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incognit0slut · 1 year ago

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Right Kind of Wrong (19)

She never thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer finally takes her out on a date. Part Warning: 18+ explicit content (Public fingering) A/n: I did not forget this series, I've just been distracted I'm sorry!! I also apologize if there are any inaccuracies in some random facts, I am not as smart as him, I can only do a quick research from Google.

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18

"SO, HOW DO I LOOK?"

She spun in front of the mirror, showing off the dress she had picked out that afternoon on an impromptu shopping spree. The garment had looked stunning on the store mannequin, and now, in the soft glow of her bedroom, it was more appealing.

The spaghetti straps delicately framed her shoulders, and the lavender fabric accentuated her curves. The bottom of the dress, hovering just below her knees, gave a playful vibe with a teasing slit inching up her right thigh. And the neckline, with its very low plunge, offered a glimpse of her cleavage she couldn't help but wonder whether it was showing too much skin.

"Like you want to get laid," a playful voice called.

Her laughter echoed through the room as she turned to face her phone and realized the dress was hugging her ass quite snugly. "It's too much, isn't it?"

"Not at all," Sandy's voice echoed through the phone again. She glanced at the screen, seeing her friend's smiling face. "You look gorgeous."

She grinned, the reassurance from Sandy making her feel more at ease. "You think so?"

"Absolutely."

She reached for a sparkling necklace and dangling earrings, holding them to the camera. "Necklace or earrings?"

"Hmm." Sandy squinted at the screen, studying the options through the video call. "Go with the earrings. They'll add a touch of glamour without stealing the spotlight from the dress."

She nodded in agreement. "Earrings it is, then."

As she carefully slipped herself into the accessories, Sandy couldn't help but muse her thoughts. "I don't think I've ever seen you wear purple."

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "What do you mean? I've worn this color before."

"Your wardrobe either consists of black or gray. You had to go out shopping to buy this dress."

She laughed nervously, caught in the act of her predictable wardrobe choices. "Alright, fine." She pursed her lips together before letting out a sigh. "I may or may not have asked his friend what his favorite color is."

"You sly fox," Sandy laughed with a huge grin. "So you do want to get laid."

She blushed, adjusting the earrings. "I mean, if the occasion arises..."

"You've got this all planned out, huh?"

"Well, not exactly, more like... strategically considered?" She tilted her head and observed herself in the mirror again. "Does it make me look desperate?"

"Of course not," Sandy reassured. "It just shows you're putting in effort. Besides, confidence is attractive. You look hot."

She blushed at the compliment, but before she could respond, the distant hum of an engine reached her ears. Her eyes widened, and instinctively, she moved towards the window and noticed a car pulling into her driveway. It wasn't the usual sleek, black government vehicle; instead, the car looked like it had seen better days, although it held a vintage charm that caught her by surprise.

Then reality finally kicked in—he was here for a date, not because of his job. They were actually going out for a nice dinner he had prepared.

She suddenly felt sick.

"Sandy, he's here," she whispered, her voice betraying a touch of panic.

Somehow Sandy still managed to hear her voice from across the room. "You'll be fine! It's not like you haven't spent time with him before."

"Not when my life wasn't on the line." She was met with silence and walked over to her phone, picking it up to find Sandy's disapproving glare. She sheepishly smiled towards the screen. "Too soon?"

Sandy shook her head with a sigh. "Only you would joke about your near-death experience."

"Spencer told me it's a coping mechanism."

"You've joked about it to him as well?"

She nodded. "He's not a fan either." The sound of the doorbell ringing brought her back to the present. "I need to go."

"Wait!" Sandy's urgent voice echoed through the phone again. She watched as her friend's expression softened. "How are you feeling today?"

A warm smile graced her lips, moved by Sandy's ongoing concern. Ever since they reunited at the hospital, Sandy couldn't stop apologizing for what had happened, even when it wasn't her fault to begin with. Her friend consistently checked in on her well-being.

"I'm actually feeling pretty good. Nervous, but good."

Sandy nodded, her smile carrying reassurance. "Good. Now, go enjoy your date."

She reciprocated the sentiment with a blow of a kiss towards the camera. "I'll call you later," she promised before ending the call. Taking a deep breath, she composed herself, slipping her phone into her purse as she descended the stairs.

Spencer was waiting at the door when she opened it, all cleaned up and undeniably handsome. His well-fitted suit accentuated his strong shoulders, and the crisp white shirt beneath complemented the subtle purple tie he wore. The fabric of the suit, in a rich charcoal shade, seemed to bring out the warmth in his hazel eyes.

A nervous smile played on his lips, only enhancing his charm and giving him an endearing quality that made her heart skip a beat. His eyes, however, spoke volumes as they assessed her, taking in the way her dress hugged her curves. Spencer couldn't help but be mesmerized by the sight before him.

He was so mesmerized that without thinking, he stepped forward and wrapped an arm around her waist, catching her by surprise. In an instant, he leaned down, his lips meeting hers in an unexpected yet tender kiss. The warmth of the moment enveloped them, and for a brief instant, her worries seemed to fade away.

Her initial surprise transformed into a soft smile as she reciprocated the kiss, savoring the way lips moved against hers, and when he finally pulled away, he looked into her eyes with a mixture of admiration and affection.

"I couldn't resist," he admitted, his nervous smile now replaced by one of genuine warmth.

She couldn't help but smile, feeling a flutter of excitement in her chest. "I'm certainly not complaining."

As they exchanged smiles, she noticed a smudge of her lipstick on his lips. She burst into laughter, breaking the moment with a lighthearted touch.

"You've got a little something right here," she teased, reaching up to gently wipe off the lipstick with her thumb.

He simply gazed into her eyes with a sincere smile. "You look beautiful."

Blushing at the compliment, she smiled appreciatively. "Why thank you. You don't look too bad yourself," she replied with a playful glint in her eyes.

"Come on," Spencer urged, gently tugging her arm, and she willingly followed him after locking her door.

As they walked down her driveway, she felt Spencer's hand on her lower back, a gesture that added an extra layer of comfort to their connection. Unable to contain her surprise, she couldn't help but comment on the unexpected sight of his vehicle.

"I never pictured you as someone who owned a car," she commented, her tone teasing but filled with curiosity.

Spencer chuckled, a glint of amusement in his eyes. "It may not be as sleek as the government vehicle, but it gets the job done."

She laughed, finding his revelation endearing. "Well, I'm impressed. It suits you." Her eyes scanned the vintage-looking car. "It reminds me of you actually."

"What? Old and worn out?"

She shook her head, smiling. "No, not at all. I meant classic, with a certain charm."

His smile widened at her response. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Spencer graciously opened the car door for her, and she beamed appreciatively, slipping into the vintage car's comfortable interior. The soft glow of the dashboard highlighted the nostalgia-infused details of the vehicle, making it clear that Spencer had a penchant for classic styles beyond his usual government responsibilities.

As he closed her door, he circled to the driver's side, sliding behind the wheel. The engine hummed softly and as she watched him, she felt a certain warmth traveling through her body.

In the soft glow of the car's interior, she couldn't help but notice how attractive he looked. His features were highlighted by the dashboard lights, casting a subtle yet captivating glow. Before he could pull away from the driveway, a spontaneous impulse surged within her.

"Wait," she said, her voice breaking the quiet ambiance of the car. Without overthinking, she reached over and gently grabbed Spencer's arm, tugging him back for a moment.

He looked at her with concern. "What's wrong?"

She smiled, feeling a surge of boldness, and leaned over to him. She closed the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a more passionate kiss than before.

He responded with a mixture of surprise, yet his hand gently found its way to the back of her neck, deepening the kiss. His lips moved in sync with hers, and when she softly sighed in contentment, he pushed his tongue inside her mouth, tasting her ever so slightly as his other hand found its place on her thigh.

But when his hand inched under her dress, she laughed and gently pulled away. "I don't think we'll be eating anything if we continue this."

He looked at her sheepishly. "Right," he murmured, readjusting himself in the driver's seat. "Sorry."

With a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, she settled back into her seat, fastening her seatbelt. "So, where are you taking me, Handsome?"

His lips curved into a smile as he finally pulled away from her driveway. "It's a surprise," he said. "You'll see."

It wasn't really a surprise. Spencer had already mentioned wanting to visit this place and the big sign saying 'PLANETARIUM' at the entrance was already a dead giveaway.

However, the unusual quietness that enveloped the space caught her off guard. With only a handful of staff present, the vastness of the empty lobby echoed the click of her heels.

The atmosphere shifted when he gently urged her to close her eyes. Suspicion mixed with curiosity, she couldn't resist teasing him as she followed his instructions. "What do you not want me to see? I already know where we are."

A secure arm wrapped around her waist as Spencer guided her through the darkness. She could sense a grin in his voice as he replied, "Sure, but the location isn't exactly the surprise."

"What is then?" She asked. The echo of their footsteps persisted, creating a rhythm in the quiet space of the planetarium.

"The experience," he simply answered. "Keep your eyes closed a bit longer, we're almost there."

"This is kind of making me nervous," she admitted. "You're not going to kidnap and murder me secretly, are you?"

His steps faltered briefly before she let out a sigh, urging him to continue moving. "Sorry, that sounded way better in my head."

There was a heavy silence before he replied, "We should do something about you joking on that matter."

"It's called dark humor."

He softly hummed. "There's actually a psychological explanation for dark humor as a coping mechanism. It's a way for people to navigate and make light of challenging situations."

"You've mentioned this before."

"I know," he confirmed. "I just want to remind you that every time you think you're being morbidly funny you're using a well-established psychological defense mechanism."

"And what do I have to do with that information?"

"Well, for starters, you can appreciate your brain's attempt to keep things light." He gently squeezed her hip. "But maybe try to cut yourself some slack for the occasional dark joke."

She couldn't help but smile, even with her eyes still closed. The subtle squeeze on her hip added a reassuring warmth to his words. "I still don't get why your boss wants me to see the therapist you guys provided when I already have you."

Spencer chuckled and pulled her closer. "Because one, I'm not a licensed therapist. And two, my therapeutic techniques might involve a bit too much intimacy for the average counseling session."

She laughed. "You mean sex?"

"Sexual intercourse," he corrected, still not wanting to say the word, which she nudged her elbow into his side in response.

As their footsteps finally ceased, Spencer gently urged her to open her eyes. When she complied, her eyes widened in astonishment at the breathtaking sight before her—a vast array of galaxies projected onto the ceiling of the planetarium. The cosmic display painted the dark expanse with hues of celestial beauty, leaving her momentarily awestruck.

Yet, what surprised her even more was the scene at the center of the room. A table setting, elegantly arranged, caught her eye. The table was adorned with flickering candles, casting a soft glow on the carefully arranged dishes and the gleam of polished silverware.

She stood in awe. "Spencer, this is... incredible." Her eyes swept over to him. "You did all this?"

"Well, technically the staff prepared this." He guided her further into the room. "But I pulled some strings."

"Some strings? I think you pulled all the strings." She threw him a grateful smile as he pulled her chair, urging her to sit down. "This must cost a fortune."

"Don't worry about that," he assured her, settling in the seat opposite her. "I just want you to enjoy the night."

As she took her seat, the soft glow of candlelight accentuated the contours of his face. She felt a flutter in her chest, realizing she was falling even harder for him. It wasn't just the fancy setup; it was the thought behind it that got to her.

Fate truly had a peculiar way of guiding her to this present, bringing Spencer into her life. It was a bit surreal knowing that the worst things she'd been through somehow brought her to a moment like this.

Maybe, she pondered, there's a silver lining, a reminder that good things can sneak up when you least expect them. And now it was worth focusing on those good things.

So she savored his company, the easy flow of their conversation, the delicious meal he had prepared, and the soft music playing through the stereo. She also enjoyed being close to him moments later when they finished their dinner. The warmth of his presence felt comforting as they lounged in the viewing seats, gazing up at the scene above.

"Do you see the seven bright stars forming a distinct pattern?" he asked, gesturing toward a shimmering formation.

She followed his guidance and nodded. "They look like a tiny ladle or a dipper."

He smiled, appreciating her observation. "That's the Ursa Minor, also known as the Little Dipper. And the North Star, Polaris, is at the end of its handle."

"The North Star?" She repeated.

"It's a crucial navigational star. Sailors and travelers have used it for centuries to find their way. It remains relatively fixed in the northern sky, making it a reliable reference point."

"Hmm," she hummed. She then pointed to another set of stars. "What about that one?"

He followed her gaze and smiled.

"That's the Orion constellation," he said. "It's one of the most recognizable and has a lot of myths around it. In some cultures, it's a hunter chasing various prey across the sky."

"And what's the story behind that?"

He leaned in closer to her. "Well, in Greek mythology, Orion was a mighty hunter who fell in love with the Pleiades. However, fate had different plans, and he ended up among the stars, forever pursuing them."

Her gaze remained fixed on the celestial display, captivated by the tales woven into the stars. "So, he's like a romantic?"

Spencer chuckled. "In a way, yes. Myths often carry themes of love, tragedy, and destiny."

"Like human nature."

He nodded in agreement. "Like human nature."

There was a moment of silence before she turned to him. "How do you even know all of this?"

"We often travel outside the city and the skies are pretty clear in remote areas. Sometimes you can see a few constellations."

She raised an eyebrow. "You're telling me you're a secret astronomy enthusiast while solving crimes?"

A bashful smile played on his lips. "When I have the time," he admitted. "There's something fascinating about the stars. They offer a sense of perspective."

She smiled. "It's nice to know even a man of logic and facts finds magic in the sky."

His gaze softened. "Magic has its place in the world, even for a man of logic." He suddenly reached out to the back of her ear and retrieved a dollar bill out of thin air. "See? Magic."

She couldn't help but laugh as she took the bill from him and examined it, tracing the edges. "I remember you doing this trick the first time we met."

He leaned back, a contemplative look in his eyes. "It feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

"Considering everything that happened since then, yes," she replied. "You know, I never asked why you were at that bar in the first place."

A subtle blush painted on his cheeks. "I was... enjoying a drink." When she gave him a deadpanned look, he raised his eyebrows. "What? Do I not seem like the type to be hanging out alone at a bar?"

"You stood out like a sore thumb." She gave him back the dollar bill. "I remember you barely touching your beer."

Spencer sighed, taking the money and placing it back in his pocket. "I was supposed to hang out with the team, but they ditched me."

She arched an eyebrow. "They ditched you? Why?"

He shrugged. "Apparently something important came up."

"So they left you hanging at a bar?" When he nodded, she tilted her head in mock sympathy. "Well, it certainly worked in my favor."

He watched her, the flickering memory of that night flashing before him. The first time he kissed her, the taste of her lips, the sensation of holding her naked in his arms. Then his eyes raked down her collarbone, pausing slightly at the swell of her breasts before looking back up to meet her gaze.

"It worked in my favor too."

She noticed his gaze lingering, a subtle heat spreading across her cheeks. The air suddenly shifted as he leaned closer, creating an intimate space between them. There was a magnetic pull, and she felt her breath catch in anticipation. He gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lightly grazing her skin.

"Tell me what you remember that night," he said, a low timbre in his voice.

She felt the warmth of his breath against her ear and she met his gaze with a flush coloring her cheeks. "I remember seeing you sitting alone at the bar."

His reply, a mere whisper, reverberated dangerously low. "What else?"

"You came up to me and did that magic trick." A faint smile played on her lips as she reminisced. "I was amused, and we sat together."

His eyes lingered on her mouth. A subtle tension lingered in the air, each exchange building upon the last. "And then what happened?"

"We talked," she breathed, the word lingering in the air like a shared secret as he leaned closer. "We laughed." She felt his breath brushing against her lips.

"Then you kissed me," she confessed, and in the heartbeat that followed, he leaned in, his lips meeting hers gently. She let herself sink into his touch as he held her face, keeping her in place while he continued to taste her all over again.

His lips fit perfectly and she kissed him back as eager, letting his tongue glide into her mouth so effortlessly. She held onto him, slightly pulling him closer as if he wasn’t close enough even when he was practically pressing his body against hers.

When he slowly pulled away, she suppressed a moan. "Like this?" He asked.

"Like that," she murmured, the taste of him lingering on her lips as they shared the space between breaths.

The warmth of his lips traveled down her jaw, leaving a trail of soft, lingering kisses that brushed over her skin. "What else do you remember?"

His lips trailed further down, and she shivered. "We..." Her voice wavered, breath hitching, as his hand slid down her arm before his fingertips began to faintly stroke her skin, grazing over the hem of her skirt. "W-We went back to your place."

"Go on," he urged the words hanging in the air. She felt his fingers glide over her inner thigh, stopping abruptly as he reached the middle.

"You..." She let out a small, shaky sigh as he dragged his fingers up, stopping just before the rough pads of his fingers brushed over her panties softly. "...you touched me."

He began carefully moving his middle and forefinger in a gentle circular motion, rubbing her teasingly through her damp panties before, without warning, they were pushed aside, the hot pads of his fingers finally making direct contact with her clit.

"Was it like this?"

Her hand wrapped around his forearm, trying to stop herself from moaning aloud, her eyes fluttering closed as he began to play with her clit, his fingers skillful as he rubbed in small circular motions, his eyes fixed on her. She looked over at him, her mouth going slack as she felt the sensation in the pit of her stomach.

She didn't seem like herself, and although she didn't mind public displays of affection, she wouldn't let it go beyond a kiss. She wasn't the kind of person to be intimate in public, but here she was, letting him touch her when any of the staff could walk in. Heck, she wasn't sure he was the type of person who would do something like this.

His fingers moved from her clit, dragging down her slit and collecting her arousal, briefly plunging them inside and curling upward, pressing firmly against her walls. She looked down to see his fingers gently pumping in and out of her cunt. Her legs were so wide from him that her knee was practically resting against his thigh.

"Tell me," he whispered, "Did I touch you like this?"

Her chest began to heave, her hips unconsciously bucking against his hand as he worked over her casually. "Yes," she breathed out.

Soft whimpers escaped her as she bit her bottom lip, trying desperately to be as quiet as she could manage. The fire in her stomach burned hotter with each expert glide of his slick fingers. Her legs opened wider and wider for him which seemed to please him judging by how fast his fingers began to pump into her cunt.

A strained whimper filled his ears the moment he circled her clit with his thumb, the added stimulation did nothing to help her sanity, and moans began to spill from her lips, mouth parting in pure bliss.

"Spence," she whined, voice so unsteady and breathless, she couldn't control her volume anymore, desperate moans mixing with the sounds of her wetness dripping between her thighs.

"That's it," he encouraged, speeding up his fingers. "Let go for me."

The pressure of his fingers was making her impending orgasm loom dangerously close as her back arched from her seat, hand gripping around his wrist. Her eyes flew over to him as she reached her peak, body shivering and writhing as she pushed her hips down against his fingers, feeling them slide from her pussy before circling her clit in rapid motions.

With a final gasp, she lost all control, her mind growing numb, feeling him wildly as wave after wave of pleasure pulsed through her entire body. She cried out silently, calling his name over and over until she grew too weak while she desperately clung to him.

When he finally pulled away, she felt her arousal dripping down her legs. She stared at him wide-eyed as he fixed her panties back in place before brushing her dress over her legs. When she kept looking at him in a daze, he softly laughed and leaned down, brushing his lips over her cheek.

"Are you okay?"

"I..." she was gasping for air, a hand-tossed over her chest. "Did that actually happen?"

He chuckled, his warm breath tickling her ear. His fingers gently traced the outline of her jaw as her face flushed—lips delicately swollen, eyes glazed with a mixture of desire and surprise. The aftermath of her climax painted her cheeks in a captivating shade.

"Come on," he said, extending a hand and gently pulling her up.

"Where are we going?" she asked, her voice still carrying the traces of her orgasm. His gaze met hers with an intensity that spoke volumes, revealing an unspoken hunger that mirrored her own desires. His intention was clear.

"We're going home."

>> NEXT PART

a/n: it did not occur to me the possibility of CCTV cameras in a planetarium lmao please excuse me. Also, the plan is to write one last part and an epilogue to wrap it all up.

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casualhedonists · 1 year ago

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“slut!” ✧ ˚ 　· 　　 .

pairing: academy!coriolanus snow x reader

warnings: nsfw (18+), sub! and possibly virgin!coryo, handjobs, edging/orgasm denial, degradation, name calling (reader calls coryo a slut) very mild dacryphilia, also v mild corruption kink, overstimulation, also reader gets coryo to taste his own cum idk what else to call it <3

a/n: thought abt calling coryo a slut and this happened <3 i have nothing else to say for myself

“Slut.”

The word slipped from your lips, smooth like honey.

“What?�� His eyes darted to yours. Your hand, nestled in his pants, slowed its movements, and his lips parted in a plea.

“You heard me, Coryo. I said you’re a slut.”

You didn’t miss the ragged breath of air that he exhaled, or the twitch of his cock as you stilled your hand entirely. He whimpered, red faced in shame.

Poor thing. Poor, desperate Coriolanus Snow.

“Who’d have thought? The academy’s brightest star, the golden pupil, putting out on the first date.”

His eyes squeezed closed. You hummed.

“What did we say about that? Eyes on me.”

He obliged.

“This is a date?” He breathed after a beat, brain playing catchup.

“It’s whatever you want it to be, handsome.”

Your hand moved faster as you saw him get more comfortable with the pace; you couldn’t be having that. Not when he’d started to pick up a very vexing little habit of deliberately contradicting any point you made in rhetoric class, glancing over at you with a self-congratulatory grin that had you aching to make him cry.

You'd asked him over to study, which he'd almost fallen for. Led him to your couch, made him believe you'd let him take whatever he wanted, then flipped the tables.

“That feel good? Is it too much?”

“Mm.” Was all you got out of him as you picked the pace up, thumb pushing over the tip.

“So wet for me, Coryo. Like a fucking girl.”

“Don’t-"

“Oh? So you want me to stop? Okay.”

Your hand stilled again, moving your hand as if to take it out of his pants.

“No. What? Don’t… don’t stop. Keep going.”

“You know, nobody’s gonna believe you’re as well-bred as you claim you are with manners like those.”

You'd overheard Highbottom's taunts once. Kept it to yourself, but made the occasional low blow of your own when he pissed you off. His eyes shone in an angry defiance. You stood your ground.

“Please.” He looked at the floor.

“Please what?”

“Please, keep going.”

You smiled.

“Good boy.”

When you spoke the words, he visibly relaxed, but a frown etched across his face when you wrapped your hand back around his cock, but didn’t move it. He looked down, then back at you.

“What?” You blinked innocently.

“You’re not… please. Don’t be fucking mean.” He repeated pathetically.

“I don’t know, Coryo. My hand’s getting a little tired.”

“Because you’ve been edging me for half an hour.” He gritted. You laughed, cruel.

“So dramatic. If you’re gonna be ungrateful like that, then fine. I won’t move a muscle.”

He sighed, ragged and heavy. He didn’t move.

“Don’t tell me you’re shy now. All I’m asking for is a little bit of effort. Fuck my hand, Coryo. You can do that, can’t you?”

His blue eyes bored into yours, but you weren’t falling for his tricks. Your free hand gently turned his chin to you, and you moved in, soft kisses peppering his jaw.

You squeezed the base of his cock a little, enough to make him pull in a sharp breath.

“Move.” you commanded, voice no louder than a whisper, but harsh.

He obliged. Slowly, at first, shame all too clear on his face, but he noticed the look on your face when you glanced down to see his hips rocking up, fucking into your fist under his pants, and lost himself a little more.

He saw the way your legs pressed together sat next to him, hips shifting uncomfortably as he found a rhythm, and lifted his hand to touch your thigh. You batted it away.

“No touching.” you scolded.

“But…” he trailed off, eyes longing.

How cute.

“No buts, either. Are you close?”

He nodded. Shame slowly starting to melt away.

“Good. You can move faster, Coryo. Can you make yourself cum like this?”

He moved faster, and let out a half-laugh, more like a strung-out sigh. As if to say, are you kidding?

“Does that feel good? Use your words, baby.”

You felt him twitch again, wet sounds filling the room as he moved, a cruel satisfaction filling your head.

“Yeah. It feels... fuck.”

“Look at you,” You mused, “Fucking my hand like a desperate slut. You’re this close and I’m not even doing anything.”

This time, when you said the word, he whined. He sounded delirious, and you soaked it up, basked in it. Hungry for more.

He was getting desperate now, needy and careless. Rutting into your hand like a fucking virgin.

You wondered if he was, and it made your torturing him all the sweeter. You let your mind wander, thinking about all the things you could introduce him to. So perfect, so clean cut. You wanted him frayed at the edges, torn at the seams, coming undone for you.

He got loud, whimpers building into cries as you started to move your hand again, tight and mean, brushing over the tip carelessly rough, desperate to see him fall apart. His words were broken and ragged.

“That’s… shit. I think I - can I? Please. I’m-”

He cut himself off, mouth falling open, eyes slipping shut in bliss. You could feel how close he was, hard and heavy in your hand. When his hips gave in, stuttering and tired, you sped up your motions, eyes never leaving his pretty face as he started to crack.

“Cum for me, Coryo. You’ve earned it.”

When he fell, he fell to pieces. You memorised each broken sound he made, every whine and gasp, knowing they’d be replaying in your head for a very long time to come. He came hot and sticky into your palm, and you kept your hand moving until he was trembling from it, until he winced.

You looked back at his face, eyes still shut, and a single tear had slid down his cheek. You pressed a gentle kiss to his open lips, and another to his cheek, tongue dipping out reflexively to trace the tear stain, salty in your mouth but sweet like satisfaction.

He was still catching his breath, and you shifted your hand out of his pants, smirking to yourself as he hissed a little.

You lifted it to his face, your clean hand holding his chin, and the other one bringing two dripping fingers to his perfect, parted lips.

“Now suck.”

a/n: idk WHO to tag since this is my first coryo fic i’ve posted since attention?? and my tag list is just for attention rn? think i need to do a few separate ones, we’ll figure something out. as always feedback keeps my world spinning around. ily 🤍🤍

#also ps this fic combines my two very first inner thoughts when i first watched tbosas: i want to top him and. i want to lick him #emphasis on wanting to lick him #tbosas #tom blyth #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow smut #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #snow x reader #x you smut #the hunger games x reader #x reader #president snow x reader #president snow x you #the hunger games #tom blyth x you #tom blyth x reader #president snow

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cipheramnesia · 11 months ago

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This is the process my brain goes through every time I see anything about Netflix Avatar The Last Airbender.

My first reaction is always: Why? The original, although not without flaws, doesn't leave a lot of room to improve. A good remake or adaptation usually involves an updated context or change in perspective that adds to the original work and gives it new meaning. It's a risky undertaking because it usually involves wanting to take on something established as iconic and make it your own. But Netflix is a corporation and seems very risk averse for the most part. Its only investment is in the name recognition of AtLA. It's hard to visualize Netflix deliberately taking a big risk on an expensive show.

My second reaction is: How? The original series is about 1400 minutes over 61 episodes, and it still had to rush the ending. We're looking at 8 episodes of roughly 45-60 minutes per episode for season 1, which would require Netflix to let it run more than 3 seasons, if the series has similar pacing. Historically however Netflix shows have glacial pacing, and rarely make three seasons. Not really sure how they plan to tell the story if the series is anything like the average Netflix series, meaning it either needs to undercut the story or let the series breathe for at least five seasons. But nothing Netflix has done makes me want to watch anything they make as an ongoing series? Why bother, they cancel everything I enjoy. So I wonder how. What's the hook to say "this will be able to provide something new and interesting compared to the original, and will be allowed to tell the complete story."

Which leads me to think, but you can't judge if something is good without seeing it. Except none of this is about whether it's good, I just find myself wondering what are the odds it's worth the effort? They're low, and it has nothing to do with whether or not it's even any good on its own merits.

Following this, I ask myself, what would a good version of this be. Imagine you are making a live action series with eight hour long episodes per season based on a children's cartoon with 20 thirty minute episodes per season. You are trying to encompass a story which was presented over three seasons as a cartoon, and you do not know if you will have more than those eight episodes. It's made for Netflix which, in terms of a company which will protect the hard earned fruits of your artistic labor, is the fox guarding the henhouse. What do you do?

If you are looking to make something good, that respects your audience investment and your own work, you make radical changes to the story. You change the pacing, the character arcs, the plot arcs. You make sure you deliver a complete story in those episodes with as much respect for the original work and as many new ideas as you can.

Except, at that point, what is even the point of a remake. The only way to work with it is either to trust Netflix allowing you to finish the story (which you'd need to be incredibly naive to do), or tell a story so different it may as well be wholly original. And that's where I always end up. Like, it'll probably be fine, but what's the point of it all? Another vanishing digital property to get canceled because of some undefinable failure to return on investment.

I think about it a lot because the two ends of the spectrum seem to be "dunk on every new piece of information" or "wait and see" but the only conclusion I can ever reach is "why even care?" That's been the lesson to take home from digital streaming in general when it comes to series, but Netflix in particular, and honestly for movie series too. If it can't be self contained, the companies who produce and release these kinds of series just cannot be trusted with it, and there are too many good original stories being put out to care anymore about big budget promises that one day they will definitely for sure deliver a finished story, this time for real.

I care enough to think about why I don't feel anything at all about Netflix Avatar. It'll be fine, whatever else. Just fine.

#netflix avatar

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okkalo · 1 year ago

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the prideful mission

karasu x reader

genre(s): fluff

warning(s): reader is implied to be shorter

forgot i had this in my drafts,, enjoy <3

“ya don’t need it, y/n.” karasu interrupts your staring at the claw machine in front of you with his unwelcome words. you turn around and give him your best puppy dog eyes. he only gives a deadpan back. “ya already have so many stuffed animals.”

“these are different though,” you still had to keep up the pout, your voice in a pleading mumble. you knew you were getting to him, despite the not-so-promising look on his face. you just had to keep going to get him to cave and win a plushie for you. “i mean, come on! look at this one, tabito! isn’t that one so cute!” you turned around to point at a particular one that caught your eye like an excited child, and god he hated his pride for wanting to win that for you.

he sighed, “i’m not even sure if i have change.” he did, you knew he did. he made it a habit to always carry change because of your claw machine addiction—or better said, your addiction to seeing him play the claw machine for you.

you couldn’t bite back a smile that spread on your lips at the sight of him pulling out his wallet. he searched in it before pulling out a dollar, looking up to you with a raised brow. “yer lucky,” he stated, to which you giggled to before placing a small peck on his cheek.

“always am with you.” he couldn’t help the small grin that appeared on his face at your words; you knew exactly how to inflate his ego. he stepped forward sliding the dollar into the machine before taking a deep breath (a sign he was getting into ‘his zone’) and moving the stick to the plushie you had earlier pointed out. he adjusted the claw a few more times before pressing the button and sending it down. it seemed he was confident he had gotten it in one go as he turned around to you with a big smirk plastered on his face.

“do i get a kiss for winning you this?” he asked, his smugness radiating off of him. behind him you could see the claw machine pick up the plush, taking it to the top before the claw loosely wiggled and dropped the plush back to the pile. a wide grin made its way on your lips at the situation, a small giggle escaping you as well.

“once you win it, sure, baby.” at your words he immediately furrowed his brows in confusion, his smirk dropping as he turned to see his effort proving fruitless. you could see his ego visibly leave him; his shoulders deflating as his brows furrowed further.

“i swear i had it,” he mumbled, pulling out his wallet once again before taking out another dollar and sliding it into the machine. he aligned the claw once again before dropping it, this time he kept his eyes focused on the claw dropping to the plushie. in other words, he witnessed the loose claw wiggling the plushie from its grasp.

you would’ve laughed again had you not known this was the start of an endless struggle. it seemed he had plenty of money because he kept pulling more out after another round of losing. about eight more rounds had passed and you couldn’t help but start to feel bad. you hadn’t wanted the plushie that bad in the first place, you more liked seeing him try hard for you.

just as he was about to pull out the eleventh dollar that night, you put a hand on his shoulder, diverting his attention to you. “it’s okay, tabito, i don’t need it. you can stop, baby.” your hand rubbed up and down, trying to make him feel better since you knew his ego was at an all-time low at the moment.

karasu didn’t seem pleased by your words, that much showed when he scoffed and turned his attention back to the machine. “yer just sayin’ that.” you couldn’t help but smile at his determination, watching as he moved his face closer to the glass to get a better view of his target. he moved the control stick very meticulously, his eyes now focused on the wobbly claw as he took his hand off the stick. a deep breath escaped him as the claw stopped wobbling, his eyes falling to the button as he pressed the button with a mutter—a prayer, most likely.

thankfully, the claw grabbed onto the wanted plushy and held it tight to the prize hole. knowing he had struggled (mentally, emotionally, and psychically) for it, you immediately show your excitement to let him know his efforts were not in vain. you tugged at his arm with a small squeal, not missing the way his lips tugged into a smirk as you pulled him down to your level. “you treat me so well, tabito, thank you,” you smiled as you cupped his face still in front of yours, now fully exposed to his proud expression.

“and my reward?” his blue eyes locked with yours, watching your own eyes roll at his question.

“you’re impatient.” despite your complaint, you still gave him what he wanted as you fluttered your eyes shut to kiss him. his lips stayed upturned, which would normally annoy you, but you didn’t seem to mind this time. you made sure to sprinkle his face with a few more kisses afterward, something to convince him that playing these claw machines for you was worth it.

“i’m not doing this again, just so ya know,” he claimed, watching you take the plush from the award slot. you knew he was all talk, however. seeing you hug the plush with a big smile coating your lips—he knew he was all talk as well.

unedited. thank you for reading!

#blue lock #bllk #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #bllk imagines #blue lock imagines #bllk fluff #blue lock fluff #blue lock karasu #bllk karasu #karasu tabito x reader #tabito karasu x reader #tabito karasu #karasu tabito

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kafus · 11 months ago

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over the weekend at the knoxville regional pokemon championships, i met up with a longtime internet friend in person for the first time, and he traded me a very special pokemon - a unique celebi that takes a bit of context to explain the significance of

from november 2001 to january 2005, the building that is now a nintendo world store in new york city was actually an american pokemon center, which hosted the "Gotta Catch ‘Em All!" station, a large machine that you could pop your gold/silver/crystal cartridge into (or later ruby/sapphire/firered/leafgreen, but that's not relevant here) and get a special distribution pokemon unique to the store. often times these were normal pokemon in eggs with special moves they couldn't usually learn, but other times they ran distributions for shiny legendaries, and of course, the mythical celebi.

there's very few pictures of the machine and all of them are pretty low quality, but you can see an iteration of it here during the gen 3 era:

when PCNY (pokemon center new york) shut down, the machine and its contents were presumed lost forever, but due to the preservation efforts and the good luck of a few individuals, some of the distributions have been preserved, as well as parts of the machine and its software. this is extra incredible because almost all gen 2 save files from the time the machine was actually functional are long since wiped due to the battery inside dying, meaning that very very few of the gen 2 event pokemon distributed from this machine at the time still exist. i won't go super in detail on that in this post but you can read an article about all of that here (julie, the person who runs this historical PCNY fansite is incredibly passionate and if you want to know anything about the PCNY store i absolutely recommend reading her writing!)

so, one day when i was rambling to my friend (his name is Venty!) about my fascination with the PCNY machine, and how i wish i had been born early enough to experience that, as well as wishing that i could have traded with anyone in gens 1-3 as a child but never got to due to isolation, venty told me that he's actually friends with a guy (Professor Rex) who knows the guy who owns the remnants of the PCNY machine (Gridelin), and he would love to reach out and ask if there's any way rex could distribute a celebi to himself and trade it to him sometime so that eventually when me and venty met in person one day, he'd be able to trade the celebi to me.

i pretty much burst into tears and very passionately explained how much that would mean to me - not just because owning a celebi actually distributed from the historical PCNY distribution station is just... insanely cool, but because like i said, i had never traded anyone in the old internet-less generations of pokemon, and having that be my first was just... a monumental thought. i am deeply fascinated with old gen event distributions because of the tactile, interpersonal nature of them, in direct contrast with my isolation and loneliness as a child. it might sound silly to be so worked up over a collection of bytes/pixels, but i really couldn't believe venty would offer me something so kind. and not only did he offer to ask - rex said yes!!

so on may 21st last year (2023) rex traveled out and distributed the celebi to his pokemon silver cartridge. specifically, the celebi is from the "Celebi Present Campaign" which ran from the 22nd of november 2002 to the 28th of november 2002. the display on the monitor is the same video that would have appeared on the screen in the PCNY store, but flipped sideways here haha. (the gen 2 distributions were special and had custom animations for the legendaries and stuff, which you can watch here in full quality on gridelin's channel - there's videos of the other distribution animations on his channel, too!)

and then months later, during the weekend of august 11th 2023, rex and venty met up at the pokemon world championship in japan and rex traded the celebi to venty's gold cartridge...

...then, finally, just this past weekend, on sunday (february 4th 2024) venty and i finally met in real life for the first time at the knoxville TN regional pokemon championships, and with link cable in hand the celebi finally made its way to me in my hotel room, after crossing the ocean twice and passing through canada to the US to japan and back to the US...!!

gen 2 pokemon data isn't very complicated, but you can tell that my celebi is unique from the other PCNY celebis dumped online (here and here if you'd like to play with some of these historical pokemon yourself) because it has the trainer ID of 00204 which none of the publicly available celebis have - though of course to me, regardless of what becomes publicly available in the future (and i hope one day the common layperson can simply emulate the PCNY machine, video game preservation >>> unique collections always) this celebi will always be special and unique because of how it got to me, and because it represents my friendship with venty who i care so much about. it was an extremely kind gesture i will never forget and i can't believe how much traveling and how many people were involved with getting this tiny bundle of bytes and pixels to me. i hugged venty after the trade was done haha

oh, and by the way, don't worry, i have the hardware to back up my gen 2 save files so this celebi will never die even after my crystal cartridge battery eventually dies once more!! (also, while i don't think it would be an issue i do want to say please don't bother any of the people mentioned in this post...! gridelin & co are working on making the distribution machine in question available for anyone to use, it'll come out whenever it's out and for now there are dumps of the events that were recovered. i would not want them to receive any annoying requests for pokemon because of me. thank you!)

#pokemon #pokemon crystal #gsc #pokemon gsc #celebi #mystery gift #ayano was here #ayano.txt #long post

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sweet-as-an-angel · 1 year ago

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I know you must be busy and have a lot of work to do, so dont feel pressured to respond !! 😊

Anyways, i have Dominic💓 brainrot 😫‼️‼️💔💔, and was wondering what hed think of a reader that has been raised in a lower/working-class household all of their life ?

Here we have a person that's not has had even a *taste* of luxury, their clothes being second-hand, thrifting becoming their past-time, and, havung had parents living paycheck-to-paycheck, would feel guilty for ever asking tjem for anything, and had starting working for Dominic because they were desperate to pay them back for all the sacrifices they msde for them in their childhood :((

And here we have Dominic, a successful, wealthy business man, secretly raising their wages, and the whole time reader feels sheepish and at times even *embarrassed*, overwhelmed by so much money ??

Especially whrn he slides in a thick envelope with a generous stack of cash into their back pocket with a charming wink, or buys them sometjing that they had mentioned wanting in a passing conversation as they had been sadly stating how they coupd never afford it, and Dominic saying that its absolutely—

—"Not a problem in the slightest, mon chéri. Why wouldn't I want to reward my favourite babysitter for their hard work?"— **oozing** charisma and smiling his dazzling, award-winning smile, and insisting that—

—"You shouldn't be fussing over trifles such as money. Hard work pays off, and you have been working very hard indeed." ... @@"" ",

Anon, you've hit the nail on the head with this one 🤭. Thank you so much for writing in and enjoying my Dominic content, it means the world to me <3 !

TW: Dominic, Manipulative Mentions of Weight Loss, Implied Smut, Dominic Being a Creep

♡ But yes, absolutely, Dominic would use his financial position as a means of dominance over you. Subtly, of course, so that you don't know he's being...unabashed his efforts to woo you. But prevalent enough that you still feel indebted - grateful - to him for all that he's done.

♡ The longer you know each other, the more personal - intimate - the gifts he gets you become. Speaking on that, he makes a habit to inadvertently reward behaviours he desires in you, such as cutting off friends, dumping your boyfriend, spending more time around him, etc.

♡ At first, the gifts are general - vague - and inconspicuous; they belie the true extent to which Dominic has memorised your tastes. Something like a low-price jumper he knows is your general style, something to keep you warm in winter. He'll give you a smile. "Can't have our favourite babysitter freezing up now, can we."

♡ Then, it'll be a pair of boots to go with the jumper - "So you won't have any difficulty getting to and from our house."

♡ It doesn't matter that you live right next door to each other. Dominic doesn't want you taking any chances.

♡ He'll use his assertiveness to trick you into believing you've "Gotten a little thinner these days. Are you eating properly?"

♡ He'll feign concern as he comes close to you, lifting your arms, apologising and faking a vague bashfulness as he apologises for overstepping. "French hospitality, I suppose," he says, averting his eyes for no longer than a second.

♡ And of course, you believe him. Of course, you don't see a problem with his behaviour, especially when he seems so concerned for your wellbeing.

♡ He won't let that lie, by the way. He'll keep telling you how you seem to keep dropping a size every time you see him. Eventually, he'll insist on taking you out to dinner.

♡ When you inevitably try to refuse his kindness, he'll whip out old reliable. "It was supposed to be Marilyn and I's dinner date, but she's..." he glances down the hall. Gives his brow a light yet chiselled furrow. He wonders if you can hear the fizz of the sedative in Marilyn's drink as he can, the sound fresh in his ears.

♡ "Sick, unfortunately."

♡ So now, obviously, Dominic is faced with a dilemma. But you have the solution.

♡ He asks you to accompany him — “I’ll pay for you, of course,” — to take Marilyn’s place.

♡ You resist at first. Tell him that you couldn’t possibly do that. But Dominic is the father of manipulation, and he’s nursed many a lie, watched the become their own adulterous identities, and knows exactly how to get you to go.

♡ “Please, you deserve a break. And besides, I don’t want to be seen eating all the lobster on my lonesome.”

♡ You succumb to his efforts. He tells you to get ready for your dinner date. You tell him you have nothing worthy of wearing.

♡ He knows this.

♡ He smiles. Brings you to a room that is filled to the brim in outfits he says that “Marilyn and I rarely use. Something here will be your size, I'm sure.”

♡ He’s made sure there is. He’s bought half a dozen suits and dresses in just your size — and a little over or under depending on how tightly he wants to see the fabric squeeze you — for this exact occasion. Of which he expects there to be multiple.

♡ He resists the temptation of watching you undress. Of seeing you so bare in his house.

♡ He settles for whatever little flashes of skin your outfit affords. All of which were bought with the sole intention of giving Dominic enough to work with for his midnight musings.

♡ This is not the last time Dominic will treat you to dinner, the last time he watches your eyes bulge out of your skull as you see the amount the bill comes down to — a luxury Dominic lets you see to really instill that sense of indebtedness.

♡ And each time, he tries to get you further and further over the threshold of his house. His room.

♡ When you get undressed and back into your ordinary clothes, Dominic tells you he’ll keep the outfit and wash it.

♡ You don’t know it’s yours yet.

♡ He doesn’t wash it. He all but bathed in the scent of you, mouthing the places your warmest, most intimate sorts would have been pressed against. He imagines you there, vividly.

♡ He wonders how much you’d be willing to bend to the will of his wealth. How much he can make you do until you’re entrenched in his affections, toffee-sweet and with all its viscosity.

Masterlist Yandere AI Masterlist Masterpost

AO3 Wattpad Tumblr Backup Account

#sweet as an angel #yandere #male yandere #yandere male #original yandere #yandere oc #yandere oc x reader #yandere dilf #yandere dilf x reader #yandere x reader #yandere x you #yandere x y/n #yandere blog #yandere writing #yandere x darling #tw yandere

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seelestars · 1 year ago

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ACCIDENTAL CONFESSION ?!

(wriothesley x gn reader)

a/n : the ending is not the best but oh well.. it is what it is ig

won my 50/50 for wrio so gonna write extra for him ,, gl to everyone pulling !

you, sigewinne, and wriothesley were having some tea together in his office. a smile threatens to make its way to your lips every time you think about how insistent he was about the three of you hanging out. wriothesley always had more spare time than you and sigewinne, but even with your pretty tight schedule— you couldn’t find it in you to refuse his request.

“so? is the tea to your liking?” wriothesley looks at you and sigewinne, a content expression on his face as he spent time with some of his favorite people.

“hehe, it’s good. but~ I think the shakes I make are better.” sigewinne giggles while resting her cheek on her palm, staring at wriothesley with half lidded eyes.

you were lost in your thoughts about wriothesley as he and sigewinne tossed playful comments towards each other. subconsciously, you began tuning out their conversation. it was like pleasant background noise for you while admiring how handsome you thought wriothesley was. his beautiful eyes you recount getting lost in quite a number of times, his calloused hands adorned by veins and gloves that you found yourself trying to touch whenever you could, his hair—

his hair.

at the thought of his hair, a fond memory played in your head.

“you know, the tufts on your hair remind me of… a wolf. i mean, you even act like one.” you said suddenly, as the two of you were temporarily slacking off. the smirk that formed on wriothesley’s lips made your heart race furiously. why did he have to be so attractive?! “oh really? then, you should be careful in case I bite you.” he jokes, chuckling. you nearly lost your composure at the sound of his laughter, having to hide your slightly flushed face. (even though he noticed <\3)

but.

it was inappropriate to be in love with your best friend, so you kept all of your feelings to yourself. …you doubt he felt the same anyway.

“you okay?” sigewinne had been trying to grab your attention a couple of times, seeing how you seemed distant.

you quickly reassured her that you were fine, silently hoping wriothesley didn’t notice the way you were looking at him the entire time.

“hmm.. alright then! oh— i almost forgot… is there something going on between you two? wriothesley nearly talks my ear off about you sometimes.” sigewinne smiles, throwing a knowing glance at wriothesley and back at you.

you noticed the way his cheeks immediately flushed a subtle pink at her words (though, yours did too.) his head hung low in his hand as he avoided looking at the w two of you, a groan escaping his lips.

wriothesley must’ve been very embarrassed from the way he tried to shut down the conversation, coming up with excuses that none of you believed in.

“anyways. um. i still have some work to attend to, so ill talk to you all later.” his words were slightly jumbled together as he quickly walked out of his office, leaving a confused you with an amused sigewinne.

“i wasn’t joking when i said it.” sigewinne turns to you, smiling. her expression made you nervous, even though she was normally like this too. you coughed, your cheeks reddening further. “r-right.” you tried to ignore what she said to the best of ability, knowing it would cause complications. but… your mind couldn’t help but wander..

did wriothesley truly have the same feelings for you? what if sigewinnes just playing with you— no.. that can’t be. wriothesley seemed embarrassed at being exposed like that. no. there’s no way he’s in love with you. he’s too out of your league—

“you should talk to him.” sigewinne had reached up to pat your shoulder in an attempt to be reassuring. it didn’t quite work very well, but you appreciated the effort nonetheless, so you gave her an awkward smile.

and that’s what lead you to where you were now, currently chasing after wriothesley. luckily, after he noticed your presence he purposefully slowed down a little for you to catch up.

once you finally caught up to him, you let out a relieved exhale. “h…hey. I wanted to ask you something very important.” you confess shyly, feeling hesitant about what you were about to say next.

“oh?~ what could possibly be that important to you, to the point you seem to be in such a rush?” wriothesley smiles, back to his normal self that enjoyed teasing others and joking around after having seemingly calmed down from earlier. he crossed his arms, looking down at you in a way that made you swoon over him in your head.

“i.. was what sigewinne said earlier.. true?” your voice was barely above a whisper as you spoke those words at last. you were oblivious to the way you looked so endearingly nervous— in wriothesley’s eyes at least. you fidgeted around as you anxiously waited for his response.

“…yes.” wriothesley admits quietly. for a brief moment, his vulnerable and true emotions were let out. but they were gone as quick as they came, his expression now unreadable as he tried his best to avoid your gaze. “I do talk about you to her a lot— in a good way, of course.” he elaborates.

“It’s only because of how much I.. hm. how should I put this… I’m going to be honest with you here.” there it was, the him that he hid behind playful words and teasing smirks. no longer was he trying to hide how he really felt about you.

“over time, I found myself growing feelings for you. I know it’s stupid and unlike me to be reluctant to tell you all of this, but since sigewinne blew my cover in a way… there’s no other choice besides to let it all out, is there?” he lets out an airy laugh, nonchalant even when admitting the things he was most unsure about.

you felt tears well up in your eyes at his confession, immediately wrapping your arms around him in a tight embrace. feelings of happiness from your feelings being reciprocated made your heart swell as you let out many tears of joy.

“woah there— go easy on me there, will ya?” wriothesley laughs, humming as he patted your back comfortingly as you sobbed into his chest from how happy you were at that moment.

“i-i can’t believe it… I’ve had a crush on you for a long time.. this doesn’t feel real at all..” you pulled away, wiping your tears away as you smiled at him, nearly seconds from crying again. you had half a mind to be embarrassed about being so pathetic in front of wriothesley, but you didn’t care. (for now) not when you just found out the intense love you held for him was mutual.

“then.. hopefully the date ill be taking you on right now will make it feel real.”

#genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #wriothesley x reader

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tj-dragonblade · 11 months ago

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[FLUFFBRUARY FIC] A Sweet Romance Beginning In a Queue

Rated: T Word Count: 4551 Tags: Fluffbruary, Fluffbruary 2024, fluff, human AU, rain, writer!Dream, professor!Hob, song-based meet-cute, clumsy metaphors

Notes: This is springboarding entirely from Bus Stop by The Hollies; shoutout to @valeriianz for suggesting this song would make a great Dreamling fic many many months ago. I thought Fluffbruary Day 3 would be a good opportunity to bang it out real quick but uh. It didn't want to flow, so I've just been rolling additional days into it all month. Also went a wee bit off-script from the song but. I'm pleased enough with what it's turned out to be. Prompts listed at the end.

Summary: Bus stop, wet day, he's there, I say, 'Please share my umbrella'

On AO3

It's the first day of the new term and the sky is overcast, threatening rain as Hob steps off the bus at his connecting stop. He's got his umbrella and his overcoat and his bag is water-resistant; his stop on the other end is very near the college and he's feeling well-prepared should the weather follow through on its threat.

Which of course it does, not half a minute later, and Hob deploys his umbrella with a sigh. There are a handful of other people waiting at the stop who do the same.

And one who does not.

He's pale and pretty, and tall, and dark—dark trousers, dark peacoat, dark hair, which is well on its way to getting thoroughly soaked as the skies open up in earnest. He appears to be lacking an umbrella entirely. Hob, who these days makes conscious effort to be a Good Samaritan whenever he can, and who also maybe thinks that attractively-pale men dressed in black who forget their umbrellas are worth at least a 'hello', moves quickly.

"Share my umbrella? Please." He's holding it over the guy as he speaks, but they'll have to squish up a bit to get maximum benefit for either of them.

"…Thank you," the guy says, shuffling closer; their shoulders touch. He is stiff, awkward, and yeah okay Hob can understand; courtesy in rainy weather or not, they're still complete strangers.

"Hell of a day to forget your umbrella, yeah?" Hob rolls his shoulders and shifts, putting himself more or less back-to-back with the guy so they fit better.

"Quite," comes the answer. His voice is low and rumbly, pleasantly dark without being bass-deep; it's oddly appealing.

Hob shrugs. "We've all been there. And hey, I'm glad to share."

"Again. Thank you." There's a touch more warmth this time, and Hob smiles to himself.

They pass a moment in silence, save for the drumming of rain against the umbrella and the splashing of cars in the street, and then the bus is pulling up to the stop. The guy steps toward it, first in line, and Hob follows with the umbrella, then lets the other three people board ahead of him.

Which means, once he's boarded and tapped in, the only open seat is serendipitously next to his slightly-soggy goth stranger. Who makes eye contact and holds it as Hob approaches, scoots just that little bit closer to the window to make clear he doesn't mind Hob taking the seat beside him, and Hob is quietly thrilled at the subtle welcome.

"Are you a conversationalist, or a ride-in-silence enthusiast?" he asks, as the bus lurches into motion.

"Ordinarily, the latter," the guy admits, glancing briefly at Hob. "But, as I stormed out with neither book nor earbuds, and I find myself with a chivalrous seat partner, perhaps I could be persuaded to the former just this once."

"Very kind, thank you," Hob says, with a smile. "'Stormed out' doesn't sound promising; feel like unburdening to a friendly ear? I'd be happy to listen, if so. Or find something else entirely to talk about if not."

His stranger turns to the window, watching the rivulets of rain trailing over the glass; there is a brief lull before he speaks. "I find myself creatively blocked, and my sister's attempts to be helpful. Were not." He sighs. "I left the house to clear my head, before saying anything truly unkind."

"Smart," Hob agrees. He could listen to this guy talk all day, his rumbly words and his dark-velvety voice.

"'Smart' would have been making certain to grab more than just my phone and wallet." There's a pretty little scowl accompanying the words, that rosy mouth plumped out in the faintest pout visible in his reflection in the window, and Hob is smitten.

"That may be, but then I'd hardly have had reason to say hello, and we'd both be sitting here reading our books politely ignoring one another. Silver lining?"

"Perhaps," the guy says, but it sounds agreeable enough. Hob likes to think he's a decent judge of unspoken communication and that he could tell if he was being a bother. Currently his stranger is glancing over Hob's bag and his attire with a curious and observant eye, posture reserved but not closed off, and Hob figures he's doing alright.

"Where are you headed, then—work?" the guy asks.

"Yeah, I teach at the college, medieval history, now and then a class in medieval lit too."

The guy's attention goes from merely polite to genuinely interested. "Oh?"

"Yep!" Hob's heart rate bumps up a notch at the light in those (gorgeous) blue eyes; the sudden intensity of this stranger's focus is heady.

He's turned in his seat, angled to somewhat face Hob, gaze bright, expression open. "I imagine that is a difficult sell to many students."

"Oh my friend, you have no idea!" Delighted with his good fortune, Hob launches into tales of his most recalcitrant classes and the victories he's won in inciting and maintaining student interest. He's good at talking, and enjoys doing it, and this pretty stranger is paying genuine attention to him, and so Hob prattles on enthusiastically as the bus trundles steadily through the rain.

~ "This is me," Hob says, as the bus pulls up to the college stop. "It was delightful chatting with you, and I hope your day improves from here!"

"It already has, thank you."

The tiny smile that the stranger offers in parting buoys Hob's spirits all the way to his office.

~ Tuesday is miserably wet again and Hob checks for his stranger at the bus stop, hopeful (yes alright, perhaps he's got a bit of a crush), but there's no sign of him. It's earlier than it was yesterday though, on account of his 8 a.m. lecture this morning, so there's no reason to think he'd be there again. Plus he'd talked about 'storming out' and 'clearing his head'; it wasn't like this stop was a daily transfer point the way it was for Hob.

Chances were good they'd never cross paths again.

~ Wednesday it's less a downpour and more a light shower, but it's still enough that an umbrella is practical.

And Hob is absolutely delighted as he steps off his first bus to see that Mr. Tall-Dark-and-Emo is there again, and again without an umbrella, hunched ineffectually into the collar of his coat and resembling nothing so much as a disgruntled wet cat. He perks up distinctly as Hob approaches with his umbrella angled forward in offering.

"You gallantly come to my rescue yet again." He tilts his head and glances up through lush black lashes, just this side of coy. "I thank you, sincerely, Mr…?"

"Hob, I'm Hob. Just Hob. You can call me Hob." Not his most suave, certainly, but this blatantly-flirtatious greeting atop his own delight has somewhat stolen his functioning brain cells.

"Hob," the guy repeats, unhurried, like he's savoring the taste of the name in his mouth, and smiles just a little bit. "You may call me Dream."

"Pleased to run into you again, Dream." Hob dimples brightly, delighted with the turn his day has taken, delighted that they've made proper introductions. "How was the head-clearing, the other day?"

"Effective." The guy—Dream—crowds close under the umbrella (Hob's largest, which he had pulled out yesterday just in case) and smooths the clinging water from his hair with one hand. His (damp) shoulder is firmly pressed against Hob's and his profile is absolutely beautiful, this close. Hob tries not to stare.

"Got your creativity flowing again, did it?"

"I managed to finish a very troublesome chapter Monday evening, yes."

Hob perks up at this new tidbit of information. "You're a writer, then?"

He gives a short nod, staring out into the rain, then glances sideways at Hob. "I have you to thank for my progress, also."

"Me?"

"The stories you shared…you inspired a direction for the scene that was plaguing me. I came out yesterday, with intent to thank you, but you were not here…?"

His voice lilts up just a touch on the end of his sentence, curiosity expressed without actually voicing the question, and Hob just smiles. "Yeah, Tuesday's my early-morning class. Sorry I missed you."

"No matter. I have now left the house three days in a row and my sister is distressingly pleased about it. She says it is good for my mental health."

"And what do you think?"

He sighs, heavily. "She is not incorrect." He glances sideways at Hob again, eyes narrowed prettily. "But I am not going to admit it to her."

Hob laughs; he can't help it. "You are so completely valid for that," he says, and when Dream smiles in return his spirits soar.

~ "Remembered your umbrella this time, I see!" Hob ignores the little pang of disappointment; just because he doesn't need to share his umbrella with Dream this time doesn't mean they can't still have a conversation.

"My sister reminded me, yes," Dream answers, and then to Hob's great surprise he lowers and closes the umbrella. "But I would prefer to share yours, if you're amenable." His eyes flick up, just a hint of hopeful uncertainty showing there.

"Of course." Hob moves close, brings his umbrella over Dream's head, heart thudding in his chest with delight. He hopes the great spreading grin on his face doesn't put Dream off; he can't quite get it under control.

If Dream notices, he gives no indication. "This routine is working well for me," he says, and it takes Hob a second to cotton on to what he means.

"What, catching the bus in the rain every morning?"

"Yes," Dream says serenely. "The company is. Refreshing." The corners of his mouth tilt up the smallest bit.

"Nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," Hob says, making a valiant effort to sound normal while something warm blooms in the vicinity of his heart. He shifts the umbrella, making sure they're both still sheltered.

"Writing flows more easily when I return home after our morning conversations," Dream says, as if this is something they've been doing for weeks instead of just days. "I shall have to credit you in my author's notes."

Hob laughs, absolutely delighted. "That is extremely flattering, my friend, but wholly unnecessary. But if I'm at all helpful? I'm glad."

One day maybe he'll ask if he can see Dream's writing, when they've been acquainted for more than a week; one day further, perhaps, he'll ask him on a date. It certainly seems he'd be amenable, but Hob knows himself and his tendency to rush in full-tilt and tells himself there's no harm in just. Seeing what happens, for a little while.

~ "Share my umbrella?"

Dream looks askance at him, hair fluttering prettily across his forehead in the breeze. "It is not raining, Hob."

"Well no, but. Bit windy, isn't it? Wouldn't want you to suffer any windburn. Umbrella makes a decent wind-break." He has oh-so-smoothly said 'wind' three times in ten seconds, and it is the flimsiest of excuses to begin with, but Dream only smiles as if he's said something profoundly wise.

"Indeed. Truly, I am fortunate to receive your continued chivalry." He crowds in close to Hob, who angles the umbrella behind them to keep the wind off, and smiles.

~ The other patrons at the bus stop are giving Hob weird looks as he opens his umbrella, but there's only one person here whose opinion matters.

Dream tilts one eyebrow up, amused. "The sun is shining today, Hob Gadling. Yet still you offer your umbrella?"

"It's tradition, at this point. And besides—got a very fair complexion, haven't you? Bit of shade will do you good."

"…As you say." His smile is radiant as the sunshine, and Hob's heart thumps happily. "Thank you."

~ It's been about a month since that first meeting when Hob leaves campus for the afternoon and finds Dream waiting at the college bus stop. The morning's rain has cleared throughout the day but now rises again as a light drizzly mist; Dream is huddled into the meager shelter offered over the bench while pulling out his umbrella. Hob hurries over with his own already deployed, playing into their established pattern.

"Fancy meeting you here?" he greets, smiling. He's delighted to run into Dream outside their developed routine, and the way that Dream kind of blooms to see him is very satisfying.

"Hob. At last," Dream smiles, ducking under Hob's broad umbrella.

"Been waiting long?"

"…Somewhat. You see. I have. A question, I would like to ask you. An important one." The gravity in his tone is clear, and Hob might be worried if it wasn't so plainly obvious that Dream was nervous. "But I do not know your schedule, beyond your morning commute, and so…"

"Have you just been hanging around half the day waiting for me to show up?" Hob is equal parts appalled and delighted.

Dream meets his eyes briefly, glance flicking away again too quickly to interpret as anything other than confirmation. "Perhaps."

Hob laughs, aware he should possibly be alarmed by what any normal person would read as stalking behavior but utterly charmed by it instead. "Your patience has its reward, then. What was it you wanted to ask me?"

"I…ah." Dream colors prettily, the faintest pink flush across his cheeks as he stumbles over actually speaking his question, and Hob is rapidly escalating from 'charmed' to 'enamoured'. "I am not. Good, at—at—"

"Obviously it was important enough to identify my most likely location and wait hours for me to show up, right?" Hob cuts in gently. "Go ahead. I promise I won't judge you." He can hear the fondness seeping into his own voice, and apparently so can Dream. He lifts wide eyes to Hob, lips pressed together resolutely, and heaves a fortifying breath out through his nose.

"I wish to ask. Would you like to have dinner sometime. Or. Or coffee, perhaps."

The bus pulls up at that exact moment, disgorging a single passenger; Hob barely hesitates before waving the driver on.

"That was our bus?" Dream states, lilting up in such a way that it's clear he means Why did we not board, why are we still standing here?

"Well, yes," Hob agrees, very aware of the size of the dopey grin on his face. "But you see, a very dear friend of mine has just asked if I might like a bite to eat with him, and I know the most amazing little spot right around the corner."

"That. That is 'yes', then? Now?" Dream seems delightedly flummoxed, and it ratchets Hob straight up to 'besotted'. How could Dream think he'd ever say anything else? Although it occurs to him belatedly Dream might have other obligations for the evening.

"Well 'now' is certainly 'sometime', yes? If you're free, that is. If you've something else you have to do—"

"No. Nothing else," Dream cuts him off, and the warm smile spreading over his face makes Hob's heart skip a beat. "There is nowhere I should like to be more, just now."

Of course not, not when he'd dedicated the bulk of his day to waiting for Hob just to ask him out. "Wonderful. Shall we?" He offers his arm, angling the umbrella to keep the misty sprinkle off them still.

Dream tucks a hand into his elbow and falls into step beside him.

~ "Wanna try mine?" Hob offers, plucking a crispy slab of cheese from his plate with a bit of everything on it and holding it out, other hand cupped underneath. They are talking over plates of halloumi fries; Hob had gone for his favorite—smothered in pomegranate molasses and za'atar yoghurt with pomegranate arils and fresh mint garnish—and Dream had taken his drizzled in honey and sprinkled with sesame seeds.

"Thank you, I am fine," Dream says, rote politeness in his voice but curiosity in his eyes, and Hob arches a brow.

"Worried you'll have to spend a month stuck with me for each pomegranate seed?"

"That would hardly dissuade me," Dream replies, with a sweet little smile that hits Hob straight in the gut. "Very well, since you offer so generously." He leans forward, grasps Hob's wrist instead of the proffered food, and bites through the warm-crusted cheese while Hob's still holding it, lips brushing Hob's fingers as he pulls back.

He chews, making a contemplative face, and gently plucks the rest of it from Hob's hand while Hob is still scrambling to reboot his poor blue-screening brain and not make a fool of himself.

"Do you know," Hob blurts, grasping for anything, "whatever Persephone might have eaten in the underworld, it would've bound her there the same? It wasn't just because it was a pomegranate?"

"I did know that, yes," Dream replies, and Hob feels the flush of having said something fairly stupid rising into his face. "The pomegranate is a tidy choice for enumerating the months she stays below, I think, with the countable seeds." He plucks one of the ruby-red arils from the cheese that Hob had given him between two delicate fingertips and places it in his mouth, eyes on Hob in a way that makes him lose his brain again.

"Yes that's. Good point," Hob tries, and thankfully Dream pops the rest of the halloumi fry into his mouth without any fanfare or continued eye contact.

"I can see why you like this," Dream says, once his mouth is empty. "It is a wonderful blend of flavors. But the honey-sesame remains my favorite." He takes a bite from his own plate, and Hob tries not to fixate on the casual way he licks the honey off his rose-petal lips.

"I wrote an alternate version of Persephone's story, once," Dream says then, eyes not exactly meeting Hob's or even on his face, darting between his shoulder and his sternum and dropping back to his plate. "I made it her choice; they met and fell in love long before the abduction, which was closer to an elopement. She ate the pomegranate seeds deliberately so as not to be taken away from the partner she had chosen. In my version, it was the pomegranate specifically that would bind her."

"That sounds brilliant," Hob says, feeling a little starry-eyed; Dream has never really talked specifics about his writing before. "I'd love to read it sometime."

"It. Was many many years ago, before I ever considered publication," Dream admits, barely glancing up at Hob, still a little skittish. "I thought it a unique idea at the time, but there are dozens of Persephone remixes to be had and I have never felt it warranted the effort of reworking it from my current skill level or attempting to publish."

"Well for what it's worth, your version is the remix I'd be most interested in reading," Hob says, utterly sincere, smiling from ear to ear. "If you ever wanted to share, that is." He bites into another halloumi fry and speaks around it. "I would never pressure you to let me read your stuff if you don't want to. But I'm always interested."

"…Thank you." Dream covers his awkwardness with another dainty bite from his own plate, a hint of pink dusting across his cheekbones. When his mouth is empty again, he offers, "Mostly I have written. Romance."

"Oh?"

"Not under my own name. But yes."

"See it's fascinating that pseudonyms are so prevalent through the ages, and for so many reasons," Hob starts, and as the conversation turns in this new direction Hob does not miss how Dream relaxes to have the focus shifted from the vulnerable personal glimpse of himself he'd offered.

And Hob maybe falls a little bit deeper.

~ It's still lightly raining three hours later; they've talked about so many things, they've had dessert and then had coffee since neither of them were ready to leave yet. It's dark by the time they finally head back to the bus stop; Dream presses up against Hob's side beneath the umbrella and Hob thrills at the warmth, the closeness, the graceful slide of Dream's hand into his and the way he doesn't let go until the bus shows up.

~ It's raining again the first time Hob kisses Dream, pulling him close beneath the umbrella outside the theater, one finger tipped beneath Dream's chin; the kiss is tentative, but Dream's mouth is warm and the way he lists gently forward has Hob coming back again, soft and sweet and smiling helplessly.

~ Three straight days of rain are clearing on the afternoon that Dream takes Hob to the bookstore and leads him to the romance section, points him to a shelf in the 'M's where there are a dozen or so titles by Morpheus, mononymous. Hob doesn't make the connection for a second, and then he does.

"Is this you?" he asks, reaching for one of the hardbacks, and sure enough there's Dream's photo inside the dust jacket, solemn and styled and somehow less authentic than the Dream standing nervously next to him.

"Yes," Dream confirms, and soft warmth floods Hob's chest. Dream has been very reserved about his writing—"It is one thing to publish for strangers, but I find it…much more difficult to share, when it is someone whose opinon matters to me personally," he'd said once, and being trusted, opened up to like this—Hob is not oblivious to the privilege of it.

"You've certainly written a lot," he says, warmth and fondness curling in his chest. "And you're okay with me reading any of these?"

"Yes; however—" he reaches into the messenger bag slung over his hip, withdraws a large clear envelope with what looks like a manuscript inside. "If you wish to read my writing, I would have you begin with this." He hands it to Hob.

Hades and Persephone: The Morpheus Remix the paper proclaims through the plastic, and Hob looks up at Dream, delighted. "Is this—?"

"It needs a proper title." Dream shrugs, hunches into his coat a little bit. "I would like—perhaps you might help me come up with one, as it was you who inspired me to revisit and update it."

Hob cannot for the life of him stop the broad smile that overtakes his face, is not even trying. "I would be honored."

~ It is raining buckets the night that Dream comes home with Hob, and even the umbrella is not enough to prevent their getting a bit wet. But that's alright, Hob thinks, with Dream's eager mouth warm and hungry on his as they move in the direction of his bedroom, it's not like their clothes were staying on anyway.

He lays Dream gently in his bed, covers him with his own body, makes love to him with slow and ardent urgency while the rain lashes against his window. Later, after, when the winds have calmed and thunder rumbles soothingly in the distance, he holds Dream curled against him, asleep, and he thinks. He thinks about umbrellas, and shielding, and guardedness, and how Dream has slowly gifted so many of his vulnerabilities to Hob; he thinks about the duality of potential in that realization, the power it gives him to either harm or protect, and vows to himself that he will always be Dream's metaphorical umbrella when it's within his capabilities.

~ It's sprinkling just a little when Hob realizes that he's going to marry Dream.

It's early Autumn and they're at the park; Dream is under his own umbrella (look, sometimes sharing just isn't practical, as much as Hob still loves faithfully carrying on their schtick), scattering peas and grapes for the ducks and Hob is hanging back, watching him with an aching fondness in his heart.

Dream is beautiful, and thoughtful, and engaging. He is guarded and private, but so warm and emotional and giving once he has let you in. He is smart, and witty, with the driest sense of humor and the most endearingly terrible laugh and Hob has fallen desperately in love with him along the way.

He watches as a particularly bold duck comes close and snaps up the pea that had fallen directly at the toe of Dream's boot; watches the soft delight that steals over Dream's face, and he knows.

~ It is the following Spring before he asks. They are at the bus stop where they first met and it's a bright sunny day; Hob's got the umbrella up and they're shoulder-to-shoulder beneath it. Dream is animated, excited, talking about his editor's latest feedback on his Persephone remix (The Seeds of Fate, they had decided to call it), and Hob is listening, very much interested but so so nervous. The little velvet box on his pocket is weighty, not physically of course but he can't stop touching it, hoping Dream will say yes, believing Dream will say yes.

At last, Dream turns to him, a little wrinkle of concern between his brows. "You feel…distracted; is everything alright?"

Hob smiles at him, entirely and wholeheartedly in love. He hooks the hand holding the umbrella with Dream's so their fingers are tangled together around it; he leans his forehead against Dream's, closes his eyes. "I have a question, I'd like to ask you. An important one." It's a deliberate echo of how Dream had asked him out more than a year ago; Hob can picture the way Dream smiles to recognize it, can feel one eyebrow lifting against his own.

He takes a deep breath, pulls the little box from his pocket and clicks the lid open. "Will you marry me?"

It's a quiet request, pitched low so the other couple people at the bus stop don't overhear, so that if Dream does wish to say no, he won't be under the public pressure of strangers to say yes for appearances' sake. Not that Hob expects him to say no.

He hopes he doesn't say no.

Dream pulls back and Hob opens his eyes, meeting the surprise and delight and disbelief in Dream's. Dream looks down at the ring in the open box in Hob's hand, touches a fingertip to the velvet-covered lid delicately, looks back up at Hob with joy blossoming in his face.

"Do you mean it? Truly?"

Hob swallows down the nervous lump in his throat, squeezes gently where his hand is tangled with Dream's around the handle of the umbrella. "More than anything," he murmurs, entranced by the gathering shine of happy tears in Dream's eyes. "Marry me. Please."

Dream makes a joyful little noise, wrenches his hand free and throws both arms around Hob's neck, kissing him soundly. Hob manages to snap the ring box closed and swing the umbrella low, wraps both arms around Dream's waist and kisses him back.

"Yes," Dream breathes wetly when they part a moment later. "Yes, of course yes, a thousand times, yes."

~ They marry in the park in August, the clouds high and the breeze warm. Hob puts up the umbrella when they reach the crux of the ceremony; he holds its history over them while they say their vows, while they slip rings on one another's fingers, and then they seal their marriage with a tender heartfelt kiss beneath its promise of care and protection.

= Started: 2/3/24 Drafted: 2/24/24 Posted: 2/25/24

Fluffbruary 2024 Prompts Day 3: umbrella seashore mist Day 4: camera lush beau Day 5: rescue inertia lullaby Day 6: tie embarrassment* dessert Day 7: potatoes blue glass Day 8: shower blessed layer Day 9: urgency kneel rural Day 10: flush angel owl Day 11: reflection water apology Day 12: graceful volcano blanket Day 18: suave cologne gradual* Day 19: teacakes flood feature Day 20: smooth glitters queen Day 23: rhythm chalk humor Day 24: spring fuzzy silky

*The word did not get used but the concept is very much in there

✨✨✨ Sequel: Love Rain Down On Me ✨✨✨

#TJs Fics #Fluffbruary 2024 #TJs Fluffbruary #Dreamling #Sandman #wip: umbrella boys

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onskepa · 2 years ago

Note

Can I request a headcanon for A'onung with a shy and like softie reader? Pls-

_(:3 」∠)_

Heeeeeeeeey! thanks for the request! hope I did justify your desire!

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

Yuey

I think we can all agree that ao'nung is a cocky little shit that sweet tsireya has to deal with every day.

But she doesnt have to deal with it alone. Oh no. When there is a sweet, there is a sweeter one.

A shy girl lives amongst the Metkayina clan. She is very quiet and more than often keeps things to herself.

It's not that she is anti social, its just she is painfully shy. When she tries to talk to others, her words get all jumbled up and anything that comes out of her mouth sounds like odd sounds.

More than likely, everyone knows she is around, but doesnt do much to talk to her. Except for surprisingly, Ao'nung.

Ao'nung has known the shy girl for a while. Was surprised that he never known nor met her in his entire life, despite both living in the same island, in the same clan.

He met her in a form of wanting to trade the fish he caught for some pretty shells the girl had. But the girl was so painfully shy that she just dropped her basket and ran.

After some time, and actual effort, Ao'nung managed to get the shy girl to speak to him, via a bit stuttering, but managed to complete sentences and be a bit more confident to speak to him.

Despite his brash attitude, Ao'nung likes the shy girl, her little quirks and the way her ocean eyes look at him, and only him.

He enjoys the little things she does to get his attention, be it a little tug on his tail, small taps on his shoulders, or just looks at him waiting to say something.

Despite being shy, the metkayina girl is really good at creating jewelry from seashells and other materials. She would give away her creations and not ask anything in return. Rather just enjoy the smiles and happiness other na'vi So it is no surprise that she would often gift Ao'nug jewelry as gifts, as means to show affection and gratitude from being her friend.

Sometimes Ao'nug is so proud he will parade around the village to show off was his shy friend did for him.

In time, Ao'nug developed a soft, loving, caring, very protective side for his shy friend. Would begin to nick name her "Yuey".

"good morning ma'yuey", "where are you going yuey? mind if I join?", "did you make something for me ma'yuey?", "ma'yuey why must you be so cute?"

Would tease her by addressing her with "ma". To slowly display his real affections towards her, slowly as to not scare her or give her the wrong idea.

She does blush every time he does, and ask him to stop or not to say it in front of others. But he loves the blushing look so much, he would do it on purpose in front of everyone and smile as his yuey weakly hits him. Which feels like mere tickles.

Should anyone bother, or mistreat his dear Yuey, he wont hesitate to start a fight. Which has happened, thankfully, not all too often.

But the times it has happened, Rotxo would join in those fights. Tsireya would try to stop them but it be the shy girl to disrupt the fights with a simple tear. Making Ao'nug quickly stop. And treat any small wounds he has.

She wont stay mad at Ao'nug, pout definitely, and be annoyed with Ao'nug calls her pouts "cute" and "adorable" and would poke at her cheeks.

"your cheeks are so cute ma'yuey how can I not?", "I'm sorry yuey", "ma'yuey, can I pinch your cheeks?", "yuey, you're adorable when you pout"

Ao'nug for sure begin to see a future with his lovely Yuey, perhaps with a steady flow, get his yuey to be more confident in herself, but still be gently, and soft to the others.

Heck, Ao'nug would begin to secretly make courting gifts, and perfect and hone his skills as to impress his yuey, and pray to Eywa that the shy girl sees him the way he does to her.

But he wont present them until his sweet girl is ready or begins to show her feelings for him.

Which we all know, she low-key down bad for him. But wont say anything due do over thinking of the possibility of being rejected.

When will they confess? only Eywa knows the answer to that.

Yuey = beautiful [inner beauty]

Thank you Mandomaterial for this request! I hope it is to your liking!

#avatar #na'vi x reader #ao'nung #headcanon #ao'nug x reader #aonung #avatar the way of water #avatar fluff #ao'nug x y/n #ao'nug fluff #na'vi language #na'vi x y/n #metkayina #roxto #tsireya

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tellmeallaboutit · 8 months ago

Text

knock knock (Raphael x F!Player)

Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event (Part 1)

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

(you'll see full art when I finish because it's spoilery as fuck I realized (too late))

SUMMARY: You accidentally the whole Coca-Cola bottle summoned Raphael (or so you'd think) to Earth.

TAGS: meta romance, psychological horror, smut, the character is the player, Raphael is after you, you wanted him, you invited him to our world, he accepted your invitation

RATING: explicit

AO3

Chapter 4

“Buonasera”, Raphael leaned against the doorframe, taking in your appearance. "You look ravishing," he said before giving you a brief kiss on the cheek.

You could feel his light stubble grazing against your skin. Notes of cherries and leather wafted off of him. No sulphur.

Ravishing was perhaps too grand a term, but you put in your best effort. You wore a black dress. While choosing, you went through wanting to be extravagant, then classic, then unconventional, then elegant again, and landed on a little black dress because you thought the devil in a suit would like it.

He, for his part, looked immaculate (of course). His crisp white shirt was expertly pressed, a sleek black waistcoat around his torso. His trench coat hung open, and he played with his car keys.

That surprised you. You had imagined he’d have a chauffeur in a black peak cap, driving a long black limousine. Could Raphael even drive a car? Did he learn to drive for you? Is it difficult to learn to drive a car? You had no driving licence and no idea.

"Thank you, come on in," you invited, breathing in and out low and steady. Did this invitation hold any significance, like with vampires? "I'll just grab my bag and I am ready to go. Do I need to take anything? My wallet?"

You were slowly getting used to the thought of Raphael being real, you mused to yourself. Well, real. At least a constant hallucination in your life.

"Only if you are planning to offend me," he replied with a laugh. “And I hope you are not”.

Raphael followed you into your flat, taking in the surroundings with a half-pitiful, half-amused expression that said “I'm not saying anything because I am well-mannered, but I'm thinking a lot to myself." Well, yes. Not the House of Hope, not even an upper scale apartment, just a run-down studio, forty-six square metres, overdue for some renovation. What more could a young professional afford in today's economy?

Raphael briefly glanced at your open laptop with disinterest, then his eyes lingered on your neatly made bed with its white, slightly faded linen. A small smile formed on his lips as if he entertained a certain thought.

You had entertained quite some thoughts about him while lying on that very bed.

Snatching your phone, keys, and card holder, you cleared your throat and put on an "I'm prepared for whatever comes next" expression as Raphael's eyes moved from the bed to settle between your breasts.

Not in a suggestive way.

"Oh...you are Catholic?" His tone suddenly shifted - was it cautious, repulsed, or bewildered?

"No, I am not religious," you responded, shaking your head and taking a step towards the exit. Raphael didn't budge. The raised eyebrow at the cross around your neck hinted that he wasn't entirely convinced. "You mean the cross? My mother gave it to me for protection and… ugh, protection," you added.

“The age gap between us was not lost on me, but I never imagined you were still young enough to seek fashion advice from your mother," he remarked with a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.

It was clear what he wanted - the cross had to go. You recalled the black screen in the video and your own possessed, sickly face.

The cross stays on.

You didn’t believe in God (well, you did believe a bit more now), but the cross stays on. Even during sex. Especially during sex.

“Does the cross bother you?”, you asked.

"Why would it bother me?", he questioned. "Because I am the devil?"

Oh, there you go. Is it confession time already?

You remained silent, refusing to fall into a trap again. Let him say what he wanted.

He did not say anything, but he extended his hand and gently grasped the cross. Shit. Shit. Raphael traced his thumb along the edges almost as if he was trying to decipher its meaning.

There was no recoil, no burning, no hissing. Part of you hoped there would be. Part of you thought there should be. Then again, there is no Christ in Toril.

"Ah, the agony! It burns, the Holy Symbol, it burns!" Raphael made a half-hearted attempt at a pained grimace before letting go of your cross. "Yes, after you referred to me as Raphael twice, I did some investigating. A computer game devil, is he not?”

Referring to a video game as "a computer game" was a very authentic boomer move, you had to admit.

Two can play this game, Raphael.

"Well, I wouldn't say Raphael is THE devil," you said casually. "He's just A devil."

Raphael tilted his head in amusement.

There was something oppressive about his presence, the way he stood taller than you, the way he took up more space than he should have, making your apartment look tiny.

“To be fair”, you continued. ”He’s not even that. He’s a cambion, half human, one of the lowest beings in the levels of hells. He likes calling himself a devil for effect though; probably gets a kick out of scaring people.”

Definitely gets a kick out of scaring people. There, you said it. Now let's see if Raphael would drop the act.

You held your breath as silence stretched between you - five seconds...four...three...two...one...

Would your screams reach the neighbours?

Would they call the police?

And if they did, would the police even help? What happens if they shoot him? Will he bleed black blood? Why were you even thinking about that right now?

"Well," Raphael finally broke the silence and placed a gentle hand on your waist, guiding you towards the door. "Judging by his many admirers, it seems some people quite enjoy being scared. Shall we depart?"

God damn it.

You gave a quick nod, trying to subtly adjust your right stocking which felt slightly loose. You had bought them on Sunday but hadn't tried them on yet (which you should have done). Raphael noticed but pretended not to, his hand on your back guiding you downstairs.

The door closed and you wished it farewell.

Who knows if you'll ever see it again.

****

Raphael's car was exactly what one would expect from him if he did drive one - flashy, shiny, predatory; a sleek beast painted in blood red. The kind of car that turned heads and started conversations among curious onlookers.

The kind of car that made teenage boys gather around in awe, wondering how he could afford it and why he was driving it in this neighbourhood.

And so they did, and so you stumbled upon it, surrounded by admirers.

"Nice car, sir!" exclaimed one of them. "Is it a Maserati? A Gran Turismo, right? How fast can it go from zero to sixty?"

"In less than four seconds. Work hard and you might own one someday too, boy," Raphael replied. “More than one if you are any good”.

"Uh-huh," the teenager said, not entirely convinced. You couldn't blame him; you were not entirely convinced either.

You considered yourself a socialist and always voted left (well, you voiced your opinions more often than you voted, but still), but a socialist getting into a Maserati was a bit of an oxymoron, so you decided to put politics aside for tonight. Besides, you weren't sure you wanted to hear Raphael's political opinions on... well, anything at all.

"Or you could always sell your soul to me. Is that not right, Anya?", Raphael turned to you with a playful wink. Now it was your turn to say "uh-huh" and adjust your stocking again.

The gaggle of boys took their cue and dispersed as Raphael stepped forward to open the passenger door for you. You tried to sit down as gracefully as you could, but the leather creaked against your skin and your dress rose to obscene heights.

Quickly, you tugged it back down.

Without a word, Raphael started the car and pulled away from the curb. He was no stranger to this routine - following traffic laws, navigating through the city streets. He felt at ease behind the wheel, it’s not the first time he has driven a sports car.

Something didn't feel right. It all seemed like too much effort; the complicated act, blending into society, creating a false background. Raphael knew who he was, and so did you. So why did he insist on pretending to be someone else? Not even someone entirely different, someone so clearly inspired by himself.

He must be testing you, but for what reason, to what end, for what? Loyalty? Endurance? Ability to take psychic damage?

There is always another truth: there is no bloody devil (of course there isn’t). There is a young woman going through acute psychosis in isolation. You might be now banging your head in a room with very soft carpets on the walls, imagining yourself to be driving in a fancy car with a man you fancied-oh-so-much.

You need proof. You need solid proof. For your own sanity. The thing is, when you need to prove that you are sane, you are half-insane already.

"I must say, this is not the safest neighbourhood for a young woman living alone," Raphael said, scanning the area with a wary eye.

Oh, the neighbourhood was fine, he was the most dangerous thing around these parts by far. At times, you would encounter a few junkies asking for spare change or hear about your neighbour getting mugged.

“I am afraid that’s all I can afford. Have you seen the rent prices nowadays?”, you chuckled. “Well, you probably haven’t.”

“On the contrary,” Raphael shook his head. “I am well aware. I have several investment properties inside and outside the city.”

“Well, that is exactly why I cannot afford anything nicer.”

"That can change at a moment's notice," he said and gave you a sly smile. "Quicker than you might think."

You couldn't suppress your coquettish grin; his words reminded you of his generous gift from earlier - a cool grand handed over just like that. Not that you were mercantile (not that you ever had much of a chance to be, either); but if you were living in an imaginary world, might as well imagine yourself wealthy too. Socialism is…

Well, for real life.

"Where are we headed?" you asked as he merged onto a busy street. “Is there an address?”

"Why? Do you want to send it to your mother?" Raphael's eyes stayed fixed on the road ahead. “For protection?”

Still cannot let go of you wearing the cross?

"Yes, I do. Just in case you decide to keep me locked up in chains in your basement," you joked.

Sort of joked.

He glanced at you, and you couldn't help but wonder if you had finally hit a nerve.

"On our first date? I am a gentleman, an old-fashioned one at that," he retorted, feigning insult. "I'll ensure you reach home safely, plant a goodnight kiss and wish you sweet dreams."

Not exactly how you envisioned the night ending, but you chose not to argue.

“The address is Grand Rue 3, the old theatre,” Raphael said. “If you do not make it home tonight, tell your mother to check the basement.”

It’s the centre, the very centre. Nobody gets killed in the centre of the city. In the bushes, in the slums, in the outskirts, but not in the centre. It’s too much hassle.

Right?

“The one at the street corner? I didn’t think it was open.”

“For the general public, it is not”, Raphael said. “For the few who are invited, it is.”

You drove in silence for some time, and then you spoke up:

“So, is there a play there or…”

Hopefully there was also a dinner, you thought as you nervously adjusted your stocking, because you were so bloody hungry.

“You will find out enough”, Raphael said. “Anya, dear, I have seen the lace on your stockings in every little detail already, so do not bother pulling them up.”

You hastily pulled up your stockings.

“They’re new...I think I took the wrong size. Too large.”

"Well then, take them off. There is no use trying to keep them from slipping down, and it is quite a distracting sight."

You gave him an incredulous look; unsure if he was serious.

He seemed pretty serious about it. That’s some old-fashioned gentleman.

"Take them off?", you repeated.

As the car slowed down to halt near a corner street, you contemplated checking if the doors were locked but decided against it - no subtle way to do that.

"You heard me correctly," Raphael confirmed, leaning back and taking his time to examine you.

Yeah, okay. Okay. That’s a perfectly normal and a justified request, or at least you would act as if it were.

With some hesitation, you removed your shoes first and then gradually rolled down your stockings to reveal your freshly waxed legs. You tried to make it look sensual but ended up feeling more like a rookie stripper or a soldier executing orders.

His eyes were glued to you as you undressed. It was the sort of stare that makes skin tingle.

It felt pretty good.

By the time you pulled your stockings off, your panties were much wetter than when you got into the car. Raphael knew it, and you knew that he knew it. He had access to every dirty little fantasy in your browser history.

On the other hand, you were completely oblivious to his kinks; the only hints you got were Haarlep and the debtors in the House of Hope. It's hard to say which of those is the most disturbing.

"Such exquisite feet," he complimented. "Lovely nail polish. I do adore crimson red."

What was it about the way he said it that felt so... dirty?

Raphael then glanced at the scar on your knee and asked, "Now, is there anything else you bought just for me that keeps slipping?"

Everything you wore you bought new for him, panties to bra, except for the cross.

"I am just teasing," he chuckled, cutting you off just as your lips parted to retort. "We have arrived."

Raphael signalled someone outside. A uniformed valet appeared at your side of the door, reaching for the handle with his gloved hand. The door swung open with a soft click.

A cool gust of wind brushed against your bare legs as you stepped out into one of the quieter corners in the city centre. You couldn't exactly recall when this quaint theatre was built but if asked, you'd guess it was a relic from early 20th century opulence. Red bricks and stone columns stood tall amidst modern buildings like a stubborn old man refusing to budge.

Raphael casually tossed the keys into the air with a quick flick of his wrist.

The valet caught them mid-flight.

***

You were not sure what you had expected.

A password in Latin to enter, people in mysterious white masks, cultists chanting in circles around Raphael, hailing him as their new god, something out of Eyes Wide Shut. The reality was much more mundane. Still high-end, but lacking the unhinged allure you might have imagined. Just the private turf of the rich, the only odd thing being the electric entrance sign that read:

"MAGIC THEATER. ENTRANCE NOT FOR EVERYBODY. FOR MADMEN ONLY!"

Since you could pass the threshold, you assumed you were mad enough to pass the bar.

As you stepped inside, your eyes met those of an older man with a rugged face and a thin scar under his eye in the cloakroom. Raphael handed him his pair of identical black iPhones and AirPods, and then it was your turn to do the same.

It took you a moment to process the fact that Raphael had gotten himself not one but two iPhones just to pass himself off as a human, high-profile lawyer. You followed suit, handing over your electronic devices after one last long look. The last hour was the longest you'd gone without looking at your phone.

queen-of-the-bored: look we are all freaking out after what happened to your twitch

queen-of-the-bored: that’s some creepy pasta shit PLEASE write something PLEASE

“E’ un piacere rivederla capo! Che bella ragazza che ha rimediato!”, the man's words were directed at Raphael as he helped you out of your jacket.

“Vero, vero”, Raphael nodded in agreement. “E’ stupenda e non sa nemmeno di esserlo”.

What were they saying? They were talking about you, you could feel it.

“Non c'è niente di meglio!”, the man continued with a sycophantic grin on his face as he took Raphael's trench coat. He had a rose and a skull tattoo on his wrist.

“Beh, è completamente fuori di testa. Pensa che io sia il diavolo, in senso letterale”.

“Le più sexy sono quelle pazze, capo!”

Your knowledge of Italian was minimal at best. The only words you understood were "devil" and "sexy." Neither of which gave any insight into the situation, and that these words fit perfectly together you had known before.

The theatre was converted into a private club and restaurant, keeping the stage, but adding the chairs and the table and the sofas, the leather-bound books on the walls, the mahogany tables, the smell of cigars and whisky in the air. The only infernal or infernal-looking symbol you could spot was a square and a compass sigil on red velvet curtains.

Everyone knew Raphael.

A crowd of well-dressed men and women reached out to greet him; they exchanged words, smiles, kisses on the cheek (was that an Italian thing?), pats on the back. They looked at you as if you were beautiful or interesting.

Was it because you were supposed to be beautiful, accompanied by such a man?

Raphael’s hand never left your back as he exchanged pleasantries. He seldom spoke English to them. French, Italian, German, Russian, Turkish. The sound of a foreign language can be pretty, but it can also be eerie, discerning, the us-versus-them thing. Hearing them speak was rather the latter.

You couldn't guess who these people were. There is very little difference between how a businessman, a politician or a criminal look; besides, these three professions were perfectly compatible.

The debtors, probably; not literally in chains yet, but certainly owing something and in some kind of servitude.

The prime spot in the room was yours—or rather, it was Raphael's. The table had been marked, a lone initial "R" carved into its surface.

When the waiter suggested an aperitif, you selected a Negroni Sbagliato, because you thought it sounded sophisticated (and so did Olivia Cooke), Raphael ordered "bourbon and blood" because of course he would. You didn't even question if he meant actual blood.

As you chewed on your lip, your eyes darting around the room, Raphael reached across the table. His fingers brushed against yours before he lifted your hand to his lips. “Anya, may I make a small confession?"

"Yes?"

A soft kiss was pressed into your knuckles as he murmured, "I am delighted to have you here with me tonight. Believe it or not, I am but a lonely tired man in a dire need of pleasant company."

His genuine sincerity, the lines around his eyes and the hint of sadness in them disarmed you for a moment.

Who the fuck was this man?

Before you could answer, the curtain opened to reveal a small figure behind it.

It was a dwarf. Not the fantasy dwarf, an actual dwarf - you struggled to recall the politically correct term for them - was it "little person?". He was like something from a lucid dream: crimson suit-clad, slick-backed hair on pale skin, moving with an almost rhythmic grace.

Right. Twin Peaks. Could Raphael read your thoughts? Did he know you were thinking about Laura Palmer?

Or perhaps he too was a David Lynch fan?

"Welcome, dear ones," the little man said, his voice surprisingly deep. "I am grateful for your presence tonight. Some of you I have known since the millennia, while others are new to my realm."

He was looking at you. He meant you.

Raphael squeezed your hand tighter, fingers intertwined, an oddly intimate gesture, as if you’d been dating for a long time. You squeezed back, feeling comforted and sheltered in his touch.

“There are rules that govern this place”, the little man continued. “Rules, as well all know, are under no circumstances not to be broken, or there would be consequences. Same rules apply to everyone”.

“What are the rules?”, you whispered.

Raphael flashed you a wide smile, wrinkles in the corner of his eyes.

“Patience, he will tell us”, he whispered back. “They are never the same. If they were, would that be interesting?”

Consistency would be nice, you thought.

“You, little miss!”, the little man pointed his finger at you. “Yes, you, you specifically, little miss, little-miss-with-the-cross. Tell me, how well can you distinguish reality from fantasy?”

Oh, how you despise being the centre of attention. All eyes on you. All of them. These rich, strange, scary people looking at you and your naked legs and your weird knees and your…

“Not very well”, you said. “Not very well at all, I am afraid”.

The dwarf cackled, Raphael followed suit, everybody laughed, and you were not joking at all.

“Yes, she is remarkably honest”, Raphael praised, giving you an adoring kiss on the cheek. “A wonderful quality, is it not?”

“Shall we give it a little try, little miss?”, the dwarf asked.

Why you? Out of all people, why did it have to be you? Because you were with him?

"Come now, don't be shy”, Raphael chimed in. “There is nothing to fear in this place."

(Except me).

"Would you lend a hand, R?" The dwarf turned his attention to Raphael.

“It would be my absolute pleasure," he replied and positioned himself behind your chair. "Eyes forward," he instructed as you attempted to swivel towards him.

Raphael’s fingers gently grazed your cheek before sliding behind your head.

You felt the soft fabric of a blindfold being secured over your eyes and instinctively clutched the armrests of your chair tighter. The room was plunged into darkness, every sound amplified; the rustling of his clothes, the creaking of the chairs beneath you, the whispering and giggling of others in the room, and your own heartbeat thumping loudly in your ears.

Raphael's hands rested on your shoulders.

"I want you to try this and tell me what it tastes like", came the dwarf’s voice from somewhere ahead, as the waiter (you presumed) set the table before you. “Let imagination be your guide.”

Taste? Taste without looking? You heard the sound of Raphael picking up a fork and piercing something in front of you.

“Open wide”, Raphael said.

If you could say no when he would make such a request, you wouldn’t be here in the first place.

So open wide is what you did and let Raphael push something between your lips and onto your tongue. You sucked and then bit down.

The texture was unlike anything you had ever tasted before - bubbly, tenderly sweet with a savoury undertone, slightly slick and a bit challenging to chew.

You didn’t have the faintest clue what it could be.

“It’s an…”, you took a wild guess. “it’s a.. it’s a piece of lamb in some sugar sauce, I think?”

There were a lot of excited laughs and giggles at your response.

What did you try?

What the fuck did you try? Your hands darted to your eyes to remove the blindfold, but were halted mid-way by a soft but very insistent touch.

“Keep the blindfold on until instructed otherwise,” Raphael warned before removing it himself.

You looked down at your plate and let out a loud exhale. Tiny glazed apple pieces, arranged in this typical Michelin restaurant artsy fashion, sat innocently on the large round dish. Why did the thought of meat cross your mind? What triggered that thought?

"Did your imagination run a little too wild there, little miss?" the dwarf laughed. “Seeing things that are not there?”

I know what you are all playing at, you thought bitterly. And I know who the fuck you all are, Raphael from Baldur’s Gate and the little man from Twin Peaks and I am not fucking crazy despite all your insinuations.

“Dear ones, tonight we will serve five courses in complete darkness. Under no circumstance should you remove your blindfold; if needed, our waitstaff will guide you to restrooms. Guess what we serve tonight - at evening's end, we reveal the truth of it all”.

You said nothing while looking at the glistening apple. You never thought so much of an apple before; of how structure and taste and smell should be, of how it would (should) feel against your gums and teeth.

You kept staring at the glazed apples and thought of all the disgusting things it might have been instead. Brains? Tongues? Worms? A roasted dwarf leg?

“Rapha..”, you began and quickly corrected yourself. “Raul, just one thing, I… I do not eat human flesh”.

His response came after two slow blinks.

“Thank you for that wonderful piece of information. What am I supposed to do with it?”.

Not serving human meat would be a good start.

"Oh my little girl," Raphael cooed as he tenderly stroked your cheek.

(why do you allow him to call you his little girl why this is disgusting this is so hot)

"You don’t seriously think…”, he continued. “Even if I had such inclinations - which I don't - cannibalism is illegal in this country.”

Oh yes, of course, he was a very lawful, very rule-abiding devil.

“And if it was legal?”, you asked.

"Anya," Raphael sighed heavily, "Your questions intrigue and frighten me in equal measures. Now, put on your blindfold." He added when he saw your hesitation: "Of course I will do the same - same rules apply”.

You trusted him to do as he said, since you put on your blindfold first.

"As a warm-up, we have something that may bring back memories of your childhood," the waiter announced as he set down a dish in front of you. Your fingers searched and found the accompanying spoon.

You breathed in the scent, which was so mild it told you nothing. Even if it turned out to be terrible or disgusting, you still wanted to taste it; you still wanted to do rather than not do; after a lifetime of not doing rather than doing.

The first spoonful exploded with nostalgia – kindergarten, afternoon naps, finger paints. The creamy texture and subtle sweetness with a touch of honey.

Quite lovely, actually.

On the other side of the table, you heard a strangled gasp as if someone had just been forced to eat live worms.

"You don't like it?" you asked.

"I do not," Raphael responded gruffly. "But I am well aware that was the intention, so my compliments to the chef."

You wondered that a lot about him. The motherless childhood, growing up in hells, an evil bastard for a father. A chanceless, bleak fate, to be born evil, among evil, for evil, all privilege and no hope. If only Raphael would answer truthfully about that instead of spinning tales about some Italian village.

"I remember when we first met when you mistook me for an actor," Raphael mused out of nowhere. "That's when I first thought we had a certain… connection."

“I thought it happened way earlier”, you said, because it happened way earlier for you.

"Ha! True, I thought you were an exquisitely stunning woman the moment I walked into this cafe, if a little... skittish... which, I must say, adds to your allure. But then again, I've had my fair share of beauties... No matter. You see, I do have an affinity for the theatre".

“Oh really? How surprising”, you laughed pretty humorlessly. The ongoing joke about "I am not who you think I am" was getting rather stale for your taste.

"Indeed," came Raphael's self-assured response. "This place owes much to... ever heard of Antonin Artaud and his Theatre of Cruelty?"

"No, but it sounds like something you would love," you said.

"You hardly know me well enough to make such judgements," he said. "And if you're implying that I'm cruel, rest assured that I am not; merely just." He paused before asking nonchalantly, "Do you mind if I light up?"

You shook your head, though he couldn't see it through his blindfold. He proceeded to light his cigarette regardless. You noticed a dance of light behind the fabric covering your eyes as Raphael took an indulgent, addicted inhale.

A twinge of regret stirred you; witnessing Raphael taking a drag would have been a sight. You’d bet that looked very old school and very villainous. Your Negroni was long gone, replaced by overly potent wine which you sipped on nonetheless.

“The problem with art, Arnaud thought, was the distance between the audience and the artist. The safe space. The little cosy chair you sit in, detached, protected, at a comfortable distance; never truly allowing art to flow through you”.

"I thought the purpose of art was to explore dangerous themes in a safe space," you said.

"That's not exploration then; it's voyeuristic entertainment, nothing more," Raphael countered. “Art and safe space should not coexist in the same sentence.”

His cigarette smoke wafted towards you - sharp, biting, pungent with a metallic undertone not unlike rotten eggs left under the scorching sun for too long.

"Does it smell somewhat... off?" You blinked rapidly, trying to clear your stinging eyes.

You never smelled sulphur before, but you knew what it was the moment you smelled it.

“I beg your pardon?”, Raphael asked.

“The main course shall make you think of something - or someone - you crave for”, the waiter’s voice went straight into your ear, and you didn’t even hear him coming.

"I know exactly who it will make me think of," Raphael said slyly.

You took your first bite as if trying to drown out the scent. Spice, cherries, and raw beef so tender it practically melted on your tongue. Delicious. Sinfully delicious.

Just as you were about to enjoy your third bite, something warm and sinuous wrapped itself around your bare ankle and began to crawl upwards. Your meal lodged in your throat causing a coughing fit that rocked your body.

"Is the flavour too intense for your palate, my dear?", you could hear Raphael grinning.

His tail, you realised as it ventured further up. The nerve of that fucking devil! Groping you with his tail and STILL pretending he was fucking Raul from a fucking Italian village!

"So, as I was saying," Raphael continued, his fork scraping against the plate as if nothing unusual was happening under the table. "Artaud wanted to eliminate aesthetic distance."

You reached down for his tail underneath the table. The thing had a mind of its own though; it slithered away swiftly before you could touch it. You tried to grab for it again, but the sneaky little bastard darted away, causing you to stumble under the table and end up between Raphael's legs in your blind chase.

"By transforming the theatre into a place where the spectator is exposed rather than pro..." You felt his hand rest gently on your head, "Anya, may I inquire what you are doing under the table?"

You froze. His hand gave you a light caress.

"You know exactly what I am doing under the table," you managed to say through gritted teeth. "Looking for your goddamn tail."

Raphael's hand stopped in a half-stroke. For a fleeting moment, you imagined him pulling you closer by your hair until you were right up against his crotch.

"A tail?" He seemed genuinely perplexed at this point. "We may be lost in translation(*) here, but I assume what you're looking for is somewhat more... up."

Your mind conjured up an image of him showing you exactly where it was; unzipping his trousers and placing his cock between your lips.

Would you then open wide and give him a head right there, blindfolded, no questions asked, in a room full of strangers (and a weird dwarf) watching?

You would, wouldn't you?

You wanted to touch him so badly, just one touch to see how hard he was for you; just one fleeting touch, maybe he wouldn't even notice?

"I am delighted that theatre talk has put you in such a playful mood," Raphael purred. "I did presume we would at least make it to dessert before…”

A wave of embarrassment washed over you at his words. You tumbled backwards onto the floor, right on your bum; bumped your head, too, pretty badly and pretty awkwardly..

"I wasn't... Damn, that's not what I..."

Raphael chuckled (you hated him in that moment) and your cheeks turned red. How dare he think you'd suck him off like that, in front of everyone?

Your heart pounded against your ribs as you tried to escape the four-legged table trap, bumping into everything you could bump into. The world turned on its axis for a moment as you finally crawled out from under the table, your legs shaking beneath you.

The smell of sulphur again. You lunged for where your glass should be, found it, almost knocked it over, caught it in time and drank the wine. You thought it would make you feel better, but it made you feel worse.

The tail decided to make a comeback and patted your thigh affectionately.

"I...excuse me," you stammered out, pressing a hand to your mouth. "I need to use the bathroom."

“I’ll escort you, ma’m”, the voice next to you said, and you jumped in surprise. Was the waiter here the entire time? Did he watch you stumble underneath the table?

What else was here the entire time? Who else?

Christ.

Well, fuck, no, not him. Anybody but him.

****

"R's new little pet, aren't you?" the words echoed off the marble walls of the bathroom as you entered. You saw a woman in the mirror, tracing her lips with a ruby red lipstick that matched her hair, and she said: "Careful."

She was older than you, but not old, mid-thirties maybe, but she looked like a woman who was thoroughly done with her life. A stale kind of beauty.

"Why?" you asked, your eyes never leaving hers in the reflection.

She laughed, as if you were asking something utterly ridiculous. Without ever giving you an answer, she gestured to four meticulously arranged lines on the marble countertop. "Want some? It's primo stuff. You won’t get any better"

You've never tried cocaine, nobody's ever offered you cocaine, you wouldn't know how to order it and you certainly wouldn't have the money for it.

It's something that other people have done in the movies. The villains, the debauched, the corrupt elite.

"No thanks," you replied, "I'm already unhinged enough, I think."

Her high-pitched laughter filled the bathroom again. "Oh darling, we're all mad here. Absolutely fucking mad. Even me... Especially me."

"Who 'we'? What is this place?"

"The lodge? Why, a private playground." She gestured vaguely with her lipstick tube, as if to encompass everything around you. "His rules. His people. His theatre."

"And by 'him' you mean..."

Theoretically she could also mean the dwarf…

She laughed again, and you wished she'd just stop. "Oh, how sweet! You know exactly who 'he' is. The man who is going to fuck you tonight."

Okay, you hope it’s Raphael.

"I know who he is," you said, maintaining eye contact in the mirror. "But I thought Raphael had just arrived on Earth... I thought I was the one who summoned him here..."

"Summoned him? Like a demon or something?" She put another layer of lipstick on her lips, now facing forward. "'Raul likes them crazy,' they say, and boy they don't lie."

She had just called him Raul.

What the fuck was going on?

"The one to summon him, ha," she sneered, spinning around to face you directly, her face inches away from yours. “We all think we're so special”.

"No, I don't," you said. "I never thought that. Never. Because I never was any special".

"Well that definitely makes you the special one. How about a kiss, special one?"

How about what?

She leaned in closer still; her breath smelled of champagne and burnt caramel. You took a cautious step back.

"Oh-oh, look at her, such a tease. I can see why Raul brought you here."

That name again.

“Tell me about him”, you asked. “Tell me about that Raul”.

"Nah. No kiss, no tell", she replied nonchalantly while returning her gaze to the mirror. “Enjoy your evening.”

Next: Chapter 4, In Which You Attend A Very Special Event (Part 2).

(*) In some European languages, tail = cock (e.g. “Schwanz” in German).

#bg3 raphael #raphael bg3 #fanfic #bg3 #raphael x player #raphael x tav #knock knock

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morallygay · 3 months ago

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My theory about “the truth about halkenburg’s birth” is that his mother is queen unma. I don’t know how or why that would be the case (there could be multiple reasons tho to want a certain prince to be affiliated with a certain queen, for its various implications) but just physically come on you HAVE to point out he looks so much like her and benjamin too. They’re the only 3 characters with that nose.

(Tsubeppa also has the same big square chin as benjamin and halkenburg tho. A counter-argument against “halkenburg is unma’s child not duazul’s” since she is allegedly his sister and duazul’s child)

Meanwhile nasubi and duazul are supposedly his parents

Togashi is great at character design between related characters. It’s smth he obviously is considering well when designing them. These 2 objectively do not look like this guy’s biological parents at all. Now there’s also the beyond child possibility, true, but that would mean beyond is the father, the mother still being duazul (altho the mother could be unma and the father beyond technically lol. That would be pretty wild imagine neither of his parents are actually his parents). Not that much of an upgrade in terms of resemblance, and it’s still unma, the mother, whose nose and features in general he has.

An implication of this would be that the 9th prince and the 1st prince are both the 1st queen’s. That’s quite the age difference. Halkenburg is definitely younger than he looks. Quasi certainly in his 20s, I bet on early 20s. It’s not like you can fake his age without him or anyone else ever knowing/noticing… So he must still be the 9th prince, younger than (6) taithon, (7) luzurus and (8) salé-salé, and older than (10+11) kachô and fûgetsu.

The thing is that whatever it is, there is something there. the letter tells us. There’s a “truth about his birth”. So him being actually unma’s child seems very possible.

Now I have even less idea how or why they would have pulled that off but let me shoot this theory in the air just because I thought of it: considering the 2 facts of:

Halkenburg (allegedly duazul’s child) looks like unma and not duazul

Tserriednich (allegedly unma’s child) does not look like unma (or nasubi, reallly), but has finer features, which could work with duazul being his mother

What about: their mothers are reversed. There could always be a reason if you think enough and make assumptions about characters’ motivations.

Again the other explanation for tserri’s not looking like the child of unma and nasubi is that he’s beyond’s child. Maybe. He does look like netero. That would make beyond and unma his parents tho. When to me nasubi is the one I can see being his dad if he doesn’t take much from him, while the only thing he has in common with unma is blond hair (i assume? that unma’s hair is blond?), which most other queens and princes have.

Obviously genetics are not this simple and can skip generations. We can see tserri being beyond’s child because he looks like young netero, even when he doesn’t look like beyond. There’s no reason why the other princes can’t take after a grandparent. But we have no way of knowing that, so. What do you want me to do about it. and it would be unsatisfying for it to be the case when we had no way of knowing. Pointless thought either way.

There’s again the possibility that tserri is beyond’s and duazul’s child, and let’s go all out, that halkenburg is nasubi’s and unma’s. Orchestrated by beyond obviously. Honestly a switcharoo between queens would just be a very easy little extra act at this point in beyond’s intricate plan, but blur the tracks much more. Low effort high reward; assuming he wants/needs to keep his prince child a secret. And assuming longhi is right about this entire premise ofc. There’s also the question of how it would work and how would tserri and halkenburg not know or ever notice.

I will say it is strange to me that tserri would be beyond’s child and not know nen until now, but that’s a subject for another time.

#moralgayness #long post #hxh #hunter x hunter #hxh manga spoilers #hxh theory #hxh 402 #succession war arc

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astroyongie · 8 months ago

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Astroyongie Podcast EP3 S1

Note: Please take I slightly. Thank you @kattyaskat for the notes <3

What happened between min heejin & hybe ent?

ADORE CEO and HYBE CEO were very closed. worked together for a long time. exclusive contracts. they both have a lot of shit on each other, but ADORE CEO the most. someone from outside offered something she wanted and she turned her back on HYBE CEO

Do idols ever regret not debuting in other groups? For example does Heesung of Enhypen wish he would've debuted in TXT?

not really since its not up to them to decide where they will be debuting. No Hesseung is happy in TXT

Can you spill the tea on X whole bullying situation with group? Also was there division because of the leader choice?

complicated so take it lightly. the competition started before the group debuting since their were put one against each other. X was actually defending A during the debut period from B,C and D. Eventually X became the pick. At the moment this are better, C reflected a lot on his actions compared to B

how Heeseung enhypen currently love life going on? is he happy and still with the foreign girl in the last reading?

yes

What are LSS gonna do after receiving critique after their Coachella performance?

Sakura: Took things very personally and is kind of hurt about the things people said about her on internet and stuff. I personally believe Sakura thinks that she has the potential and talent and she doesn’t understand why the people are being so mean about her singing skills. I don’t think she believes she needs to work more on it. She believes she has the talent and people are being bitchy about it.

Chaewon: Mostly same like sakura. She’s getting to work on her skills. She’s trying to go more into practice and stuff and doesn’t want to make the same mistake that she did during Coachella. She feels embarrassed about what happened which is why she is putting much effort into

Kazuha: Doesn’t give a damn about what happened. Doesn’t care about what ppl say about her and her group.

Yunjin: She is pissed off with three things. 1. Pissed with Her friends because of talking shit about her. Like being very negative in the internet. 2. Pissed about her members for being low quality in a way she thinks they were the ones making the mistakes and errors during Coachella 3. Pissed with company for not providing them time to prepare to perform. At the moment she is not taking any actions, she is very bitter about the situation

Eunchae: It’s trying to work on herself as well. She is very ashamed about the performance that they gave and she is trying to work on her skills and didn’t want to make the mistake she made in Coachella, just like Chaewon.

Can you maybe do a love reading for Maki from &Team?

At the moment Maki is single. Not looking for love at the moment because of his career and idol lifestyle is not allowing to have someone by his side. He is very invested in career to be with anyone. So single and not open to love at the moment.

Is BK identity already reveal?

No. Only can be checked next month with my pendulum.

Who is Jackson Wang dating? Non idol?

I think so, most likely a non idol. Not sure if they are Chinese or foreigner.

What does Jackson Wang and BIBI think of each other?

Jackson: thinks BIBI is a bit non-lady like. She doesn’t fit the cute lady type. She very restless, has a lot of energy, very impulsive with get ideas and herself and the way she is. He feels she maybe too much for him in being girly. Not a bad vision of her but that she is just too much for him to handle.

BIBI: She thinks he is some one who is very dependable, a very nice idol who has talent and stuffs like that. Thinks he is rich, luxurious and has a good life. She admires him in a professional sense.

Which cards in tarot/spreads /combinations would suggests a connection from past life?

This is complicated cause it will depend on the question that you are making the spread about. If you are directly asking the cards if X and Y shared a past life, you have to look for cards that are very strong. eg. the 4oW,2oC, The star, The judgement, The world. The lovers could also be an indication. Or the 10oC,9oC,6oC.

Does horror movies/ scary movies can lower people vibrations?

This in interesting cause many people are afraid of watching these type of stuffs because they think it attracts those paranormal/ghost stuffs to them- No, that’s not how it works. It does not lower your vibrations. What lowers vibrations is your environment and your own feelings, thoughts. Environment with a lot of pressure, stress can lower your vibrations. However, music can vibrate with you- if you spend listening to sad songs like continuously, that will have an impact. You can listen to sad songs but only when listened to over time frequently, it might impact.

Is it better to have high or low vibration?

It’s best to have Neutral vibration. It’s like having the best of both worlds. Because when you are low vibration-be it because of your bad mental health or physical health, that’s when you are more sensitive to negative things, it’s easy for lower things/beings to be in contact with you. You are vulnerable that time. But also when you are high vibration, you become like a radio. Especially Spirits that are stuck in the veil, they might be able to connect with you. That’s why neutral is best.

So I was practicing 2 hours singing a ballad, will this impact me? I don’t practice everyday but when I practice it’s usually 2-4 hours. It’s not always the same ballade, but does this have an impact on my vibrations?

No . Since you are doing something you enjoy even if it is a sad song/ballad.

Does all human races have a soul?

Yes

Can people in one body have more than one soul?

I don’t believe so. It’s not possible. Although there's the theory that who suffers from DID are a physical body trapping several souls

Can animals have a soul as well?

Yes all animals have souls.

. How is sohee currently doing and how is his love life?

I think you said he is happily dating.

#astroyongie #astroyongie podcast

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windvexer · 9 months ago

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This is kind of a large question so I apologize but I guess I'm curious on how you're able to get such specific or like. unique (i mean this in a good way) answers from tarot? Like your "what magic should i learn next" stuff or how to pick up what a spirit can do through tarot. like idk how to translate these cards into what the spirit is trying to say

Hi!

There's no easy answer to this question, partially because I've now been reading tarot for almost exactly 16 years. This isn't at all to say that it's just the passage of time, but that in that amount of time I've done tons and tons of different things to expand my understanding of, and usage, of tarot.

Tarot didn't come to me very easily, and part of that journey was doing a lot of experimentation in an effort to figure it all out. My reading practice is still very much typified by a huge amount of experimentation and custom reading methods.

It hasn't been a linear process at all. I go through periods of months (or more!) where tarot just doesn't click for me, at all. So just because I picked up my first tarot deck 16 years ago doesn't mean that I've kept a consistent practice (I'm just now getting back into it after just such a fallow period ^-^)

My feelings on experimentation is that it gives me new ways to think about not only the cards, but also spreads, methodologies, and readings as a whole.

In addition, my experiments with other forms of divination (most especially casting lots, energy readings, and playing card readings) have heavily influenced my tarot readings.

Here is a post I wrote that I think expresses my feelings on experimenting within tarot.

Here are some examples of tarot experiments I've performed, and/or methodologies I've explored. It's these sorts of things that have been building blocks in my abilities in tarot. But no single one of them was a "key."

Elemental dignities: The elements of the cards dictates how they interact with each other. Air + fire can mean a supercharged firestorm, but water + fire can mean a controlled fire under a stewpot, or blocked progress of the fire. This experiment helps with understanding how cards can link together, and how energy can flow within a spread.

Elemental landscapes: Spreads are laid down in lines or grids and each card represents one aspect of the landscape. You must brainstorm and choose your own meanings. E.g., 8/wands is an exploding volcano. Queen/Cups is a lake inhabited by mermaids. Read the flow of weather patterns and energies through the spread as an answer to the question. This experiment helps with intuitive reading and working with a spread as a whole, instead of focusing on individual cards.

Elemental portents: Assign an element to your question. Draw a card. If the element on the card agrees with the element of your question, the portent is good; if it disagrees, the portent is bad. This experiment helps with learning how to phrase questions and how the question themselves can influence the balance of the deck.

Astral landscapes: This was an elaborate system I built around the Wooden Tarot. I worked with each card to assign it a mystical association that could occur in an astral landscape. The major arcana were spirits who could travel across the landscape. Each spread was like a playing board of a generated landscape and the spirits that interacted inside of it. This experiment was fun for considering the metaphysical ramifications of the energies of the cards themselves.

Numerical virtues: The number value of the card indicates its power and magnitude in the spread. 2 and 3 value cards are always of smaller power and significance. 10 and court cards are always of higher value. Aces may be high or low. This experiment gave me a new way of thinking about importance of each card, and how to blend magnitudes of significance.

Infinite directional wheel: I wrote a post on this actually, but basically you can keep placing cards forever in the cross-quarter positions. It's a meditation on the concept of elements and directions within witchcraft. Also, an extremely useful spread. This was a vital experiment for me in understanding spreadwork, flow of information, and linking cards.

Card doubling and tripling: Place two (or 3) cards together and determine the meaning as if it's one single card; there is no border, and the images combine with each other. The pictures and meanings of each combine into a single card.

Card doubling and tripling, but in spreads: For each position in the spread, place two cards (or three cards!) in place of one. Read the dyads or triads as if they are a single card. It isn't beginning/middle/end; it's a single triple-complex card! These doubling experiments helped me with the concept of card linking and blending meanings into unique interpretations.

Custom meaning sets: Basically, swap out all the default meanings with your own. Extremely useful IMO in learning how sets of meanings work together, and how to balance sets of meanings. I wrote a post on it here. These experiments have perhaps been the most vital for me in developing new interpretations. I believe that the magical skills readings you referenced were the result of custom meaning sets.

No meaning sets: Instead of using any card meanings, all spreads are resolved using a combination of elemental portents and numerical virtues. I.e., the element and number of a card in relation to other cards in the spread determines the reading. Here, the experimentation is allowing the cards to have strict, defined roles within a spread that can't be overwritten by personal intuition.

As a final note, I highly, highly recommend recording every reading you do and every card you draw. For the first couple years of my practice I recorded all readings, and it was a huge boost to my learning.

#answered

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danwhobrowses · 8 days ago

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Well Critters the year is almost up, at least for me here in England. Aside from the general pensiveness and reflection of the past year, it also means I'm about to (technically) complete my first full year of following the CR episodes as they came out; a year full of twists, turns, uprisings, downfalls, and just so much going on - only for the campaign to now be nearing its end.

We knew the end was coming sure, but since December's 4SD announced itself as the last of the campaign the number of episodes remaining has grown more finite, likely to be around 1-4 more episodes, and confronting the end is very different to acknowledging it ending. Admittedly in the confronting part I've become a liiiiittle bit of a mess, loaded with panic and worry beyond my own control; I sometimes tell myself that I'm being silly, they're fictional characters, the story's likely already recorded its end, and I never had any control or influence on the story to begin with, but as expected such attempts are both hollow and in vain. It's been a while since I was this invested in a story, or fandom for that matter, and the fact that most key and decisive moments will be determined by dice rolls continuously does nothing to soothe my nerves, or my uncertainties towards how it'll end - after all, the hardest battle has yet to be fought, the biggest decisions yet to be made, and Ludinus Da'leth is way WAY too calm about being trapped in a Force Cage for my liking.

I wonder if the fear and dread was the same for those watching the end of the previous two campaigns? If it was more or less than it is now by comparison? In hindsight, while the final stage so far feels more grounded compared to the more spectacular, massive miniature, larger-than-life endgame battles against Vecna and Lucien's Neo-Somnovem phases, it feels like the stakes are riskier for Bells Hells, on a low Level 15 with no cleric, dismal openings for additional support, and little wiggle room to get creative, especially since killing Ludinus - who continues to be touted as the 'strongest mage of our time' and could get even stronger depending on which way Matt goes with him - alone potentially won't end the overarching conflict, though he should still die nonetheless. At the very least I want the Hells (as we have for VM and the Nein) to all be free to live happily, be it settling down, embarking on new adventures, or just being the best they can be - and doing so with the people that mean the most to them - and at the very most I want them to make the best and kindest decision for the world as a whole, which I hope they get the chance and take the opportunity to do so.

It's still difficult to ready myself for it ending mind you, since I could have very easily spent another year with these idiots and still not be fully ready to say goodbye to them. On that however, I know not everyone shares my sentiment; some are truly ready for the campaign to be over and for C4 for explode (pun intended) onto the scene with brand new characters that in a few years time we'll also likely be unready to say goodbye to, and that's fine. But for all that can and will be said about Campaign 3 - positively and critically - it has very much delighted, disheveled, and deranged me for most of the year, usually at my desk of work, so trying to brace myself for the climax has, and continues to be, a lot of mental effort. Keeping myself positive and hopeful in these situations is tough especially when on the verge of a big battle; sometimes the negative thoughts creep in, Youtube videos full of pessimists and clickbait titles appearing unwantedly on my recommendations don't help, nor does the memory of what happened the last time the Hells were in a major boss battle at the tail end of their time on Ruidus, but when the campaign does end I want it to be looked upon fondly, and a lot of that does hinge on its conclusion. Obviously, I trust the group and Matt's storytelling, but that is only to an extent; defeating Ludinus is something I know Bells Hells are capable of doing - so long as the dice gods play ball and Matt doesn't inexplicably overbuff Ludinus to the nth degree like he did with Otohan - but the Predathos decision remains the root and focal point of the campaign's criticisms for good reason, often overshadowing and playing obstacle to character growth and direction. There is a satisfying and spectacular conclusion in there, but navigating it - even for a group that embraces 'when given two options, we pick option 3' more times than not - let alone achieving it is a very delicate path of fine margins, one that can indeed make or break the campaign - and a lot of my worries lie there, that and approaching/confronting an entity so voracious and eager to escape that it makes the gods terrified enough to deliberate breaking down the Divine Gate.

Without talking more to death about the god stuff and Predathos thing like we the fandom have already done aplenty, there's not much else I can say except that I'm worried but also trying to be hopeful. The campaign ending in tragedy or a pyrrhic victory is possible but it's not an outcome I personally desire or want to entertain. You could perhaps aptly translate that to my general feelings towards the new year too; having wants and wishes, hopes and hesitancies, fears and fandom, just currently a bit more compressed here than it is for the full year - and given our recent run of the years playing dystopia simulator, I'm more hopeful in one than the other right now - and perhaps it would do good to start the year with something to smile about. Right now, it's just that it's happening; it's happening, it's soon, and it's very apparent how close we are to finishing, which means I'm panicking and rambling, and panicking, and of course, rambling. I don't know what emotions will January send me through, but I do hope with all my being that they'll be positive ones.

So whether or not you reached the end of this, I wish you all a Happy New Year and, much like the end of Campaign 3, I hope it's a good one.

#critical role #cr3 #c3 spoilers #campaign 3 #bells hells #cr spoilers #waiter could I get a serving of rambling with a side of panic and dread - medium reflection on a bed of edits no sauces #also your finest bottle of fretting - one that desires for things to hit the right notes amongst the maelstrom of my imagined scenarios #the cast are all devious though because they know to play coy and with our emotions - I love and hate (affectionately) them so XD #'now Danny make sure to keep things short and sweet annnnnnd that's seven paragraphs...'#god knows what I'll be like when OP ends - in like 2055 or something #CR's 10th year is gonna be huge anyway between this and the M9 wedding one-shot alone - not to mention the other one shots and maybe C4 #we started the year getting on the moon and we'll start the new year wrapping up stuff on the moon #my prayer circle is very much in full force too - gonna be all jitters every Thursday night/Friday morning for a while #if I can fight the sleep I'll try to watch 118 live - in hopes it's the one where Ludinus' ancient elf ass gets handed to him permanently #since I spend most of my pto during the xmas period I have that thursday off - but after that I'll be doing the usual Friday morning panic #I hope someone has at least enjoyed my slow descent into madness this past year #just...y'know! Pull it off! I know you can do it! Roll well (not you Matt) be well and make the right choices!

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