#written to break a writer's block

[manicr]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Dark Avengers (Comic), Marvel (Comics), Dark Wolverine (Comics) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Akihiro | Daken/Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter Characters: Akihiro | Daken (Marvel), Lester | Benjamin "Dex" Poindexter Additional Tags: Canon-Typical Violence, Anal Sex, Power Dynamics, Light BDSM, Mild S&M, Breathplay, Toxic Relationship Summary:

A conversation about their relationship.

#manicr writes #bullsnikt #daken #bullseye #marvel #written to break a writer's block #some smut and some angst

[tswwwit]

Med student dipper finding bill on the verge of dying and panics, I mean sure he's an ass but he doesn't deserve to die

Sure, here's a thing!

The body lying before him is a mess. And that's putting it politely.

Dipper's clenching his jaw tight, and the expression he's wearing can't be reassuring. He schools it back to a neutral state, trying to take in -

There's a lot to take in.

All his training, the tests. The patient practice and medical diagrams. Nothing prepared him for a body like this. All this blood, not in vials or on the cool white sheets of a hospital bed, but bare and leaking on the ground. Nothing between him and the reality that life is fragile, and can end so, so soon.

Training fails. So does tact.

Dipper takes a shaky breath, and says, "You're dying." "Pfft, hardly." The demon waves an idle hand - the one not holding his chest, failing to keep that weird, viscous blood inside. How he manages to smirk despite everything is a mystery. "I've had way worse!"

Bullshit, he's - A demon, sure, but anatomical facts are facts. With a hole that big, Bill Cipher shouldn't be moving, much less able to talk.

"This? Is basically nothing! Not even a patch on the times I've had a limb come off, or been impaled." Bill Cipher lies on the grass, waggling his hand in a so-so gesture. Despite the half-circle of chest missing, bitten right out of the torso. "Or even the time someone blew up this body's entire skull!" A low whistle, a shake of said very intact head - then a grin. "Though that one worked out pretty well, if I do say so myself."

Bill buffs the nails of his free hand against his ruined shirt, examining them with a bit of pride. How is he still moving.

Dipper stares at the concave gap in his torso. The slow leaking of the thick blood hasn't spread far, but it's just. Part of Bill is missing, Dipper finds it tough to look at. His stomach churns.

If it hadn't been Bill, it would have been him.

A dragon is. Well. A dragon. Who the hell knows why Dipper got snatched up and flown back to the den in the first place, but once he was there he wasn't getting out anytime soon. Or in one piece.

Dipper's talents aren't meant for combat, only trickery, and his chosen profession. Five minutes and three bites later, he'd have been a fairly forgettable snack. A random demon wandering in was the best stroke of luck Dipper's ever had, or could ever have, in a million years.

Hell, there's a lot of people who would take this entire situation as a win. One fire-breathing lizard gone, one fire-wielding demon about to follow. Two monsters, taking each other out with one stupid, pissy, ego-powered destructive battle.

Dipper, though, is perfectly fine. Aside from some burns and acid spit marks on his jeans, he's in great shape. He could just turn, walk away, and leave this monster to die next to the other, slaughtered one.

With this amount of damage, Bill Cipher isn't going anywhere. Eventually, he'll bleed out, pass out, pass away-

And Dipper would never forgive himself for letting it just... happen.

He takes a deep, calming breath. Lets it out, slow.

Okay. Back to basics.

He drops to his knees next to his patient. The scene is safe, the dragon's - Dipper glances over his shoulder - very, very dead. Bill himself is in no position to do much but be mildly annoying, by continuing to talk about more grievous wounds he's seen and experienced.

No airway trouble, since he's talking. It's amazing he's breathing at all. Even with a good portion of the lower chest gone, Bill hasn't passed out. And has enough air to talk, so. Probably fine? Yeah.

Dipper takes Bill's free arm in both hands. As a neat side effect, it stops the dramatic gesturing.

Pulse is.... slow, at first. But it picks up as Dipper takes it at the wrist, then a bit quicker at the neck. If this were a regular human he'd consider it bradycardia. By demonic standards, it's... probably fine? He thinks?

He checks Bill's face - grinning, and wiggling his fingers at Dipper - so, no signs of distress. He's not certain how to evaluate disorientation in a demon, either. Skip that for now.

So far, Dipper's working with the idea that this isn't immediately fatal. The next step is inspecting the wound, and see whether or not he can do anything about it.

"Okay." Dipper moves to check the damage, and finds it covered with ash, and shreds of cloth, and that acidic dragon drool - with this much in the way, it's hard to evaluate. "Bill, I'm going to have to cut your shirt off."

"Sure! Need a knife?" Bill produces one from seemingly nowhere. Dipper leans away, startled. That's. More enthusiasm than he expected. Bill notes his response, eyebrow rising. "What, you squeamish or something?"

"Uh." Dipper hesitates just a moment, but that's long enough for Bill to do the job himself, splitting his shirt open bare from chest to groin, which is. A lot. With a flourish of the knife, he lies back, tucking his arm behind his head.

And. What is there to say to that. "Thanks?"

Bill just gives him a slow, slow smile, and tucks his arms behind his head. Whatever look he's going for, it's too oozy to be effective.

Despite Bill's best attempts to be an ass about it, Dipper clears the wound area, as best he can. Not fully making eye contact, it's going to be bad. It's going to be a mess. Odds are he's going to have to tell a demon he's dying, even, and it's -

Dipper glances down.

It's.

The first, insane comparison that comes to mind, is 'like a cake'.

Bill's human enough. On the outside. Layers of skin, and muscle, and bone, and a considerable amount of 'blood' from the - Dipper feels it deserves the quote marks, now - 'body'.

But where there should be organs, and interstitial fluid, and a broken, leaking, seeping mess, a tangle of bitten flesh, there's. Not.

Organ-like shapes, certainly. They work unimpeded by any holes, pulsing, and alien. Apparently alive. Not spilling anywhere, either, since they're threaded through a pitch-black, non-leaky substance. This demon's body is like... layers of human fondant, over a weird jelly filling.

Dipper grimaces. Shakes his head, hand hovering. Not certain where to touch. Or if that would even be a good idea.

The human part is leaking everywhere, though. And when Dipper tentatively presses against it to slow the bleeding, one finger on the other bit - a couple drops of bright yellow ichor ooze slowly out, landing with a sizzle on the ground. He flinches back -

And Bill starts giggling. Like that freakin' tickled.

Dipper sits back up, shutting his eyes tight. He raises his hands as if in surrender. Which he's not doing, he just. Needs a second.

Overall, his professional evaluation is that the patient isn't dying. Not having a great time by any means, but outside of immediate danger. Theoretically, something could be done to help the... damage -

But. Bill Cipher's way, way outside of any of Dipper's experience. And that includes the several courses he's taken on nonhuman beings. Even the ones about demons, and otherwordly creatures, and spirits. Hell, the seminar he attended about elementals didn't mention this.

Bill is - or rather, Bill's wearing? Bill exists in? Some type of bizarre, semi-organic, mostly-magical hodgepodge of kinda-human kinda-demonic.... molded material? Specially created container? Oddly organized organic goop?

Whatever it is, Dipper's got no idea how it works. Or what would work on it.

"I don't-" Know what to do, Dipper almost says. Despite himself, his mind is racing. "I don't think I can fix you?"

The upturned inflection betrays him. Bill's grin brightens by several degrees.

"Now there's my curious guy! Part of you does know you can fix me! Don't overthink it, kid." He slaps the wound with a wet sound, making Dipper cringe back in sympathy. "You've got the mojo, so let's get things moving."

"I have life magic, yeah," Dipper adds. He fails to disguise the irritation in his voice. Shit, he has to learn to control that. Even if the patient's being a condescending dick. "I just. Don't think that works on demons."

"And typically, you'd be right!" Bill raises a finger, wagging it at Dipper. He almost looks proud that Dipper knew some random demon fact, like a weirdo. "Lucky for both of us, I'm in an... interesting body situation. Your stuff'll work just fine."

"No matter how much 'stuff' I have, there's nothing to reattach." Dipper gestures vaguely at the still-steaming corpse, smelling of iron and salt. There's a portion of Bill's torso in its stomach, and though the dragon's dead, he's not going digging around in there. He'd lose a limb in the attempt. "You can't regrow-"

"Stop thinking 'human', then. I'm nothing of the sort!" Bill chides, wagging a finger at him. Dipper pushes his arm back down, but it pops up again to snag him by the shirt. "All I need is some tailoring done on the flesh-suit. Super-duper easy for a guy like you!"

Dipper starts to protest. Then shuts his mouth, and ducks his head.

Maybe - just maybe - Bill has a point. Whatever this is, it's miles away from normal, what with how Bill's still alive and talking, to boot.

The sheer absurdity of Bill's body situation did make him hesitate. Wondering what he could do, with something this clearly, purely magical.

What Bill's proposing is still insane, of course. Dipper doesn't know why he entertained it in the first place.

Despite not having graduated yet, Dipper's used to helping save lives. He's done a few rounds, and shadowed several doctors. Bill's injury is the worst he's ever seen. He's the worst, most deadly being Dipper's met. Leaking and immobile as he is, he's still a demon. They're absolutely the worst.

But in terms of patients? Bill doesn't even rank in the top ten.

"Hello!" Bill's glaring. He clears his throat, and snaps his fingers twice. "Tired of waiting, kid. Do I gotta ring a bell for service here or what?"

Maybe in the top nine, or eight, though.

Dipper takes a deep breath, and lets it out. "Look. This is way beyond what I'm qualified to do." He squeezes Bill's hand, held in his own, and feels a deep sense of relief. "I can help stabilize you. Though you're, uh, pretty stable, and I can call an ambulance - " He glances around the woods. "Or. Get us at least closer to where I could call one. I might have healing magic but I can't just. Do it."

The entire idea is insane. Recklessly use medical magic on an unknown being? On a strange, unfamiliar semi-organic whatever the fuck body? Without knowing how, and where, and what type to use, any part of it could go wrong in so, so many ways.

Bill's asking so casually. Like it'd be easy. Maybe he thinks it is.

Sure, his 'body' might be fine. But it really deserves the quotation marks. Assuming that it's a type of magical construct, trying to 'fill in' his missing parts might work. Demons could, in theory, be able to synthesize a... something or other, out of Dipper's efforts.

But even if it is a construct - Dipper doesn't have the blueprints.

Bill's 'body' is very, very real, not some gossamer-thin creation. Both solid, and living enough to bleed. Without a plan to follow, while he poured regeneration into an organic form? One this complicated? He'd totally screw it up. The sheer amount of magic it takes to sustain it alone is absolutely insane.

"Fine. Then back the fuck off, if you're squeamish." Bill interrupts his train of thought, voice sharp. His teeth bare as he sneers, and Dipper makes another note on the 'not human' chart. "Or hey! Find a neat stick or something." He pats at the gap on his side like it's more of an annoyance than a grievous, leaking wound. "Gotta get something to prop me up so I'm not tilting forty degrees just trying to get around."

"Cut that out." Dipper uses his stern, professional tone, to zero effect. "You need to keep that clean." Probably. Does Bill even have an immune system, or-?

His train of thought gets interrupted as Bill pats around, finding a chunk of a blasted-apart log- then compares it to his wound, with a contemplative look. Like he's judging whether it's sturdy enough to replace the flesh and bone missing from his friggin' torso. Like he only needs to plug it up as a structural issue.

"Oh my god," Dipper says, and swats the stupid splintery thing out of this idiot demon's hand. "Do you want an infection?"

Bill opens his mouth. Presumably, he was about to make some quote-unquote 'witty' response, but Dipper's already covered his mouth. Running his over hand over his face.

"If I try to patch you up," Dipper starts, slowly. Already knowing he's doing something dumb, just so someone else won't do something dumber. "Will you please not shove anything into it. After."

"It's a deal, sapling." Bill gives him a smug grin, and an irritating thumbs up. "Go for it! And tell you what." The wink is totally unnecessary. "I'll even back you up on the magic front."

"Sure," Dipper says, very dry. Because transferring magic being-to-being is that easy. Everyone just. Hands it over, on a whim. Bill has lost a lot of blood, though. Maybe it's made him loopy. "Go for it."

That, at least, shuts Bill up. He hums a little tune, lying back and waiting for....

Dipper to do the dumb thing.

With a sigh, He sets his hands on Bill. His skin is bare, so there's a the brief relief that Dipper won't have to channel through it; a total lack of modesty does have minor benefits.

Another breath. Dipper shuts his eyes. focusing on his magic. Drawing it down, through his own source of life, through is arms, to his fingers, pressed into Bill's soft skin like he's testing the ripeness of a peach.

Welp. Here goes nothing.

Literally nothing, mind. Demons are powerful, and weird. Mortal magic doesn't mingle well, or easily, with the kind that demons throw around, and the form Bill's wearing looks hand-crafted. Whatever made it is going to be way beyond Dipper's ability to fix. Possibly beyond his ability to comprehend.

If he's lucky, though, he might be able to slow the bleeding. For some reason that hasn't really stopped, but it'll make transporting him less messy if he can manage to stem it. but the best case scenario is that he doesn't murder Bill outright in the attempt.

The first trickles of magic bleed into Bill's flesh, spreading through that layer of fondant, down into the jelly-donut center. His magic feels bone and blood. He feels the little tangling twine of veins, and the strings of muscle.

Following his training, Dipper pushes magic in. Carefully. Slowly.

A moment later, his eyes shoot open.

He stares at the wound. Then he stares Bill.

All he gets in return a is a big grin, and a nonchalant wave.

Dipper blinks back down a the gap in this demon, and how it slowly, slowly closes up without even being guided.

Fixing up a person would be a multi-step, long, lingering process. Like repairing the circuitry on a delicate electronic, or gently guiding the weave of a tapestry.

With Bill, Dipper's just. Pouring wax into a mold. As long as he keeps putting magic into it, it reforms back into shape. No blueprints needed.

Holy shit, this is easy.

What the fuck.

Whatever form Bill's wearing is truly bizarre. This is - he doesn't know - technically organic, but absolutely a constructed thing. How the hell was this made? Who did it? And what the hell, why is it growing back so fast?

Dipper nearly pulls back out of sheer surprise, intending to stop - before quickly realizing he can't.

He slams his palms back on Bill's torso, shivering as the small plumes of flame fade. Bill doesn't seem to mind; which both is and isn't a surprise. No blisters form, either, which proves Dipper's startled assumption about what the fuck just happened.

Swearing again, Dipper shuts his eyes, shoving harder against Bill's skin. No backing out now. He has to keep focus, and see this through.

Bill wasn't kidding about how easy this would be.

He also wasn't kidding about backing Dipper up with his magic.

Even though this is easy, Dipper wouldn't have enough on his own, not to heal a huge chunk like this. Too much missing material, even in a magical construct. Too complicated, and strange.

But Bill's here. A guy who's very invested in getting up and around again, and - shit, demons can hand over power to humans, it's kinda their thing. God, why didn't Dipper think of that before.

Though he started with a trickle, just to see what would happen, Dipper amped it up as things seemed to be working. A little increase to the stream of magic, admiring the effects.

Somewhere along that line, it turned into a torrent.

It figures. Bill's power must be behind this, and he's a demon, and an asshole. While Dipper wasn't paying attention, Bill opened up some kind demonic valve, without Dipper ever noticing.

There's a whole river of demonic magic coursing through Dipper's veins now. Arguably still controlled by him, but fed by a pushy demonic asshole. The magic doesn't feel bad at all, but it's big. Vast, and seemingly endless.

Demonic power courses through Dipper, hot and thick in his arms, lighter in his chest, swirling around his own heart, both his and not-his -

And all of it has to go somewhere.

Underneath his hands, the flesh.... flows.

Dipper watches the arch of the ribs, gently connecting back together, and the sheets of muscle blossom back. Skin spreads over what was empty air. Something is made from nothing, as full and complete as that power inside him.

Bill pulls Dipper's hand away from his chest, and takes a long, deep breath. His eye shuts.

And Dipper blinks as if coming out of a daze, jerking himself upright. He doesn't know when he started leaning over Bill like that, but now it feels super weird.

As Bill mutters something under his breath, wiping a hand down his face. Dipper backs up, then sits down heavily on the ground.

He didn't know he could - but he did that. Or Bill did that, through him. It's. A lot. To think about, and to have handled.

Either way, the result's slightly dizzying. As is the sheer amount of leftover magic.

For a moment, Dipper stares at his hands. He flexes his fingers, then rubs at them.

There's still a heady, warm sense of having way, way more to work with than usual, which is. Weird. But what's left no longer feels like it's being rudely shoved forward, and that makes it more manageable.

So. Kind of a controllable, reasonable level of absolutely absurd power. Without Bill powering him ,it should fade over time, and Dipper won't let himself miss it.

"Oof," Bill says, sitting up and stretching. "What a huge pain in the side that was!" He rises to his feet, brushing off dirt and debris. "Do you have any idea how many muscles a human shape needs to ambulate right? And there aren't any backups? Shitty engineering, if you ask me."

Dipper only vaguely pays attention to the rambling. Bill's up and about, and the patch of ground where he was lying is bare. Stained, but empty, and it's all -

Bill clears his throat, and reaches down. Dipper blinks at the intrusion of a sudden hand, but takes it and lets Bill haul him upright.

"That worked." Dipper says. He saw it with his own eyes and yet. "I can't believe that worked. How..?"

Bill says nothing, only smiles. Enigmatic, and dickish of him.

Dipper frowns as he runs a hand over the place where there was nothing only five minutes before. The temperature matches all the rest of the skin, and the stomach jumps a little under his touch. It's complete and solid, hot to the touch. Bill looks perfectly healthy, he guesses. But. "Are you doing okay?" Dipper asks, reaching up to take a pulse again at the neck. Much faster this time; maybe a sign that he's improved. "You look alright, but I don't know your vital signs." There's only one pupil, and it looks slightly dilated. Nothing to compare it to, sadly - Dipper frowns. "How are you feeling?" "Good question, sapling!" Bill takes Dipper by the wrist, lowering it to his shoulder. And winks, leaning in with what could only be called a leer. "How do I feel?"

"Uh." Dipper darts a glance down at his hands - resting on Bill's bare chest, the other on his shoulder.

This isn't - He was checking - Okay, fine, the assessment is over. Time to stop touching him.

Dipper takes a step back, clearing his throat. Bill follows, leer annoying wider.

Not that that's. Unnerving or anything. Dipper's just sweating because of the magic he used. That was pretty intense.

"Well, you're fine." He stammers, then grimaces at Bill's raised eyebrow. "I mean, you're okay-fine, not-" He manages to get one hand off the chest, but Bill's not letting go of the other. He lets out a nervous laugh. "So. You're all better, and I should, uh. Get going now."

Bill hums a little in thought. Clearly an affectation. Dipper doesn't have to be a mind-reader to know Bill's already made up his.

Pulling away doesn't work; Bill's grip is surprisingly strong. One might even say, inhumanly. So. Dipper offers a smile, weak as it is. "Yeah, I should really leave now."

"Nah, I don't think so." Bill shrugs, then grins again. "I didn't fight a friggin' dragon just for the prize to run off at the end."

Yep, Dipper figured.

Out of the dragon's den, and into the demon's.

He should have left Bill there to die and rot and be a dick somewhere in a demon realm. He should have known that stupid turn of luck was way too good to be true.

"Now you and I are gonna-" Bill's stomach jumps again, and he grimaces. Tapping a fist against his chest, he sucks in a breath through his teeth. "Ugh, life magic." He ducks his head, breathing slowly. "One sec, kid."

Dipper seizes the opportunity, wrenching his arm away and clutching it to his chest. He backpedals until he stumbles. In front of him, Bill growls - then rests his hands on his knees, and makes a small choking noise.

Oh thank fuck, Bill's not perfectly fine. Healed, sure - But something's gone wrong because he almost looks.... sick?

Dipper turns towards the woods - then pauses. He fixed him, sure, but - "Uh. Are you-?"

"Fine! Fine. 's just a side effect." A hiccup, and a dismissive wave. Bill stops, holding back a dry heave, then groans ."Won't last long, so don't try anything funny." He glares at Dipper, pointing at him like a command. "The second this is over, I'm-"

Before he can finish the sentence, Dipper's halfway across the clearing and rounding the dragon corpse. It blocks Bill's line of sight, and from there, it's a straight running contest. The nausea should by him some time to truly get the hell out of dodge.

Good thing it's still daylight out; he might be able to find his way back to civilization, or, like. Follow a river or something. With the extra power in him, he might be able to throw up a few illusions too. That should help keep the literal goddamn demon off his back.

What a goddamn mess today has been.

Dragons, demons. Magic and monsters and crazy assholes who have who-the-fuck knows what intentions after someone just helped their jerk ass.

This was supposed to be relaxing. A break before Dipper finally went into residency -

And much like other parts of his life, it's turned into a complete and absolute shitshow.

The pine trees whip past as Dipper keeps up a breakneck pace. God, he should slow down lest he sprain an ankle or something -

But behind him he hears Bill cursing, and there's a growing blue glow that's as terrifying as it is ominous. He picks up speed out of sheer terror, and makes a promise to himself.

Next time Dipper gets vacation, he's going absolutely anywhere that isn't Gravity freakin' Falls.

#answers #Warning for mild/moderately described gore but the person's fine cause it's Bill and he's a weirdo #Here is me attempting to break through the writer's block #Have some very silly bullshit #Written entirely in tumblr's draft thingy so apologies for any errors and the quality overall #I might have fun tag facts but I'll add them later when I think of it

[echo-stimmingrose]

“Leo!” Nyssa called, her voice echoing against the metal walls of cabin nine. Upon hearing no response from her little brother- he is probably listening to music at unholy decibels again- She opened the door fully, making her way back to Leo’s workbench. 

To her surprise, the cabin was quiet. Apart from the whirring of a few machines and the sounds from campers outside, the typically rambunctious cabin nine was entirely peaceful. Normally, on the rare occasions that this happened, she basked in the few moments of peace, however, currently it was just concerning. Leo hates the quiet. The kid gets all jittery when there's no noise to stimulate him and will make noise himself if necessary to keep his speedy little brain in check. 

She sped up, making her way through the maze that was their living space due to all the half-finished projects she and her siblings had lying about. She had tried many times to get them to keep their cabin even slightly organized but that was basically a lost cause at this point. (She was always a bit of a hypocrite when it came to keeping a tidy space anyway).

“Leo, Oh.”

The tightness in her chest loosened as she stopped at his work desk. Her little brother snored softly, his head resting atop his mountain of blueprints. She watched him for a moment, taking in his features. She noted the dark circles under his eyes and the way his cheeks sunk in ever so slightly. He hadn’t been quite the same since coming back, not that she could blame him after everything he went through, but she was still worried. Gently, she removed his skewed goggles from his face, before lifting the smaller boy into her arms -gods above this boy is tiny. With plans in her mind to feed him later -heavens sake, I’m turning into my Abeula- she brought him to his bunk which was, thankfully, already out. She tucked him under the covers and planted a kiss on his forehead. “Te quiero, Hermano.”

After turning off the lights (except for one near Leo's bed, as she knows he doesn’t like it completely dark), she left the cabin, heading back to the forges. 

“Didja find him?” Jake asked, looking up from whatever he was welding.

She nodded, “Yeah, he passed out at his workbench, you’re gonna have to do this project without him.”

She knew many of her other siblings were relying on Leo for this massive project they had wanted to do, (It was frankly ridiculous but they were excited about it so she didn’t say anything), but Leo’s health came first and she’d be sure to make that clear. Besides he had already done more than enough for all of them- The kid had sacrificed his life damn it, the least they could do was take care of him now.

“Oh- Well that's alright, we’ll manage. Gods know that kid needs more sleep.”

#This is short and poorly written but I am trying to despratly break out of a writers block atm #leo valdez #nyssa barrera #jake mason #hephaestus cabin #cabin 9 #pjo fanfic #percy jackson fanfiction #my writing #pjo fluff #heroes of olympus

[partystoragechest]

A story of romance, drama, and politics which neither Trevelyan nor Cullen wish to be in.

Canon divergent fic in which Josephine solves the matter of post-Wicked Hearts attention by inviting four noblewomen to compete for Cullen's affections. In this chapter, Lady Erridge has a revelation about Trevelyan and the Commander.

(Masterpost. Beginning. Previous entry. Next entry. Words: 1,840. Rating: all audiences.)

Chapter 23: Meddlesome Women

Now that Skyhold had settled down after all that excitement of the earthquake, Lady Tam Erridge decided she would take her afternoon walk.

Lady Erridge believed that no less than three walks a day were absolutely necessary for one to maintain a positive outlook on life. Fresh air and sunlight, she believed, were excellent for the mood.

And there was the added benefit that she could see all the banquet invitees arriving from the battlements, and, if she squinted her eyes, judge their manner of dress with extreme prejudice. She liked the Bann of the Waking Sea’s practical travelling gear. She did not like the Comtesse Bervard’s gown.

But eventually, this well of entertainment ran dry. Lady Erridge made her way back off the castle walls, and towards a place more proper for one such as her to be seen—the lovely gardens.

The gardens were quite in her good opinion. They reminded her of the ones at home—despite being much smaller—and also of the flowers dear Lady Orroat had sent her. Those poor things were dying off now, but Erridge had been sure to press as many as she could. She had plans to include some in her next letter home.

So pleased was she by these thoughts of dear Orroat, that Lady Erridge almost missed the sight of the Commander emerging from the keep. But the glint of his armour caught her eye, and she found herself quite abruptly dragged from her imagination.

“Commander!” she called. “Oh, Commander!”

It was too late for him to disappear back into the keep now. By the time he looked up and saw her, she was already most of the way over. She had even scooped her fluffy pink skirts into her hands, so that she might run faster.

“Oh, Commander, I am so glad to see you up and well,” she said.

And indeed, he did look well. Nothing like what Lady Trevelyan had described seeing, thank goodness—though perhaps his stubble was a little longer than usual. But Lady Erridge believed it perhaps suited him, to look somewhat more rugged. She would have to ask what Lady Trevelyan thought of it, later.

“Thank you, Lady Erridge,” said the Commander, politely. His voice was still stuck in that monotone he always used. “I was just on my way to—”

“Oh, yes, of course, I shan’t delay you long—I merely wished to come up and say how glad I was to see you well, and to tell you—”

The Commander settled in to where he stood.

“—how terribly sorry I was if the apple crumble I sent to you had absolutely any involvement at all in your sickness. Truly, I meant it only as a kindness.”

“It’s all right,” he told her. “It was… a different sort of sickness. The crumble was… good.”

Lady Erridge heaved an enormous sigh. “Oh, I am ever-so-glad to hear it. Lady Trevelyan said as much, and told me you enjoyed it terribly.”

“Ah… yes.” He began to step around her. “Now, I must—”

“Oh, but”—Erridge jumped into his path—“Commander, I simply cannot allow you to go without admitting to you a truth that has been weighing on my mind these past three days. Lady Trevelyan told me she would have none of the credit, but being that you enjoyed it so, I simply must tell you: it was not I alone who made that crumble. Lady Trevelyan gave me all her help.”

The Commander settled again, though this time more comfortably. It was the first time Lady Erridge had seen his stern gaze soften so.

“Oh.”

“I made quite a mess of my first attempt, you see,” said Erridge. “Lady Trevelyan swept in, so brilliantly, and helped me to clean up and try once more. It was she who cut the apples—and baked it, too! Oh, she was simply lovely. Perhaps she will help me make pickled eggs, to speed your recovery!”

The Commander smiled. Lady Erridge could scarcely believe it.

“She is a good woman,” he murmured, “a very good woman.”

“Indeed. She was so excellent at calming me down. Oh, she is ever so wonderful to talk to, isn’t she? Though, not quite as wonderful as my Lady Orroat—but no one’s conversation can compare to hers. It is as if… do you understand, if I say that it is so easy to talk to her, it feels like breathing?”

The Commander paused a moment, his eyes gazing away as if at nothing at all. “...I do.”

Lady Erridge opened her mouth to respond, but stopped herself. In a second that felt as forever, she studied his face. Every wrinkle his smile caused. All the softness in his eyes. That little blush upon his cheeks. Maker, no. It couldn’t possibly be...

The thought ought to have made her heart break. Yet instead, Lady Erridge smiled.

“She talks quite well of you, you know.”

The Commander startled. “I…?”

“Lady Trevelyan, I mean,” Lady Erridge said, her excitement growing by the second. “Says very nice things about you. Very nice.”

“Oh… I see. Well, ah…”

“You know,” interrupted Erridge, practically jigging, “I have just recalled that I have not yet sent my dear friend Lady Orroat the reply she will be waiting upon, and I do wish to do so before the sun sets. Farewell, Commander!”

“Oh—ah!”

Leaving him in confusion, Lady Erridge moved as a blur, running for the keep door. She burst into the Great Hall, giggling and laughing, and ran straight for the Lady Montilyet’s parlour.

“Lady Erridge!” exclaimed the Baroness, as Erridge barged through the door. She sat, sewing as usual, whilst Lady Samient reclined, reading, on the sofa.

Erridge collided into the back of it. “I have most exciting news!”

Lady Samient pushed herself to sit upright. “What is it?”

“The Commander is in love with Lady Trevelyan!”

The Baroness and Lady Samient looked at one another.

“Really!” said the Baroness, placing a hand upon her chest. “My, are you certain? How did you discover this?”

Lady Erridge prepared to respond, but was interrupted by Lady Samient:

“Baroness,” she scolded. “I know you are trying to be kind, but I am afraid it is patronising at best.” She looked to Erridge. “We already knew.”

Lady Erridge deflated like a popped pigskin. She stomped over to and collapsed upon her usual seat, ruffles and bows puffing out on impact. “Why did no one tell me?” she complained.

The Baroness gave her a sympathetic smile, and explained, “We did not wish to break your heart.”

“My heart isn’t broken!” Erridge insisted. “In fact, it’s rather full. Lady Trevelyan quite deserves love, and if the Commander is the one who can give it to her, then I will certainly not stand in their way. I think they could be sweet.”

“The only problem is,” said Lady Samient, “Lady Trevelyan does not want his love.”

Lady Erridge sat bolt upright. “Now it is you who is quite behind, Lady Samient! For I would certainly say that Lady Trevelyan holds the Commander in high regard. Why else would she go to such trouble to make him love one of us, if she did not think him worthy of love?”

The Baroness concurred: “I do believe she projects her affection for him so as not to feel it so keenly.”

Lady Samient tipped her head. “Fair. But if that is so, we should not meddle.”

“What?” gasped Erridge. “After all Lady Trevelyan has done for us? I say, from this day on, we use our time with him to make him hers, lest it be rendered useless!”

“That implies there was any use to it in the first place.”

“Lady Samient,” the Baroness scolded, in much the same tone as Samient had scolded her. “I do agree with Lady Erridge, we ought encourage their blossoming affection. However, I do not believe we should be blatant in our efforts. A simple steer, here and there, rather than a forceful push.”

“Such as?” Samient wondered.

“Something at the banquet tomorrow, perhaps.”

“We could have them sit together!” Erridge suggested, applauding her own idea. The Baroness nodded in agreement, directing her cane at Erridge:

“Exactly that.”

Lady Samient shrugged. “I suppose that is—”

The door opened, and the Ladies silenced themselves at once. With perfect practice, Touledy took up her sewing, Samient returned to her book, and Erridge looked the classic idle noblewoman.

Fortunate they were, for this quick thinking and practiced performance, as the one who walked in was Lady Trevelyan herself. Clearly, she had been through quite the day, if the layer of dust upon her smock was anything to judge.

“Ladies,” she greeted, before noticing their eyes on her dress. She glanced down, and tutted. “Maker! My apologies—I’ll be a moment.”

She stepped out of the room, briefly. The slapping of hands against fabric, like the beating of carpet, could be heard through the door.

In the moment they had, Lady Erridge instructed the others: “Not one word to her, agreed?”

They nodded.

Trevelyan returned, none the wiser. “How do I look now?” she asked.

“Beautiful as ever,” the Baroness told her, to no disagreement. “Though I do hope you have something else to wear to the banquet tomorrow.”

“Ha, naturally,” replied Lady Trevelyan, finding her seat. “I have just seen it to the laundry now, for the creases it sustained during its journey here. Mother had it sent specially from a dressmaker in Denerim.”

“Has the guest list intimidated her so?” Lady Samient teased.

Trevelyan chuckled. “Oh, undoubtedly.”

“Well,” said the Baroness, pulling a stitch taut, “I am eager to hear more of this attire.”

“I do not know what else to say of it,” admitted Trevelyan. “It is a dress. It’s a sort of… plum colour, I suppose. Embroidered, at the edges.”

“Plum? I see.” The Baroness rose, with another set of needles and thread and fabric in her hand. “Lady Erridge,” she said, walking over, “would you sew an elfroot onto this hankerchief, for me? You stitch leaves so beautifully.”

Lady Erridge assented, and raised her hands to accept the task. But the Baroness leant down a little further than she had expected.

“We must find out what the Commander is wearing tomorrow,” Touledy whispered.

“Why?” wondered Erridge.

“Because”—the Baroness winked—“we shall have them match.”

She pulled away and returned to her seat, leaving a starry-eyed Erridge in her wake. It was little wonder how Trevelyan noticed this, given that Lady Erridge, in her reverie, did not even acknowledge the sewing equipment that had just been handed to her, let alone touch it.

“Are you all right, Lady Erridge?” she asked.

“Oh!” Erridge hastily composed herself, snatching up a needle and thread as proof. “I am simply fine, Lady Trevelyan. My excitement stems from thinking of the banquet tomorrow.”

“You think it will be good?”

“No, your Ladyship,” Erridge said with a smile, “I think it shall be perfect!”

#cullen rutherford #cullen x trevelyan #commander cullen #unwanted #unwanted fic #coming out of writer's block is like breaking open a dam #i wrote this in one day #i kept it back so i could work on fully plotting the next arc #and get a bit of banquet written #so we don't have another 11 day gap as i plan #also check it pickled eggs mention lol

[padfootastic]

I like that you invision James as handsome beefcake majority of Hogwarts (and most definitely Sirius) had as a first crush.

But let's take it step further....James survives and raised Harry and poor Progslet had to deal with his dad being the DILF of his school year's (Lucius Malfoy wishes) and his classmates asking if his Auror dad is stopping by since Harry caused trouble again that year.

hehehe it’s a very indulgent headcanon, i have to admit. ash super believes in this but james’ was more of an approachable hottie whereas sirius was out of everyone’s leagues (and they all knew it) so it meant that a lot of people basically ended up crushing on james at some point in their lives. just like a casual ‘damn look at hin’ sort of a thing ykno? and he was so happy and charming and helpful that it just made the whole thing worse (or better?)

no ok but dilf james is such a fucking mood (have u seen that one art of dilf marauders? 👀) and i firmly believe that harry would be sick and tired of people lusting after his parents (either in a jily or prongsfoot or particularly, jilypad universe) like

‘oh yeah dad’s coming to pick me up’

‘oh i wouldnt mind being picked up by james potter’ *lecherous grin’ ykno?

x

Lucius Malfoy flicked a silk covered finger over his immaculate robes, adjusting the clasp minutely before stepping through the entrance. He stopped, briefly, as memories of being a carefree schoolboy assaulted his senses—the various smells of dinner laid out in the Great Hall, the warmth of the stone corridors that stayed so throughout the year, the overwhelming port sites moving around and talking. Lucius wasn’t one to reminisce, but it was hard not to in Hogwarts.

Once his momentary weakness had passed, he started a brisk pace towards his destination—the Dungeons. As he walked amongst the crowd of rowdy children—his Draco would never, he thought with an invisible shudder , looking at someone levitating a piece of gum up another’s nasal cavity—he began to note a sudden increase in whispers and glances. A quick glances around only proved his suspicion- it was him they were looking at. He suppressed a smirk at the look of awe and, dare he say it, appreciation lining many faces.

Lucius Malfoy was a vain man, he admitted it freely. He took great care of his looks and his body and while it wasn’t to impress school kids, it definitely didn’t hurt that such a picky group of brats liked it. He felt his chest puff up a little as he almost made it to the staircase. Maybe he’d invite Severus over for a drink tonight. He usually didn’t bother with the man beyond a professional relationship but the past few minutes had left him in good enough spirits to put up with him.

Suddenly, a boy stepped forward, mouth opening on a greeting. Dealing with these children was another thing Lucius didn’t like, but well, it’s the least he could do, right? He’s sure Draco would’ve mentioned him in a good light, and it’s no wonder they’re so impressed by him. After all, being Lucius Malfoy meant a great deal in the Wizarding World. Lucius had just started saying ‘He-’ when he was rudely interrupted by an unfortunately familiar voice.

“Cedric!” Lucius turned around and couldn’t help the sneer that lifted his lips at the sight of James Potter in all his uncouth glory. He was dressed in his Auror robes which should’ve made him look distinguished but the wrinkles, ill fitting muggle trousers, hideous boots and the visible holster only served to make him resemble a wind dried Hippogriff. “It’s been a long time, mate, how’ve you been?”

“All good, Mr. Potter. Do you—That is—Are you here long?” In front of Lucius’ incredulous eyes, the boy…Amos’ son?…ducked his head shyly as a red flush creeped up his neck. Something fell in place as Lucius noted the reaction, along with Potter’s friendly demeanour and affectionate smile. Another not-very-subtle glance around showed that all the eyes that had been on him so far had instantly snapped to the pair standing a few feet away. More than a few miscreants had their gazes aimed significantly lower than appropriate and this time, Lucius couldn’t help the low growl that escaped him at the realisation.

“Potter!”

“Oh hey, Lucy, didn’t see you there.” James Potter’s infernal grin looked personally designed to annoy him further and Lucius didn’t deign to respond—only stalked off with a pout sneer on his face.

#james potter #lucius potter #i know no one’s asking for these drabbles in the asks so i sincerely apologise #but y’all are giving me the best fodder and i’m taking max advantage #bc 1. need to break this writers block and 2. work on my drabble skills (currently nonexistent) #so pls excuse me while i do this lol #especially since u had literally 3 words in the ask that i ran with 💀 but i couldn’t help it #also the last line is a bit of a ~parallel #also lol i’ve never written a malfoy pov before. and lucius isn’t easy. so hope it worked #tumblr works #pen’s writing #pen’s asks

[moonshine-nightlight]

Peppermint: What’s your favorite way to overcome writer’s block? 

& Rosehip: First person, third person limited, or third person omniscient? 

from the tea ask game?

@myers-meadow

thanks for asking!

Peppermint: What’s your favorite way to overcome writer’s block? 

Tricky - depends on what type of writer's block.

If I'm not writing because life is super busy or stressful, then I wait for life to chill or start more officially setting aside time write. Often that can be frustrating because even if I manage to find a bit of time, my mind is still too stressed to actually use it well. It sucks to have to just wait, but often that's the best solution--if I'm in that sort of mindset where I realize I can't write, I stop trying because that'll just make more frustrated and stressed when I can't. Instead, if life is busy/stressful and i do find a bit of time to myself, I try to read.

If I don't want to write (which is usually because of stress tbh), then I either work on outlines or notes or worldbuilding--writing adjacent things. Or, per above, I read instead. I feel like reading makes me want to write, I think its good practice for writing, and it helps me de-stress: all of which encourage writing. Or I go do something else. Or I watched a new TV show or movie. Writing isn't my job and my livelihood doesn't depend on it so I get to just...wait til I want to again. And it was hard to give myself permission to do that, but I think my life and writing and my feelings about my writing are better for it.

If I have writer's block in the sense that I don't know what to write, then I usually just start jumping around between stories. I write out of order too, so sometimes trying to force myself to write the next piece of the story just isn't working, so I just write whatever scene or part I do want to write--even if its the last scene or for some story i don't think will get finished in a while.

If I get writer's block because I literally can't figure out what happens next in a scene or its not working for me or something doesn't make sense, then I focus on trying to articulate what isn't working and what I do want to be happening (literally or vibes wise). Or I might just again, skip that part for now, write the aftermath of the fight rather than the fight, which normally makes coming back to it easier. I also have some friends who are happy to be sounding boards or help me think of solutions (which is just the first thing but with my friend making considering noises as I ramble at them lol). Or maybe that part isn't necessary or however much I like the specific character beat, it doesn't fit there or at al and so it needs to be scrapped.

I realize this got super rambly and doesn't address "favorite" so TL:DR either reading or talking out the problem with a friend.

Rosehip: First person, [second person], third person limited, or third person omniscient? 

A blend of third person omni and third person limited is probably my instinct, but I've been trying to stick more closely to third person limited because writing mostly limited with just random sentences of other ppl is ultimately distracting (in a negative way) for the reader. Then second person more recently is my second choice. I never write first person and I hardly ever read it--just not a fan.

#asks #writing asks #story asks #tea writing asks #myers-meadow #writer's block #POV #i think ultimately writer's block is a only somewhat useful catch all term #which i think might be obvious from above #to describe a lot of reasons people cant write or a hit a wall #breaking down the cause of the writers block is very important #also why yes #i do have part of the literal last chapter of dale already written #and i do hav lik over 20 story ideas #what of it? ;)

[milflewis]

I just randomly remembered the Valewis teacher AU idea you've had and now I'm going feral over it, thought I should let you know 😭

anon pls….why would remind me of that…;—; i had forgotten about that brainrot and now it’s back again sob. it purely came from a picture of lewis in glasses and the desire to see him be fucked over an office desk by val. and then. like it usually does with me. it sort of spiralled. @jaytwo was no help in not encouraging me when they KNOW i already have so many wips open

#but like. valewis being absolutely oblivious about was it pierre and yuki ?? or charles idk can’t remember trying to set them up yes and #jenson being his usual brand of chaos. sewis academic besties and vaguely evil in the bg disney villian nando #ngl i had so much fun coming up with this au with naila. it’s always the best part of a wip imo. just coming up with shit #the writing part is what sucks ugh #i legit have the whole thing planned out in my head but not a single word written…hmm…maybe i’ll try writing some this week #i need smth to break this writers block #anon tag #niamh.asks

[crow-the-unknown]

Do I Wanna Know? - an 829 fic from both Nate and Cale's POV (pt 2) [slowburn into established relationship]

Cale had been the first to see it happen. They’d been playing at home against the Knights when Nate had won a puck battle in their end. Nate had flung it out of their end and to Cale the world had become slow. He barely even registered whose number it was, all he saw was Nate crumpling to the ice as whoever it was crushed him into the boards. The sound of the whistles filled Cale’s ears and he noticed Landy was already skating, gloves dropped, towards the Knights player. Cale was at Nate’s side within moments, kneeling beside him and shielding him a bit from where the scrum was happening. “Nate you have to move,” Cale whispered urgently, the forward only groaned in response, “Nate.”

Cale shoved the scrum away from Nate completely, standing only momentarily to shove a couple Knights players out of the way. “Hey! Get the fuck back can't you see he's hurt?” barked Cale, and they skated away. 

Cale dropped back down beside Nate, calling for a medic. He shoved the spark of rage that ran through him away, fighting wasn’t going to help. He should stay beside Nate. “That dirty bastard,” Nate cursed through gritted teeth, his face contorted with pain.

The medic rushed up to Nate, who was trying to sit up a bit on his elbow. Cale gave him a tap on the back and listened carefully to the questions being asked as he stood up and skated back to give them room. Cale hadn’t even noticed the scrum was over, hell, he barely registered that this was a game at all. Every ounce of his focus and concern was on Nate. He felt Landy give him a reassuring bump. “He’ll be alright,” Landy said, his hair mussed from the fight, his lip bleeding a bit.

“I know… are you good?”

“Oh, yeah. I think he had it a lot worse,” Landy pointed out with a smug glance at the battered, shouting Knights player. Landy dipped his head his way, giving him a I-beat-you-bad-and-you-know-it look before facing Cale again.

Cale laughed despite the ache in his chest. “That’s good. We’re gonna kick his ass the rest of the night, right?”

“Definitely,” agreed Landy with a solemn nod and he began tapping his stick on the ice.

Nate was finally to his feet, helped by the medic. He scowled and leaned in on himself slightly and the Cale motioned for the medic to give Nate to him. Nate flung his arm across Cale’s shoulder with a huff and let his weight rest on him. Cale smiled a bit. “You gonna be alright?”

“Sure. It’s just a broken bone or so,” Nate replied sarcastically. “I hate that I’m going to miss more time because of some stupid injury again. You better drop your gloves with him for me. A real boyfriend would,” stated Nate with a pained smile.

Cale rolled his eyes. “You’re insufferable… I would, but I think he’s gonna get suspended for that. I can do you the favor of helping us win, is that good enough for you?”

Nate contemplated for a few moments, he leaned on the boards as they’d made it to the bench. Cale watched him with fond sadness. It hurt to see Nate get injured again. Players had a bad habit of targeting him like that. “Fine.”

Nate was led through the bench door and Cale followed. Nate leaned on the wall and motioned for the medic to step away and go ahead, insisting he could get back on his own. He grabbed Cale’s wrist and rubbed his thumb over it with a small smile. He grabbed his side with his other hand and Cale felt a pang of pity for him. “Thanks for keeping me away from the scrum, by the way.”

“Yeah, no problem, Nate. I’ll play like hell for you out there.”

Nate nodded, and said, “I know you will. I’ll see you at home.”

Cale watched as Nate made his way down the tunnel and murmured to himself, “Yeah, see you there…”

From then Cale’s attention was mostly on the game at hand. His mind was blessedly clear of worry for Nate, as he seemed pretty good. Nate was tough, and a fast healer. He’d be back on the ice before Cale knew it. It helped that they’d beaten Vegas, too. There’d been plenty of intensity, as Nate had gotten hit in the first period and that gave them plenty of time to stew on it. Cale had even hit a bit, and it’d taken a lot of his willpower to not drop his gloves in the blink of an eye. He’d leave that job to Landy;  who’d started another scrum and when Vegas had began one he’d been the one to finish it.

Cale had been happy to leave the eccentric Ball Arena, though. He didn’t bother hiding it, at this point the team had been well aware of him and Nate for months now— they were getting close to their one year anniversary, actually— and Cale had been the first to leave the locker room. He’d headed home immediately, eager to check up on Nate. He pulled into the driveway, finishing up one of the snacks that he carried in his car as he grabbed his water and made his way to the door, keys in hand. Cale quickly snagged a Biosteel from the fridge before coming into their living room where Nate was curled up on the couch. He was in sweats, wrapped up in a blanket, and shirtless with bandages around his chest. Tea sat steaming beside him and Cale felt warmth bloom in his chest. 

Nate was never like this around other people. This gift was reserved for Cale only, a sign that Nate trusted Cale and was comfortable around him. Here in this house, Nate was fully himself. All gruff, tired, and kind six feet of him. Cale appreciated it more than Nate knew. He took a seat beside the forward. “How are you?”

Nate shrugged. “I’m alright. Fractured a couple ribs, I should be back by the end of the month or the start of the next hopefully.”

Cale nodded and leaned softly on Nate’s shoulder. He winced a bit but didn’t ask Cale to move. Nate shifted around and relaxed comfortably after a few moments. He messed with Cale’s hair absently. Cale loved the quiet moments like this. Nate could be a loud and passionate person, but around Cale he didn’t need to be speaking to show that same passion. Here, Nate could show affection with silence. He knew Cale liked it, knew that for him silence sometimes spoke better than words ever could. Cale wasn’t a big talker, he was short and sweet in his words, and he was never the one to speak when he didn’t feel like saying anything. So Nate had never pushed Cale for anything, it was nice. Now, they lay in the quiet, tiredness seeping into Cale’s soul.

Nate was tickling Cale’s back slowly when he spoke again, “You should go to bed.”

“I haven’t finished my drink.”

“Yeah, you haven’t even touched it, though. I can put it in the fridge for you to have tomorrow. If that’s really the reason you aren’t going to bed, that is.”

“Noooo,” Cale murmured. “Not just that.”

Nate smiled with a knowing nod. “That’s what I thought. I won’t be far behind if that’s what you’re asking. We can cuddle there.”

Cale didn’t move. “You’re such a liar, you’d never wake me back up,” he said into Nate’s warm skin, clinging to Nate’s blanket even tighter when Nate attempted to get Cale to move.

“How many minutes did you even play?”

Cale sighed, rolling his eyes. The unavoidable question in situations like this had finally come up. He sat up grumpily. “About thirty.”

Nate gave him a victorious and prideful look and he pointed out, “Exactly.”

Cale stood and crossed his arms. “If I’m going to bed, so are you.”

“Of course,” Nate agreed, even though they both know that Cale would immediately black out and Nate would be up well into the night on his phone. It was the banter they went through every night. Nate would fight to stay in the living room, Cale would fight to bring him to their room so he could fall asleep in Nate’s hold. So far, Cale hadn’t lost once.

So Nate stood, throwing off his blanket and kissing Cale’s forehead gently. He went ahead into the kitchen, Cale’s untouched Biosteel in hand just as he’d promised. God, Cale loved that man. He fell to sleep almost immediately, warm and comfortable as Nate played with his hair. Life was quiet. Life was good.

~~~

Nate hadn’t known what to do without Cale around. He couldn’t skate or be active, not with his ribs in the condition they were in. So, Nate had been awfully bored. Day in and day out he spent waiting for Cale to come home from practice. He spent time playing games on his console, scrolling lazily through Twitter, but all of the things he distracted himself with got boring. The only routine he had was physical therapy, but even that was monotonous. He’d done this many times before, but it was a lot worse now that he was used to being around Cale a lot. He hated the days when he knew Cale wouldn’t be home because they were on the road. He hated watching games, not playing in them. He missed the ice.

Cale had been steadfast as ever through it all. It was calming, having him so confident and collected. When Nate was scatterbrained and searching for things to do, Cale made the logical calls. If Nate was bored, Cale would easily point out the most obvious options like cleaning something, going for a walk, or even cooking— which Nate was notoriously terrible at. When Nate had objected to cooking, Cale had simply said it took practice and Nate had been unable to argue back. Cale was like that, so brutally and perfectly honest that he was left with no lingering thoughts or questions.

Nate had become infinitely clingier, too. He wanted to be around Cale for as long as he could when Cale was home, following him around constantly. Cale didn’t seem to mind, he never had. Maybe he liked it, being sought after so much. It wasn’t arrogant, but Nate knew that Cale liked being appreciated like that. And that wasn’t even mentioning how much more… intense Nate was getting. It was similar to when Cale and Nate had been secretive. When Nate couldn’t express himself completely and fully twenty-four-seven, it led to overflow at home. It was a good overflow, though. Cale might try to hide it, but Nate knew him well enough to understand that Cale was feeling the same way, too. Touches were more frequent and long, kisses were more passionate, every word became laced with longing. 

Cale had finally gotten a day off after a road trip one night, and the two were able to have time together for the first time in over a week. Nate had honestly been surprised when he’d come heavily down the stairs only to find Cale at their dining room table, eating a bagel with cream cheese on it and sipping occasionally on his coffee. He’d looked up casually, smiling as he took in Nate whose hair was mussed out of control, blanket flung lazily around his shoulders, eyes squinted from the morning light. “Hey,” greeted Cale.

Nate blinked slowly, peering at Cale skeptically. Was he missing something, or was he just bone dead tired? He pointed towards Cale absently. “You… have the day off?” he drawled tiredly.

“Yeah,” began Cale as he stretched back in his seat and yawned. “Jared said I could take a day with no practice, to help regenerate some of my strength from the road trip. I’d have been stupid to miss out on my chance to be around you. I’ve missed you.”

Nate’s expression crumpled into pure, tired joy, his cheeks warming slightly. Cale watched him, eyes glinting with affection. Nate waddled over and took a seat beside Cale, reaching forward to rest his hand along Cale’s peach-fuzz jawline. He watched him for a few moments before leaning in and giving Cale a I-missed-you-too kiss. Cale practically melted into it, and Nate felt him relax comfortably. Nate wouldn’t describe this as aggressive, just… longing. Cale had been away too long. Cale gently pushed him away. “Breakfast is on the counter, one of those liquid IVs, too.”

Nate grinned and ditched his blanket, snagging his food and returning to the table. Nate felt a stab of appreciation as he noticed Cale had made his favorite kind of omelet. He mixed the liquid IV a bit more before taking a long drink of it and setting it down again. Cale’s hand strayed to his, and Nate was quick to interlock his fingers with Cale’s. Nate closed his eyes with a smile, the silence for once comfortable. Cale stood after a few minutes and took his plate into the kitchen, putting it in the dishwasher as he asked, “What do you want to do today? I’d offer to take you to skate, but, we all know how that would go. Is there anything you were thinking about doing?”

Nate shrugged. “I wasn’t expecting you to be home, so, I don’t know. I could ask Shawn if he thinks I’m about ready to skate again, if you wanted.”

“Do you think you’re ready for that?” Cale asked plainly.

Nate stared at him, unimpressed. “Of course I think I’m ready. I always do, and then I ask him and he tells me no. Believe me, I’ve tried.”

Cale strode back to Nate, bending over to rest his arms across Nate’s chest as he laid his face gently into Nate’s hair. Nate grabbed one of Cale’s hands and traced along his knuckles faintly. “You could try asking again,” whispered Cale. “Only if you think you’re really ready, though. Don’t do this just because you’re trying to impress me, we can find something else to do if you aren’t up for it.”

Nate rolled back his shoulders contemplatively, testing how his ribs felt as they flexed and moved. There was a dull stab of pain, but nothing really major. He tilted his head to the side in thought and Cale stepped away, taking his seat beside Nate again. He pulled out his phone and quickly texted Shawn. Luckily for them, he was a quick responder. Nate grinned and faced Cale, eyes glistening with childish excitement. Should he feel this good about it? Probably not, but still he jumped to his feet and snatched his keys off of the counter. “Let’s go,” he beckoned.

Nate grabbed Cale by his arm and heaved him up. Cale was smiling faintly, speculatively. He raised a brow and gave him a knowing look. Nate looked around wildly. “What?”

“Do you think you might be missing something?”

Nate paused. Oh… yeah,  he realized, shirt. Shoes. Hoodie… He should probably get ready first. Nate smiled a bit sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck. He hesitated. “It’d make the skate all the more interesting if I just went like this…”

Cale gave him a swift, light punch to his bicep before pulling him forward and giving him a short kiss. “We could at least try to be civil. Now go get a shirt on, I’ll be in the car.”

Nate shook his head but made his way upstairs anyway. Cale got what he wanted. Nate shuffled through his closet, throwing on a plain tee before putting on his socks and shoes. Cale was in the passenger seat when he got in the car and Nate laughed. “Can’t believe you’re making the injured man drive,” he sighed as he turned the keys in the ignition. “Unbelievable, Cale. And to think I thought you loved me.”

“Oh shut up, your legs aren’t broken,” Cale retorted as he clicked in his seatbelt and stared out the window. 

Nate loved this side of Cale. The quirky, lighthearted side of him that made him crack sarcastic jokes that he finally didn’t feel guilty about. After some time, the rest of the team had gotten to know this, but Nate had been one of the first to stop brushing Cale off as just as awkward and quiet as he seemed. Cale was intense in his own way, like the deep cold of icy waters compared to the forest-fire heat Nate had. Cale was also expressive in his own way. He was subtle, yet effective. It had taken Nate all too long to figure that out. Part of him was still jealous at how easily someone like Gabe could pick people apart, but maybe that came with being captain for so long. 

Nate blinked, snapped from his thoughts by the abrupt cutting of the car’s engine. He’d barely even noticed that he’d been driving (which was probably not the best thing in hindsight). He mechanically took his keys out of the ignition and got out of the car, hand resting on the door as he hesitated closing it. Cale watched him from over the roof, eyes squinted in the sun, head tilted at a curious angle. “You alright, Nate?”

Nate closed the door, and walked up beside Cale. He ran his hand through his hair absently and shrugged off the Denver chill. He nodded, lips pursed. “Yeah. Just thinking.”

Cale took Nate’s hand in his own and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Nate smiled faintly. Cale’s cheeks were already pinked with the cold, but Nate didn’t fail to notice how much deeper they got as Nate interlocked their fingers together. He playfully bumped Cale away and the defenseman returned the favor with a laugh. Nate sped up slightly, jogging ahead to open the door to Ball Arena for Cale. Nate bowed jokingly and Cale shook his head. “You’re a dork,” he said as he came through the door.

“Yeah, but I’m your dork,” Nate retorted, not bothering to appear falsely offended like usual. They were alone here, after all.

Cale threw back his head in laughter and they made their way to the locker room to put on their skates. After a few minutes Nate was going through the tunnel, ready to set foot on the ice for the first time in three weeks. Shawn was standing there patiently, he looked up from his phone, visibly noting that Cale was there. “Do you want me out there with you?”

Nate looked towards Cale with a smile. “No. You’re good.”

“Alright,” Shawn replied and patted Nate’s shoulder, “take it easy. If you feel like you need to stop, do it. Go slow.”

Nate nodded and watched him go. Cale went ahead of him and Nate closed his eyes with a grin as he heard skates cutting through the ice. He’d almost forgotten how much he’d loved those noises. He stepped forward, slow to get his stand on the ice. It felt surprisingly good. Cale was watching him closely. Nate dug in his heels and strided forward, the confidence he had on skates so stark in comparison to walking. God, he’d missed this. Cale smiled brightly as Nate skated closer and pulled him in for an embrace. Nate clung to the fabric of Cale’s hoodie and breathed in the fresh, clean smell of it.  He felt Cale’s hand  at the back of his neck, his fingers brushing through the short, brindle hairs. The boards rattled a bit as Cale hit them, Nate had been unaware that they were even skating back.

Nate pulled away a bit, he could hear Cale breathing. His cheeks were deep pink, and Nate was so close he could see the specks of hazel in his blue eyes. The rink was quiet, it was just them. Here in this moment, together. “How do you feel?” Cale asked, precautionary.

“Great,” Nate breathed, “... perfect, actually.”

 “Then let’s do what we came here for; skate.”

So they did, and after a few long minutes of getting his body used to it, Nate was skating almost like normal. Nate felt light with relief. He’d longed for the ice ever since he got injured, and he was finally back. Well, in some way. He kept a steady pace for the better part of an hour, but he could feel his body tiring. Nate shoved the dull sting in his ribs away, and Cale didn’t seem to notice. Not until he’d seen Nate wincing as he skated to where their water was. 

“Nate,” Cale had begun firmly.

Nate took a drink, leaning into himself a bit. He looked at Cale with his most reassuring smile, but the defenseman was unimpressed to say the least. Nate jumped up and sat on the edge of the boards where the bench was. Cale was eyeing him intently, silently imploring him to say the words Nate hated to say. They stayed in silence for another few tense moments, but eventually Nate finally gave in. Nate sighed, Cale got what Cale wanted. Maybe he should be more stubborn. “Let’s stop,” he admitted. Cale remained loss-less.

Cale nodded and uncrossed his arms. For a moment, Nate felt like a kid again, being scolded for staying out on the ice too late and missing dinner. A wave of nostalgia hit him; all the memories of the dock and the rusty net at home that were long since in need of replacement. Of buying posters of Sid and of the pride he felt over sharing the same hometown as his idol. Of begging his dad to go out and use the hose to renew the ice just so he could keep skating. He’d come so far, but standing here, skating for the first time in weeks, Nate couldn’t help but feel like that little kid again. The one who’d only wanted to live up to what his idol had been, and the one who’d always felt like it’d never happen. Hell, he still felt that way and somehow, despite everything, Nate couldn’t seem to shake it off and maybe he never would. 

Maybe Nate was too harsh on himself. Too self-critical to see how far he’d really come. Nate might be competitive and aggressive on the ice, but he didn’t want to boast. Because to him, every step was not far enough, every mile too short. That’s seemingly how it’d been. People loved to put him on this pedestal, but could they really mean it when they said he was better than someone like McDavid? When they sang his praises, did they all really believe he was as great as Ovi, or as stellar as Sid had always been and still was? Of course not. 

Yet, there was still time, wasn’t there? Sid had come into the league red hot, a shining first pick like Nate that was burdened with expectations. How could Nate sit here and say he wasn’t good enough when Sid had taught him better? He couldn’t. Especially not when he was here, right now, loved and accepted for who he was. Cale had shown him that even better than Sid ever had. Between late-night embraces, early morning omelets, and afternoons spent simply existing together, Nate knew that his own expectations for himself didn’t mean anything. He had Cale, and Cale believed that Nate was perfect just the way he was. That was enough. Cale, honest and compassionate, was enough. Nate himself was enough.

#829 #cale makar #nathan mackinnon #hrpf #mens hockey rpf #this is the part where they have an established relationship btw #idk if i'll keep writing this specific storyline chronologically lol #cos i want to write some of the in-between period where they're together but ooooo no one can know 0-0 #aka i wanna write nate being infinitely clingier and touchy since he can't show it in public or around the guys #so look out for that next maybe... probably written as a flashback or something idk #also i have some ideas for 692 so i might break and do that instead of 829 :) #just for a little while though don't worry 829ers #i've been fighting writer's block tho so... it might be a bit ':]

[lunaetis]

@avaere asked :

There is a letter addressed to no one else than Eula Lawrence, her named written with such pristine caution, yet scribbled by the hand of someone whose writing has been neglected for the sake of weaponry;

"Dear Eula,

The lantern rite is growing near and i find myself far more occupied on these busy days. Swirling around in the street is various food, stalls pulling up, readying themselves to partake in Liyue's highlight. You would enjoy this, I am certain; maybe we could share drinks under the lanterns some day? To walk the pier of Liyue alongside you would do me well.

I miss you, and the days without you grow tedious.

In moments of solitude I find myself dreaming back to our heated moment in the moment. The memory of your lips against mine, hands on my chest, keep me warm on nights the cold prove bothersome; I have never felt such belonging as the one I found within our entangled hands, lusting bodies.

Next time I want to feel all of you, over and over again. I want your hands around my shoulders, your breath mixed with mine... even writing this makes my chest ache with desire, longing.

Would you meet me in Liyue for the lantern rite? For you I would make time, all the time you'd want and need. I would show you the beauty of the Land of Mora, even though it falls bleak in comparison to you, and we could wish together under the lanterns (I will show you how).

The way you uttered my name under your breath still rests with me on lonely nights... It keeps me company for the time being, making sure nightly hours go by faster.

I hope to see you,

I will wait for you in Liyue.

Yours truly,

Ajax."

LANTERN RITE ( unprompted. ) || always accepting

─「エウルア」─  heels clicked against the street lined with cobblestone, making a rather distinct sound as the KNIGHT CAPTAIN stepped out of the ordo favonius headquarter. the latest expedition and mission had been a success and with the report itself being given to the acting grandmaster, the lawrence heir paused her step for a moment, pondering her next move now that she was given a bit of a FREE TIME after a long mission. the knight had sent her team members back to their homes, knowing how their families would want every second they could give now that they were back in mondstadt. the night air was, in a way, quite comforting. dual-colored hues lifted upwards, only to take notice of something.

                a ... bird ? a HAWK ... no, a falcon was flying over her way. it took eula a few moments to realize that it indeed was heading towards her that she held out her arm, allowing the winged creature to land safely in a graceful perch. what caught her attention was an envelop tied to its leg. she could make out the front of it that addressed with her name.

                " you have something for me ? " the FALCON itself seemed friendly enough, as she carefully untie the envelop from its leg, walking over to the nearby bench and letting the winged hunter perch on the armrest while she focused her attention to the envelop at hand.

                at first glance, while she didn't immediately recognize the handwriting as someone she knew, the way her NAME was written in such care was more than enough to have her heart race a little. there was a sense of anticipation as she opened it, eyes scanning the content of the letter and absorbing each word carefully. she could feel her heart thumping louder the more she went on, the more she took in the written words filled with emotions as though she could hear his VOICE so close to her ears.

                gloved digits gently traced over the words written by a hand that was used to hold a WEAPON than a pen. archons ... she missed him. reading his hand-written letter like this, she wanted nothing more to see him once again. how it had been weeks ever since their last meeting. since when had she grown so impatient when it comes to their absence ? as it seemed, she wasn't the only one feeling that yearn after their night of intimacy. how she could still feel the warmth of his fingers against her skin, the words of love whispered so ardently under the foggy mountain and snowy landscape. how he held her so carefully, treating her like she was his TREASURE rather than a soul damned by the past like those around her would.

                " lantern rite ... " she remembered that, remembered the time dated back a year ago when she saw the floating lights in the distance while she stood upon THE TOP OF DRAGONSPINE, remembered the way his form stood right next to her and telling her about the festival celebrated in liyue. she still even recalled wondering why he was there by her side instead of celebrating it with those he knew in the land of contract itself. the question, of course, was never uttered even now. she only had a few guesses on her end.

                it was the first time she saw him smile a little differently from his blood-thirsted one.

                " had it already been a year ... ? " time sure flies. thinking back to their FIRST MEET, surely the aristocrat wouldn't have thought their relationship would take such a turn. many things changed during the year, and her lips couldn't help thinning as she gazed warmly over the yearnful words he conveyed through his handwriting.

                for you i would make time, all the time you'd want and need.

                aah ... her eyes were BURNING slightly when she read this. he was the only one who had made her priority, he was the only one who would treat her as though she was something special, as though she was his whole world and words were stuck in her throat as she inhaled sharply. how was it possible that everything he did was making her heart race like this ? the LAWRENCE HEIR could never explain it.

                but ...

                gloved digits came to caress over the crimson sigil she had been wearing on her person ever since the day he gifted it to her. he had always been the one who came to her. he RETURNED to her after a long journey back home to the land of winter, and he sought her out in the city of mondstadt itself when he couldn't find her in the snowy mountain. that was why ... she wanted to go to him.

                tenderly and carefully, she folded the letter and put it back into the envelop, gathering the WINTER FALCON perching next to her. she scratched the bird of prey's head gently as though to thank the creature for delivering this letter to her before heading back to her living quarter. she had a letter to write.

                the SNOW FALCON was once again seen flying through the sky of liyue after a successful delivery to the LAND OF FREEDOM. as it returned to its master, however, this time, carried with it was a unique envelop containing a specific sigil belonging to the SPINDRIFT KNIGHT. upon the front of the envelop itself was the name ajax written in blue ink, the very color of the lawrence heir as the content of the letter itself was unfolded to the eyes of the reader.

dearest ajax,

thank you for your letter. i have received it safely. such a wonderful companion you have there. winter falcons are said to be extremely difficult to tame and train, yet i am not surprised that you manage to do so.

your skills in taming wild animals aside, i have to admit that when i first plan to write a reply, i had thought of detailing my feelings for you and how your absence had been felt so dearly by me. how you had been occupying my thoughts, in wake and slumber, or how despite myself being accustomed to the cold weather, not feeling you here with me had affected me in ways i couldn't put into words.

that, and i hardly think that even having been educated and given various classes as to how should conduct oneself and express oneself through words and written form, i am certain there is no known vocabulary i possess within my knowledge could convey the ardent feeling i have for you. any words i could choose would pale in comparison to what i hold in my heart.

i want to show you the extent of my feeling in person, for you to see the way my eyes would glimmer just a little brighter as you had light up the world for me, the way my cheeks would rise in temperature when our hands made contact, or the way i'd have no control of my heart increasing in its rhythm in your presence. i want tell you the depth of my love for you that words cannot hope to capture.

the lantern i had seen with you last year upon the mountain of dragonspine, i want to see them with you again and make that wish together.

ajax ... my ajax ...

please wait for me.

this time, i will be the one to come to you.

eternally yours,

eula lawrence

#avaere #.answered #.[ eula.lawrence ] #.[ you are the only person who has ever been able to find me: tartaglia & eula ] #[ i WAS SO DETERMINED TO GET THIS DONE -BEFORE- THE LANTERN RITE #I HAD BEEN WANTING TO GET TO IT FOR DAYS #but i'M GLAD I MADE IT IN TIME #also omg i'm so mad at beta editor bc i accidentally press ctrl+z while writing this #& IT ATE THE WHOLE LAST PART OF MY REPLY INCLUDING THE LETTER I HAD ALREADY WRITTEN OUT #SO I HAD TO REWRITE THE WHOLE THING & IT'S NOT THE SAME BUT HJLKHJLKHJKL I HOPE IT'S STILL GOOD #TUMBLR I S2G WHY YOU DO THIS TO ME #BUT YES LOOKIT ME BREAKING MY WRITER'S BLOCK BY WRITING THESE TWO #writing abt them makes me so happy cries thank you aven ] #.long post

[teamatsumu]

One advantage of short form writing that is now popular on tumblr is that if you are going through a bit of a writer’s block, you can just write a paragraph or two and post it. You dont necessarily have to elongate an idea into a full fic if that’s something you are struggling with

#🐥 fatima talks #i have written nothing but drabbles for a month #and somehow that’s enough #and it will eventually break the writers block i know #which is great

[cactusfinch]

good news for my fic readers: signing up for Yuletide has reminded me that I have an Alchemy of Souls fic that is unfinished so I've written another 500 words on its last chapter. bad news for my fic readers: those 500 words were not on Bitter Spring or No Charm Equal.

#but i hope some of you sign up for yuletide! #you might get 1000 words written by me! #or you could write 1000 words for me 🥺🥺 #(and hopefully this exercise will break some writer's block for my other fics) #also obligatory nudging for someone to nominate the white queen or medici i so i could write for them

[marigoldenblooms]

That's a Wrap - One Shot

Pairing: Director!Natasha x Fem!Actor!Reader x Actor!Wanda (MINORS DNI - 18+)

Summary: You and Wanda can’t seem to get this scene right. With your director’s help, you manage.

MINORS DNI - 18+

Tags: Is Y/N in the room with us right now (They aren’t), Dom!Natasha, Switch!Wanda, Bottom!Reader. Dub-con, power dynamic (Director/Actor), voyeurism, degradation, praise, semi-public sex, semi-orgasm denial, light edging, objectification, oral (W receiving), fingering (R receiving), strap-on use(R receiving), some pet names (baby, sweetheart, darling, ma’am, Tasha(For N), Wan/Wands(For W), Mommy(For W, used loosely)), Nat calls her strap her dick, semi-previous established relationship? Porn with plot, clothed sex, sextape, light aftercare, fluff at the end. 

A/N: Welcome to the first issue of Smut Saturdays! Want to really create some good shit in this genre, so I'm posting at least one spicy fic every Saturday (if I can help it)! This came to me in a vision (called the five minutes before my math class)- After my last smut fic did well (An Important Lesson, Prof!Wanda x Reader, which you can read here), I thought I’d do some WandaNat practice! Not proofread, written in the span of an evening. This is a crime against intimacy coordinators, I’m so sorry. Asides over. Natasha wears a strap to her films and she can dick me down with it, please and thank you!

Word Count: 2.4k - Read Length: 8 minutes, 49 seconds.

~~~

It was never fun when the producers came by. 

They’d always arrive in droves of two or three, never the top dog- as if Natasha’s ‘avant-garde chick flick’, as they called it, wasn’t worth their time. They certainly treated it as much. Today was the worst day for them to arrive, in pressed jackets and always on a phone call, because today you were filming the sex scene. It was more of a ‘romance’ scene, with alluring cinematography and enough passion to make your eyes fall out, yet you hadn’t even gotten to remove any clothes from your beautiful costar- Wanda. You knew she was incredible, her previous films as a fem fatale showing her dominant streak, however the spark couldn’t burn when interruptions from the suits kept happening. You weren’t on a porn set, and yet sometimes you wish you were. Might’ve been faster, or at least more fun. 

“From the top,” A groveled voice muttered, Natasha’s steely gaze breaking into your skull-  though a part of you wished she’d break your back. The redhead had always been an inspiration, one of the leading reasons for your participation in her project, besides her being so fine. But now, she looked pissed, worn down by hours of appeasing the producer’s half-baked suggestions and guarding you and Wanda from their prying eyes. “Yes Ma’am,” you replied, earning a slight chuckle from your director, the twinkle in her eye not lost on you- she was on her last legs, but it was yours and Wanda’s compliance that kept her going.

You’d return to your blocking, centered in the middle of your ‘apartment bedroom’, with Wanda’s hand placed gently on your waist. Your roles were lovers, reuniting after a long day of hardship, slowing down after it all. You’d stare up at her, the mild exasperation in your expression making her smile. She’d send a wink down to you, muttering something about being ‘bored too’, but ‘not hating kissing you again’, or the like. She’d invited you out to coffee tonight, and especially after a day like this, you’d take it. Perhaps you’d even forget the paparazzi and really kiss her as you’d been wanting to do this whole shoot. Throw a bone to the fanfiction writers and make their canon comply with reality. Maybe. It was Natasha’s words which startled you from your thoughts, a look of tenderness overcoming your face as you’d sink into your character, “Action!” 

Within an instant, Wanda hiked her hands under the hem of your shirt, eyes darting down to your face. Her palms were warm against you, smooth against your soft skin, as your head rested gently on her shoulder. She’d tug at the fabric- and you’d send her a quick nod, smiling as you’d lean up to capture her lips in yours-

 “Well that’s not very marketable!” A producer would crow, scoffing with both his hands outstretched towards the two of you. You’d freeze, feeling all of the passion drain out from the scene, no more than a shell of itself. His bald head wasn’t very marketable, looking like a morally dubious Mr. Clean- and yet you didn’t comment on it. He’d look at Natasha, the woman pinching the bridge of her nose with a stern sigh, and you gulped. Oh, shit. She was going to lose it. “Can’t you get their clothes off faster? Our focus groups won’t wait around for-”

“Fucking Christ, get- out!” Natasha shouted, a growl in her tone bringing heat to your face. She scowled, roaring to the surrounding suits, “Leave, get off my set- it’s my fucking turn to direct them.” Her hands would fan away their deer-in-headlights looks, ushering them out before locking the door. Her fiery gaze would bore into you then, jaw locked as her heels would click towards you and Wanda, many feet apart. 

The two shared a knowing nod- And before you could speak, your director grabbed Wanda by her shirt collar and pulled her into a bruising kiss. Your jaw would drop as the brunette’s eyes widened, fluttering shut as Wanda moaned into the embrace- Natasha’s hands planted firmly on her tits. She’d squeeze them, earning a gasp from Wanda, your costar’s head swung back as Natasha swiped her thumbs across her nipples. Your director’s gaze would strike yours, and you understood why Wanda’s submission was so quick. You shuddered at the redhead’s gleaming smirk, her voice a husked whisper, “Get those clothes off and get on the bed for me, baby. Now.” 

“Yes, Ma’am.” Your reply was instant, Natasha’s grin only widening as you’d shed your layers, kneeling on the mattress’s soft sheets. They were cold, goosebumps settling up your spine yet you wouldn’t move, eyes trained obediently on Natasha. You were so perfect for her. 

Natasha’s mouth would return to Wanda’s, pressing her into the faux wall that had outlined the bedroom. Her hand would splay against Wanda’s stomach, and you saw how she hiked up the shirt there, continuing to palm her tits while unclasping Wanda’s bra with the other. She’d pepper kisses across the brunette’s neck, sucking hickeys the lower she’d go. 

They’d part only so Wanda’s top could come completely off, your director keeping a claiming touch on Wanda’s hip as she’d look back at you over her shoulder. Her hair was wild, mused from Wanda’s hands slung loosely around her shoulders while her expression remained flushed, dark eyes darting down to the slick that pooled between your legs. Wanda’s voice would ring to you, almost reverent as her hips would stutter against Natasha’s, “She’s fucking drooling for us, Tasha..” 

The redhead would bite back a smirk as she’d watch you twitch. You ached to touch them, yourself, anything- your hands already balled into fists on your thighs, legs rubbing together, desperate for friction. But neither had given the command, and you had an inkling from their hungry looks that they wanted you needy, right where they had you. Natasha’s rasp came second, “Then show her what I taught you.”

Wanda would reach you first, discarding the rest of her clothes in the process. Her hands trailed warm touches up your legs and to your chest, digging into your soft flesh as her lips would meet yours. It was explosive, sweet and tender yet with a ferocity that claimed you quickly, heating up your skin as her knee would slot between your thighs. You’d feel Natasha’s calloused fingers on the small of your back, the sinking of her weight in the mattress behind you, and her tone husked in your ear, “Stretch her out for me, Wan- like we practiced.” Your director’s words sent a buzz to your core, cunt grinding mercilessly into the sheets below as Wanda’s hand would trail there, dragging two fingers along your folds before arcing dazzling circles around your clit. 

You’d eagerly press your hips into her touch, moaning lowly as she’d chuckle, “So wet for me, sweetheart…bet I can just slip right in.” She’d coax her fingers inside, your pussy walls taking her gladly as Wanda curled her digits against that spongy spot. Your back would arch, head growing fuzzy as you’d feel your slick drip down her hand. Her thumb would press into your clit as you’d buck your hips against her, cursing a quick “Fuck-” which was quickly swallowed up by Wanda’s mouth. She’d bite your lip, dragging it with her teeth as she’d settle into her rhythm, spare hand palming your tits with a rougher grasp, “Been waiting for this, haven’t you sweetheart- pretty whore, just for us.”

 “Mhm, good girl just wants to be fucked, don’t you?” Natasha would grit, and you could see her stroking something behind your back. She’d unzipped her slacks- her strap heavy in her hand, glistening with the spit she’d gathered in her palm. Natasha bucked her hips against her hold, cursing as the cock’s base would rub against her clit. She looked incredible, sweat across her brow as her hand would clench around the toy, like she could feel it. “Keep going, Wands- want her perfect for my dick.”

 Natasha would pant, breathing ragged as her hand moved in time with Wanda’s fingers- curling into you almost torturously, feeling your cunt clench around her. The brunette’s kiss would claim you again, moaning into her warmth as her thumb would circle your clit. She’d sigh almost lovingly, fondness overtaking her expression as your head found the crook of her neck, “She’s already perfect, Tasha-” She’d coo, although her hand wouldn’t stop, gasping at the squelching sound of her fingers up your cunt, “This pussy was made for us, darling.” 

Their words and touch brought you so close, yet Wanda’s hands slowed down when she felt your legs quiver or your breathing seize up, never giving you what you needed. You’d squirm against Wanda, begging for more, a lingering touch, anything-  “Please, Wan- I‘m so close,” You whined, earning a tut from your costar. She’d devour your pleas, lost to time as her mouth would reach yours, softer than before. You felt her sympathetic smile against you as she’d shake her head, locking eyes with Natasha’s heavy stare, “Not yet, sweetheart..It’s not my turn anymore.”

The redhead groaned when Wanda slid her fingers out of you, her fingers shimmering with your arousal. Your walls fluttered around nothing, aching for anyone’s touch as you felt Natasha’s rugged grasp on your hips, pulling you up and back so your pelvis was against hers. The strap had warmed in her hand, dragging between your legs. You were dripping for her, soft sparks of pleasure seizing you as her tip would brush against your clit. Her voice would thunder through you, almost delirious with her own need, “Fucking finally..want this pussy all to myself…” 

Wanda would chuckle at that, your director kneading at your hips as Wanda’s thighs settled in front of your mouth, your arms propping yourself just above her soaked cunt. “We promised to share, Tasha..” She’d croon, face flushed and touch softer than Natasha’s as she’d cradle your face in her palms, “Such a pretty girl..are you ready for your reward, darling?” You nodded, a flurry of sensation hitting you all at once- Natasha’s strap sinking into you as the redhead would push your shoulder blades down, pressing your face between Wanda’s legs. 

The stretch was incredible, the woman behind you vicious as she’d drive her dick into you, bottoming out as your mouth would be smothered against Wanda’s cunt. Each thrust would drive Wanda crazy, your gasps and whimpers vibrating right into her core, especially as you’d flat your tongue against her clit, suckling on the sensitive nub. Her thighs would threaten to shut on you, her stretched words lost in your pussydrunk haze, “Yes, like that sweetheart- such a good girl..-” Natasha would rock her hips into yours, pace bruising as she’d pull your thighs flush to hers. You’d hear her muffled curses as she’d bottom out again, sighing as if she could feel you clench around her. “Baby..fuck, so perfect for us…” Wanda’s hands would thread into your hair, anchoring her hold on you as she’d press your face further into her cunt. 

The sight would echo a curse from Natasha’s mouth, her hips growing a little more erratic, “Fucking christ, she’s our perfect little whore, aren’t you baby-” You’d try to nod, moaning as Natasha’s hand would press further into your back, keeping you from moving an inch, “Don’t even think, baby- just fucking take it, fuck-” 

Time would seem to slow, your brain fuzzing into blissful static as you’d feel Wanda’s thighs tremor around your head, her grip tightening as she’d see your body tremble in Natasha’s touch. “Come with me, sweetheart- be a good girl and come for Mommy.” Her saccharine words spurred you into a blinding release, your tongue working Wanda through her orgasm as your body quaked with your own. You’d feel Natasha follow shortly thereafter, cursing aloud as she’d pull herself out of you, watching as you’d clench around nothing. Her hands would immediately find your waist, bringing you gently up to kneel with your back against her clothed front. 

Panting, your arms would shake as you’d catch your breath, leaning up to wipe your mouth with the back of your hand. You could feel both women’s eyes on you as you’d suckle on your fingers, cleaning up with an exaggerated moan, looking towards Wanda as you’d pop your hand out of your mouth, your words almost dreamy, “Mmm, so good, Wan..” You’d giggle as Wanda’s face would alight in blush, although the clink of metal and fabric drove you away from your teasing.

Natasha’s hands would be rushed as she’d pull her pants and harness down, eyes heavy with a lust that made you shudder, “Switch with me, Wands-” She’d grit, thrusting the strap in her general direction before settling calloused palms on your still quivering thighs, her gaze boring into yours, “It’s my turn for her mouth.” 

Wanda’s smirk was immediate, sending you another sly wink, “Gladly.” 

------------------------------------------

Unbeknownst to the three of you, the cameras had never stopped rolling. That film would never be seen by the public, kept hidden once you left the building. Not to say it couldn't be enjoyed by you three, though.

Natasha and Wanda took you out to coffee afterwards as the brunette had promised. They explained their prior agreement to ‘test the waters’ with you, Wanda working with Natasha on a plan to woo you both in and out of character. The date went well, although with much less lingering glances and more almost-fucking in the back of Wanda’s car afterwards. It was there that the public and paparazzi learned of your relationship, although their camera flash thankfully stopped any romance before it got good. You weren’t on a porn set, after all- and Wanda kept your half-nude form hidden while Natasha cursed out the press. All in a day’s work. 

Unfortunately, the day’s work began anew the next day. Filming the romance scene was no difficult measure now, but Natasha’s grin and Wanda’s wandering hands blurred the lines of professionalism. The film crew couldn’t care less, a few of them- such as Kate, a script supervisor- mentioned how they knew it would happen eventually (and won a bet with Peter, who said it’d take until the award show for you three to get together). 

However, once you three escaped into Natasha’s office for some ‘paperwork’ as she’d called it, it didn’t matter. They were yours, and that was enough.  ~~~

#minors dni #wanda maximoff smut #wanda smut #wandanat smut #natasha romanoff smut #natasha smut #smut with plot #smut #actress wanda #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #natasha romanoff x reader #black widow x reader #scarlet witch x reader #wanda maximoff x natasha romanoff #wandanat #mommy wanda #wandanat x reader #wanda maximoff imagine #natasha x reader #female reader #fem reader #bearrrwrites

[ickadori]

OMG I love you mean reader au, I have a question!!

¿Does the reader ever makes Yuuji jealous on purpose? Maybe with someone they don't see as often because everyone close knows Yuujis girl backs and also bites , so I can see her doing it with maybe someone from Kyoto.

I feel Yuuji is the kind to let it pass or act oblivious cuz he knows I would piss her off but when they are on private he let's her know that playing stupid games lead you to win stupid prices.

Anyways as you can see I'm super super invested in you au, you are an amazing writer❤️

[cws] fem reader. i named the kyoto student ryo. sukuna takes over at the end. anal at the end. overstimulation. half a sprinkle of impact play -> like 2 spanks.

You’re always so dismissive to everyone, especially to those who aren’t in your inner circle. If you don’t interact with them on a daily basis, you couldn’t care less to hear what they have to say, and it’s not an unusual sight to see you rudely walk away mid conversation.

The same could be said for the Kyoto students.

You weren’t friendly with any of them, and had even ended up on bad terms with a few due to your nature. Yuji had been sure he was going to have to intervene in at least five times with the same person in order to keep the peace during their impromptu visit, but to his surprise, to everyone’s surprise, you had been on your best behavior.

You had greeted everyone, albeit with an annoyed ‘hey’ followed by a roll of your eyes, but that was leagues better than what you had done last year! When Todo had intruded on you and Yuji’s conversation, you hadn’t tried to smash Maki’s cursed tool against his head like you usually do, but had rather pursed your lips and excused yourself from the conversation, leaving him to listen to tales about Takada and other nonsensical things.

All in all, the day was going alright. You hadn’t gotten into a heated argument with anyone, nor had he sensed any spikes in cursed energy for the last hour or so that you had been out of his sight. Deciding that he’d just about enough of Todo droning on and on about the feeling of Takada’s hand in his own, Yuji begins to plot his escape.”

“It was a riveting—”

“You heard that?” Yuji cuts Todo off, eyebrows furrowed as he cups his hand to his ear. “I think that’s my girlfriend screaming in agonizing pain—gotta go.” He jogs away, ignoring the call of his name, and snickers to himself as he rounds the corner, one hand slipping into his pocket to retrieve his phone.

Just where are you, he thinks to himself as he scrolls to your contact, a smile breaking out onto his face at the sight of your contact picture. It showcased you giving him an annoyed look, face scrunched up cutely as you had your hand raised, a failed attempt to block your face from the camera. He shoots you a quick text asking where you are, followed by a barrage of heart emojis and kiss emojis, and he stops in front of the vending machine as he waits for your reply, deciding to buy himself and you a drink.

He’s halfway through his soda when you suddenly come rounding the corner, and he smiles as he pockets his phone, only for his smile to falter a bit when he notices that you’re smiling too, at someone that isn’t him—which isn’t a problem in and of itself! Yuji isn’t some crazy jealous guy, but it’s weird to see you look so… jolly. Who are you talking to?

A second person comes around the corner, and his face sours as he recognizes it as Kyoto’s newest 3rd year, Ryo. Yuji tries to be friendly with everyone, but he written the man off from the moment he saw him, not liking the way his eyes had raked you up and down while you had standing right beside Yuji—what was he, blind? It had been so obvious the two of you were together, what with the way Yuji had been trying to fuse your mouths together.

“Yuji,” you call, eyes crinkling as you grab ahold of Ryo’s wrist and pulls him over. Yuji takes another sip of his soda, cursing to himself when he feels Sukuna start to stir inside him. “You remember Ryo, right?”

It’s a tease—he knows it is. He had spent the better half of an hour that day complaining to you about him, while Sukuna had laughed and suggested he ‘pluck his fucking eyes out next time, brat, problem solved’, which he would never do, obviously, but the idea was a bit enticing…especially now, as Yuji is forced to watch the way Ryo takes in your ass when you stretch up to place a kiss on his cheek while you take your drink from his hand.

“He says he’s been thinking about transferring here, right?” You direct your attention to Ryo as you spin around, his eyes darting up to your face, and Yuji can’t keep his clear annoyance off his face.

“Right. I’m really liking the vibe here for some reason.” He grins, and Yuji nearly drags you away in response.

“Hm. Wonder why that is?” You giggle, fucking giggle, and an anger that’s part his own and part his curse’s begins to fester in his gut. Yuji sees the two of you stiffen, no doubt due to Sukuna’s sudden spike in energy, and he gathers the back of your shirt in his hand, the veins along the back of his hand protruding as he tugs you back into him. “Y… Yuji?”

“Yeah, it’s me.” His chin hovers over your shoulder as he stares Ryo down, and something must show in his eyes then, because Ryo is flinching back and stuttering over his words as he takes slow steps back. “Did you want Sukuna?”

“No.” You hastily reply, and the bottle in your hand crinkles as your grip on it tightens.

“‘S that because you think I’m gonna go easy on you?”

“…”

“Because I’m not.”

~

The unmistakable ‘plap plap’ of Yuji’s hips snapping into your own is loud in the confined space, and you lift a shaky hand, intending on using it to push at his stomach. It’s snatched and pushed down against your chest before you can even fully raise it, and your mouth opens on a silent cry when he slams his cock into you.

“Yu—!”

He grunts, the hand that had been holding him above you moving to cover your mouth, leaving him no choice but to crush you with his weight. “Don’t -shit- call my name.” He rasps, beads of sweat rolling down the slope of his nose just as he rolls his hips into your, pelvis grinding down against your clit with every movement.

You’re sensitive, sore, and every touch, every stroke, sends a pleasurable pain zapping through your body. You don’t know how many times you’ve come, or how long it’s been since Yuji practically dragged you into a supply closet and got you down on your back, with Sukuna goading him on the entire time.

‘You gonna finally put her in her place, brat?’

‘Y’know she’s gonna do it again unless you punish her.’

‘Look how she was smiling. She did it on purpose. You’re too soft on her - let me deal with it.’

‘What’re you doing, idiot? Get your mouth off her cunt. Is this a fucking reward or a punishment?’

‘Slap her around—shut up, girl. Do it. She likes it, see? Look at the mess she’s making on our cock.’

A particularly hard thrust has your eyes rolling and your toes curling in your loafers, and your mouth falls open when he brushes against that spot, eyebrows pulling together as a fresh bout of tears spring to your eyes.

“You crying now?” Sukuna snarks, and Yuji falters, his eyes popping open from where they had been squeezed shut to look at your face. “Don’t fucking stop, she’s fine, she’s—”

“Yuji.”

“Sweet girl,” he answers, hands moving to cup the sides of your face. “Don’t cry - are you sensitive?” You weakly nod, cunt fluttering as he runs his nose along your cheek. “Do you want me to be softer? Just tell…” Yuji goes slack against you, and your eyes widen, hands moving to push at his shoulders, only for them to tense under your grip as a low laugh leaves him.

“Sukuna,” it comes out in a pitiful whine, and you wince at the slow drag of his cock along your walls as he pulls out, thick shaft sliding up between your folds as he bumps the head against your clit.

“It’s been a while,” his head pulls back, allowing you to see the grin stretched across his face, and you drop your gaze as you keep your mouth, earning another laugh. “What? Don’t tell me you’re scared.” His touch is rough as he grips at your sides, nails biting into your skin, and you gasp when he’s suddenly flipping you over, one hand leaving your waist to smack at your ass. “Do it how I like it.”

Your teeth sink into your bottom lip as you shuffle so you’re up on your knees, butt lifted into the air while your chest is flush to the floor. Sukuna smacks you again, fingers digging into the flesh of your ass, and you can’t help the moan that slips out when he spreads you open, his hips jutting forward so he can rut his cock against your cunt, a jolt racing up your spine when he goes over your clit.

“Ah, poor pussy is sensitive, yeah?” His tone is mocking, but you nod nonetheless. “Hm.” He pops the tip into your hole, fucking it in just a bit before pulling it back out to continue what he was doing. “Guess we’ve gotta pick another hole then, don’t we?”

“Suku—ah!” His hand reaches underneath you to deliver a swift slap to your cunt, fingers catching your clit, and you let out a pitiful little whimper.

“Quiet.” He spreads you open further, and a shaky breath leaves you when a glob of split lands on your puckered hole, his thumb spreading the wetness around before slowly pushing it in. “Only the good little girls get to speak.”

His cockhead replaces his thumb, and your breath comes out in pants as he eases himself in, stretching you impossibly wide as he forces himself to fit.

“I hope you’re watching, brat — no worries if you aren’t, I don’t mind repeating the lesson later.”

#yuji x reader #sukuna x reader #jjk x reader #jjk smut #++ yuji/brat

[ao3commentoftheday]

Hey!

This is something that's been rolling around in my head for a while, and I'm wondering if you or any of your followers have experience with getting back into writing after illness.

I've been chronically ill for a long time. My symptoms vary a lot depending on external circumstances. From about 2019-2021 or so, I was updating an AU about once a month and having an absolute blast with it...then my health hit a stumbling block. Then it hit another, and another.

I'm now at a point where the stumbling blocks don't seem to be going away anytime soon. I'm starting to feel the mental health effects of not having the spoons to work writing into my day.

I spent the past couple years trying to let myself lie fallow and be kind with my brain when my body needs so much help. I'm at a point where even when I WANT to write, it feels like it's been so long I've almost forgotten how. I'm stalled on all my WIPs from that AU, but it doesn't feel like writer's block so much as it feels like writer's atrophy. I miss it terribly, but I'm having a lot of trouble getting back on my feet.

Thank you for everything you've given our community over the years! 💜💜

*hugs* that's a rough spot to be in, and I hope that we can offer you some ways to get out of it. I'll offer some suggestions from my own experience with a change in health status, but I'm really hopeful that the rest of the blog have some tips to share as well.

Don't hold yourself up to your previous standards. Your abilities have changed, and you should take that into account. If you used to be able to write for 2 hours and now you can only manage 10 minutes, don't see that as a failure. 10 minutes is now your success point. If you used to be able to manage 100K stories with intricate plots and now you find it a challenge to write a straightforward oneshot? Then finishing that oneshot is an accomplishment to be proud of.

If the way you used to do things doesn't work, don't keep trying to do them that way. If you used to type onto a laptop but now staring at the screen makes you feel exhausted? Try dictating into your phone and using speech to text to transcribe it. Then you can go through and edit what's already there. If you used to write at a desk but now sitting up for long periods wears you out? Try tapping it out on your phone in bed. You can't focus for long periods the way that you used to? Turn on the TV and write during commercial breaks.

Don't try to pick up right where you left off. You need to get yourself back in writing shape before you can take on a story that's already halfway written. Those WIPs will still be there, even if you start off with a ficlet or a missing moment or a post-episode coda etc. Start off small. Use ideas or plots that are easier for you to write. Get back into the swing of it before you try to tackle a big project again.

As you try to write something and you find yourself unable to, take a moment and try to identify what the hard part is. Are you having trouble finding words? Are you in an uncomfortable position? Is the device you're using annoying you or difficult to work with? For each problem you can identify, see if you can find an accommodation for it - and look to see if other people have had to accommodate the same issue before you. It's very likely that they have.

I'll stop here and let the spoonies share their thoughts in the notes. I look forward to picking up some advice for myself too ❤️

You can find this question and answer over on Dreamwidth as well, if you'd like to join the conversation over there.

#asks and answers

[mostlysignssomeportents]

A media literacy handbook for Israel-Gaza

Next Tuesday (Oct 31) at 10hPT, the Internet Archive is livestreaming my presentation on my recent book, The Internet Con.

Media explainers are a cheap way to become an instant expert on everything from billionaire submarine excursions to hellaciously complex geopolitical conflicts, but On The Media's "Breaking News Consumers' Handbooks" are explainers that help you understand other explainers:

https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/otm/segments/breaking-news-consumers-handbook-israel-and-gaza-edition-on-the-media

The latest handbook is an Israel-Gaza edition. It doesn't aim to parse fine distinctions over the definition of "occupation" or identify the source of shell fragments. Rather, it offers seven bullet points' worth of advice on weighing all the other news you hear about the war:

https://media.wnyc.org/media/resources/2023/Oct/27/BNCH_ISRAEL_GAZA_EDITION_1.pdf

I. "Headlines are obscured by the fog of war"

Headline writers have a hard job under the best of circumstances – trying to snag your interest in a few words. Headlines can't encompass all the nuance of a story, and they are often written by editors, not the writers who produced the story. Between the imperatives for speed and brevity and the broken telephone between editors and writers, it's easy for headlines to go wrong, even when no one is attempting to mislead you. Even reliable outlets will screw up headlines sometimes – and that likelihood goes way up in times like these. You gotta read the story, not just the headline.

II. Know red flags for bullshit

The factually untrue information that spreads furthest tends to originate with a handful of superspreader accounts. Whether these people are Just Wrong or malicious disinfo peddlers, they share a few characteristics that should trip your BS meter and prompt extra scrutiny:

High-frequency posting

Emotionally charged framing

Posts that purport to be summaries or excerpts from news outlets, but do not include links to the original

The phrase "breaking news" (no one has that many scoops)

III. Don't trust screenshots

Screenshots of news stories, tweets, and other social media should come with links to the original. It's just too damned easy to fake a screenshot.

IV. "Know your platform"

It used to be that Twitter got a lot of first-person accounts from people in the thick of crises, while Facebook and Reddit contained commentary and reposts. Today, Twitter is just another aggregator. This time around, there's lots of first-person, real-time reporting coming off Telegram (it runs well on old phones and doesn't chew up batteries). Instagram is widely used in both Israel and the West Bank.

V. "Crisis actors" aren't a thing

People who attribute war images to "crisis actors" are either deluded or lying. There's plenty of ways to distort war news, but paying people to pretend to be grieving family members is essentially unheard of. Any explanation that involves crisis actors is a solid reason to permanently block that source.

VI. There's plenty of ways to verify stuff that smells fishy

TinEye, Yandex and Google Image Search are all good tools for checking "breaking" images and seeing if they're old copypasta ganked from earlier conflicts (or, you know, video-games). The fact that an image doesn't show up in one of these searches doesn't guarantee its authenticity, of course.

VII. Think before you post

Israel-Gaza is the most polluted media pool yet. Don't make it worse.

There's plenty more detail on this (especially on the use of verification tools) in Brooke Gladstone's radio segment:

https://www.wnycstudios.org/podcasts/otm/episodes/on-the-media-breaking-news-consumers-handbook-israel-gaza-edition

The media environment sucks, and warrants skepticism and caution. But we also need to be skeptical of skepticism itself! As danah boyd started saying all the way back in 2018, weaponized media literacy leads to conspiratorialism:

https://www.zephoria.org/thoughts/archives/2018/03/09/you-think-you-want-media-literacy-do-you.html

Remember, the biggest peddlers of "fake news" are also the most prolific users of the term. For a lot of these information warriors, the point isn't to get you to believe them – they'll settle for you believing nothing. "Flood the zone with bullshit" is Steve Bannon's go-to tactic, and it's one that his acolytes have picked up and multiplied.

It's important to be a critical thinker, but there's plenty of people who've figured out how to weaponize a critical viewpoint and turn it into nihilism. Remember, the guy who wrote How To Lie With Statistics was a tobacco industry shill who made his living obfuscating the link between smoking and cancer. It's absolutely possible to lie with statistics, but it's also possible to use statistics to know the truth, as Tim Harford explains in his 2021 must-read book The Data Detective:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/04/how-to-truth/#harford

There's a world of difference between being misled and being brainwashed. A lot of today's worry about "disinformation" and "misinformation" has the whiff of a moral panic:

https://www.nakedcapitalism.com/2023/10/are-we-having-a-moral-panic-over-misinformation.html

It's possible to have a nuanced view of this subject – to take steps to enure you're not being tricked without equating crude tricks like sticking a fake BBC chyron on a 10-year-old image with unstoppable mind-control:

https://sts-news.medium.com/youre-doing-it-wrong-notes-on-criticism-and-technology-hype-18b08b4307e5

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/28/fog-o-war/#breaking-news

#pluralistic #media literacy #fake news #disinformation #misinformation #israel gaza #gaza #israel #palestine #conspiratorialism #hoaxes #infowar #on the media #breaking news #npr #flood the zone

[zebuie]

𝓔𝐦𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐝 .. 𝓣𝐢𝐝𝐞

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚

SYNOPSIS; ellie eats u out on the beach.

WARNINGS; 837 words (interesting..) swearing, semi-public sex??? Idk��, eating out (r receiving),fingering (r receiving), I think that’s all????

A/N; sorry for disappearing writers block got to me 😭🙏 anyways here’s this very messily written fic..🙁 also this is rlly short 😣

ways to help palestine

ੈ✩‧₊˚༺☆༻ੈ✩‧₊˚ as you jolted awake as u heard a persistent knocking on your door. u rubbed your eyes and squinted at the light shining through the window. What time was it? you were normally a light sleeper and could hear the faint sounds of traffic outside, so this must be an emergency. u fumbled for the lightswitch, blinking in the sudden brightness, and shuffled to the door.

"Who is it?" u called, your voice gravelly with sleep.

"Ellie," came the reply. "I need you to get up right now." u groggily rubbed your eyes and opened the door to see Ellie holding two cups of coffee and a blanket.

"What's wrong?" u asked, still not fully awake.

"Nothing. I just woke up and thought it'd be fun to go to the beach today," Ellie said with a smile.

"Ellie, it's 5am what.." u protested.

"Oh come on, it'll be fun," Ellie said, pulling you along.

u yawned, still half-asleep, and followed Ellie out the door. Ellie had laid out a blanket, picnic basket and a cooler of drinks. The sun was barely rising over the horizon, casting a golden glow over the ocean. Ellie took ur hand and led you to the water. You sat down on the sand, The waves crashed against the shore and seagulls soared overhead.

As u sat beside Ellie, taking in the calming sight of the ocean, her sleepiness started to fade away. You felt Ellie's fingers trace softly over urs and a warm smile tugged at her lips. Without saying anything, Ellie leaned closer to you and your lips brushed lightly against each other. A sudden rush of desire surged through your body as she eagerly kissed back,

Ellie's hands roamed lower down your body, caressing your hips gently before sliding under your shorts. Her fingertips grazed along your wet panties, causing shivers to race down your spine. "Ellie," you sighed breathlessly into the kiss as pleasure spread through your core.

Ellie slowly slid her fingers inside your panties until they found slick folds of flesh waiting for her there. The contact made waves of passion pulse through your veins; a whimper escaped from your mouth as u rocked slightly against Ellie’s hand seeking more friction. you broke apart briefly so that Ellie's fingers dove deeper inside your wet slit,

expertly stroking your swollen clit with her thumb as you moaned loudly into the morning air. Her free hand tangled in ur hair , gently tugging at its roots as they kissed passionately once more.

The mix of Ellie’s mouth on hers and her skilled fingering had uou trembling beneath her touch, nearing her breaking point. "Ellie…" u whimpered against her lips, pleading silently for release."Fuck me… please,"

you growled huskily into the kiss as waves of ecstasy crashed over you like a tsunami. In response, Ellie quickly removed her hand from your panties and pulled them down entirely before diving headfirst between your thighs.

She feasted hungrily on every inch of damp flesh laid bare before her while teasing your ass with a finger or two just for good measure. It wasn't long before she felt those telltale signs that indicated impending bliss: squirming hips, shaking knees and soft groans escaping through parted lips that seemed to hang open.

Ellie's fingers delved deeper into your wet slit, rubbing against your sensitive clit while her thumb grazed across the engorged bundle of nerves. Her lips locked onto yours in a desperate kiss that had you squirming beneath her touch, edging closer and closer to your peak. You whimpered helplessly against her mouth as she sucked greedily at the flesh around it all while fingering you expertly below.

Ellie's fingers worked in perfect harmony against your core, causing sparks to fly throughout your entire body. You groaned loudly into her mouth as you rocked against her hand, craving more of the intense pleasure she was dishing out. She broke the kiss and trailed a path down your neck to nibble playfully on your shoulder blade while keeping up her rhythm. "You're so fucking beautiful like this," she rasped out between breathless sighs before claiming your mouth once again in a passionate kiss.

Ellie shifted her weight so that she could spread your legs wider, giving her better access to your heated core. She licked a long stripe from the base of your clit up towards your wet entrance before repeating the process in reverse. Each stroke sent jolts of pleasure racing through you and you moaned softly against her mouth as she teased every inch of skin within reach.

Her tongue flicked across your sensitive clit, causing you to buck against her hand. "Ellie fuck.." you cried out through gritted teeth, desperately craving more of her attention on that spot. She hummed in response before sucking the bud between her lips while circling it with the tip of her tongue. You gasped and arched your hips closer to her face, completely lost in pleasure as waves of intense sensation washed over you.

.˳⁺⁎˚ ꒰ఎ ★ ໒꒱ ˚⁎⁺˳ .

#ellie tlou2 #ellie williams #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams the last of us #ellie x fem reader #ellie x reader #ellie x you #ellie williams smut #ellie williams x female reader #ellie smut #the last of us #the last of us 2 #tlou2 #ellie tlou #tlou part 2 #lesbian #wlw #Spotify