in the pet pool at the fucking Aquarium of the Pacific.

…How do you even process the moment you just had? Would you ever have another one? Was that a one-time thing, or would he creep to you at night like this, for the most barebones form of touch like that? You close your fingers, rubbing them against each other, before you turned around, slipping back into the armory to put your gun up. Still in some odd trance, eyes distant and foggy as you focus on the various thoughts floating through your head. You don't know if you can call it a fantasy.

But, that doesn't mean the thoughts are unpleasant.

#nikto cod #nikto x reader #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod mw2019 #mw2 #call of duty #kortac

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allthingswhumpyandangsty · 1 month

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I read your post about not letting kudos and hits upset us. I try to think this way but I'm curious about something else. I've written many fanfics for my fandom and they're all "flop". I don't mind that honestly. But then some writers have written only one fic about the ship I do and and it gets hundreds of kudos. How do some writers achieve that when I'm doing the same and it doesn't get the same response. What else can I do?

I’m afraid I can’t give you a definite answer about what you should do or why this person’s work is more popular, but what I can give you are some advice and, from my experience, some reasons that might explain why other’s works receive more hits and kudos.

start with why other writers’ works are more popular when it’s the same characters, same ship, same fandom. there are various factors at play that might be it;

maybe the person already has large audience base prior to their posting about the fandom you’re in, I know a few authors who already have these sorts of loyal readers that would read any work the authors posted even if they (the readers) were not in that fandom.

maybe someone, anyone, decided share the link to this person’s work on Tumblr or Twitter (X) or any social media platform, and it kind of became viral, thus it drew in lots and lots of readers. it could take just one person, didn’t necessarily have to be the author themself, to share the link among the fandom as a recommendation, or maybe a screenshot of one sentence from the fic that they liked, what happened next is that the replies were filled with people asking for the link.

tags and summary are important factors when people are looking for a fic to read. so maybe this person’s work is tagged with the content people were looking for? maybe their summary grabbed people’s attention or curiosity?

these are just what I can think of over the top of my head.

as for what you can do to gain more readers, I’ve never seen your work so the advice I can give will be a general one; I believe the trick lies in summary, tags as well as the format of one’s work.

when it comes to AO3 (I assume it’s your platform?), tags and summary are the main things people use to determine whether or not they want to click on the fic.

tag your content properly, what characters or pairings it’s about, as well as what the readers will find upon reading your work (you don’t have to spoil it, only the general tags that will give your readers an idea of what they’re in for).

summaries are just as important. there are no “rules” obviously, and I’m not telling you or any writers what to do. though a little advice that I personally take is that you use this little summary section AO3 gives you to do anything to make sure it stands out and that people will see it and want to click on it. that means leave “author’s note” out of the summary section. folks, AO3 summary is the first glimpse into the fic itself that people will see prior to clicking on it, most of the time, people look at the summary to see the author’s writing style and if what’s written, plotwise, grabs their interest. personally, when I see an author use “summary” as a place to write “author’s note”, chances are, I will scroll past that fic as I am interested in what the fic is about, not what the author has to say about their opinion on said fic or their personal life or anything (there’s an author’s note section for that) and if I can’t get a glimpse of what the plot is about or what the author’s writing style is from the summary section, then I won’t click on it, and will look for other fic that can get me interested instead.

moving on to fic format, again, I am not telling anyone what to do here. this is only a suggestion, an advice I’ve learned and want to share: when you write your fic, make sure to use line and paragraph spacing. if your 10k word long fic is one long block of text with no paragraph break, chances are, people will back away from it entirely. also, if it’s two different characters talking with dialogues, don’t put all of their dialogues in one paragraph. for instance, a paragraph for character A’s dialogue, then another separate paragraph for character B’s dialogue and so on.

and I think that’s it for my advice? however, I’ll say this again that the secret to truly enjoying your role as a fanfic writer is that you only focus on yourself. write whatever you want for yourself. it doesn’t matter if this person’s work is more popular, because fanfics and fandoms aren’t a competition. you are your main audience. just have fun creating the stories you want to create for you.

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sadesluvr · 1 year

Text

PROJECT: Emily (Henry Emily x GN! Reader)

Summary: Moving into a new town, you discover that your new neighbour ticks all the boxes. He’s hot, has an adorable daughter and is, most importantly, single. (Henry Emily x GN!Neighbour!Reader)

Note: Reader is in their late 20′s/early 30′s, and Henry is in his late 30′s/early 40′s, but nothing is specified. Whatever you chose the age gap to be, he’s definitely older than you! Also, Henry does NOT look like how he’s depicted in the books...

A/N: This was a fill from an anon ask! I had free time and I’ve been meaning to write for Henry hence the quick turnaround! (TYSM for sending it <3) Feel free to request things through my ask box :)

This is also my first Tumblr fic post (it’ll be crossposted to AO3) so apologies if the format is off!

Word count: 5.5K (I talk too much omfg)

Tags: SMUT, Fluff, age-gaps, creampies, Henry being a DILF...

It was during the spring when you’d met Henry Emily. You’d moved to a new town, where you could somehow actually afford a decent home at a good price, and so you wanted to do something nice for your neighbours as a ‘Please-accept-me-I’m-new-here’ gift. There were a lot of families in the area, and so you decided that cupcakes were the best option. How could you go wrong?

For starters, it would’ve helped if you’d had sugar.

Needless to say, you weren’t going to make the arduous journey to the store and back in the very middle of baking; and so you found the courage to ask your neighbours. After all, you were going to have to bite the bullet some day, weren’t you? Although people would’ve been more receptive to cupcakes in hand, they would have to respond to you somewhat decently - after all, they were your new ‘community’.

Mr and Mrs Henderson lived next door, and they had gone boating for the day (as you’d come to learn from the agonisingly loud sound of heavy equipment moving at 5AM) so they weren’t an option. Next door to them was a family, of whom you were rather ashamed to admit you didn’t know of yet. How could you knock on the door so brazenly? Were they even home? What would you say?

Your fears were cut short as the door swung open, causing you to immediately blurt out:

“Can I borrow a cup of sugar?”

The man blinked, and you thought he was going to laugh at you, which made you cringe and shrink into a ball internally, which was particularly awful considering the fact that he was quite attractive. He stood at somewhere over six feet, with auburn hair, tanned skin, and a burly build. He had a full, but trimmed beard, and was wearing a blue apron with a loose t-shirt underneath that exposed his large arms. He came across a bit like a bear, and if it wasn’t for a pair of reading glasses that sat atop his head you would’ve been scared of him, but, for some reason, the accessory felt rather comforting and homely.

“Of course,” the man said, with a smile, immediately stepping aside to let you in, which surprised you. Though, what surprised you more was the fact that you so calmly walked in, despite knowing him for all of thirty seconds. What if he was a pervert? A serial killer, even?

“Although I don’t usually lend things to strangers…” he said knowingly, his voice trailing off.

“Oh!” You gasped, totally startled. “Er - I’m Y/N - I just moved in — I live just after the Henderson’s…”

“Oh of course!” the man exclaimed, rubbing his beard as you both entered the kitchen. “Charlie told me there was a moving van, I've just been so busy that I didn’t get to stop by and introduce myself — Gosh, I’m getting ahead of myself!” he said, stopping to take a breath. “Charlotte is my daughter. I’m Henry - Henry Emily, it’s good to meet you,” he said, his voice clear, confident, and genuine. He seemed like a good man - certainly not one who’d harvest your insides - and so you took a breath, subtly relaxing yourself.

“I’m Y/N…” you said somewhat shyly, hyper-aware as to how much bigger the man was compared to you. “It’s nice to finally meet a neighbour, no one’s really passed by…”

“They can be like that sometimes,” Henry said dismissively, opening the cupboard. “As long as you keep the music down past 9PM, and don’t have any pets that could ruin their flower patches, you’ll get along with them,” he chuckled, and you smiled back. There was an air of homely easiness to him, and, whether it was the house itself or the fact that he smelt like an intoxicating blend of cinnamon and pinewood, you felt warm.

Perhaps it was something else? Something deeper, and primal…

“Here you go!” he announced, drawing you from your thoughts as he slid the item over the counter. “A cup of sugar. Though, you can’t really borrow it from me because I can’t get it back…”

“Uh - ? Oh… “ you chuckled awkwardly, resisting the urge to facepalm. “Thanks Mr Emily,”

“Mister?” He gasped. “Surely you’re not that young to have to call me that. Please, just call me Henry,” he said with a smile and you nodded.

“Sure thing…” you said, trailing off. “I’d love to meet Charlotte someday, if she’s up to it…”

“Oh, she always is! She loves making new friends, and I’m sure you’ll be no exception,” he beamed, beginning to move away from the counter and walked you towards the door. He opened it, and as you stopped on the porch he paused and leaned against the door. “Perhaps we’ll have you over for dinner. I can’t remember the last time I cooked for someone that wasn’t myself or Charlie,” he chuckled, his voice slowly trailing off, as if he were remembering something. It was then that you looked down at his folded arms, and realised that there was no wedding ring on his left finger.

Interesting.

“Thanks Henry,” you smiled again, this time biting your lip. Perhaps you were getting ahead of yourself, but you could definitely see yourself becoming ‘accosted’ with him in the long run…

If he was truly single, that was.

“Well…You know where I live now, so please don’t be a stranger, Mr Emily,” you said, your demeanour instantly changing to one of easy confidence, and your voice dropping an octave, laced with coyness. The man briefly raised his brows, and his hand adjusted the glasses that sat atop his head. Perhaps you’d made him nervous.

You better hope so! You’d much rather him be nervous than uncomfortable.

Waving, you sauntered back down the porch steps, your legs shaking and heart pounding some kind of a lustful-fluster.

One thing was for sure: He was certainly hot, but he did seem to be on the older side - perhaps at least a decade older than you? You weren’t a wide eyed, naive spring chicken, but it wasn’t as if you were fully mature, either - would he really fall for you? Could he fall for you? Was their room in his life for another person, considering he seemed wholly devoted to his daughter?

Only time would tell.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It was two weeks later when Henry had stopped by. Although you’d met Charlie that very weekend, the man had seemingly given you some space to ‘settle in’, and, if it wasn’t for the fact that you were dealing with an absolute asshole of a contractor, you would’ve been freaking out over the thought of alienating yourself from the man with your blatant flirting.

Yet, that didn’t seem to be the case, as you were startled by a knock on your door, and, to no (but a pleasant) surprise, it was the Emily duo. Charlie’s hair was in two tiny pigtails that stuck out above her head, and was wearing her oversized backpack with a yellow t-shirt and lilac shorts and plimsolls, whilst Henry opted for a more low-key look, with a burgundy coloured Henley and loose jeans. The buttons on his shirt were cracked slightly, and you could see that he was wearing a makeshift necklace made out of cereal (courtesy of none other than Charlotte herself), which sat atop his broad chest, where a few hairs peeled out from between the fabric.

Did he know what he was doing, or was he just an oblivious, bumbling dork?

“Y/N!” Charlie said happily as you high fived her, stepping aside to let the girl in as her father followed. He nodded his head in an acknowledging manner, and, just as you closed the door the sunlight caught his brown eyes - within them nothing but a pool of warmth and goodness. He smiled at you before focusing his attention back on Charlie, who was running around the house like a madman.

“Please be careful, okay?” you called out. “There’s still stuff lying around…I don’t want you to get hurt!”“I’ll be extra extra safe, I promise!” She said happily, and you could hear her delving into the couch and slapping the cushions like a drum.Henry chuckled as you both followed the sound of the girl, looking around the house. The walls were still somewhat bare, the flooring was half done and there was a lack of furniture…Anywhere.“We just wanted to come around and see how you’re settling in…” he said ambiguously, and you bit your lip at the very obvious elephant in the room - your house was far from being a home.“…Goodness,” he began. “Everything’s —“

“All over the place? Yeah,” you scoffed, pinching the bridge of your nose. “My contractor is a B-I-T-C-H —“ you spelt out, careful as to not let Charlie hear. “Forgive my language - all of my furniture is delayed or out of stock, and I don’t know how to fix a floor to save my life!”you said, pinching the bridge of your nose. “All I know how to do is paint the walls, and even that’s taking forever!”

“Paint?” Charlie perked up. “I like to paint!” she said, swinging her feet in anticipation.

“You do, don’t you, Charlie?” Henry said, having his ‘lightbulb’ moment. “Why don’t we help you finish? I know my way around some tools, so I’m not a stranger to home repair…”

“Really?” You gasped, pretending to consider it. Like hell were you going to say no to him tinkering around your house, sweaty, with his muscles rippling as he toyed with and manoeuvred and carved and pounded —

Seems like you’re thinking about something more than housework.

“Thanks Henry!” you exclaimed, pulling him into an unexpected hug, of which he returned. Your arms fit snugly around his thick body, and you felt yourself melt into his comforting scent…Until Charlie joined the circle.

“I want a hug too!” she said, pushing her little body in between, making the two of you chuckle. It was that moment that you made eye contact with Henry - and you realised that he had a little blush on his face. For some reason, it felt like you were both Charlie’s parents.

Maybe you could be one day.

Maybe…

“I guess we’ll be spending more time together,” he said somewhat shyly, as he pulled away and looked around the house. He hadn’t even seen upstairs yet and he knew that it was going to be a long-term project.

Not that he minded, anyway. He’d been meaning to find a way to get to know you better, you were easily the friendliest person on the block, and, most importantly, Charlie adored you. In his mind, her opinion was law.

“It’s nice to get out of the house and go somewhere that isn’t work or school…Even if you’re a door or two away,” he chuckled, and you smiled.

“You’re lucky I don’t live directly next door,” you smirked. “I’d never leave you two alone,”

“There’s always room for one more…Especially if it’s you,” he smiled.

“Oh really?” You said, raising a brow knowingly, your voice barely a whisper. “Why ‘especially’ me?”

“Well, we like you…” he said nervously, diverting his gaze from you. Was he blushing? Oh God, he was blushing! Like a total schoolboy.

“Is that both of the Emily’s speaking, or just Henry?” you pushed, raising a brow.

“Both…” he mumbled. “For sure,” he said, anxiously clearing his throat.

“Well, I can’t wait to have you!” you said, clapping your hands together. “Around, that is. Let’s not worry the children,” you tutted playfully, nodding to Charlie who had zoned out completely, rambling to herself about all of the lovely colours she was going to paint the walls. You smiled down at the girl, giving Henry a moment to compose himself from your comment.

You just couldn’t help yourself sometimes.

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Henry and Charlotte had done just as they said, and their spare afternoons and evenings after work and school were spent helping you around the house. Whilst Charlie happily sploshed paint in the smaller, obscure crevices of the wall, Henry did the harder, grittier jobs - assisting you in moving your fridge, washing machine, and had even managed to fix your car while he was at it! With every movement of his body, every intense twitch of focus on the task you admired him, pretending to paint the skirting boards, whilst you were really imagining what he’d look like from your position on your knees.

Little did you know he was doing the exact same, albeit as respectfully as he could. He’d sneak a glance at you every now and then as he’d change the screws or drills, quickly averting his attention to his daughter or the task at hand when he thought you had noticed him. He couldn’t help it, really, you were quite - as they’d say in his day - the ‘looker’.

One Saturday the duo hadn’t come around, and you found that the house felt rather empty and dreary without them, even though your house was beginning to feel more homely and full by the minute.

Get used to it, sweetheart, they’re not your family.

You decided to turn in early that night, throwing on an oversized t-shirt over your bare torso, and a tiny, barely there pair of shorts. You really needed to go clothes shopping.

Just as you were about to relax, there was a sudden knock on the door, making you jump instantaneously. Who could that be? You weren’t expecting anyone, and your neighbours certainly weren’t going to introduce themselves at 8PM at night. There were no weapons to arm yourself with in case of a robber, and you considered ignoring them...Until you realised who it could be.

Rushing down the stairs, you flung open the door, only to find Henry himself.

“God, I’m so sorry!” you exclaimed, stepping aside to let the man in. “I totally forgot that Charlie was with her aunt, and that you were coming tonight…” you rambled, trying to make sense of it all as you simultaneously tried to pull down your shorts. If someone didn’t know any better, they would’ve thought you were half nude.

“It’s not a big deal,” Henry chuckled awkwardly, removing his jacket and placing it on a peg. “It’s my fault - what sort of a chump comes to fix lighting at 8PM at night?”

Snickering at his vanilla language, you made sure to make him feel better.

“You’re just a generous chump, I suppose,” you laughed. “Well, either that or you’re a chump with not-so-pure intentions…”

“If you’re uncomfortable, I can leave,” he said quickly. “I’ve got all day to myself tomorrow, I can easily come back…”

“No! Please, stay,” you said, your voice low and throaty. “In fact, why don’t you leave the tinkering for tonight? I’ve got some beer in the fridge, how about we get to know each other a little better?”

Henry gulped, and stroked his beard before he spoke up again.

“I suppose we could do with a break…”

“Great!” you exclaimed, pointing to the couch. “I’ll be right back - Don’t get cold feet, okay?”

Henry nodded, and found himself overthinking how to sit on the furniture. Legs spread? Was that too crude? Crossed? Too formal? Hunched into a corner? Was that too rude and uninviting?

He felt like a teenager again, sitting next to his crush in class and unsure of how to make even the smallest bit of conversation without combusting entirely. Was he too old to feel like this? You were at least a decade younger than him, and whilst you were clearly old enough to drink and own your own home, he couldn’t help but feel a little…Uncomfortable?

Yes, you flirted with him, but you were young - it likely came naturally! You could easily just be using him for free food and labour and such, and, once you’d gotten what you’d wanted eventually, turn a blind eye to him.

What if you were using him to get to Charlie?

He shuddered at the thought. It was a parents worst nightmare, especially if they were a single parent like him. After all, Henry knew he wore his heart on his sleeve, and that he was deeply in tune with his emotions; which made him a rather easy target to many. Surely you weren’t that kind of a person, were you?

You seemed kind, confident and funny; traits that he deeply admired in an individual, not to mention you were extremely attractive to him, especially in those shorts of yours.

He blushed just thinking about it. How long had it been since he’d had deep, emotional human contact? How long since you’d last been able to —

“Hey! You’re still here!” You smiled, handing him a beer with a paper towel around it as you perched on the armrest. “I didn’t know if you wanted it in a glass or not, but I figured you look like a man who chugs it right from the bottle,” you giggled, and he nodded.

“Astute observation, Y/N, though you wouldn’t be the first to liken me to a lumberjack of the sort! I know I look like a very forward and staunch bloke, but I’m as frail as a lamb really,”

“Bloke? Frail as a lamb? What fancy language,” you snorted at the sheer formality of his wording.

“Forgive me, my work colleague is British,” Henry chuckled, taking a swig of his beer. “I’ve picked up so much from him, it’s unbelievable,”

“Finally!” you exclaimed happily, nudging him. “I’ve learned something about you that isn’t Charlie-based! A British friend, huh? Are you guys close?”

“Thick as thieves…He’s got three kids, and I’m like their Uncle, I suppose,”

“Wow,” you said. “That’s pretty cute,”

“I try,” he said bashfully, his body tensing slightly as you slipped next to him, but giving him enough space so that he was comfortable around you. You rested your back against the armrest, folding your legs to your chest so that your shirt rode up your thigh, your privates somewhat visible through the shorts.

Was it seduction? A little, but it was your house. You had a right to be comfortable!

“So,” you said, clearing your throat. “What other friends do you have?”

“Not many, really,” Henry said, playing with the bottle. “I know some of Charlie’s friends' parents, but that’s it…”

“Aww, why?” you pouted. “You’re such a great guy!”

“I'm not very sociable…I’ve always been a rather awkward kid,” he said, now strangely relaxing into the cushions. He didn’t look at you, but you could tell that he was starting to feel more comfortable in himself. “I would usually wait until someone else made the first move, just to be sure. Even then, it felt rather unnatural to me…”

“I understand,” you said, placing a sympathetic hand on his shoulder, trying to not get too carried away in the act. How could he simultaneously be soft and homely yet bold and muscly? “I’m like that too…”

“Really?” he said, utterly taken aback. “You seem rather carefree to me,”

“What, just because I’m young? Not all ‘youngins are loud and boisterous, Grandpa,” you snickered, and he shook his head. “I guess we’re similar. We’re both a little shy, but once you break us out of our shells we can get a little…”

“What? Rowdy?” Henry interjected.

“I was going to say freaky…” You giggled, playing with the bottle and stroking it in a fairly suggestive manner.

“I’m not familiar with the newer lingo. What does that mean?”

“Don’t act like you don’t know what it means…”

“I —“ Henry stopped himself, his cheeks turning as red as his hair. “You’re playing a very dangerous game, Y/N,“

“I like it that way,” you said softly, biting your lip. “Besides, it wouldn’t hurt for you to give in just once, would it? You work so hard, you deserve a release…”

Henry sighed, and put down his bottle before turning to look at you. Your eyes were wide with want, and also genuine affection - how could he say no? He knew he wanted it too, and you were offering it to him…It was everything he wanted!

“Y-You know I’m older, right? I’m sure there are people your age who are better than me…” he said nervously.

“Henry, I want this,” you said sincerely, taking his hand in your own. “I want you…Even if it doesn’t amount to anything, we can always go back to being friends!”

Of course you wanted to be more than friends, but Henry was such a sweet person to be around that you couldn’t imagine your days without a friendly wave from him, not to mention Charlie, in her entirety.

“So…Ahem,” he said somewhat uncomfortably, clearing his throat. “Can I kiss you?”

“I thought you’d never ask,”

You crawled towards each other, and Henry planted a soft kiss on your lips, his beard tickling your cheeks as you cupped his face, allowing yourself to melt into him. There was that all too familiar scent; that earthly, serene yet overpowering musk that you’d come to associate with the man. He didn’t stay on you for long, seemingly not wanting to agitate you, but as he pulled away, you noticed a certain something down below. Perhaps the brief kiss meant more to him than you’d thought. “Henry,” you sighed, your lips lush and moist with want. “Please don’t be shy…You won’t hurt me, I promise,”

“I just — You’re like poison to me Y/N,” he said nervously. “I haven’t had a partner in so long…And you’re so beautiful — I don’t know if I’ll be able to hold back…”

“Let go,” you said, your voice barely a whisper as you stroked his beard, staring into his warm brown eyes in the process. Whether it was alcohol or lust, his pupils were dilated, and he looked strangely vulnerable, which enticed you even more. “For me…Please,”

Henry nodded, and you crawled into him again, but this time he didn’t hold back. The kiss was still soft, but had a powerful, tender passion to it, leaving you with no choice but to surrender. You’d awoken something within him, and none of you ever wanted to turn back. Your arms wrapped themselves around his neck as your lips moved in tandem, as his ones found your hips, briefly grazing your buttocks, and back to your waist, hoisting you up effortlessly.

“Mmh — Copping a feel there, are we Mr Emily?” you teased, whispering into his mouth as you worked together to position yourself so that you were straddling him. “You can do it a little harder than that…I don’t bite…” you purred, and Henry moaned in response, his large hands massaging your ass. You could feel his erection through your shorts, where you were equally getting hot in yours.

Slowly, you began to grind your hips against his thighs, and he pulled away from the kiss to stare at you in total admiration.He was panting, his face was glowing and his hair had begun to become unkempt from your excessive rustling. He looked like a pornstar, a far cry from his wholesome dad status that had initially drawn you to him.

“Bedroom?” He said, his voice gravelly, and you were partly stunned at the quickness of his statement.

“Yes,”

“Is it done?”

“Does it matter? We’re gonna end up messing it up anyway…”

Henry shook his head, pushed himself up, and began to carry you up the stairs.

“There aren’t any loose nails about, are there? I’ve heard you could get tetanus from one —“

“Henry! Don’t worry about that stuff!” you giggled. “You’re such a dad,”

“I'm getting older, you know —“

“Yes, yes,” you said playfully. “We know. Jeez, you’re not senile!”

“How do you know?”

“Something in your pants is telling me otherwise…”

“Oh!” Henry said, blushing as he lay you on the bed. The room was totally bare (at least it was somewhat done up) “I’m sorry,”

“Don’t apologise! I take it as quite the compliment,” you purred, beginning to peel off your shirt, so that you were topless. Henry took a moment to look down at you, admiring your semi-bare form as he took off his own shirt, remaining in a white vest.

“You’re gorgeous,” he mumbled. “How on Earth did I get so lucky to end up with a neighbour like you?”

“Good things come to those who wait…” you said smugly. “…You’re going to get even luckier soon,”

“Hmm?” he questioned, sitting on the bed and caressing your torso, stroking and kissing your skin in total adoration. His hands were slightly calloused, but were still comforting, and if you had more than a loaf of bread and milk in your house you’d have broken out some baby oils. “What’s that mean…?”

“Lie back, and you’ll see,”

“Okay,” he nodded, beginning to relax himself. “Wait!” He interjected, sitting up to look at you as he realised what was about to happen. “I can’t ask that of you…”

“Let me at least feel it, Hen…” you said, palming his erection through his pants as you began to unzip them. “Just a little?”

“Just a — Oohh,” he hissed, letting out some air through his teeth as your hands came into contact with his cock. Luckily for you, the carpet did indeed match the drapes - he had a wild patch of reddish-brown hair around his base, and he was roughly six inches, with a decent girth.

No wonder he was so shy and calm, he was totally packing and he knew it.

It was a fresh, peachy shade of pink, and some precum had begun to sprout from the head. Smirking, you gripped it, one hand stabilising the base as the other stroked it up and down; agonisingly slowly. The man’s eyes were shut, and his teeth grazed his bottom lip as he seemed to fixate on his breathing, letting out small, but long moans from his chest.

“Oh, Y/N…That’s —“

“Am I making you feel good, Henry? It feels like you’ve been needing this,” you giggled as his heavy cock twitched. He opened his eyes, staring at you intently as he nodded.

“I’m going to need to hear you say it, I’m afraid…” you teased.

“Mfh — Y/N — I -“ he stumbled, utterly wrapped up in the calming sensation. “You feel so good, I might —“

You immediately pulled your hands away, not wanting to embarrass him, and he ran his hands across his beard in shock, licking his lips as he did. He was about to open his mouth, when you did the work for him.

“How do you want me, Mr Emily?” You said, with a curious head tilt and wide eyes.

“In my lap…Straddle me like you did downstairs,”

You did exactly that, and the man kissed you again as he pulled off your shorts, running the material down your legs so that they pooled at your ankles.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise,” he said sincerely, and you weren’t sure whether it was the glow of the moon, or just a simple nightlight, but it was then that you wanted him to consume you entirely. It was deep, and it was primal, an emotion that you exhibited through your frantic and passionate movements, of which he mirrored, adjusting himself so that his tip lined up with your entrance.

You locked eyes with each other, and with a small nod he entered you, causing your spine to arch in an almost inhuman way, and for the man to groan with relief. It had simply been too long since he’d been inside someone, and he shut his eyes in sheer pleasure as he accosted himself with the warm, squeezing sensation. You gripped onto his broad chest for support, burying your face into his neck as his hands found your waist, slowly moving your hips up and down his shaft.

“Henry — You’re so big— I don’t know if I can take it all…”

“Shh, it’s okay,” he said in an assuring manner, stroking your skin. “I’ll be gentle. You don’t have to take it all — it’s all about making us both feel good…”

“O-Okay,” you nodded, but you desperately wanted to consume him, just to see his face twist and contort with sheer pleasure.

Once you felt comfortable, you began to move up and down his shaft, your hips slowly falling into a gentle rhythm as he thrust up into you. One arm was on your waist, and the other steadying your back, guiding you through the motions as you engulfed his throbbing cock.

Henry’s moans turned into grunts as you began to circle your hips, making his cock twitch with desire as you took him so eagerly.

“Am I hurting you?” You said, eyes wide and lips pouted.

“The complete opposite, actually,” he chuckled. Even in the heat of the moment he still managed to possess his charming dorkiness.

“You’re so cute,” you giggled, pecking his cheek and throwing your head back in ecstasy.

“Not bad for an old man, huh?” He smirked, caressing your cheeks to stare at you again. He seemed to like doing that.

“Please stop calling yourself old,” you gasped. “You’re easily fucking me like a thirty year old,”

“Twenty five year old,” he bargained.

“Twenty- seven,”

“Deal,” he chuckled, beginning to slam his hips up into yours, creating a clapping sound. His thrusts were becoming more confident with every movement, and as you found yourself slowing down, he was quickening his pace.

Both his hands steadied your hips, and he leaned forward so that your body lay on the bed, whilst your hips were inverted, resting on his strong thighs. He began to pound you from this angle, admiring the way your body looked all sprawled out below him, leaning down to plant kisses along your chest and neck.

You, on the other hand, were in a sheer state of bliss, to the point that you could barely see straight. None of your college hookups had been able to fuck you like this, like an animal, but also deeply intuitively and caring.

Henry’s muscles were rippling, and he began to wobble, signalling to you that he was getting close.

“Uh - Mmfh - Y/N…” he moaned. “I’m gonna — Are you close?”

“Mmfh…” you nodded, unable to speak. “Please - Don’t pull out…” you begged, and Henry’s eyes widened, letting out a groan at the very thought of filling you up.

“Oh - I’m gonna — Fuck…” he whispered, cursing for what felt like the first time. His total bliss sent you over the edge, your body wobbling as you came, just as Henry keeled over, stabilising himself with his hands either side of you, panting as his chest rumbled. His eyes were shut, his hair glued to his forehead, and whispered sweet nothings as he pumped loads of his hot seed inside of you, for what felt like forever. He was so pent up that he thought he might’ve burst into millions of segments, like a firework on New Years Eve. Sighing, he tried to catch his breath as he withdrew from you, some of his remains leaking out of your hole as he fell beside you, his arm instinctively wrapping around your body and pulling you closer to him.

You swallowed some saliva, trying to desperately lubricate your throat as you scrambled to find the words for what just happened.

“You’re right…You do fuck like a twenty five year old…”

“It helps when the stimuli looks something like you,” he chuckled, drawing you to his chest as he kissed your forehead. You shut your eyes, drowning yourself in his embrace. Of course the scent was there, and although it was mixed with sweat and sex hormones, you didn’t mind in the slightest.

It was silent for a few moments until you spoke up.

“Henry?”

“Yes?”

“Can you stay the night? It’s cold, and the room is bare…”

“I can’t believe you’d assume I’d leave,” he chuckled, rubbing your upper back soothingly. His chest slowly began to drop to its regular levels, and you traced the outline of his pectorals as you did, finding yourself growing weary by the minute. You yawned, and you didn’t know it, but he smiled down at you.

“You know - I really like you…” you said drowsily. “I think we could make great neighbours…”

“Just neighbours?”

“We’ll see…” you teased. “Don’t get too cocky now, you haven’t even taken me out for dinner yet…” you finished with another yawn, your eyes now fluttering shut.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he chuckled. “Sleep well,” he finished, kissing your forehead once again. As your hearts slowed down from their high, Henry knew that you were the one. Even if it was temporary, he owed it to himself to see where the two of you could go together.

-FIN.

#THANK YOU ANON #anon ask #taking requests #request fill #henry emily #fnaf smut #fnaf x reader #henry emily x reader #HENRY STANS THIS IS FOR YALL #drop me a request!#michael afton x reader #smut #florence_nomachine #gender neutral fanfic #gender neutral reader #florence writes!!

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mageknight14 · 7 months

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The Dangers and Flaws of Idolization: A NEO TWEWY analysis post

Transplanting and expanding on a thread I made on Twitter to fit within a Tumblr format.

One of the most interesting aspects I see in NEO TWEWY that I don’t see many people touch upon is the commonality between Rindo, Fret, and Shoka in how they look up to others as role models while simultaneously being blind to their flaws/who they actually are up to the end and how the game's themes are reflected in those relationships and today, I'd like to showcase why.

First, we have Rindo and Motoi. With that relationship, the game makes it pretty clear that Rindo looked up to Motoi as An0ther and used his words as encouragement to get through his own daily life and anxiety. The kid could barely decide what he could even eat for dinner before he had come across the account, so if you thought his current indecisiveness nature was bad, he was even worse before the events of the game.

However, what I find interesting is that even though he constantly spouts An0ther's sayings in an attempt to try and steel himself for the challenges he faces, he thoughtlessly does so and only lives by the sayings half-heartedly, since his indecisive nature and fear of responsibility prevent him from committing all the way. I think it's telling that despite claiming that "don't miss your chance to make a friend" is one of his favorite quotes, he's constantly at odds with the idea of bringing potentially new players on board the team even before he gets the chance to properly know/meet them and grimaces at the thought of the structure of the old Reaper's Game in the original.

Keep in mind that Beat saved Rindo's life at the hands of Susukichi at least two whole days ago before this occurrence.

Nagi’s Dive into his head on W1D3 actually does a LOT to reveal aspects of his character: he puts other people at arm’s length (besides Swallow due to their online anonymity) because he’s afraid of the fallout of what would to happen if he got involved with them.

"What if I end up taking on more than I can handle? What if other people end up dragging me down with them? If I just stay at the sidelines and shift the blame onto others, I won’t get into trouble for this."

"I'm in a group project; everybody is contributing and making decisions about how we should go about doing things. I keep my mouth shut and refrain from pitching in despite maybe thinking some of their ideas misses the point of the assignment, because God forbid my ideas could be helpful (or maybe they won't; that's life, but I won't know unless i speak up). We end up handing in our project and whoops, we got a C-. I guess I'm not responsible for receiving that grade because I never made a decision, therefore I shouldn't be accountable for my lack of contribution. It just makes sense."

If you've known/are a person that have had similar thoughts to this mindset, then congrats; you know/are a Rindo Kanade in real life.

This culminates into him latching onto others he finds capable and taking the relationships around him for granted, tying other people's worth to their prowess in might or influence. After all, why bother relying on yourself and others when you can just rely on someone else for you to solve your problems? Especially since it means that if everything goes south, YOU won’t take the fallout for it. After all, they’re clearly much more capable than you are.

To get back to his dynamic with Motoi, Rindo looks up to him immensely after finding out that he was his idol an0ther and came to value his input regarding matters within the Game. So when he eventually finds out the truth and is forced to confront the fact that his hero was nothing more than a content thief and a schemer who would trample over others just to survive, he’s understandably heartbroken.

However, instead of just leaving it there, the game decides to flip the script and have Motoi legitimately apologize to Rindo for his actions, leading to the lad in question learning to recognize that Motoi is ultimately an incredibly flawed human being instead of just writing him off entirely, (even giving him another chance!) and is, in many ways, a mirror to Rindo. Like Rindo, Motoi was deathly afraid of responsibility and the fallout of letting other people down, leading to him copying and pasting other people's quotes so that he wouldn't have to face that possibility. This aspect of himself only got worse when he got trapped in the Reaper's Game for multiple loops on end, forcing him to become a worse version of himself, lying, cheating, and backstabbing just to survive and even looking towards becoming part of the Reapers, the same group that trapped him there in the first place, just so he wouldn't have to be Erased, un a manner that's eerily reminiscent to how Rindo would took towards overly relying on others so that he would make it out okay. In that sense, Motoi is a look at what a grown-up Rindo would look like if he didn't take the lessons he learned within the Game to heart, which is part of why the latter decides to take Motoi’s copypasted quotes and apply them to his life in a positive way, deriving his own meaning from them so that in a way that contrasts him following them in a shallow manner from before.

Next up, we have Fret and Kanon, who form a interesting parallel to Rindo and Motoi's dynamic. Whereas Motoi is a look at one of the worst possible paths that Rindo could take if he didn't learn how to properly deal with his flaws, Kanon actually tries to coach Fret into becoming more true to and genuine with his actual self. She also shows herself to be a genuinely affable and honorable person even in spite of the bad first impression that she had given at the beginning of the game by stealing Rindo and Fret's pin for herself.

However, that's only the surface level stuff, as the game actually goes deeper with her character. While Kanon at first seems to be true to herself and genuine at her core in a way that Fret isn’t, we can see from the Dive into her head on W3D3 that she’s holding back a LOT underneath the surface.

"You always did have a way of destroying things" tends to get glossed over by some and for those who do look at the words, they seemingly come out of nowhere and can be seemingly brushed off as her just being under the influence of the Plague Noise. However , when you look back at some of Kanon’s actions and her words towards the Twisters (accusing the Twisters of sabotaging Fuya and making Motoi drop out of the Scramble Slam against his will, her mood changing when she finds out about Fuya challenging the Ruinbringers in one timeline as opposed to her more cheerful attitude towards Fret when she didn't find that out just yet, her acting suspicious towards the Twisters regarding their prowess as a team, etc), the implication is that she doesn’t just resent the game as a whole but also secretly the Twisters as well.

The thing about the Player teams is that they have formed an unspoken agreement where the top 3 teams (sans Ruinbringers of course) keep their footing by sending new players and other teams to last place, which the Wicked Twisters screw up just by existing. Their synergy and impressive Imagination powers (well, Fret, Nagi, and Sho’s at least) threaten the balance the teams have struggled to keep up for so long, hence why Kanon initially just sees them as another team to point snipe before she changes her mind on them. And while the Twisters do almost bring about change by beating the Ruinbringers, it ultimately doesn’t even matter in the long-run due to how incredibly rigged the Shinjuku game is and as a result, the DRS are eliminated, getting rid of Kanon’s and Motoi’s safety net.

Imagine this from the players’ perspective: you’re stuck in essentially what is a never-ending death game but you’ve got a system going where you can at least stave off your deaths for a bit longer. Then a couple of kids come around and throw that whole system entirely out of whack. And you think, "well, at least they can take out the top team and give us a fighting chance, right?" Only for those hopes to also get dashed because the rules are just that rigged. Like Kubo said, life ain’t fair and the afterlife sure as hell ain’t either. W1D5 and W2D4 are excellent explorations of this kind of mindset as it showcases the player teams falling victim to their desires and abusing their powers as a result of being stuck in an endless loop of playing the Game over and over again with no hope of escaping, as well as highlights paints certain comments made by the leaders in an even darker light.

With all of this in mind, it’s honestly no wonder that Kanon resents the Twisters but what’s interesting is that she tries to keep this resentment under wraps because she knows that it isn’t fair to them. They’re just kids after all who would have no idea about all of that. Hence why she admonishes herself in her Dive for wishing that they had just wipe out the Reapers altogether and why Fret is shown to be hurt hearing her inner thoughts about the Twisters in a way that’s pretty reminiscent of Rindo’s reaction when he found out about Motoi.

And finally, we have Shoka and Ayano. While it’s pretty clear that the two do genuinely care for one another, it’s a relationship that’s been tragically scarred by the events surrounding Shinjuku and the Reapers in general, resulting in a mutually unhealthy dynamic.

What I find interesting about the relationship is that while Shoka gets pissed whenever Rindo insinuates that Ayano must’ve treated her badly, she sadly realizes in another convo that she doesn’t know much about Ayano on a personal level or what her interests even are.

In spite of how close they are and how much they mean to each other, Ayano still put up emotional walls and closed herself off, never allowing herself to be on equal footing to Shoka and instead just be someone who guides and mentors her over the 4 years they were together.

This is due to her feeling betrayed by Shiba/others while simultaneously using Shoka as her one stable point in life regardless because everything is going up into chaos surrounding the Shinjuku Reapers and she finds herself unable to trust anyone around her anymore. And Shoka herself doesn't even realize this until the end when it’s too late because she was just happy to simply have Ayano by her side without thinking deeper about her and their relationship as a whole due to her own emotional issues and troubled past.

When it comes to children from broken homes, they are prone to imprinting on any adult figure that interacts positively with them and in Shoka's case, this is exactly what she did with the Shinjuku Reapers, especially Ayano.

A running theme throughout all of these instances is how they all involve the younger generation looking up to the adults in their lives as idols as opposed to just role models and thus fail to see them for who they are as actual human beings. And by the time they that finally do, it's too late for the adults.

You also see nods towards this theme via the Shinjuku Reapers and their relationship with Shiba or Shiba’s (who himself is parallel to Rindo if his tendency to subconsciously take on the values of others and mistake his as his own was twisted into the worst possible outcome) relationship with Kubo, with Hishima even flat out stating as such. "You fell at the feet of an idol like an utter fool", indeed.

And this all fits, as well, into NEO's larger theme that even as a 'follower', you have to question the 'leader'. Role models aren't bad -- but idols and failing to recognize their limits/flaws/toxicity are and will end up screwing you over in the long run if you aren’t careful. And I think NEO did an excellent job at exploring the little nuances that come with that, from Kanon’s internal resentment she knew wasn’t fair to the unseen distance between Ayano and Shoka to Motoi being a complete deconstruction of it all. It shows the good and the bad of idolizing someone too much. It shows how you can see the real them and turn the image you liked into something more with Rindo, or how to hold them in your heart while moving on like Shoka. It's okay to acknowledge the flaws and shortcomings of the people you look up to. Hell, it’s probably healthy to do that in some ways. As long as they’re still a good person or even helped you grow, you can still celebrate the good they brought

#neo twewy #twewy #the world ends with you #neo the world ends with you #analysis post #rindo kanade #shoka sakurane #tosai furesawa #fret furesawa #kanon tachibana #motoi anazawa #ayano kamachi #ntwewy

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c1phyb4ra · 10 months

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Ghost HC's (SFW & NSFW)

【Hi! It's my first time posting my writing on Tumblr, so apologies for any mistakes in consistency. I'm learning to navigate and format my work. Thank you for your patience <3】

☆My personal angst to comfort headcannons on how Ghost would be in a relationship with you despite all the trauma and suffering he's lived through. I will mark where the NSFW starts if you don't want to read that. My requests are open so go nuts, I'll try my best to do yours :3☆

CW: [For Ghost's past/current struggles] disordered eating habits, paranoia, panic attacks, abuse, gn reader. [For nsfw] praise, body worship, oral reader receiving, gn + afab reader.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

► He had such a rough childhood, living with an abusive father so he's developed a habit of treating you like glass, always worried he'd do something to hurt you.

► Intense insomniac. He's used to not sleeping much due to having to keep an eye out for enemies. He refuses to take sleeping pills out of fear of sleeping through something bad happening. The best you can do is get him to lay with you while you play with his hair. That way he might be able to get at least a few hours of sleep.

► Also struggles with nightmares. He'll hold you tightly in his sleep while mumbling. If he wakes up though, he'll excuse himself to the restroom to calm down before going back to bed. He'll let you spoon him as he tried to go back to sleep again.

► Simon always wears some form of facial covering, having become accustomed to keeping his face hidden. It's like he can't get rid of his Ghost persona when he's just supposed to be Simon.

► Refuses to talk about his work besides his squad mates, such as Soap or Gaz. He hates involving his work with his lover. He wants to have a very firm barrier between those. He can't risk his violent job getting mixed into his domestic life with you.

► When you go out for any reason (whether it be date night or grocery shopping) he's always armed. Always. He keeps a gun on him and has an extra one strapped to his boot along with a couple of knives strapped to the other one. He's very paranoid about being attacked.

► His body has become so accustomed to fight or flight mode that he tends to get very anxious and dizzy. Sometimes he'll get intense panic attacks so he'll shut himself in the bathroom to try and calm himself down. He isolates himself out of fear of burdening or overwhelming you.

► You have to remind him that as his partner, you want to be there for him when he's struggling. He tries to go to you when he's not feeling the best but sometimes he just can't bring himself to do so so he'll shut down in the bedroom and just pace.

► He has a bad habit of skipping meals because he feels the need to punish his body for not being good enough to prevent all the death he sees on the field. Although sometimes when you cook he'll skip them because he feels that he doesn't deserve to eat what you made for him. You'll have to sit and coax him into eating, and sometimes feed him by hand.

[NSFW FROM HERE ON, YOU HAVE BEEN WARNED.]

► It took him a long time to feel comfortable with the idea of sex. He always worried about not being able to please you, or being too rough. He knows he's strong enough to take down multiple enemy soldiers simultaneously, so he's afraid that he might be too rough with just you there.

► He's very gentle with you, always being careful and asking you if you're alright.

► He loves praise and reassurance. He always prioritizes your pleasure first and loves when you tell him that he's doing good at that. Call him sweet pet names like 'darling, lovie, baby, sweetheart.'

► You called him a good boy once because he helped you put away groceries. That turned him on so painfully much that as soon as all the perishables were out away, he bent you over the counter and fucked you.

► He gets more turned on when he eats you out than when you blow him. He's obsessed with the feeling of your arousal coating his lips and chin. The noises you make combined with the way you taste so sweet to him has him cumming in his pants. Making you cum multiple times from just his tongue feels so validating to him.

► He also secretly likes how your pubes tickle his nose when he plays with your clit. He loves how natural your body is, and is obsessed with every part of it.

► He also really likes how his cum covers your tummy and pubes, seeing you covered in his essence makes this feel more real, like he's really there lovingly fucking his sweet partner.

► As tame as it may seem, he really loves missionary. There's something so hot about him being able to see your face as he makes you feel good.

► He likes to use toys on you that maximize your pleasure, like holding a vibrator to your puffy little clit while he fucks you.

► He goes feral for hickeys. Loves seeing the purple bruises in the shape of your mouth all over his body after a night of passionate loving. He's obsessed with being marked by you.

► Body worship. Giving and receiving. That's his SHIT. He loves telling you how good you look, how beautiful your body is, how fucking well you take his massive cock.

► He loves to trace any scars/stretch marks, it's relaxing to touch and kiss those parts of your body that are unique to you.

► Loves wrapping his hands around your waist or placing them on your hips. Helps him be able to reach deeper spots in you, pleasing you in ways that make you see stars.

► Once you're done, he cleans you up with a warm wet washcloth and kisses any bruises he might leave. He makes sure you pee too because he'd hate for you to get an infection because of him. Once you're all cleaned up he'll bring you water or a snack. Unless you want to just cuddle. He'll hold you closely to him, your bodies melting together so comfortably.

⦅𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔!⦆

#cod mw2 #cod #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #ghost headcanons #ghost angst #simon riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley #x reader #x gn reader #x afab reader #ghost x gn reader #mw2 headcanons #cod ghost

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anisaanisa · 6 months

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Drawtober 2023 (Now on AO3)

[Series Tag] [Art Tag] [FAQs Below the Cut]

Who: Hi I'm Anisa and I'm feral for feudal fairy tales :)　

What: Drawtober is a label for a project that comprised of a theme, and a list of ideas. If you wanna see the thoughts behind those themes, I've attached some meta notes over on AO3. For nifty purposes.

When: Right now. I've also taken the liberty of compliling my 2023 Pride Month series in a similar format, and will likely continue to do so whenever the urge strikes/the shoe fits.

Where: Specifically on my Artnisa pseudoname. Previously, this was exclusive to collabs where I was the arteest and had no hand in the writing. I may choose to shift gears somewhere down the line, but for now, that's where they'll be.

Why: Fandom, as a contruct, is ever-changing, and Tumblr, the frontline of such a construct, is doing the most to kill desktop navigation whilst speed-running the Focus Theft Race; pair that with a testy search function, ever-evolving "porn bots" sniping tag usability, it can be a 'mare finding fanworks out there, in the Tumblr dot com wilds, let alone attempting to create some form of personal archive in the comfort of your own blog. So, as the Internet shifts, like all cultures do, it feels high time to start archiving properly. On the archive. For posterity and such.

How: Laughable that the only mention of this guide on Tumblr exists in the form of a button on the aformentioned desktop navigation, but here's a beginner friendly tutorial on how to add images to AO3 for any writers/artists that would like to learn how to do so. Plus some other fun stuff in and around it. Of course :D

Bonus Fun Fact: There's a black & white image under each post, though I added no context. When I'm done with something that toes the semi-realism lines like this lot, I like to turn RGB off to see how my values (light and shadows, essentially) turned out. I paint in colour, so seeing that the light was Just Right when said colour is no longer there to lean on is like a little reward. I just think they're neat. Thank you :)

Bonus Bonus Fact: There is a 753 word strong ficlet hidden in there, somwhere :3

Forehead smooches 💋🤸‍♂️

#ㄟ(≧◇≦)ㄏ #drawtober #posts to keep #as all ideas go i have percolated too long and went 110%#inuyasha #kagome #miroku #sango #kikyo #yura #inuyasha fanart #犬夜叉 #animanga #fanart #artists on tumblr #and now on AO3 #artnisa

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i4gonzalez · 11 months

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LOCKSCREEN: gavi x fem!reader

summary: gavi feels insecure after seeing the lockscreen of y/n old cellphone.

request: pls make gavi feeling insecure ‘cause y/n and fernando (pedri’s brother) dated in the past. (it can be like gavi insecure ‘cause fernando is older than him).

notes: heey! it’s my first post on tumblr and i never wrote a imagine before, english is not my native language, so i used translator for it. anyway, please, be kind<3

━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━

gavi had taken a day off and wanted to come to your house to help you organize some papers before your next semester in college.

among some notes and unfinished activities, gavi also found your old iphone — which was a problem, since you haven't cared about formatting it since you broke up with fernando, pedri's brother.

- ah, does that still work? - you're surprised to see the phone.

- i didn't like the lock screen very much.

you look at your cellphone. the lock screen was a picture of you on the beach, with your ex-boyfriend.

- yeah, i don't either. what do you think about changing? - you say, trying to lift the mood.

gavi keeps looking at the screen. he seems a little jealous.

- is everything okay? - you ask sitting next to him.

he nods, but doesn't say anything yet.

- cariño, are you sure you're okay?

he looks at you and you end up seeing how upset he was.

for some reason, you end up getting a little angry. gavi is your boyfriend and you should make sure you love him.

- i know this was strange, but fernando has his own life now and you should trust me! - you cross your arms and look at gavi with an angry expression.

- i trust, i swear! but i can't get it out of my head that he's much more mature and better than me.

so, you put your anger aside and begin to understand why gavi is so insecure. fernando is older than him, but you are sure that your relationship with gavi surpasses all the time you and your ex spent together.

- cariño, you will always be better than any of my ex-boyfriends. i love you more than everyone and for me you’re perfect!

you sit next to him and gavi passes one of his arms over your shoulders. you take your old phone and take a selfie of you two.

- what do you think of the new lock screen? - you smile

- better, for sure... - he says and you give your boyfriend a kiss - i love you more than everyone too, cariño.

gavi's insecure look disappears and gives way to the confident and excited look you loved.

━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━ ━━━

★ the requests are open! i was thinking about make a masterlist too (i’ll make it when i’m learn how)

#gavi x you #gavi imagine #gavi x reader #football #football imagine #pedri imagine #gavi one shot #imagine #soccer #fc barcelona #pablo gavi #gavi barca #gavi smut #fanfic

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aukanemin · 1 year

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~Commissions are open!~

Such beauty it could be if you distributed this post - or even had desire to aquire something for yourself!<ззз

Below I have described in detail almost all the information that I could imagine as neccessary, yet please do not hesitate to write for any reason in a private message or ask - it will be my absolute pleasure to tell or show you more, and I am always glad to have new delightful acquaintances!<зз

I do portraits in three formats - bust, waist-length and full-length, and with three different stages of completion - line art, flat color and full shadow work. They can be completely different in style, and you should pay close attention to the difference in the execution of these formats - the busts are always more detailed in the character's features, the atmosphere is more consistent in waist-length paintings, and full-length drawings are well suited to demonstrate clothing design or depict a scene. On average, I complete the first stage of work (sketching) in two days, and the second in three, but in case of various circumstances I may leave myself from a week to week and a half - depending on the complexity and its cost, and the duration of the work can vary greatly yet I always try to be transparent and tactful about all possible deadlines and reasons for such.

I adore to experiment with styles and learn new tones of this craft - as each meeting is a start of something beautiful, and I desire to create art that is complex and multifaced, but to an important extend I should say that I do not feel comfortable to copy or imitate other's styles of execution and sensuality, and a lot of expressions and detailing in my work are sudden - art is an journey and yet I would love to share this journey with you;зз

There is a path of my prices:

- Bust of one character up to the chest - $ 70 - Portrait of one or more characters up to the waist - $ 80 For each additional character + 20 $ - Character (or several) in full growth - $ 90 For each additional character + 30 $ Cost of more complex and expressive pieces and backgrounds are increased by tips, which I express as an deeply loyal and tactful system - it is absolutely voluntary and happens only at the end of the project, so you have ability to define their cost to your feelings and abilities and nothing over that<зз Oh!! And you have read almost everything! Thank you so much! And also here, under the cut, I describe the whole process of work and how we pay. This is quite useful information for other questions that you may have if you desire to purchase my work, therefore I may advise you to take a look at it too;з

How do we work on an order?

Please feel free to contact me via Tumblr for any questions you may acquire! ~

After I discuss the content of the painting with the client and receive additional materials from them (a photo of the person I am drawing, or references that are close to what is expected of me), I start creating the first sketch.

In accordance with the request, I make a sketch of the future painting, which will contain all its important elements and an approximate color scheme (if any) that I will use. At this stage, you can freely make your amendments, and when the content suits you, I will ask you for an advance payment of half the cost of the work without additional prices of background or detailing.

After that, work on the portrait will begin. Its duration varies on several factors - to a greater extent on the volume and complexity of the work itself, as well as on my own workload with other orders.

After completing the portrait, I will send you its version in low quality- after you familiarize yourself with it (there is also possible some edits - of tones and color, elements of shading, character features and small details), and after you pay the rest of the amount, you shall receive the final result of our artwork! ~

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ungrateful-cyborg · 2 months

Text

Social media comparison

Alright. I've tried different new/alternative platforms lately in hope to find something I really liked, and there are very promising ones. I didn't try everything, of course, but this is a kind of overview of my journey so far? Or just my thoughts on the matter.

I've tried Pillowfort, Bluesky, Mastodon (didn't last long enough to have much of an opinion, it simply didn't click), Dreamwidth and Cohost (as of today, can't post there yet).

My comparison under the cut:

► I appreciate that they're algorithm free, whether it's because they truly believe in an Internet rid of the most invasive of them or because it's too expensive to implement on a brand new platform or some other reason. Only the future can tell, but for now it's nice.

► Pillowfort: beside the post formatting that I find extremely comfortable, my favourite thing is probably communities. I feel like this is the strongest "pro" in favor of Pillowfort because this is where they truly distinguish themselves from other social media.

Communities, in a way, remind me of forums. They're however easier to take in hand since you don't have to deal with as many options and choices. In my opinion, communities on Pillowfort are a bit lacking in functionalities though. I think more tools to easily organize them would help, like a widget or something to link stuff so you can create and animate events within said communities.

(I also feel like Pillowfort would gain from not being dark blue. We have more than enough dark blue websites, and it doesn't go well with the warmth invoked by its name in my opinion, but that's a minor detail and just a matter of taste.)

► Bluesky: basically Twitter but better. No algorithm, for a start. The curated feeds are nice. They're a bit like communities on Pillowfort since they can be moderated but from a non-mod user, it's even easier to post in them: you just have to use the right keyword for your post to appear there. Well, if the mod left it open to all rather than chose to vet who can or cannot post in it. Lots of flexibility and control over your timeline overall.

I don't like the 300 characters limit, however. Never liked it with Twitter either. It's not really conductive to conversations, and the general design tends to make the website feel rather impersonal. It's really more like parallel talking than community building.

Overall I think it's a good tool to promote your (visual) art or website, etc. but not great for hosting conversations past commenting briefly what others are doing. I mean, you can make threads but it'll never be as good as Pillowfort or Tumblr for this.

► Dreamwidth: I'll start with saying that Dreamwidth isn't a social media, it's a journaling platform and I haven't used it much yet. Had in plan to post my headcanons about my muses there and stuff like that so I did spend some time trying to figure out how it works.

First, there is a lot of options to let you have complete control over who can see what. Like, a lot.

You can entirely personalize what your journal will look like. It's a bit easier than having your own website—since I reblogged a post about that yesterday—because you don't start from 0, so it might be a good option if you don't feel comfortable jumping into Notepad++ to start coding. You can just change a thing here and there, or nothing at all, or almost everything. It's pretty old school though, so for those completely unfamiliar with early/pre-web 2.0, it might not look very appealing at first. However, I'd say don't let that stop you! If anything, it's a good opportunity to learn a bit of code without pressure.

You can also create communities, which as you might have guessed is very important to me. When creating one, you can set up whether everyone can join, everyone can ask to join but has to be approved by a community admin or to limit the access to those you have personally invited. Like for your own journal, communities are completely customizable, and Dreamwidth allows adult content.

I'm not sure you can top DW communities in terms of functionalities—aside from making a forum—but it's not as intuitive as Pillowfort (though in exchange you get more customization). You're also more limited regarding image hosting (see here). That said, hosting services exist, many are free, and that's without mentioning that you can post on Twitter and the like and use the picture link in your DW posts. I don't think many will only use Dreamwidth anyway.

► Cohost: I was expecting nothing when I registered earlier today, but this is an overall good surprise: it's Tumblr, but better.

More control of what you see. More user-friendly UI. It's not fucking blue. Adult content allowed. You can change your main blog page and make it private.

The only two downsides I'd mention here would be that you can't customize your blog page appearance and you have to wait for one or two days before being able to post. Although if it means less bots, I'd rather wait.

And this ends my rather non-exhaustive tour of the social media/blogging/journaling platforms. If you catch any mistakes let me know. I didn't dive deep, this was just me sharing my thoughts.

(As far as I know, they all allow adult content and give you tools to not see it if you don't want to.)

#OOC #social media #Internet #cohost #dreamwidth #pillowfort #bluesky #long post

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prismatic-bell · 29 days

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ok so this is less a zionism question and more one related to judaism as a whole, but: the hebrew calendar is currently in the year 5784, yeah? but of course, that doesn't necessarily mean jewish history is necessarily over five thousand years old- jesus's birth precedes christianity in its current form by at least a couple of centuries.

but here's the thing- one post, whose actual content i don't recall, happened to mention that jewish history is three thousand years old. This is where my question gets specific enough so that you'd be able to answer it in a tumblr ask.

you see, the author of one of my favourite books of all time, Sun Tzu, is rumored to have served under Hu Lu of the Wu kingdom, which would put his life at about 500-400 b.c.e. Did judaism exist during that time? could Sun Tsu have credibly met a rabbi in his lifetime (ignoring the Huge distance between the levant and china, of course)?

(also, i know like. Very Little about the history of that area so sorry if my question is stupid or offensive in some way. was the Temple already built there and stuff? were there already people keeping kosher? that sort of stuff)

So let’s start here: that post is incorrect. It’s closer to 3500 years, and the reason it’s not more than that is because before that we were still Canaanites. (Torah claims we defeated the Canaanites. The truth is more like “we were a small sect of Canaanites who out-babied all the other Canaanites.”)

As for whether Sun Tzu could have met a rabbi…no, but not because we weren’t around then. Sun Tzu’s life falls smack in the middle of the return to Jerusalem; Judea had an extremely small population at this point (the whole country is estimated at no more than 30,000 people, with only a single city—Jerusalem), but it did exist as a Jewish nation under Persian rule. We were very much around. But rabbinic Judaism—which is the modern form of Judaism, and what people usually mean when they say “Judaism”—didn’t exist until after the fall of the Temple in 70CE led to the end of blood sacrifice, and the beginnings of the concept of what we today call “rabbis” didn’t exist until the mid-100s BCE. We do have some men older than that who we call “rabbi” sometimes in modern discussion, but this isn’t any kind of official title—it’s more a mark of respect for their great wisdom and learning (like having an honorary doctorate degree). Far more commonly, these men are called the sages, or were kings.

That isn’t to say there’s no chance of Sun Tzu having met influential figures in Judaism, however. Torah was first being written down right around the time he lived, and it so happens that a lot of Jews were in Babylon at the time. Depending on how far he traveled (if he did), he could absolutely have met some of the Jewish figures codifying Torah and the Mishnah, and since some of our earliest fragments of Torah are written on papyrus rather than parchment, it’s even possible he read portions of it. This is doubly true because Israel-Judea is a linchpin between three separate continents: Europe, Africa, and Asia-by-way-of-the-south (nobody was crossing the Alps in 400BCE). That’s why our particular patch has been so fought over throughout history—for most of history, he who controlled Jerusalem controlled international trade. Could some of our writings have been included in a trade headed east? Absolutely. It wouldn’t even be that weird for a few stray copies to have not survived—keeping in mind how many more forms of media and record we have today than we’ve had throughout history, and how much easier it is to make those records, it is still estimated that over 99% of all media and records made in human history are permanently lost. Yeah, totally, Sun Tzu could’ve been like “are there wise men in these western countries? Bring me their writings” and read them and gone “huh, neat, I’ll have to think about that” and then because his scrolls got eaten by bugs and he didn’t use MLA format nobody would ever know. It’s extremely likely that’s happened with many writings from many places throughout history. And yes—it’s equally possible that a few stray Jews became merchants or great travelers and made their way to China and we don’t know because their publicity agents sucked. That is, unfortunately, the case with most of history. We find half a dozen puzzle pieces from a picture we know must contain at least five thousand pieces and we’ve got to reconstruct what it looked like and hope a seventh piece turns up somewhere. So is it likely Sun Tzu met Jews? Not at all. Is it impossible? Absolutely not.

Now as for what Jews were doing at the time…first, I’m going to say the idea that ancient Jews all did exactly as Torah said to do all the time is a lovely fairy tale. I think those of us who did most of our study of the ancient world in sixth grade during our Egypt phases tend to forget that then as now, people were people everywhere you went, and “the [insert ancient race here] people believed ________” is a convenient oversimplification. There would have been varying degrees of observance just like there are today, and I suspect that’s even more true in the peasant class; you’re not making your kids go hungry so you can sacrifice an expensive calf. But this WAS the period when we started getting a unified “this is what we are supposed to do, here, we wrote it down for you” practice, so here are some examples:

1) this is the period when the Jewish pantheon—yes, that was a thing—got collapsed into a single god, the one we now call the One G-d, Adonai. (Yes, the one with the Y-name, no, I’m not saying it.) This is why in some portions of Torah G-d is referred to as Elohim—El was originally another god. The “im” ending is a plural.

2) the rules of Temple sacrifice were formally codified. This isn’t to say it was a free-for-all before this time, but your options were…squishier, so to speak.

3) THE RULES OF KASHRUUUUUUUUUT this is when all of that stuff got written down and formalized. Before this things like not eating pork would have existed, but they would have been more of a cultural taboo than a religious law. This probably reflects why some parts of kashrut, or kosher, laws are so weird in Torah. Like—it tells you some birds are kosher and some aren’t, but it’s super vague on which is which. That makes a lot more sense if “everybody knew” what was and wasn’t taboo. Sort of like how if you open a cookbook and see a recipe asking for two eggs you automatically look for a chicken, not a goose.

4) a lot of laws just didn’t exist yet, or didn’t exist in their modern form. For example, the law against mixing meat and dairy at this point applied only to mammals, and it referred only to how it was cooked. You couldn’t cook an animal in its own mother’s milk. If the ancient Judeans had had ancient chicken alfredo, that would’ve been fine. The rabbis of Talmud (by that point they were actual rabbis) expanded this law due to a superseding law whose name I can’t remember at the moment but the idea of that law is “don’t do anything that could look like you’re breaking Jewish law even if you’re not.” Since you can’t necessarily tell what a meat is without tasting it, or what kind of milk a dairy product has come from without tasting it, the expanded law says “just don’t eat meat and dairy together at all, it looks bad.” Other laws that exist now but didn’t then include the creation of an eruv and all laws surrounding Chanukkah, which celebrates events that didn’t occur until the 300s.

So TL; dr: yes, in theory Sun Tzu could have met Jews, or at least read our earliest writings; the Temple existed (although at that precise moment in time it was very small and not at all grand); and the laws of Judaism-as-we-know-it were just being formalized after a thousand years of oral tradition, so we were doing some stuff and not other stuff.

#you ask nina answers #Nina blogs Judaism

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