#BUT ALSO HER CURRENT INTERIORITY MAKING NO SENSE? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

meli-writes · 2 months ago

Text

Long Time, No Shear - Ch. 01

A sheepish Fae-girl is desperate for someone to shear her for the summer, and to not be weird about it.

There’s a human on Dolly’s doorstep — and she’s naked.

Okay. No, not literally. Per human customs this is all completely appropriate, if a little avant-butch, for the current weather. Black boots and denim short-shorts; enough chains to lose count; loose, side-slit tank that makes her toned, tanned arms part of the outfit; no attempt to hide the lace bra underneath — citrine yellow, to match the sun beating down on her.

And Dolly, snout pressed on the window, feels like she can see all of her.

But— she’s here because Dolly invited her and Dolly can sympathise, because it has been three weeks since she was supposed to have been sheared and she is melting.

(It is though 100% the humans’ fault this is the 8th ‘hottest summer’ — on record, in a row.)

And so there she is, pressing forward through the curtains, trying not to be noticed while she works up the courage, when all of a sudden the human looks at her.

And waves.

---

sheep-goat Fae needs EMERGENCY help w/ summer shear. Can be reg if not weird

Last posted 18 hours ago on Fluffr, the dating-slash-bulletin app for Fae and panel-vetted humans. Yes, humans named it.

It still takes a weird person to apply to the panel, unless they got Fae-referred but that’s got pitfalls too; it also went public after the grants dried up, and has gotten worse because of that particular human-neoliberal urge to overdevelop everything into ruins; and it’s where she met her Wolf-Fae ex — the one who dumped her four weeks ago. But:

It’s still better than the human apps.

Because Dolly doesn’t need this to become a weird sex thing because it’s already super intimate and freaky — and it’s what every human she meets on their apps tries anyway.

Y’know, before she shuts them down and they false-report her till she’s banned.

None of this is the Dolly-in-distress’ preference. Not by the length of a thousand leylines.

---

“Hey. Sorry about that,” Dolly says, sheepishly.

“You’re all good,” the human replies, a smile perched beneath her silver-rimmed aviators. “I’m looking for someone in need of a bit of help, roommate maybe?”

“Dolly! Yeah. That’s me,” Dolly cuts in.

She points to the thin, white line traced on the interior doorframe, “You see the chalk? It’s a shadowskin enchantment, here and on the windows. Makes me look human from the outside, your side, so no one stares.”

“Ace! Makes total sense. Fiona, by the way,” Fiona says, as she steps past the threshold.

Behind the aviators her eyes glimmer, and Dolly has to remind herself it’s just the dispelled illusion and not— “You are a beaut, but I see yer problem.”

She’s glad Fiona can see the smooth, mottled-white velvet on her face now, because even from across the street anyone looking in would be seeing her cheeks swell up with a redcap-crimson blush.

“Girlfriend broke up on ya, didn’t she?” Fiona asks, a little idly.

“Mutual! It… was… mutual,” Dolly bleats, biting down on a full-blown shriek. “Okay. No. But she did it at the worst time and—” She breathes in the infodump, stops herself, curls in an outstretched finger and restarts, “Remember what I said on Fluffr about privacy?”

Fiona winces, hard, and Dolly has to smother her mirror of it, cursing at herself in her own head for not sucking it up. It’s nothing I didn’t tell her, justifying the post and shit. She was just—

“Yeah nah, totally,” Fiona says to her relief. “Just out to help a fellow gal in need.”

(Fellow. Yeah. Dolly also had to tell her in those DMs that Dolly was trans — up the freak-show sentiment even further — because there was no way around Fiona seeing it.

Humans could never tell otherwise, even though her horns were still buck-sized.

She was half-goat anyway, which explains away most irritating questions she gets from them — even if they still didn’t stop staring at the black thigh-high wool pattern on her legs.)

Dolly tries to move on, before Fiona stepping back over boundaries also means out the door, “Thanks. You’ve got uhh— experience. Right?”

Fiona’s nerves are swallowed in a moment. “Reckon!” she says, bouncing on her feet. “I was a kid when there was still livestock on the big, industrial farms. Went to the sheep-stations each year to help out; docking lambs in the spring and the like.”

(When Fiona had mentioned her ‘experience’ in DMs Dolly convinced herself it was practical. Human ethics have been catching up since Fae unveiled themselves a few decades back, after the Vampires, but it was still… weird.)

Did she have to specify docking? Dolly thinks as her tail twitches, and thinks Fiona can see her trying to hide it, and that Dolly can see that Fiona can see that, and that—

“That’s… okay? You’re okay?”

“Ahh! Yep. It’s helpful, not weird,” Dolly answers desperately. “Well, it’s a little weird, but it always is. Just remember that I’m very much sapient and talkative.”

She steps into the next room without looking, hoping Fiona is still with her.

---

“Alright girl, are ya ready?” Fiona asks, observing Dolly scurrying over the plastic mat that covers the floor, making sure it’s tightly held at each corner by a chair or spare textbooks.

“Uhh, one minute. Could you— look away?” asks Dolly, bringing a long-clawed paw to the neck of her shirt. “I know you’re gonna look back but—”

Fiona turns. She’s not giving you a striptease, she thinks to herself, pottering over to the sideboard to distract herself, “This is the stuff here?”

Dolly watches as Fiona inspects her life-long assembled kit — explains, “Yeah. I had to figure out what was best for me. Was not cheap.” Fiona whistles in agreement, as she slides a slim pair of double-bow metal shears out of the sunlight.

“I know this girl who can roo, so lucky,” Dolly adds, jerking about as her pencil-skirt stretches over her fluff-plumpened ass and— “Okay, ready.”

She sees Fiona tee-up herself, nabbing the electric handpiece. “No wide combs, I like it. Grandpa used to say we lost the union to those things,” she says, before turning back around and instinctively sizing Dolly up.

“Huh… like a whether,” she mutters under her breath.

Dolly has tried desperately to never learn the terminology; doesn’t think when she idly asks Fiona, “Excuse me?”

“Comb on the handpiece: anything bigger than 2.5 inches is a ‘wide’ comb,” Fiona answers obliviously. “So you can go faster, and get paid less. I suppose it makes sense to go smaller, and you’re not looking to sell the fleece are ya?”

(She had — once. When she still had rent to pay, and was needily short, so went and sold it on a Fae-fetish site for a shameful and incredible amount. And still thinks about it sometimes.)

Right now, her hooves grind anxiously into the floor. “No, Fiona. The other thing?”

The human’s round eyes tumble back into the abyss of their sockets, as Fiona’s brow rises in concert with realising what she’s said; something Dolly hasn’t the expertise to know, only the foolishness to ask. She doesn’t answer. Dolly feels the plastic fibres beginning to snag under her circling hoof.

“Say it, or go and don’t help me,” she demands at last.

“It’s a… castrated male,” Fiona says, biting her cheeks. “Sorry. Maybe I should go anyway? It was a bit of a heinous thing to say—”

“Nope. No, you’re doing it now,” Dolly tells her, making it obvious she’s guilting her. “Or, maybe I pull out Fluffr and report you?”

Tormenting her too — all while utterly in the fluff, Fae-adapted phone stylus in hand.

Fiona twists at her shirt, briefly exposing a rippling mid-riff, “You wouldn’t… really?”

Dolly makes a show of walking up, tucking the stylus into a stationary-drowned mug, and looks at her. “Fiona, I’m fucking with you. You apologised, and I’m desperate here.”

“It really is that bad?” Fiona mutters, as much about the overcoat as realising her pitiful remorse is far better than Dolly must usually get.

“You know what crutching is?” Dolly asks.

Fiona nods.

“Eugh. And, it’s a fifth of my body weight. Roughly. And fuck it’s so hot these days.”

“Yeah nah, lost my hometown to a wildfire,” Fiona says, a little dissonantly chipper about it. “Why I moved here to be honest with ya.”

“Shit. Sorry I’m—”

“Our fault,” Fiona reassures. Meaning humans. “Not yours. Just tryna help.”

“You really are, y’know.”

She sinks to her knees, leaning forward and pressing her thighs together to hide herself a little, and coaxes Fiona to join her. “My girlfriend— my ex— she promised to help me after the breakup ‘cos I was due but well… ghosted me, then blocked me after I called.”

(Six voicemails. The first few reminders; the last few begging.)

“The other options are like pay three hundred pounds to get nude at a hairdressers, and/or livestream the thing on a fetish site to break-even,” Dolly continues, knowing exactly what that site is called. “Yeah… nah.”

Fiona listens, but doesn’t look, focused on setting a few implements down before taking an offered arm to follow her down. “Wow, you’re soft.”

“Uhh, yeah? Unlike the sheep you’re used to, I don’t like live in a field,” Dolly says sardonically. “I get a bath in this place.”

“Sweetheart, you’ve got an entrance hall, lounge, staircase. It’s heaps better than ninety-percent of the places in this city. Certainly better than the box I’m allowed to rent,” Fiona retorts, flipping the handpiece on.

Dolly lets out a small, nervous titter. The way humans tangled up their housing with markets seemed remarkably silly. “Adjustment funds, the Greater London—”

Fiona swipes, a whole ream of Dolly-fluff falling off of her.

“Hey-hey-hey! Wait!” Dolly squeals, Fiona blinking as she rushes to pause and Dolly collects herself. “You uh— need to go slower than that.”

“Sorry, sweetheart. Was just thinking you’d want me to be… efficient.”

She smiles plaintively, “I mean, I do. It’s just I wanna make sure it’s not scruffy, or messy, or obvious. ‘Cos that would take weeks to grow out. It’s best to sort of—” She holds her breath, and looks at Fiona who’ll never be more ready for this.

“Go slow and hold me down.”

Fiona swallows, wishing it was light beer and not the sheep-girl’s dignity going down.

“And that’s… where people get really weird, right?” she asks.

“Yep.”

If they somehow got this far.

“Like, seriously — how do I explain on an ad: hiya, I need a girl to pin my nude body down and spend four-to-five hours groping me and not somehow make it a weird sex thing.

And, y’know, not make it too much of a regular weird thing either.”

She sighs; rearranges herself to lean back into Fiona, bumping horn into chest.

“Throat’s best to start,” she says, after a moment.

Fiona’s hand reaches slowly, constantly darting her eyes back-and-forth for consent and, not seeing any complaint, takes Dolly at the horn and pulls her low till she’s able to line the handpiece up against the notch at the base of her neck. She closes her eyes, a little unemboldened. The lambs never talked back to her or looked this cute.

“Come on,” Dolly interrupts. “I’d like to wear clothes again today.”

Fiona fumbles, and blinks open, and the lamb in her arms just laughs. It’s difficult not to, there isn’t a way this isn’t absurd and Fiona thinks she gets that now.

Her gaze focuses, a little less nervous this time. A smile creeps to the corner of her mouth, “No worries. I’ll get ‘er right, sweetheart.”

---

Three hours in, and Fiona’s just now reached Dolly’s hips. The arms were simple, if a bit too close to being nipped once or twice; the back came off clean, and Dolly doesn’t admit she thinks about that site again; the tits weren’t bad — mostly covered in the same velvet that’s on her face, all the way down to her— y’know.

(Dolly also absolutely does not mention the three times she came this morning. Not for any sort of pleasure, spirits no. But to make sure there’s as little chance as possible that she gets hard from the super-hot, basically-nude butch handling her like— well, like a sheep.)

The ass was mild torture; Fiona tearing her facial muscles to shreds in the sternest wince of her life, as she held up Dolly’s fat, soft cheeks to clean up the folds where her ass met her thighs. Dolly, at least, holding herself in a grim but merciful silence of solidarity, till at last both rushed to kick back into listing off more of their shared, fascinating, and agonising spars with each of the respective departments of the Home Office that exists to make their lives a bureaucratic nightmare.

It made it all too easy for Fiona to forget Dolly was even supposed to wear clothes, until she was looking at her bend down to a cupboard to fetch mugs for a strongly needed tea-break, even in the present heat.

But, it’s smooth now, and so she runs a hand serenely down the small of Dolly’s back, not thinking of anything more than just making sure the girl’s cut is clean and consistent — till her hand reaches that newly-shorn ass and—

Bleat!

It’s the tiniest sound Fiona has ever heard, and it sounds hot.

What comes after is worse than the ass-silence. Fiona tries not to panic, hopes that Dolly didn’t feel the still in Fiona’s slide, but before she can click on the handpiece to continue—

“Oh— God. I am so sorry,” Dolly squeals.

“No, no. It’s okay,” Fiona protests but Dolly is wrestling out of her lap and she doesn’t dare stop her, as the self-excoriated sheep covers her mouth in shock.

Fiona tries to raise her hands in surrender, “I-I wasn’t thinking. Or rather thinking of you like a— I just wanted to check it was all the right length.”

“Fiona, you heard that right. I sounded like I was—” Dolly buries her face into the unshaven fluff of her thighs, butting the tip of her snout through to sniffle at the air. “You know what I said earlier…. weird sex thing. Like I’d never mean to, it’s just you’re hot and I can feel all of you. And I know how dumb that sounds coming out of me and with what the weather’s like but I’m used to people wearing like— more than that when they’re shearing me.”

She parts herself like Moses, and looks at Fiona clenching herself in awkward horror.

It really doesn’t help how it makes all her muscles flex.

“I-I’ve made it weird, not you,” Dolly whines; crucifies herself on the plastic sheet, “You can stop there, and I can wear shorts or a skirt so you don’t need to shave my legs.”

No one’ll notice the bulge. Shadowskin can take care of it. Right?

“Are you sure?” Fiona asks, tentatively placing her on Dolly’s knee and sinking it down a bit into her coat. Forcefully enough to both reach her wayward lamb, and to demonstrate the problem still there. “It’s really okay, that was totally me. I just sort of—

forgot the artwork for the canvas it was on.”

Dolly looks up, jerks a horrifically undecided croak out of her throat, and asks, “Did you prepare that one? You don’t… you don’t think this is a date, do you?”

There’s no velvet to hide the crimson shame that courses across Fiona’s cheeks, nor the same cushioned thighs to tuck them behind. “No, no, definitely not. Sorry,” she cries. “I know what you said too, and I don’t wanna be another weird human that you’re suffering for… basic care! It was just that you seemed… cute? And I don’t know, it feels nice to rescue a gal in need. I-I didn’t expect anything, I just… didn’t want to say no if you liked me too.”

The sheep stares at her, tilted head and pursed lips. Dolly can’t tell what reaction she’s having, which bloody well means Fiona won’t be able to.

Instead she slides back across the plastic and lies on her back, pulling her legs up till each forms a triangle. It does the trick.

“Should do the legs, shouldn’t I,” Fiona says — and Dolly is glad she didn’t have to ask.

---

The door is open, and Fiona hovers at not-quite the threshold unsure if she should be on the inside or the outside of it. Of the chalk line, Dolly’s rather literal boundary.

Dolly at least is— Fiona can’t admit it, not now, but she’s beautiful. To see the whole of her not in shittily-taken photo-form — her stylus is there for a reason it seems — but all in motion, as she stretched and shook and wiggled her tail and shorn-at-last self.

It’s hard not to feel proud too, of a job done well, of a girl saved.

The magic — the metaphorical, right now — worn off though leaves Dolly hovering too. She looks about as stressed as when Fiona showed up, but she hopes it’s only in a way that’s her fault — and that it’ll be quickly settled when she’s been booted out the door never to see her again.

“Uhh. Hey,” Dolly says, sheepishly, like Fiona was just coming in again. “You really helped me out a lot today.”

“No drama, sweetheart,” Fiona replies, the points of boots tip-tapping as she looks down at herself. “But, I should’ve dressed up better, didn’t think at all it’d be such a bother for you. Or— not a bother but— not your fault.”

“No I— It’s cool. You look good.”

“Oh… Thanks.”

She takes a step back, pulls out her aviators and tries to flip them on but Dolly just reaches out and takes her at the wrist. They stare at each other for a moment, but Dolly doesn’t let go, and Fiona doesn’t shake her off.

“Would you wanna help me next time?” Dolly asks, in more of a squeak than a sensible, unheated whisper. “It’s in a few months time… a lighter cut, for autumn.”

She drops Fiona, watches nervously as Fiona’s own nerves creep across her face, “Oh, I mean, sure! Would you wanna meet up before then, maybe? I don’t know, just to help things be more… normal.”

Dolly laughs, sweet on the afternoon breeze that’s sweeping in. “Now it’s a date?”

Fiona’s tongue wants instinctively to slither down her throat, but she thinks she can spot one of the girl’s teases by now — and she probably does have all the right to be a little mean.

“If you’d like it to be,” Fiona teases back. “But — for real — I’m still happy to help.”

Dolly huffs, and smiles in eminent satisfaction, “Then yeah, we can call it a date.”

It’s when Dolly’s peering through the curtains a few minutes later that she sees Fiona, thinking she can’t be seen, stop at short distance down the street and dance with glee for just a precious, delightful moment, before she looks back with a dumb, fond smile on her face and it just cracks when she realises Dolly can still see her.

And Dolly waves.

And Fiona can see her blush.

---

(Masterpost) / (Next)

#melinoë writes #f/f #butch4femme #lesbian writers #sheep furry #please don't hate me furries i love you #for all the freaks who correctly bully me for being a sheep girl #i think i'm legally obligated to get my sheep fursona now #this sat in my drafts for 10 months dear god

82 notes · View notes

jellybonbons · 1 year ago

Text

Sharing is Caring

ೀ dog hybrid!Leon Kennedy + cat hybrid!Ada Wong

Tags: gn!reader but fem!reader for the nsfw part, 18+ (mdni), pet/owner dynamic, threesome, neck biting, blood, mommy kink, nicknames (mommy, pretty girl/owner, beautiful), cunnilingus, fingering, mentions of sex toys, masturbation (m receiving), sub!reader, dom!Leon, dom!Ada, fluff ending.

W/C: 2.3k

A/N: idk why I wrote this, I've never written a threesome and hybrids so this was a struggle to finish. Huge thanks to @roseglazedlens for proofreading this <33 wouldn’t have done this without you!

You had been feeling lonely lately, and with that, you decided to adopt a hybrid to brighten your days or spice up your life—as per your best friend, since they were the ones who suggested you get one. After saving up for some time, you headed to the pet store, where you met your now-current pet, Ada Wong. Her hair is as smooth as silk, and her ears are adorned with adorable fluffiness that captures your heart in an instant.

cat hybrid!Ada had no problems making herself comfortable at your home since she can adapt to her surroundings easily.

Even though you bought her a bed, she claimed yours as hers, but you’re not complaining if it means that you can cuddle with her every night.

She’s a very independent cat who doesn’t need that much attention.

However, if you’ve been busy the whole day and barely paid her any attention, you can bet you’ll get a scratch or two from her (typical black cat behaviour). It’s also her way of marking you as hers.

She enjoys lounging in the same room as you. If you're working in your office, you’ll find her on the couch nearby, peacefully napping. Just your presence alone brings her a sense of peace and contentment.

If you’re scared of any insects, don’t worry; she’ll kill them for you in a heartbeat.

“Ada! There’s a spider in the bathroom!” “On it.”

She loves getting spoiled by you, whether it be affection, cuddles, or something materialistic. Her favourite gift from you is the red ribbon collar with pearls; she wears it proudly around her neck.

For a while, it had been just you and Ada, sharing your home in quiet companionship. Then, one day, as you returned from work, you stumbled upon dog hybrid!Leon, a forlorn figure, battered and shivering on the streets. You couldn't help but feel a deep sense of pity as you came across him, so you decided to bring him home. Getting him to come with you was a challenge, but with the promise of a warm bath and a meal, he eventually agreed.

He was sceptical of your home at first compared to Ada, but as he stepped into your house, the smell of your floral candles and the comforting atmosphere enveloped him. The warm and inviting interior, with cosy lighting and subtle traces of both your and Ada’s personal touches, gradually lowered his guard.

While you were preparing a warm bath for him, Ada finally met Leon. When she caught a foreign scent mingling with yours, she became alert. Upon entering the living room and locking eyes with him, her gaze bore into him with a piercing intensity that felt like she was shooting daggers. Leon couldn’t help but notice her intense glare fixed on him, and he shifted uncomfortably, feeling the tension in the room. Thankfully, you called out for him, and he sprinted to the direction of your voice faster than he ever had before.

dog hybrid!Leon took his time to settle in and get comfortable around you and Ada.

Eventually, he puts his walls down after seeing how you treat Ada with care and gentleness. He’s also lowkey jealous at how you’re spoiling her too much; cue for her to give him a smug smirk.

Surprisingly, he’s very playful and would tug on your shirt every morning for his morning walk or activities in the park, which annoys Ada so much since he’s disturbing her morning cuddles with you.

He's a quiet one who doesn't use words to express his feelings, but his body language says it all. When you praise him, his face is stoic, but you can see his tail wagging enthusiastically.

“Good boy, Leon!” “Hmm.”

Unlike Ada, who marks you with her claws, Leon rubs his scent all over your clothes. He wants the other hybrids to stay away from you every time you leave the house. Dealing with one—Ada—was enough for him.

Other than that, he made sure to hug you tightly and lick your neck before you headed off to work; it’s a daily ritual that you cannot miss.

He’s the definition of scary dog privilege; he’ll give a menacing glare to anyone he considers a threat. He’s all bite, no bark; if he sees someone making you uncomfortable, he’ll quickly step in to protect you.

After a few months of living and tolerating each other, they eventually find common ground in their share desire to cherish and protect you. Now that speaks double trouble. You were peacefully engrossed in a book when suddenly, a commotion erupts from the living room. Annoyed by the disturbance of your precious reading time, you reluctantly set your book aside and make your way to the room to investigate.

“Now, what’s all this commotion about?” You cross your arms tightly over your chest, brows furrow in frustration. You tap your foot impatiently and let out an exasperated sigh as you stare at them. It is a sight to behold, Ada is tugging on Leon’s tail while he playfully pinches her cat ears in a mock battle.

“Are you guys fighting over your toys again? I thought I told both of you to share.” Both share a knowing glance, their eyes meeting in a silent exchange that speaks volumes. “...why are you guys looking at each other like that?”

NSFW:

One thing leads to another, and now you find yourself at the centre of your recently upgraded king-sized bed. Leon and Ada deftly position you between them, her soft and plump breast snugly meeting yours, while his firm and chiselled chest envelops you from behind, radiating warmth and desire.

“What are you guys doing?” You ask, your voice tinged with scepticism, yet you can’t deny the trace of attraction as well.

“Sharing.” Ada purrs; her tail puffs up in excitement as she licks your face.

Leon roams his hands over your body in a soft yet possessive manner. “That’s right, we have to show our mommy that we know how to share.” He leans down, sinking his sharp canine teeth into the side of your neck, causing a trickle of blood flow.

“W–wait! But this is wrong!” You moan as you attempt to step away from being sandwiched between them; however, Leon has other plans. Instead of releasing you, he pulls you even closer. His possessive embrace and Ada’s fixed gaze cause your cheeks to flush with embarrassment.

You always find them attractive, but this feels so foreign to you—they are literally your pets!

“Hmm? It’s totally normal for the pet and its owner to engage in this kind of activity, pretty girl.” Ada’s hands trail lower, reaching the waistband of your pants, and she swiftly removes them, leaving you in your underwear—burgundy with black lace. “Oh! And you’re wearing my favourite one.” Ada’s ears raise, and her tongue darts out to moisten her lips as her eyes hungrily fix on the way the fabric hugs your cunt.

As anticipation courses through your veins, your body shivers involuntarily. “Relax, mommy, let us take care of you,” Leon murmurs against your skin. He finds the hem of your shirt and pulls it off you, exposing your breast to the cool air. “No bra? God, you’re such a tease.” Leon growls as he pinches your hardened nipple.

“Of course, I have to hold back from pouncing her every time she struts around the house like that." Ada leans down, capturing one of your hardened nipples in her mouth, her teeth grazing against the sensitive flesh as she sucks and nibbles on it.

You let out a whine from the sensation, and your head tilts backwards, resting it on Leon’s shoulder. With a swift motion, Ada positions herself between your legs, and her gaze meets yours with lust. “Can I taste you, beautiful?” Your cheeks have a hint of nervousness as you nod your head in agreement.

Without wasting any more time, Ada goes down on you, pulling your underwear to the side, her mouth finds its way to your most sensitive part. She starts to tease, kitten licking, her tongue laying flat between your folds, slurping and sucking on your clit as she savours the taste of your desire, the velvety texture of her tongue heightening your desires.

As your moans grow louder and more desperate, she increases the intensity. Meanwhile, Leon’s rough hands find their way to your breasts again, kneading and pinching them. You can feel his bulge growing behind your ass as he humps against it, his tail wagging behind him excitedly.

The sensation overwhelms you, with pleasure coursing through your veins as both of them continue their assault on you. Your back arches as Ada finds your sweet spot; her claws grip tightly on your thighs, leaving marks on them but not enough to hurt you.

“Ada! Ada!” You grasp her cat ear tightly with one hand while the other one claws at Leon’s forearm. Your grip on her ear makes her grunt onto your cunt, sending vibrations to it.

“That’s it, mommy; surrender yourself to her.” Leon coos in response, his fingers tucking your hair away from your face and revealing your blissed-out eyes.

With each flick of her tongue and each thrust of her fingers, Ada drives you closer to the edge. Leon senses your impending release, and he brings his middle and index fingers to your lips. “Suck on it.”

You nod your head and suck on his fingers eagerly. The sensation of your tongue swirling around them and the tantalising, moist sounds emanating from you and Ada causes a bead of saliva to form at the corner of his mouth while his cock strains against his boxers. Lifting you off his lap with one hand, he hastily pulls down his sweatpants and boxers, freeing his cock from its confines.

That momentarily catches Ada off guard, but she continues to pleasure you with her tongue and fingers, determined to bring you to the peak of pleasure. The closer you get to your release, the tighter your hold was on her dark locks. She hisses in pain against your cunt, Leon notices her discomfort and gently loosens your grip on her hair. “Easy, pretty owner, not too much.”

Your apology is muffled by Leon’s fingers, and you extend your hand, offering a gentle caress to her ears as a silent apology. “It’s okay, beautiful." She breathes against your thigh and gives it a light peck, her voice filled with gentleness. “Just give in to it and come for us.”

You struggle to stifle yet another moan that threatens to escape. Leon withdraws his fingers from your mouth, leaving behind a glistening trail of saliva that connects both your lips and his fingers. “Don’t be shy now, mommy.” He firmly cups your face with his other hand, his fingers exerting a strong grip. “You think we don’t hear you late at night when you play with your toys?” He let out a growl, and his touch suddenly becomes less gentle but rather commanding—clearly jealous of them.

Fuck.

You are becoming increasingly overstimulated, and his jealousy ignites an intense arousal within you. Ada’s skillful touch and her tongue send shivers of pleasure coursing through your body. Your back arches in response to the pleasure as you squeeze her head with your thighs, a subtle but unmistakable expression that you are closer to your climax.

His hand, still slick with your saliva, strokes his own cock while the other explores your breast with an insistent touch, evoking a deep, primal moan of pleasure from deep within him. Ada’s tail curls with anticipation as you rock your hips towards her face, the pleasure becoming almost unbearable. With an intense release, you climax, your moans echoing in the room. She eagerly laps up your juices and skillfully uses her fingers to prolong your pleasure, ensuring your satisfaction.

“Oh, god,” he gasps as he hears your moan, stealing a glance at Ada’s face, glistening with your arousal. The sight is enough to push him over the edge, and he climaxes right then and there. His cum coats your back, and some stray droplets find their way into your hair.

As the intense waves of pleasure subside, your heavy breathing begins to slow, and you collapse onto the soft, inviting mattress, your limbs heavy and your eyelids drooping. From the corner of your eyes, you can see Ada meticulously grooming herself with her tongue, savouring your taste, while Leon kicks off his sweatpants from his ankle, ready to cuddle with you. He doesn’t even bother to clean you up, wanting his cum to stick to you.

“So, did I do a great job of sharing?” Ada nuzzles closer to you; her body forms a beautiful crescent, fitting perfectly against your side. “Yeah, you both did,” you chuckle, and you gently stroke her hair. “But did you come?” concern etches itself onto your face.

“You don’t have to worry about me, beautiful. Unlike a certain pup, I take care of my owner’s pleasure before my own.” Ada’s eyes narrow at Leon in disapproval, and her ears flatten against her head.

Leon huffs dismissively, rolling his eyes, and then snuggles closer to you. His tail gently drapes over your stomach, and he snuggles into your neck, seeking comfort and closeness. That just flares up her irritation. Before she can unleash her claws on him, you intervene by encircling your other arm around her, gently pulling her closer. “Okay, less fighting, more cuddling,” you propose with a smile.

Both nod in agreement, and as Ada nestles her head on your arm, a contented purr escapes her while her previous anger slowly dissipates. Whereas Leon, embracing a playful mood, makes an attempt to monopolise your attention. He entwines his legs with yours, draping an arm over your chest and casting a smug smirk in Ada's direction, his tail tapping lightly on your torso—a sweet revenge for all the times she'd stolen your attention from him. Ada's response is swift as she hisses at Leon and extends her claws in a challenge.

You release an exhausted sigh and massage your temples. It looks like it's going to be a long night—have fun having two pets who are fiercely horny loyal and protective of you.

#✧˚ ༘ ⋆｡ ˚#leon kennedy x reader #ada wong x reader #dog hybrid!leon kennedy #cat hybrid!ada wong #leon kennedy smut #ada wong smut #resident evil

875 notes · View notes

brain-rot-central · 10 months ago

Text

Sonnet of the Lone Cardinal, Ch. 4

A/N: Confrontation time. Here we go, y'all. I'm tagging this as borderline non-con for the ending. It steps into some murky territory that some may feel uncomfortable with. But hey, we're dealing with AA, after all. I'll also be linking a post reference within the text here; please click the link when you see it! It'll help you visualize a certain part. 🌝 Thank you all for the support thus far! I hope you enjoy reading ❤️

Rating: Explicit Word count: 7.7k Pairing: Ascended Astarion x Female Tav (named) Warnings: 18+, non-con (somewhat; literally touches the border of it), absolutely dubcon, mentions of pregnancy, mention of virginity loss, loss of innocence, manipulative behaviors, toxic relationship, discussions of death and murder, vaginal fingering, cunnilingus, PiV sex, PiV sex while pregnant, blood drinking, mother-fuckin' vampire sex boiiiiiiiiii (sorry these tags are way too serious and I am not)

Summary: Tav arrives at the Crimson Palace, poised for a confrontation with Astarion. A delicate dance ensues.

♥ Previous Chapter ♥ Next Chapter ♥ Link to Ao3

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust as she enters, but once they do, the sight before her nearly robs her of all speech and reason.

Illuminated by candelabras, Tav gasps in awe at the renovations to the interior of the manor. The once drab and outdated decor has been ripped out, heart and soul, and replaced with… white. So much white.

White walls, white marble flooring with golden accents, tall white marble columns. A generous crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, Tav looking up. Her vision comes down to settle on the plush red carpet lining the foyer, stretching through the hall and into the ballroom. The reflection of the candlelight shimmers along the marble floors. A sunset on the water… Tav notes offhandedly to herself.

A commemoration to their moment of triumph over the Absolute.

They all stood atop the dock watching the sun set over the horizon, sunlight glinting off the sea. The moment the tadpole vanished, Astarion became free. Truly and completely free.

A life regained, a future unwritten.

Reborn anew.

As she continues to drink in the new additions to the palace, Tav sees a figure approach from the corner of her eye. She turns her head to observe an older human woman making her way down the carpet, a smile set upon her slightly wrinkled face.

“Good evening, young miss,” the woman greets with a short bow. “Have you come to ask for an audience with Lord Ancunín?”

Tav remains silent for a moment as she quickly gives the woman a glance over. Gray hair with a time-worn face, albeit one that still shows the beauty she once beheld. She wears a simple long black dress with long sleeves, a white apron tied around her waist. Her shoes are black with a big metal buckle adorning the top of each. “I beg pardon for my current appearance,” the woman offers, giving the apron a quick pat down. “It isn’t often we have visitors this time in the evening.”

“No…” Tav begins, voice trailing off as she regroups her thoughts. “Not an audience, no. I’m…” Her chest thumps as she ponders their relationship. “...A friend of Astarion's. Is he home?”

“The young Master is in, yes; though I'm afraid he's currently occupied.” As if sensing Tav’s disappointment, the woman questions, “May I ask who you are?”

Tav nods her head respectfully. “I'm Tav.” The woman quirks a questioning brow. “Tavaria,” she adds quickly. “I was a traveling companion to Astarion over a year ago.”

And much more…

A spark shoots across the woman's vision and Tav recoils backward, readying herself.

“Ah!” the woman exclaims joyfully, “Lady Tavaria!” The woman bows earnestly. “Lord Ancunín extends his warmest greetings to you. Welcome to the Crimson Palace.”

With a smile, Tav softens her stance. She bows in return. “Thank you. It's… definitely different than before,” she comments while looking around the room.

“Ah, yes,” the woman agrees, “Master Astarion has renovated the manor to his distinct liking after the untimely passing of its prior occupant.”

“I see,” Tav states with a laugh. “This is all… very Astarion.” Elegant and refined.

All for show.

Continuing her observation of the room, a painting hanging on the middle wall catches Tav's eyes. She walks toward the painting, stopping just in front of it.

It's a black and white piece, looking to have been drawn in charcoal, depicting a man and woman sharing an intimate embrace. Both are naked, the woman's face obscured by her pose as she bows her back while offering her throat to the man. His head rests within her neck, his long black hair flowing down his back. The accompanying piece focuses solely on the man. The lustful look demonstrated in the man's half-lidded eyes as he looks up from the woman's throat has Tav shaking where she stands.

She's seen that look before. Not unlike how Astarion has looked at her.

The servant woman smiles, still standing in the same spot, clasping her hands together. “You must be exhausted, dearie,” she says, cutting through the silence. “Shall I direct you to your chambers?”

Tav blinks rapidly and turns her head to the woman. “I’m sorry, but did you say ‘my chambers?’” She shakes her head with a short laugh. “I don't live here.”

“But of course, my lady,” offers the servant. “Master Astarion has asked that we offer it as an option should you ever visit the manor.” She nods her head with another beatific smile. “There is no obligation. It is simply a kind gesture.” She bows, courteously, “My apologies for any offense I may have given, Lady Tavaria.”

Tav nods briefly, turning away from the woman as her mind races. He made me a bloody bedroom? She lifts her head and once again finds the picture on the wall. A chill travels up her neck as she locks eyes with the intense gaze of the man in the painting. Her breath hitches.

“Do you know when Astarion will be available?” Tav asks hurriedly, looking toward the woman.

The servant shakes her head. “I'm afraid I do not, though I can set you up in the study while you wait?” Smiling again, the woman walks across the room to a set of double doors on the far right. She opens them wide and gestures to Tav, welcoming her to enter.

Clutching her satchel, Tav walks through the threshold and into the office. It's rather standard when compared to the rest of the manor; dark green carpeting and wood panel walls. Multiple bookcases that are carved into the walls, holding a plethora of tomes. A couple glass display cases are near the large window on the far side of the room. The evening sunlight pours in from the wide window and onto the chaise lounge adjacent to it; a relaxing spot for one who wishes to bask in the sun.

The solid, dark wooden desk across from the double doors has a number of loose papers strewn about the top. An ornate wooden chair sits behind the desk, purple velvet upholstery with golden Damask patterns lining the back and seat. Two simple royal blue armchairs sit before the desk, signaling the office’s likely use for business gatherings.

“Please, make yourself at home,” the older woman says from behind as she enters the room. She walks over to the desk and gathers the documents into a single pile. “Would you care for something to drink, my lady? I'd be happy to bring you something after informing Lord Ancunín of your presence.”

Tav turns her head in acknowledgement of the older woman. “I'm quite well, thank you.” She furrows her brow. “Though, I didn't catch your name before.”

The woman freezes momentarily before bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Oh, my goodness!” she exclaims in embarrassment, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “Where are my manners today?” She quickly bows. “Magdalena, my lady. A true pleasure to make your acquaintance. My sincerest apologies.”

“It’s quite alright, Magdalena. No harm done,” Tav says with a calming wave of her hand. She walks toward the grand window and turns to face the older woman again. “Thank you for your hospitality thus far. I’ll settle myself in.”

With a nod of her head, Magdalena begins to exit the study. “Of course, Lady Tavaria. I’ll inform Master Astarion of your presence at once.” The doors close behind her with a soft click, and suddenly, Tav is alone.

She removes the satchel from around her chest, depositing the bag onto the chaise lounge. Her hat and scarf are next to join as she shakes out her hair. Tav tries to look through the frosted glass window without success. The opacity is too intense to make out anything more than muddled blobs. Turning around, she begins to walk the perimeter of the room, stopping in front of a large glass display case with a large book resting within. The cover of the book is adorned with skin, stitched into the pattern of a screaming face. An amethyst jewel sits within the face’s open mouth. Tav recalls the long nights and early mornings Astarion spent reasoning with this book until finally uncovering its secrets.

The Necromancy of Thay.

Of course he kept it.

She continues on, noting each small trinket that sits within the shelves of the grand bookcases. Slipping her hands behind her back, Tav peers over the wooden desk and observes the pile of documents on top. She pops her head up to briefly scan the room. Satisfied that she has clear advantage, she takes a hand to swipe over the letters.

There are various invitations to grand balls in distant kingdoms, letters of gratitude from high nobles, bills of sale… Tav’s eyes widen as she spots a familiar name amongst the many signatures.

With deepest admiration, Araj Oblodra

Tav reaches over and picks up the letter off the desk, holding it steady with both hands as she skims through the contents. From what she gathers, it sounds as if Araj has learned of Astarion’s new circumstances. She’s highly apologetic for her past behavior and would very much like an opportunity to show her sincerest gratitude. The letter goes on further to imply that they take the chance to get to know one another better, and perhaps they can even become allies.

Tav scoffs as she places the piece of paper back down on the desk.

She resumes her roaming when she settles on a small jewelry case on the top left of the desk. Walking around the edge, Tav fixates on the case, a startled gasp slips past her lips as she recognizes the jewelry within.

Resting atop a red velvet cushion lay a golden ring with a turquoise stone in its center. One half of a matching set of rings she had found during their journey through the Shadow-Cursed Lands. Tav was in possession of both rings for quite some time, going back and forth with herself about whether giving him one half would be too much.

She’d grown to like him; really-really like him, but she’d no idea if he felt the same. It wasn’t until the night of Astarion’s confession that Tav made her decision. Feeling the tension within his body as she wrapped her arms around his waist, yet fighting through his hesitation to return her embrace. It was enough to convince her that he truly did want to give them a try.

She presented the ring to him the following morning as they packed up camp.

“...A bit soon for a proposal, no?” quips Astarion, expression smug.

Tav stands before him. A ring with a golden aura lays within the palm of her hand, held out in silent offer. “N-no!” she stammers, the ghost of a blush tinting her cheeks. She averts her gaze as she says, “It's an enchanted ring.”

Astarion raises an eyebrow in question. “I can see that quite clearly, dear. But what does it do?”

Turning to look at him under her eyes, Tav replies shyly, “...It allows me to cast a special protection spell on you.” Her cheeks burn hot, her skin beginning to prickle.

His eyes darken as he leans forward. “Oh,” Astarion teases, voice velvet, “you wish to be my Knight?” He begins to move into her, hovering his lips just above hers. “You want to save a poor, innocent maiden such as I,” he coos. “Is that it, darling?”

They spent the majority of the following night rutting feverishly against one another, sharing a mutual need to scrub their underclothes in the river the morning after. From that point forward, each wore their respective ring around the fourth finger of the left hand.

Commotion outside the office brings Tav back to the present. She hears the voice of a woman, though not of the servant from earlier. Tav sneaks closer toward the doors, placing her ear to the wood to hopefully catch some of the conversation.

Still muffled, she thinks with a scowl. Drawing a deep breath in, Tav makes a quick split decision and grabs hold of the doorknob, twisting it gently. She feels the lock unlatch and pulls the door open just enough to allow for a small sliver of visibility. Tav strains against the door as she tries to find a better angle.

A tall elven woman with long blonde hair stands in the foyer exchanging words with Magdalena. Dressed in professional attire, she hands the maid a business card as they exchange pleasantries. Tav catches the woman's head beginning to turn toward the direction of the office and Tav quickly steps out of sight, holding her breath, heart flying within her chest. A few moments pass without incident before Tav slowly inches toward the crack in the door. She finds Magdalena bowing as the elf takes her leave of the manor.

There isn't much time to ponder who this mysterious woman is – the sound of footsteps marching along marble flooring fills the air.

“Good evening, Master,” greets Magdalena, kneeling in a curtsy.

“Good evening, my dear.” A man's voice, deep and smooth. Perfectly poised. Her stomach lurches; she knows that voice.

Tav holds her breath as talk continues just beyond the door. She quickly scans the room to determine which is closer – the blue armchair sitting before the desk, or the chaise lounge near the window.

As the man's footsteps draw closer to the door Tav bolts for the armchair, sitting promptly. She adjusts herself to appear as if she's been waiting patiently for his arrival all this time.

“Odd that the door is already open,” Tav hears the man comment from just beyond the door.

Shit.

A flash of embarrassing heat crawls up her neck. Magdalena mutters something to Astarion under her breath, but it's too quiet for Tav to make out. The doors suddenly swing open and Tav remains still, trying desperately to settle the overactive current that is her nerves.

She smells him first before she sees him – the signature scent of rosemary, bergamot and brandy encompassing the quaint office. “Thank you, Magdalena. Now, please, carry on,” he says smoothly.

Tav hears the man begin to approach from behind, placing the palms of his hands atop her shoulders. “I’m sure you've done a fine job at making our Lady feel welcome, hmm?” He squeezes her shoulders, Tav flinching beneath his grasp.

Tav tries desperately to resist the urge to look at him. When she closes her eyes she envisions the sharpness of his jaw behind her mind's eye, coupled with the smell of his cologne that’s currently assaulting her senses – she simply cannot look at him. If she does, she's going to fall.

She'll forget about the murders. Forget how angry she is that he dared come to her in a state of blood-crazed lust. That she carries a child he knows nothing about, that he can never know anything about.

If she looks at his face, so perfectly sculpted by the Gods themselves, she's going to forget every reason as to why she should stay far, far away from this man. Longing for nothing more than to fall into his arms for the rest of eternity.

“Y-yes,” Tav replies, nervously. “You've been ever so kind, Magdalena. Thank you.” Finally, she turns, eyes meeting with the servant woman. Tav feels the pale elf's searing gaze upon her skin as she deliberately looks past him, the hands on her shoulders relaxing.

“Wonderful,” he sings with a wave of his hand. “Now leave us, Magdalena.” He walks around Tav, coming to lean against the lip of the office desk. “The Lady and I have much to discuss,” he purrs, leaning over as he places a hand upon her jaw. Slowly he tilts her face upright, staring directly into her eyes. “Isn't that right, love?”

Within an instant, she feels faint. An unsettling warmth begins to spread. “Yes, Astarion,” Tav murmurs softly as his fingers slip down her neck. Her eyes flutter closed as the hand inevitably falls free of her. Astarion slowly leans back and upright, a hint of a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. He breaks eye contact to focus on Magdalena.

The servant woman bows, closing the doors behind her with an audible ‘thud’ as she takes her leave. The room is silent then. Tav’s heart pounds in her ears as she stares beyond Astarion again, focusing on the ring box at the corner of the desk. She only realizes how rapidly she's breathing as the sound reaches her ears.

“Are you alright, dear?” Astarion’s smooth voice cuts through. “You look as though you've seen a ghost.”

Raising her head, Tav meets his eyes. He stands before her, concern written across his features. For a split second, Tav sees him – the dashing rogue she fell in love with.

The way Astarion is knitting his brow, wide glassy eyes studying her. It's all very much like him.

“I’m fine,” she forces out, swallowing hard.

“Did Magdalena offend you?” Astarion asks urgently.

Tav shakes her head. “No, she truly has been pleasant.”

He leans over her again. Astarion drags a finger delicately up the side of her cheek. “Then why do you cry?”

Immediately Tav raises a hand to her opposite cheek. Moisture coats her fingertips as she finds a stray tear rolling down her cheek. She’s unsure when or why she’s begun to weep, wiping the tear away with the back of her hand. Tav pulls herself out of Astarion’s touch with a slight groan.

“I-I’m fine, really,” she insists. “I… came to see you.”

The vampire's expression softens as he tilts his head. “I haven't come to you in some time,” Astarion says, walking toward a carafe of wine sitting atop a metal cart near the window. “I apologize for that.” He speaks over his shoulder, pouring the wine out into a glass. He gestures with the carafe briefly to Tav; she shakes her head. “Although, I can't say I anticipated you showing up here.” Placing the carafe back down on the cart, Astarion turns, lips pulling into a smirk as he brings the wine glass to his lips. “Is it true then, what they say? Has absence made your heart grow fonder?”

Tav stands and turns to Astarion, giving him a full glance over. He wears a simple white dress shirt, the top few buttons undone revealing glimpses of his sculpted chest. His trousers are something she’s unfamiliar with – a type of woven cotton in a particular vertical design, and dyed blue. Indigo blue. He's wearing a black belt, threaded into loops within the pants around his hips. Tav imagines there's a fastener under the belt buckle, but also something else to help secure the garment. Something metal running down the front seam of the pants. Her eyes finish their course down his legs to find a simple pair of polished black loafers.

“...I'll take that as a yes,” Astarion comments with a quirk of his brow. He returns from across the room to once again take his place leaning against the desk in front of Tav, setting the wine glass down.

“N-no,” Tav blurts out, “I mean yes, but…” She feels the warmth of embarrassment crawl up her neck, nipping along her skin as it floods her face.

A hand rises to move her hair gently aside. Astarion leans forward and dips his head into the crook of her neck, planting chaste kisses along the tender flesh. “I missed you,” he whispers into her skin. Hot puffs of breath spread over her neck and Tav shudders. Almost instinctively, she raises her head to allow Astarion better access to her throat; her eyes flutter closed. His hand in her hair winds around the back of her head, gently guiding Tav’s head further to the side before falling to her hip.

Tav gasps as Astarion pulls their bodies flush against one another. His arousal has yet to awaken, though she can still feel the outline of him against her core. She groans as he rolls her hips into her again and again; slow, languid thrusts that have bolts of pleasure shooting up from between her thighs and spreading like wildfire through her body.

“Astarion…” Tav protests weakly, raising a hand to cover Astarion's on her hip. “I didn't come here for this.”

He purrs into her throat, gently nipping and teasing the skin around her scars with blunted teeth. “Oh, no? Are you sure?” Astarion pulls her into him again while imitating a piercing bite into her neck.

She moans, louder than she means to, finally feeling the rigidness of his cock firmly against her sex. Her head falls against his shoulder as he continues rolling his hips against her, hardly noticing Astarion moving his hand from her hip to her lower back. A spark of panic zaps through her addled mind as she realizes where this is heading.

“Y-yes, I'm sure,” she insists, somehow managing to pull herself out of Astarion's embrace. The room spins around her as she turns to face him. “There's something I wanted to discuss with you,” she says breathlessly, vision finally starting to clear.

His expression falls, replaced by smug dissatisfaction. “You came halfway across the city… just to talk?” asks Astarion, narrowing his eyes.

Tav nods her head in agreement. “Yes, it's something rather important.”

Astarion groans low in his throat, grabbing the glass of wine off the desk and walking toward the office window. He brings the crimson liquid to his lips and takes a strong sip. “You could have sent a damned pigeon, if that's all you wanted,” he snides over his shoulder.

“Not about this.” Tav feels her throat run dry as she speaks. Her lust has settled for now, replaced by the live wire of anticipation.

“About what?” Astarion growls defensively. He spins around, entire body leaning into his words. Like an animal being cornered.

Tav flinches reflexively. It’s rare that Astarion ever raises his voice to her, even during disagreements. She swallows, hardening her resolve. “Don’t use that tone with me.”

Astarion hisses through clenched teeth, taking another long drink from his wine glass. His face softens. “I'm sorry, love, but I'm having a very rough time ascertaining what could ever be so important that you felt the need to bring yourself here,” he gestures wildly to the floor below him, “to me, just to talk?”

She doesn't respond.

The tension eases from his form as he studies Tav, clearly shaken by his display. He sucks his teeth in defeat. “Oh, for the love of Shar’s cunt, fine,” he groans. “If you're going to look at me like that, then fine, I'll bite.” He comes to rest on the chaise lounge near the window, knees spread wide, his forearms resting over the tops of his thighs. “So, what can I do for you, my friend?”

Tav winces, looking down at her hands as she fidgets her fingers. He's being heavily sarcastic, though at least it's an invitation to continue. “...There was an article recently in the Gazette,” she begins, voice quivering. “That spoke of a murder within the sewers.”

Astarion scoffs. “Unsurprising for those cesspits, but do carry on.”

Her eyes shift momentarily to his face before falling back to the floor. “It's reported that there were five victims in total. Three had their throats slashed, while the other two…” her voice trails off as her throat tightens. Tav tries to swallow, but nothing goes down. Panic rises within her, adrenaline building.

“The other two what, dear?” Astarion's voice is dark, firm. He stands from his place on the lounge, walking slowly over to Tav. He stands before her, brows pulled together, his eyes cast down upon her face. A hand comes up to lift her chin, forcing her to look at him. “Tell me,” he demands.

She gasps, Tav finally saying with some hesitation, “They had fang marks… embedded in their throats. Resembling the scars I bear.” She blinks. “The ones you gave me,” she adds, quietly.

His eyes darken with malice as his face contorts. His grip on her chin tightens, forcibly lifting her head to the side to observe her branding. Astarion pulls in a full breath as he looks over her neck, mouth dropping open in an exasperated exhale.

“...Do you know anything about this?” Tav chokes out, eyelashes fluttering rapidly.

“And why would I know anything about that, hmm?” Astarion lowers his head into the crook of her neck, panting heavily against her skin. Tav shakes from their proximity. He then drags his lips up the side of her face, resting them against her ear. “I'm not the only monster lurking in the shadows,” he whispers.

The hand on her chin falls to her hip, guiding her gently toward the lip of the desk. “I know how you think of me, darling.” Tav sucks in a sharp breath as her backside bumps into the wood. “That I’m the big bad wolf coming to steal you away in the night.” Astarion buries his nose within her hair, inhaling deeply as he pulls their bodies flush together again.

“A-answer the question, Astarion,” Tav insists, her head beginning to cloud.

“Oh, but wouldn't you rather hear what I miss most about you, Tavaria?” he growls into her ear. “What memories play incessantly again and again in my mind?” Astarion grinds himself against her center again, coaxing a suggestive moan out of Tav. Her arms rise to encircle his neck, her resolve beginning to shatter.

“A-Astarion,” Tav whines desperately. “D-don’t…”

He drops his head to rest their foreheads together, lips practically touching. “I miss how you’d writhe in my lap as I'd drink from you,” Astarion confesses. He pulls at her bottom lip, suckling the flesh between his. “The way you flutter around my cock when you fall off the edge for me.” He kisses her more thoroughly this time, groaning softly into her mouth as Tav’s jaw slackens. “But, do you know what I miss above all else?” suggests Astarion, pulling back. He dips his head again into the nape of her neck, a hand rising to gently hold the opposite side of her face.

Tav grasps at the linen of his dress shirt, bunching the fabric within the palms of her hands. She's now rocking her hips in rhythm with his, a smoldering fire now roaring to life deep within her belly. Her body calls for him, and Tav wonders briefly if he can hear it.

The crazed beating of her heart? The lone song it sings only for him? The proof of their union that grows within?

“Your blood,” Astarion speaks against her skin. Suddenly he places his mouth over her scars and sucks voraciously, like a man starved. Tav moans, buckling at the knees momentarily. She grabs at his hair, threading her fingers deep against their roots for leverage. “Gods, there's nothing quite like the vintage of your blood,” he continues as he unlatches from her throat. The delicacy of her skin has given way to a mauve bloom; he smiles as he pulls away.

She shakes beneath him. If it weren't for the desk behind her, Tav would certainly collapse. He's trying to seduce her. Fuck her into submission – make her crave him so that she's more pliable, in whichever way he desires. These are his classic manipulation tactics, not unlike their humble beginnings.

“I know w-what you're doing, Astarion,” Tav says. “Don’t toy with me.”

He laughs – a quick condescending sound breaking free from his lips. “Oh, darling, you've been toying with me for months now. I'm very aware,” Astarion says with a smirk. He cranes his head. “Our dance is always the same – we fight, we kiss, and then I make the sweetest love to you as you weave your fingers between the very threading of my soul, ripping my heart free of my chest,” he adds with a sneer, pounding a fist over his heart.

Astarion pauses for a brief moment to stare at her. He pulls in a quick breath and his face softens. “And I let you, every time.” Tav gasps as the hand holding her face slides to her chin, fingers tracing the outline of her lips. “But you?” he continues, gesturing to a shelf on the wall behind them with a nod of his head, “You keep yours high on a shelf, completely out of reach. No matter how I clamor for it.”

Astarion releases her, hands entirely off her being as he steps back. “I lay myself bare for you every time. But you refuse to see it. Refuse to see me, beyond the glitz and glamor.” He knits his brow again, and Tav swears she sees a hint of moisture gather at the edges of his eyes. “Yet, I say nothing, because this is the only way you allow me to have you. And I’d rather have some of you than nothing at all.”

Silence blankets them both.

Has she been unfair to him? Cruel? Has she so sorely misjudged who he’s become? Tav shifts her gaze down to the floor as the questions mount. Maybe he isn’t this grand demon she’s characterized him to be. His talk of power and control after the ritual – perhaps it was a rush of emotions? The first taste of freedom after so many years of indentured servitude? He seems more settled now, not in so much of a rush to bend the entire city to his will.

Perhaps… she was wrong?

“So, may we skip straight to the finale?” says Astarion, distracting her from her thoughts, “Because I’m not quite sure how much more of this I can take.”

Her mouth hangs open, too stunned to speak. Tav looks up; she meets his eyes.

Maniacal laughter as he bathes in a glowing red aura of 7000 souls extinguished.

His face when the ritual was complete. The way he roared. How he laughed.

No, she's not wrong for mistrusting him. He's worse than a devil themselves.

They stare into one another's eyes, the tension swirling about the room thickening. Tav blinks; he still hasn't answered her question.

“You still haven't answered my question, Astarion.”

She stands firm.

He scoffs, turning his head toward the grand window. Astarion runs a hand over his face; he bites the top of a finger. “No,” he answers sternly, dropping the hand from his mouth. “I don't take particular interest in what happens within the bowels of this city.” He glances down at the fingernails of his closed fist, rubbing them across the front of his shirt. “My days of being a sewer rat are long gone, my dear.”

Tav winces. She's not entirely yet convinced. “Are you sure?”

Slowly, Astarion returns his attention to her. “Yes,” he growls low in this throat, “I am sure.” He tilts his head to the side as he lifts his brow. “Satisfied?”

Briefly she narrows her eyes, studying his face. Something about this… she's seen it before. He's pulled his face into an all-too-perfect expression. Not a muscle out of place.

“Yes, thank you,” she answers. Tav watches his liar’s mask slide off, replaced by a smug expression. He’s truly convinced he has her fooled.

How could she have ever loved such a horrid creature?

“Excellent,” Astarion hums as he clasps his hands. “Shall we return to more pressing matters?” His hands raise to caress the soft edges of her hips. He drops his face to her forehead, planting a soft, lingering kiss. Gently he rocks them together again.

He's turning this into his playground. His bargaining chip.

Sex. Lies. Manipulation.

He falls back on them every time. Seals every deal with the proposition of ‘a little death;’ wielding his body like a finely sharpened tool. In her case, if she doesn't play her cards carefully, Tav could very well be staring face to face with actual death.

“Of course,” she sings to him. “I wouldn't be truthful if I said I hadn't been thinking of this.” She smiles softly to him, in just the way she knows he likes – a smile that reaches her eyes. It's her turn to start dealing her hand.

And just as expected, Astarion folds.

Hands reach behind her knees, Astarion lifting her up and onto the top of the desk. Their kiss is hurried as he slots himself between her splayed thighs, his tongue entwining itself around hers. Astarion's hands travel up again, one landing on her waist while the other palms at a clothed breast. Tav arches her back, pushing her chest into his touch. She sighs as he continues massaging the tender mound, mewling into his mouth as he pulls teasingly at her nipple. Breaking the kiss, she rests her forehead against the bridge of his nose. Her chest heaves as she tries to regain her breath.

Astarion releases her breast and slides his hand up to push the strap of her dress off her shoulder. “Lay down,” he commands with a whisper. Tav hesitates at first, but then moves slowly. She gently lays back onto the surface of the desk; the wood is cold against her exposed skin, sending a chill through her. Astarion leans forward, planting open-mouthed kisses to her neck and the newly exposed area of her shoulder. He travels down, suckling softly at the swell of her breast. She writhes beneath his touch as his hair tickles her chest.

“Ai armiel telere maenen hir,” says Astarion, kissing down the expanse of her abdomen. Tav grasps at silver locks, threading her fingers through Astarion’s hair as he begins hiking up her dress.

“You’ve said that to me before,” she pants heavily while stealing a look between her legs. An involuntary twitch ripples through her as he kisses the inside of her thigh. Tav feels him smirk into her skin.

“And still you’ve yet to seek out its meaning,” comes his prompt response. Astarion hooks his fingers into the hem of her undergarments, Tav lifting her hips enough for him to slide the fabric down her legs. They hang off one ankle as he resumes lavishing attention to her.

She arches off the desk as he kisses her mound, dipping his head momentarily to swipe his tongue teasingly up her slit. “W-uh, what d-does it mean?” she questions in a moan.

Astarion hums as he kneels before her spread legs. “You'll just have to find out for yourself,” he teases. Holding her legs open, he runs the flat of his tongue up her center, stopping to lavish her sensitive bud. He wraps his lips around her clit, suckling gently as he brings a hand to her entrance.

“What are you-” Tav exclaims, clearly panicked. Two of his fingers prod over her entrance, Astarion lightly teasing the tips in and out. Their eyes connect and he finally breaches forward, his eyes now rolling back into his skull as he continues lapping at her cunt. He curls his fingers, jerking his hand back and forth to pass over the intimate spot within. Tav’s vision begins to fill with searing white heat, her body writhing under him. He's bringing her closer and closer to release, and fast. More quickly than ever before.

“Gods, you taste even better than I remember,” he moans softly, adding fuel to the ever-mounting fire within her belly. Astarion kisses her opposite thigh, continuing the assault with his fingers. “Thiramen,” he says softly, sensing her proximity to the precipice.

The fucking Elvish. He surely hasn't forgotten the effect it has on her.

“D-don’t… not fair…” Tav whines, looking down between her legs as she runs her hands through Astarion's hair. Her thighs quake, the coil in her lower belly winding tighter and tighter as it threatens to snap.

Astarion meets her gaze, tongue once again passing over her swollen clit. “Thiramen eath’she,” he says. “Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen...”

Astarion curls his finger with just the right amount of finesse and suddenly Tav’s body ceases. She cries out, loud and wanton, her release spilling into the palm of his hand. Astarion smirks and continues passing his fingers over her spot, coaxing her through the intensity of her pleasure. Tav pulls her knees together and finally rolls away from his touch, too overstimulated to take any more. Her chest heaves as aftershocks of her release rock through her.

The vampire smiles as he stands up, wiping his face with the back of his hand. He begins undoing the buttons of his dress shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders. Opening her legs again, he leans over her. Tav’s face is flushed red, her eyes still closed as her mouth hangs open. He makes a quick mental note of her current state to call upon for later use. “So beautiful,” Astarion comments, snaking a hand down to the button of his trousers. With the deftness expected of a skilled rogue, he pops open the button and loosens the fastener.

Tav finally comes to, opening her eyes to meet his gaze. “Astarion…” she breathes, raking her nails over his bare chest. Looking between their bodies, she follows his hand as he reaches within the waistband of his underclothes, pulling them down his thighs. His cock springs free and Tav gasps. Pre-fluid gathers at the tip of him and her eyes flutter upward to meet his again, feeling heat rise to her cheeks.

“I'll stop, if you want,” Astarion whispers through kiss-swollen lips. Guiding his length to rest against her sex, he groans softly, resting his head against her forehead. Involuntarily twitches of his hips have his shaft sliding deliciously through her arousal. Both pull in a sharp breath when the head of his cock catches at her entrance, Tav’s body arching off the desk at the sensation.

Shaky hands rise to hold either side of his face, and Tav notices for the first time that evening how warm it is. A soft blush sits high on his face, across the tops of his cheeks. Astarion turns his head into her palm, planting gentle kisses. Any reservations begin to melt away at the gesture. “No,” she breathes, “it's fine. I want this.” Tav runs her thumb back and forth over his cheek. “Even if only for a little while.”

He nods, completely silent, then guides himself along her core. Her hands tangle within moonlit locks as he breeches her entrance. Her sudden pleasured moan is swallowed in a kiss, Astarion groaning out is own into her mouth as his length slips deeper, deeper, until he hits her end. Tav tastes the remnants of her release on his tongue; a bitter sweetness that tickles the back of her throat. An involuntary clenching of her walls around his cock as his tip kisses the end of her tunnel has Astarion moaning again, breaking their kiss. He buries his head within the crook of her neck, resting there for a brief moment as he bottoms out.

They lay still, Tav pressing a heated cheek to the side of his face. Inhaling deeply, she crosses her legs over the small of his back and pulls him impossibly closer. Astarion adjusts the angle of his hips and she gasps as the head of his cock pushes against her cervix again, slightly arching into his embrace. Gently he begins to rock his hips – short, teasing thrusts to test her readiness. He lavishes attention to her neck with languid kisses, suckling at the delicate skin.

This is… passionate. Intimate, Tav realizes. The words he cannot say aloud, that he's too afraid to say aloud, he'll express through this.

This is her Astarion. The man she fell in love with over a year ago. Here, like this, is him. Tav turns her face to plant reassuring kisses against his temple. “You can move, Astarion,” she tells him.

He doesn't lift his face, but she feels how he breathes against her skin. A hand comes up to thread within her hair, the other landing on her hip. He’s silent as he begins to move – pulling out before slowly plunging back in. They stay like this for a bit, Astarion rocking his hips into her core with added fevor. He glides smoothly as her arousal grows, Tav falling easily into their shared rhythm.

“Tav?”

She opens her eyes, unaware of having closed them. “Mmm?” she groans softly, mouth falling open in a silent gasp as he adjusts his angle.

“Do you trust me?”

It takes a moment, but she’s sure she hears a sort of sternness in his voice. Tav peels her head back to meet his eyes. They're wild – dark crimson pools that threaten to swallow her whole. Astarion breathes heavily through his nose, eyes cast down as he awaits an answer.

She opens her mouth to speak but the words catch in her throat. With a wandering eye she finds the ring laying next to her on the corner of the desk. Light gleams on the gold band, reflecting off the glass of encasement.

He kept the ring, she argues to herself. He kept his half of the rings.

Were he so terrible, would he have done that?

“I do,” Tav answers nervously, blinking rapidly.

“May I ask a favor?”

Astarion stills his movements. He holds himself up by his elbows, but not before guiding Tav to lay flat on the surface of the desk. She nods her head slowly as she looks up to him, inviting him to continue.

In an instant, her stomach twists.

He smiles.

“It's been so long since I've supped of you, darling,” Astarion says, voice smooth as velvet. “Would you be ever so kind to grant me another taste?”

A chill runs up her spine. The room is cold, suddenly so very cold. She's ripped violently from the benevolent illusion of the moment, finding herself face to face with the very creature of tales long past.

The innocent maidens.

They always come for the innocent maidens.

She was nowhere near innocent – not for many years. But a maiden? Yes, of this she was sure.

She never did tell Astarion, but he was her first as much as she was his. Her mind may have still been fractured, but somehow she had certainty of that one fact. The moment he breached her maidenhead was the beginning of everything. Bit by bit he carved out pieces of her. Took them, stole them for himself. More and more she gave, all in an effort to appease his ever-growing lust for power and control.

Astarion is, and was, a rolling thunderstorm – lightning fit to strike for no reason other than he can.

And now he's asking, again, for more.

An overwhelming urge to cry is building within her, but she won't. She chose this. To be here, with him. Like this. The consequences of her actions playing out in real time.

Her stomach twists again and she winces in pain. She understands his craving for blood well. The pregnancy has been kicking up old feelings; she believed them to be settled after the rejection of her Father. Can she really deny him his hunger?

Tav lifts her face to meet his gaze. Astarion is looking down at her with a blank expression. He silently awaits her answer.

“...D-do not turn me, Astarion,” comes her shaky response.

A deep rumble travels up his chest as he twists his face into a foreboding smile. “Of course not, my love,” he purrs, like a cat that finally got the cream. His hand twists within Tav’s hair, guiding her head upward to expose the long column of her throat. His eyes find her scars again and he sucks in a sharp breath, involuntarily jerking his hips into her core. Astarion’s arousal has flagged, though the promise of her blood has him twitching back to life.

Tav groans as she feels him swell within her, hooking her legs back around the small of his waist. Tears threaten at the corners of her eyes as she feels his gaze upon her. “Be gentle, please,” she pleads. Trembling hands rise to hold his shoulders as he moves into position, his mouth hovering above her neck.

Astarion peppers the underside of her jaw with kisses as he trails down her neck. “I would never dream of being anything but,” he speaks into her skin. He swipes his tongue over her mark, his mark, enclosing his mouth over the spot and suckling lightly. “You'll barely feel a thing.”

She could stop this. She should stop this. But instead, she lies in wait, bracing herself for the icy sting of his fangs piercing her flesh. Tav feels the points of his teeth press into her neck; she screws her eyes shut as they sink in, hands flying to the top of his head. She groans, gripping handfuls of silver hair.

He's right – the pain is only momentary, replaced by a familiar, comforting warmth. Astarion sucks in earnest, mouthfuls of her blood rushing down his throat. With his cock fully replenished, Astarion resumes a steady rhythm, thrusting in time with each pull of blood into his mouth. He groans against her skin.

He desires this, he desires me, Tav reassures herself. The edges of her vision are beginning to darken; a telltale sign that she's reaching her limit. “Astarion,” she says meekly, trying to alert him of her condition.

Yet, he continues to drink.

She pants against his forehead as she tries desperately to break free of his hold. Her strength is quickly fading, more of her vision fading with each pull of her blood into his mouth. Still his thrusts continue; a numbness starts to spread from her core throughout her limbs.

“Astarion…” Tav calls again, voice barely above a whisper.

The ceiling is the last thing she sees before she closes her eyes. Even behind her closed lids the room spins. One hand slips from the top of Astarion's head and onto the table, followed shortly by the other.

As she slips closer and closer into unconsciousness, Tav makes peace with the fact that she chose this. She knew this was a possibility. She knew he desired this, and she gave it to him. Willing.

He outplayed her.

A single thought races across her mind before she fades, of the artwork in the foyer.

The vampire bites the woman he desires.

Finally, Tav succumbs to the dark.

Astarion continues to drink.

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

A/N: PHEW. Well. The art I referenced above I believe is a scene from a manga called "Blood Sucker," but I couldn't find an actual panel depicting the image above, even with reverse image searching. If anyone can find the actual reference, please feel free to inform me and I'll adjust the link. Translations for the Elvish are as followed: Ai armiel telere maenen hir - "You hold my heart forever" Thiramen - "I love you/my love" when referring to soulmates Thiramen eath’she - "I love you forever," again, in the context of soulmates Let shan nesh tel’quiet, thiramen - "Let go for me, my love," Sources are here & here

Hope you had fun reading!!

#astarion #ascended astarion #bg3 astarion #fanfiction #astarion smut #astarion angst #astarion fanfic #astarion x tav #astarion x named tav #astarion ancunin #bg3 #my writing #astarion x durge #astarion x female tav #astarion x female dark urge #sotlc

269 notes · View notes

inbarfink · 1 year ago

Text

So my current working theory about What the Hell is Going On is that, yeah, Fionna and Cake and their whole world are indeed a creation of Simon’s Mind. Like, it’s probably gonna be something about how Ice King’s brain was so infused with Magic and Madness and Sadness and a heartfelt belief that Fionna and Cake are real that it created this world where they can be real and now that he’s Simon again it’s still linked to him. But also Fionna and Cake and the others are ‘Real’ in the sense that they all have a clear interiority and real emotions and some amount of free will. You know, the fact that Fionna has some sort of lingering feeling that something’s Wrong about her world, and that everyone seems to dream of their old magical selves and their own magical lives is proof enough to me that even if they are born of Simon’s psyche they also have minds and wills of their own.

And my thoughts about the Ice Prince of Fionna’s dream is that it’s like… So Fionna is dreaming of snippets of her old Magical Adventurer Life in Ice King’s old fanfictions, filtered via also Regular Dream Weirdness and general Wish Fulfillment. And Ice Prince is the lingering afterimage of Ice King’s tendency to self-insert himself into Fionna’s adventures in very Wish Fulfilment kinda way (as seen at the start of ‘Bad Little Boy’, for example)

Only filtered through the lens of Fionna’s subconscious - and filtered through her own Wish Fulfillment desires (since she’s a Real Person now and not just a tool for Ice King’s fantasies) and also she’s a Sailor Moon fangirl

So if I’m right, that would make Ice Prince a Wish Fulfillment version of a Wish Fulfillment character created from the mind of a Wish Fulfillment character.

#adventure time #atimers #adventure time spoilers #adventure time fionna and cake #fionna and cake #fionna and cake spoilers #fionna and cake series #fionna campbell #fionna the human #adventure time fionna #simon petrikov #adventure time simon #simon adventure time #ice king #the ice king #ice prince

627 notes · View notes

yagirlwrites · 10 months ago

Text

Drinks & Misunderstandings

Hiii! It's been a while! Here's a little The Sounds of a Good Boy blurb about another encounter where Rafe makes a fool of himself and she thinks he's a dumbass🙈 this is set right after The Night We Met ❤️ Hope you like it!

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Series Masterlist

My work is my own; it’s not to be copied, transferred or translated. Reblogs are welcome! Happy reading!🥰

Drinks & Misunderstandings

It had been exactly a week since their encounter at the party. Rafe had been able to think of very little except her. It was extremely inconvenient and fucking frustrating. He thought about the way she looked at him in the kitchen more times than he could count and it ended up making his pants get tighter every time. He didn’t understand what it was about her that made him so obsessed. He was also incredibly angry and tired of her running through his mind given the fact that she spoke exactly three words to him- when he asked if her friend was okay. Oh but her voice was stuck on repeat. He had felt butterflies in his stomach when she finally spoke to him.

It hadn’t mattered that she only said “I don’t know.” He was so taken aback that he didn’t even manage to respond before she left. She seemed distressed and he wanted to ask more, to offer to help -something! But she was gone before he could process and he spent all night kicking himself for not being quicker. Though he knew she probably wouldn’t have wanted his help anyway, given that she had ignored him all night.

This Saturday, the usual frat party scene was exchanged for a birthday bar hop for one of his frat brothers. Rafe wasn’t really feeling it. Though the alcohol was welcome, the company and the loud music was not. He had been drowning his sorrows all week, barely paying attention to his classes. His mind always on her. He wondered what happened to her friend, if she was okay; wondered if he’d ever see her again. He mostly wondered why the hell he was wondering about all those things in the first place. He couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation, not understanding how she managed to have such a hold on him when he didn’t even know her name.

The bar they were currently in was one of the classier establishments they visited that night. If the interior hadn’t made it clear the prices of the drinks left no room for doubt. It was crowded and hot but at least the music wasn’t as loud as in the bar they were in last. He was starting to feel a headache coming, so he welcomed the slightly queieter albeit pretentious environment they were in now.

The guys had spent all night circling the group for drink duties, he had befallen the faith of getting the next round. He was already feeling the effect of the alcohol as he made his way to the bar to order more drinks. Slightly leaning onto the counter for support after stumbling a little on his way over, he bumped into the person to his left, throwing a quick sorry as the guy glared at him.

Waiting for the bartender to notice him he lazily ran his eyes over the girl to his right. Her back was facing him as she leaned on the bar, almost mirroring his position. She was hot. Wanting to see her face, he leaned slightly closer, hoping she’d turn around if she senses his presence. Her perfume hit him and he swore he smelled it before but his drunk mind couldn’t place it.

Just as he expected, she could feel him behind her so she turned around to glance at him. As soon as their eyes met he felt like he had been struck by lightning. It was her. The same girl who had been plaguing his thoughts for a week straight, same girl who made him feel small that night, same girl he hoped he would run into again. And there she was, standing right in front of him, wearing a sexy little black dress and looking at him again.

He could see recognition in her eyes and he felt a rush of excitement at the prospect. She remembered him. If his mind had been slightly less hazy he might have considered that wasn’t the best thing, that perhaps if she hadn’t remembered him he would have had a chance to start over, not make a fool of himself again. But all he could feel was excitement because she was there and she remembered him.

When she turned to see who had so blatantly given himself the right to stand so close to her, the last person she expected to see was him. The guy from last week’s party, same guy who had annoyed her that night, same guy who surprised her by showing concern for her friend, same guy she had thought of more times than she would ever admit to herself over the last week.

He was looking dumbstruck and she knew he remembered her. She expected him to look sheepish or even smug but he actually looked... happy? He looked like he was happy to see her. She thought it might have been an act but seeing the way his eyes were glazed and he was supporting himself on the bar, she realised he was genuine, clearly drunk and not capable of hiding his emotions. It was pretty damn adorable. She was sure after their last encounter he wouldn’t be happy to see her but there he was - right in front of her, smiling like a little kid. It took her some effort not to smile at the sight. He looked so innocent, with his bright dimply smile and his floppy hair- but she knew better.

If a by-stander had been watching them they might have noticed they were both standing there, staring at each other for a beat too long. The little moment interrupted by the bartender laying down the drinks she ordered in front of her. She broke eye contact and reached for her wallet. As she was taking it out of her purse an arm reached in front of her, black card making it to the man’s hand before she could process it.

“Drinks are on me” he said. The bartender made quick work of scanning the card and handing it back to him. He looked to her, hoping for a smile. He finally got a second chance to make a better impression on her and he jumped at the opportunity. Being a gentleman, buying her and her friends their drinks.

Her face though, wasn’t happy. She looked pissed, in fact. If this were a cartoon, Rafe imagined steam would be coming out of her ears in that moment. He didn’t understand what happened. Paying for expensive cocktails as a peace offering seemed like a good idea. Now he wasn’t sure what her problem was. Maybe she was just a miserable person.

She took the drinks in her hands, trying to balance them on the little tray. She felt like she could burst. The nerve of this asshole. The entitled douchebag. A total prick. That’s what he was. Any trace of her prior thoughts about seeing him again went out the window. The gall of this guy to just pay for her without bothering to even ask. Like she wasn’t capable of it. Like he had the right. Flashing his daddy’s black card like he owns the place, like owns her. Hell no.

She was quite done with him now.

So without looking back she took off toward their booth. The plan to get away from him as fast as possible before she caused a scene hindered by the fact that she had to walk carefully not to spill the drinks on the tray. Damn it.

As she turned and started walking away without a word his confusion grew and his annoyance resurfaced. What the hell? He wasn’t gonna let her blank him again. No way.

A hand wrapped around her bicep effectively stopped her in her tracks. His grip was firm and he pulled her back slowly, making sure the drinks she was holding didn’t fall on her. Her anger was bubbling up dangerously by now and him putting his hand on her pushed all thoughts of not causing a scene out of her head.

The look she gave him when she turned around was one that could kill a man, or at least chill him to his very bones. But Rafe was angry and he hadn’t realised the huge warning sign so he opened his mouth. Had he been less drunk he would have known that would be a terrible mistake.

“Are you serious? Not even a thank you?” He asked her, not releasing his grip from her arm. The longer his touch lingered on her skin the hotter her anger burned inside. Untill it spilled. And boy it spilled.

“Excuse me?” Her tone was dangerously low, she was barely keeping it together.

“You’re just gonna walk away again? No thank you or anything? What is your problem?” Big mistake. Huge.

“My problem?” She took a step closer, close enough so the tray ended up pressed against both their chests, the metal object the only space between their bodies. “What’s my problem?”

“Yeah. Usually people say thank you when someone buys them a drink, you know. Let alone five.” He pressed on.

“You know what. You’re right. How rude of me.” She spoke sarcastically. “Thank you so much for going over me to settle my tab without asking me, like I wasn’t even there. Thanks for thinking I need you to pay my check and swoon over you for swooping in and saving me 60 bucks. I really appreciate it.” Her voice had risen and at this point the people around them were paying attention.

“I was just being nice-“ he tried to reason.

“Nice? Doing things for me -that I’m fully capable of doing myself by the way-without my consent, is not nice. It’s patronizing. Acting like I should have no say in something, like I have as much agency as that barstool over there is not being nice- it’s being a dick. So is this.” She motioned to his hand still wrapped around her arm. At that he let go. She took a step back. His face a picture of confusion and frustration.

“Normally I would leave the drink but these are for my friends. I’ll let them know you spent a whole $20 for their cocktails, maybe one of them will give you their number.” With that she turned and walked away. This time he let her.

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

Taglist: if anyone wants to be tagged in future work let me know; @r0und3bitch @lovelornanonymity @mentallynot-here @wishing-i-was-rafes-princess @clinelyn @magnificantmermaid @mannstarkey @harringtonstudios @totallynotkaibiased @popcrone818 @fangirlwithlou @rafesxgold @malfoytargaryen @theyluvmesblog @withbeautyandrage @sierrahhh @harrys-humble-housewife @piceous21 @ditzyballerina @xoxo3m1ly @jessmaybank @palmwinemami @dustbunniess @sublimepenguinpeach-blog @starkowswife

113 notes · View notes

maounteighn · 7 months ago

Text

Overanalising Moral Orel: Clay, Bloberta and the Colour Theory

p.2 Bloberta

p.1

In p.1 we have already established that Bloberta's colour is red and it remained red throughout her whole journey. Her sense of Self was untouched neither by marriage nor by parenthood. When we are taking about relativity of her identity, she doesn't base it around or against anyone in her current family.

Her style barely changes, always containing red and white. However, she gradually loses white in her garments the more she decides to walk on her own. Her younger self up to that wedding in Help wears the most white – visually it softens the boldness of her red skirt. At the reception party she wears mostly red, white is only her belt and headband – red is also more saturated. The same red remains in her post-wedding daily wear. While white is not only in her collar, but also her apron, it is a completely different piece of clothing. Underneath the apron there's still her red dress. White apron dilutes red too, making it look less assertive, but it's only for the time she wears it. It's like a mask of a housewife and a mother, that she willing puts on for a meantime. Underneath it it's still her real, very persistent Self, that she is not particularly trying to hide. She also water down her true Self to appear less threatening to the society – she is a woman who has desires, attitudes and strength she shouldn't demonstrate. So not to apper a deviant, she has to adopt a socially acceptable Persona for herself.

Despite common beliefs that woman's true identity is of a wife and a mother, Bloberta is never changed by acquiring these statuses. Quite opposite, it's Clay who shapes his identity in relation to her (against her). It a simple visual storytelling, he is nothing significant to her, he is an instrument to her goals and desires, a tool. And a useless tool, too.

What has actually influenced Bloberta's sense of Self had done it way before she and Clay met. Take a look at her family.

Her mother Regina wears a mix of brown, red and very dark-green. Everyone else wears a variation of her colours. Modella – red and yellow-green, Lunchbox – green, Raymond – brown. Together they look very homogeneous too. They don't stick out, they don't clash, they don't take attention away from Regina. In comparison, their wardrobes are also similar and very simple, mostly plain l, while hers is quite busy and speckled, ornated. She is the center of attention. Raymond blends with the background, Modella and Lunchbox are like an extension of her perfect aesthetic. And all together they look classy, a very much dark academia family. That to be said, literally no one on the picture is allowed to diverge from the selected route (even their interior is in gren/brown/red) – they HAVE to be inside the borders of The Family Aesthetic or else...

In other words, they are constantly putting up a show, a collective Persona. The are not a perfect family by any standards, but Regina tightly manages their public image. Even at the reception the are like this.

But Who we have across the table? Bloberta. Her bright red skirt and white patterned blouse. She doesn't fit in the family approved hue of red, she wears too much white – she reflects too much light, her red looks even brighter again it. She is just that bright. Her reception dress is also bright red. If she was ever allowed to stand closer to them, they would look dull. So she never is. She is a family outcast. It's also reflective of a talent that she possess so naturally but is never able to utilise bc no one is interested. Despite her constant search of love and acceptance, she adopts this identity of a black – or rather red – sheep of the family that functionally casts her aside. She doesn't change to appeal to her mother's taste, probably bc it's senseless. Regina is not interested in Bloberta or her success, so it wouldn't matter anyways.

See, also, if her father was truly affiliated with her, he would have won a bit of her red maybe. It would've been a nice touch. But we know that he was too reluctant to defend his daughter even if he felt sorry for her. Her siblings are not on her side either. Lunchbox is actually her antipode – completely in green, a contrasting, complementary colour to red from the opposite side of the colour wheel – a son, a youngest child, a talent her mother actually wants. He is everything Bloberta is not. Modella, despite being closer to Bloberta in colour theme, in tone is closer to their mother. She may be not so aggressively opposite, but she is too reluctant to align with her. She has softer colour, she might be on good terms with her personally, but wouldn't risk standing up for her to Regina. Thus, Bloberta is completely alienated from her family.

Also, Bloberta's clashing style can be interpreted as her subconscious attempt to separate herself from her siblings in a desperate attempt to get attention too. Bloberta is a middle child, moreover she is a middle daughter inbetween an older sister and a younger brother. It's socially acceptable to deem her invisible – you already have an excellent daughter and a son™, this one is spare. Red is a very noticeable colour, it attracts attention. In Bloberta's case, it can also be so that she is noticed even if looked at passively. This way, her bright red is imprinted on someone's retina, even if they barely acknowledge her presence. This way, her mother, despite looking past her every day, never forgets that she is there. Thus, red is her only chance to be noticed by somebody, anybody. It's a survival tactics for her. Her depressed, meek attitude at home, and everywhere where she is with her family, doesn't allow her to come to her own character. To avoid being an afterthought, she wears bright red and contrasts it will white.

Now, let's take a look at her friend group. They all seem to have a similar style of colour combination. Pastel tones, dark-light, no more than two colours etc. But you see, no one is so on the nose like Bloberta. Even that one girl, that wears red too – it's not the same. Her red is darker, closer to brown and contrasted with light green, that is also with red plaid. The all are colourful, of course, but tame. It's just Bloberta who is standing out, and not only bc she's the only single friend now.

Also, there's another character, who stands out just like Bloberta, but in an opposite technique. Censodoll and her in this instance actually (and in general) share some similar characters despite such a dramatic difference in colour identity. They are both single, their Self shaped by actions of their mothers, the Self so strong, that they keep it throughout the whole life. However Censodoll approaches her existence with black – colour that absorbs light. She is not susceptible to the influence of her environment, but she is acutely aware of it – subsequently she can exploit it for her own gain. (Censodoll deserves her own separate paragraph).

White is a very reflective colour, it reflects light from its surrounding. Pre-Help Bloberta is very much receptive of what her surrounding thinks and expects of her and she reflects back exactly that. The slow decline of white elements in her clothes can signify gradual maturing, jadedness. Young Bloberta is still sensitive, naïve and youthfully innocent. She's of course already lost most of her expectations, learned to accept that little consideration she's given and not object or ask for more. At the reception she wears mostly red because the earlier encounter with her friend group gave her a motivation – to get engaged asap to be included again. The tone is more saturated, the white belt or headband does very little to counteract it – she drops the act she does without her family around, she is confident in her actions too. Subsequently, this becomes a colour of her victory and her downfall.

I have to say, the only time Bloberta ever abandoned her significant red was during her affair with Stopframe. It's a sportswear, so it's usually white. But on a storytelling side, it tell us about her (and his) motives a lot.

She wears all white with a tiny bit of blue. You see, we already established how white is a reflective colour. Story wise she is trying to be someone different too, just this once. It doesn't necessarily mean that it's unauthentic for her, just that it diverges greatly from her original and by that time setted colour identity. Its probable, that she is also putting a very strong and exaggerated act – she's desperate after all. It's been at least 4 years of her marriage to Clay, that was a horrible mistake from day 1, she knew it instantly, too. So this act here is targeted to secure her a better relationship (or so she thinks). It's actually the same approach she used on Clay in Help + longevity. The one thing she definitely has learnt was that she shouldn't immediately jump to a conclusion. So here, she is expanding her act in time and also putting more effort in her reflection. A tiny bit of blue is her way of associating with Stopframe, blue is one of his signature colours, especially to her. (Notably, he also has a tiny bit of red – he is also putting up an act here, they are quite the same in their tactics. He wears white, just like Bloberta, for the effect of reflection – he is whatever she wants him to be, an affinity to her. But notably, he keep an element of his own colour, while she drops it completely. He is not that dedicated to the initial act, not as much as she is.)

So, Bloberta holds her identity in a death grip and wears red as a trophy. However, she became a product of her own environment first, and locked it on herself second. Red is what she needed to survive among her family and friends, not necessarily what she truly was. Now, of course, it's what she it, the Self she accepted and built up.

Her red is very different from Clay's red too. She has a potential to be whatever she wants actually, she has much more agency than Clay in terms of independent existence. She is versatile and resilient, she is flexible and capable of big achievements if she puts her mind to it. In her case, red = strength, power she actually has, and, in extension, the power of Self that Clay actually desires but lacks.

They are different in their approaches and attitudes, routes the took etc., but in the end they arrived to the same result. They are two parts of the same disaster, one whole broken system.

Orel is next.

#moral orel #bloberta hymentact #bloberta puppington #clay puppington #regina hymentact #raymond hymentact #francis clara censordoll #danielle stopframe #moral orel meta #moral orel colour theory analysis

73 notes · View notes

your-resident-boat-person · 18 days ago

Note

I'm building a catamaran-style steampunk crane vessel based on sort of a 1920s ocean liner style. Any recommendations to better understand the internals and layout of the ship?

This ask has been sitting in my inbox for MONTHS and I'm DEEPLY sorry it took this long to respond.

So, the thing about the 1920s in regards to ocean liners is that it was a VERY strange era. Almost everything ocean liner related ceased during World War 1, and none of the existing liners were back in service until around 1920 or 1921. The “newest” liners by this point were 10 years old, and it was the Balan trio: Imperator (now Berengaria), Vaterland (now Leviathan) and Bismarck (now Majestic). They were German liners, and they were handed over to the US and Britain as war reparations. They were renamed and renovated to varying Degrees. Majestic was virtually untouched, and Vaterland was basically a brand new ship after the renovations. The first new “big players” on the Atlantic were the Bremen and the Europa, from 1928. They're much more associated with the 30s, though. So, in regards to stylings, most 1920s ocean liners were extremely reminiscent of the 1910s. And one of the most beloved ships of the 1920s was the RMS Olympic, sister to Titanic. So, in regards to your questions, here is what I think would work best.

First, to get a good idea of the interior decor and layout of a ship from this era, I would recommend downloading the free demo of Titanic: Honor and Glory. Titanic was almost identical to Olympic, and had she not sunk, she would have served through the 20s alongside her. So this will give you a really good perspective on what a passenger would experience on one of these voyages. Getting to walk around and explore these areas in first person will give you a really good perspective on what you're looking for. Furthermore, in terms of construction and design, Olympic and Titanic are very similar to the RMS Baltic, RMS Cedric, RMS Celtic, and RMS Adriatic, which all entered service between 1901 and 1907. So exploring Titanic will give you a really good idea of how most White Star liners were laid out and decorated between 1900 and 1930. All White Star liners were also built by the same company, Harland and Wolf, so it makes sense that they're all so similar. The only thing to remember is that Olympic and Titanic are about twice the size of most other White Star Liners, and much more extravagant. If you want a good idea of how the smaller liners were decorated, I'd recommend just looking up “(ship name) interior” on Google or something. Along with these liners, I'd also recommend looking into the Cunard liners, like Lusitania, Mauretania, Carmania, Caronia, Aquitania, etc. These ships were built by many different ship yards, and the interiors were designed by totally different people, so these ships are much more diverse in terms of styling and Decor. Lusitania and Mauretania, for example, barely resemble each other on the inside. They're sisters, so they have the same rooms and deck plans, but Lusitania Was full of bright white plaster with gold accents, and Mauretania was paneled in lots of dark wood. None of the ships I have mentioned thus far were scrapped until the mid 30s, so they all served between 1920 and 1929.

So here's my list Of the liners most popular between 1920 and 1929, in no particular order:

RMS Olympic (1911)

RMS Mauretania (1907)

RMS Aquitania (1914)

RMS Berengaria/SS Imperator (1913)

SS Leviathan/SS Vaterland (1914)

RMS Majestic/SS Bismarck (1914)

RMS Adriatic (1907)

Now, what I said above is how to do it in a historically accurate way. However, lots of people associate the 1920s with art deco, even though the art deco movement in decor didn't kick off until the 30s. Another good resource for the interior layout of ocean liners of this era is the RMS Queen Mary, currently docked permanently in long Beach California, serving as a floating hotel. She was built in the 30s, but many passengers remarked that her layout was remarkably similar to the RMS Aquitania of 1914, even if the decor was completely different. If you can't go to California, I'd recommend looking up a tour on YouTube. Her art deco interiors are GORGEOUS. The most famous and prominent Art Deco liners were The Queen Mary, Queen Elizabeth, Normandie, and Caronia (not the one from 1905, this one was built in the late 40s and they share a name), and I'd also reccomend looking into the Bremen and Europa. They came a bit before art deco became popular, but they still featured a lot of the decor that would ultimately Popularize art deco.

Thank you SO much for your ask. If you have any more questions or need more detailed advice, PLEASE reach out to me! Send another ask or a DM! I love helping people with this kind of stuff!

25 notes · View notes

austerity-audacity-asceticism · 3 months ago

Text

Degrees of Prayer, according to St. Teresa of Avila

Teresa of Ávila, OCD was a Carmelite nun and prominent Spanish mystic and religious reformer. Sh was born in 1515 at the brink of the Reformation in Ávila, Spain. The first female Doctor of the Church, she has had a significant impact on how we currently understand contemplative prayer, what it means to have a personal relationship with God, and how we can continue the spiritual practices of monastic life even though we work and live in a secular society.

Her writings demonstrate not only rigorous discipline and contemplative prayer, but also a dry wit. She should also be the patron saint of the audacity, because I remember distinctly reading the Interior Castle for the first time and coming across her writing to her fellow Carmelites, "From silly devotions and sour-faced saints, good Lord, deliver us!"

We celebrate her feast day today, October 15. In honor of the first female doctor of the Church, this is a brief rundown of St. Teresa's Degrees of Prayer, with explanations that are not meant to be exhaustive, but to encourage you to read more of her writings, as I pale in comparison to the lucidity of her writing.

Meditation: Drawing Water from the Well

According to St. Teresa, this degree consists of prayer through active meditation. This requires focused effort and withdrawing from the world for a bit, so that we may not be distracted by the concerns and anxieties that plague our minds on a day to day basis. These beginners should aim to be be happy and free and confident. They should attempt great things in the pursuit of active meditation.

Reference: the Life of Teresa of Jesus, chapter 11 and chapter 12 and chapter 13

2. The Prayer of Quiet: The Waterwheel

After a soul has become accustomed to active meditation, St. Teresa encourages moving towards the prayer of quiet. She writes, "Here the soul begins to be recollected and comes upon something supernatural because in no way can it acquire this prayer through any efforts it may make." The fruits of this degree is the movement of the soul away from earthly delights, and into a sense of peace. The efforts of prayer ease, while the activity does not. This degree of prayer reveals grace to us more clearly, and fills us with a deep inner satisfaction. When a soul experiences the Prayer of Quiet, it seems that no greater blessing is possible. Because of this, while many people are given to the prayer of quiet, few people think to go beyond it.

Reference: the Life of Teresa of Jesus, chapter 14 and chapter 15

3. Union: Water Flowing from a Stream

In this stage of prayer, St. Teresa reflects that it now seems that its fruits are all a product of God's work, while one's faculties seem to be asleep. The stream of divine water flows freely into the garden of one's soul; this may happy whether one is in a state of contemplation, or active charity. The inner work and relationship of prayer seems to be continuing beneath the conscious surface. One's faculties fall asleep, and the soul becomes absorbed in union.

Reference: the Life of Teresa of Jesus, chapter 16 and chapter 17

4. Rapture: Heavenly Rain

St. Teresa describes this degree as the prayer of union, using the image of "heavenly rain that saturates the whole garden in abundance." She writes these experiences as short-lived and scarce, but the goodness received as incomprehensible. St. Teresa had other words for this degree: elevation, flight of the spirit, transport, ecstasy.

Reference: the Life of Teresa of Jesus, chapter 18 and chapter 19 and chapter 20 and chapter 21

"My chief aim is to cause souls to covet so sublime a blessing." - St. Teresa of Avila

St. Teresa of Jesus, pray for us.

Links to additional resources:

St. Teresa of Ávila – Who St. Teresa of Ávila Was, Her Feast Day, Carmelite Spirituality, Prayers & Quotes

Four stages of Mystical Prayer in Teresa of Avila

Summary of the Interior Castle by St. Teresa of Avila

St. Teresa of Avila - The Life of by Herself

The Interior Castle or The Mansions

#catholic #catholicism #theology #catholic saints #spirituality #literature #saints #teresa of avila #St. Teresa of Avila #doctors of the church #prayer #contemplation #meditation

39 notes · View notes

sillygoblinantics · 2 months ago

Text

And now the moment you’ve all been waiting for!!!

Gobbo’s Semi-Complete Pokémon Retrospective!!!

Pt. 4 (the finale?)

The reason I’m writing this began when I first watched @agramuglia’s streams watching Lily orchard’s pokemon retrospective on YouTube. Many things I learned about the games and many things stated by Lily I loathed, but Anthony was only able to get up to 8/9 generations. So I thought I’d take it upon myself to power through her gen 9 segment. I lost my mind over it and multiple times did she make uncomfortable innuendos and made points that didn’t make sense. You can read my thoughts on her gen nine segment in my post ““Jock Imoen”” as I will be focusing on everything Lily failed to notice here.

Gen IX

Let’s get this out of the way as I know this is a big part of these games.

The glitches: yes they’re a big and many people find them ridiculously funny or obnoxiously deplorable, but many who don’t know is that they’ve been apart of the franchise for a while and can still be used to the players’ advantage as a quick rich strategy or for silly shenanigans like invisibike (see below image)

But main reason for this as well as the complete exclusion of interiors of homes was due in part to a running problem in both animation and game industry across the globe: rushed deadlines and of course the toxic and deadly Crunchtime. You can find many concepts and fully modeled spaces that we never got to see in the region of Paldea. This also includes Legends Arceus with an early cut intro scene that has our trainer beginning in their room in current day Sinnoh, some data miners (shoutout to y’all working hard and finding this stuff! You’re amazing!) found a completely modeled room that resembled the bedroom from the gen four house!

And I’m aware that there needs to be voice acting but honestly that takes away from the fun of imagining the characters’ voices based on the way they talk in the dialogue! It’s fun and meant to be fun for the children audience!

☆*.｡˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁺˳✧༚★。˚✧⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁺˳✧༚★

The world of Paldea

Region

Paldea is based on Spain but also Portugal (I still somehow struggle spelling this countries name I’m sorry TwT) and the Iberian peninsula! So while incorporating Spanish the game also has Portuguese in it! And because how Spain is geographically next to France, the inclusion to the academy teaching French or in Pokémon terms Kalosian. (Which was our hint for legends ZA and was for two years!!!) it’s a gorgeous region and on point to the real world places and towns they pull from.

Pokémon

We once again get new regional variants of old pokemon but we also get what has to be my favorite addition into the biology and ecology of the pokemon world: convergent evolutions! Pokemon that either evolved from the same ancestor but splitting off around a different point in time or pokemon who evolved in a way to resemble something or another pokemon to stay safe.

Wooper and cloddsire

Toadscool and toadscruel

Wigglett and wugtrio

We also got new evolutions for old pokemon! The gen two normal psychic giraffe: girafarig finally getting an evolution that combines the two heads in a balance union of strength but also astronaut giraffe hehe. We also got the beyond metal and gruesome revenant of an ape, Annihilape the ghost fighting type powerhouse of an evolution of Primape! And the king of the chess board evolution of Bisharp, Kingambit.

In both dlcs we get a new split evolution and third evolution of said split of applin, dipplin and hydrapple. And (forgot the name of the one building dragon)

We also get SO MANY GOOD BOIS IN GEN NINE! But not every good boi 😔… we get three new dog pokemon all good and each unique in their own respected way… I STILL DONT HAVE SHINY GREAVARD YET BUT I GOT THE OTHER TWO— sorry… got side tracked.

Something I will mention is a personal gripe over the exclusion of a specific fruit bearded pokemon from getting a new regional variant, tropius. Who if I had the chance to would make them vary based on where they can be caught by having new fruit or veggie being grown in place of the bananas! Which I did for my pokemon comic with Ripley’s tropius, Dionysus by giving him a beard of grapes! Maybe we’ll get more for tropius in generation 10!

Before I move on I’d like to to go over the game exclusive pokemon, something never mentioned or addressed how to obtain in Lily orchard’s video: let’s get this out of the way now by talking about the two forms of Paldean Tauros. In Scarlet; the past, primal, untamed gives us the fire fighting form of Tauros matching thematically with its game. In Violet; the future, technical and controlled (for the most part) gives us the water fighting form of Tauros (who can swim and his tail acts as a lil rudder to move him x3)

Lily leaves out one of the new pokemon of Paldea too, Charcadet a small fiery in the most literal sense charcoal knight who has game exclusive evolutions. Who need specific pokemon materials to obtain evolutionary items sets of armor. Lily fails to explain this so her audience is left not knowing that ceruledge is exclusive to violet while the psychic/fire evolution Armarouge, so the speculation of how she got it is left in the air and most likely not mentioned because she got it from someone else most likely lolo. So yeah.

☆*.｡˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁺˳✧༚★。˚✧⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁺˳✧༚★

Gimmicks!

I nearly forgot to mention the most impactful connective addition to these games! Union circles! A feature meant to let players connect with friends (given in range without Nintendo online or via the internet with Nintendo online) which allows for many fun shenanigans to take place especially during battles or cutscenes, but is expanded on with the indigo disk via the synchromode which…

☆*.｡˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁺˳✧༚★。˚✧⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁺˳✧༚★

Treasure

The three arc or side plots if we look at them through a tv sitcom or series structure. I’m talking about the ABC Plot system. Where the A plot is the main storyline and B and C follow different stories where by the third act we come together to face or wrap up the stories of B and C. We see this in Arven’s Titan quest, Nemona’s victory road, and Penny’s Starfall mission. Arven is the A plot as we learn that he’s trying to get to area zero to confront his parent(s) and needs two more people to join the journey that fill a specific role which is where Nemona and Penny come in! You will cry if you haven’t played yet so keep that in mind and be sure to take the classes as they provide more context into the layers these characters have! Enjoy this clip btw

Let’s head to the smallest addition and slice into the rural side of the Japanese region of the Pokémon world: Kitikami

☆*.｡˚✧₊⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁺˳✧༚★。˚✧⁎⁺˳✧༚˚✧₊⁺˳✧༚★

But this sadly or luckily has to be split into another part as I’ve been going on for a while here but I hope you enjoyed it! So the last LAST FINAL part! Will be about the DLCs and epilogue so stay tuned for the intro of the bestest girl that is ogerpon!

#Gobbo’s semi-complete Pokémon Retrospective #gobbo spergs about Pokémon #pokémon scarlet and violet #lily orchard critical #pokemon sv

17 notes · View notes

aihoshiino · 7 months ago

Note

Hey there! I love your OnK posts especially about Ai so I wanted to ask you something that's been on my mind this week. Do you think she was "fridged" just for shock value? I've heard people call it that because of how it starts Aqua's revenge quest and I was curious how others saw it. Would love to hear your thoughts!

anon can i just say. not calling you out but the thing about being active in other parts of the fandom outside tumblr means i will get asks like this sometimes and immediately know which post on the subreddit I am being asked to indirectly reply to. again, not calling you out, but i did read this ask with a strong sense of like;

but anyway, to actually answer your question: No, I don't think Ai was fridged and I think that anyone passionately insisting she was has a fundamental misunderstanding of what purpose her death serves in her own arc and that of others and also just… what fridging even is as a concept. I've commented on this before and basically summed up my thoughts as best I could so lemme grab that old comment of mine.

Fridging implies a certain disposability and lack of care for the woman at the center of things. It's sort of drifted and gotten muddled because of misuse in modern discourse like the term 'Mary Sue', but as it was coined, it was specifically, explicitly both observation and critique of how female characters are treated in fiction primarily centered on men: the ways in which they are treated as uniquely disposable, their interiority as less full and complex, their stories as less valuable and their tragedies as inherently unworthy of exploration and interrogation. The term literally originates from the phrase 'women in refrigerators' which itself was coined by Gail Simone in reference to the trend in American superhero comics of gratuitously brutalizing, sexually assaulting or killing specifically female characters for the sole purpose of spurring the protective instincts of their male counterparts. While it's true that Ai's death spurs Aqua's revenge arc, it is also the very explicit capstone to Ai's own character arc that she goes on over the course of the prologue arc and her life in general. It is the textual manifestation of something that exists in subtext: that being an idol and growing up in the entertainment industry has robbed Ai of the opportunity to have a normal life. It makes pitch perfect thematic sense for this idea to climax in an embodiment of the misogyny, purity culture and fan entitlement that has caused her so much pain to make that idea literal in bringing an end to Ai's actual life. On top of that, Ai's actual death scene is entirely about her: it takes place entirely from her POV, centers her feelings and pain and resolves her character arc and the two most important relationships to her. The manga even frames the scene in such a way that Ai's own thoughts and feelings drown out and crowd out the most bloody and shocking moments, spending page time that could be used on goggling at the spectacle of her pain instead on forcing the reader to look at her heart and understand her. Rather than focus on her bodily agony, up until the last moment, Ai's death is about her strengths, her flaws and the absolute purity of her love. From there, interrogating the tragedy of her life and death is the entire driving force of Oshi no Ko's narrative. Ai touches and contextualizes every character's story; her legacy is the light that every one else chases while standing in her shadow. She's the beating, bleeding heart of almost every emotional beat. Almost every arc involves her, directly or indirectly, and the current arc of the manga is built explicitly on the idea of understanding and empathizing with Ai as a person and trying to honor her wishes even though she's gone. So no, I don't agree that she was fridged and I think it's reductive to try and make that call entirely off the first episode. As someone who has spent the better portion of the year having a cognitive energy dedicated to this character that surely makes me in some way mentally unwell, I think her death is so incredibly, miserably satisfying as the capstone of her arc and getting to go through the rest of the story with her heart and legacy as its foundation has enriched pretty much everything else about it.

'fridging' is not 'anytime a woman dies' anymore than 'bury your gays' is 'anytime a gay person dies'. The context surrounding these phrases is important and by extrapolating them to the point that they can mean literally anything, they lose their edge when it comes to serving as tools of critique and commentary on harmful trends in fiction.

#oshi no ko #oshi no posting #onk asks #onk spoilers #ai hoshino

28 notes · View notes

pequenaotaku · 4 months ago

Text

Hello again~

It’s been a while, hasn’t it?

(I have to confess that I’ve been stalling on getting back to writing and making my posts, but that’s not the point right now…)

Anyway, these are the Leclerc twins, my other precious girls. I ended up keeping the original base (Nina’s model, made by @candysweetposts), but I completely redid the design (I think the only physical thing I kept was the heterochromia, and even that seems like it went from water to wine).

Currently, the twins live in the center of Amoris, as roommates sharing an apartment. But they were born and raised in the countryside, with very traditional and strict parents. And despite that, or maybe because of it, they always attended schools in the city, no matter how long and exhausting the trips were every day. They definitely don’t miss that time at all.

Speaking of nostalgia though… High school was, without a doubt, a very impactful time in their minds, full of drama, discoveries, and teenage hormones. It was at the peak of her 16 years that Lilian discovered and accepted herself as a woman, and also fell in love for the first time. It was at the peak of her 16 years that Louise realized what she wanted to do for the rest of her life as the troublemaker she always was, though secretly.

Going back to the initial train of thought, the two moved back in together after Dante’s life was cut short by that tragic accident. Louise wanted to comfort her sister, to stay as close as possible to help her through her grieving period. Two years later, Lilian discovered, with frustration, that time doesn’t heal any pain, it only softens it. She’s generally doing well, has moved on like anyone else would have, had to piece herself back together, but she’s not thinking of finding someone else to love anytime soon; she still occasionally sees ghosts from the past. They continue to live together because they’ve gotten used to each other’s presence again—it’s fun and makes things lighter.

Lilian Leclerc

She is 30 years old.

She is exactly 7 minutes and 38 seconds older.

She pursues a career as an interior designer at a company that emerged in the field a few years ago called Essence Intérieure (EI).

She is a transgender woman.

She realized she was trans after a prank that happened in high school. It was a themed event where boys had to dress as girls and girls had to dress as boys. In other words, crossdressing. It was something really silly and simple, but after the party, alone in her room while looking at herself in the mirror with a pretty wig and some clothes borrowed from her sister, things started to make sense.

Because they were very traditional, it was a mess when her parents accidentally found out—almost like a war. Louise, who had already talked to her sister after catching her posing in front of the mirror, fought in Lilian’s defense. The two even ran away from home for a week, hiding out in an abandoned building nearby until they were found and dragged back home. Their father, Anton, was so devastated by their disappearance that he realized what was more important, and it didn’t take long for him to try to approach, understand, and accept her, fortunately. Lurdette, their mother, still insists on calling her by her deadname, though. Even though it’s hard to endure, she followed her father’s advice to ignore these slights to avoid big fights until both of them were old enough to leave home properly. In the end, she knows it could have been much worse.

She has a more peaceful, sweeter personality. Sometimes, she spends too much time lost in her own little world, but she’s very dedicated, persistent, and has a good touch with people.

She’s always had a melancholic look, whether before or after her mourning. At the same time, her heterochromia always gave her a different kind of glow. Dante used to call her Lys Stellaire, or Stellar Lily, because it seemed like her eyes held the cold beauty of sideral space, and that was the first thing he fell in love with.

She loves soft, light colors like baby pink and baby blue, egg-yolk yellow, but mostly white.

She does gardening in her free time; in fact, she’s not sure if she loves the flowers or the bees more.

Speaking of animals, when Dante was killed, one of her concerns was who would take care of his two pets, Nova and Nebula. At the time, the couple lived together, so she was already used to the two snakes, although she wasn’t the one responsible for feeding them, cleaning the terrarium, helping with shedding, etc. She had never had much courage for that, being afraid of getting bitten even though she knew they were tame and non-venomous. However, after what happened, she forced herself to learn everything she needed to be a good caretaker. She was sure that if Colette, her sister-in-law, became the new caretaker, she’d do a good job too, but she didn’t want the snakes to go through the stress of a new routine. Honestly, she has no idea how a snake’s emotional state works, or even if they have one, but she likes to think that every now and then, they wonder where their dad is and miss him.

As mentioned before, Lilian and Colette grew much closer after the tragedy. Colette really sees her as an older sister. She makes a point of visiting her practically every weekend, and they always have video calls to gossip about the strange customers she’s dealt with at the record store. Very specific, I know.

Louise Leclerc

She is 30 years old.

She is exactly 7 minutes and 38 seconds younger.

She works doing odd jobs, mostly as a hobby, because she loves trying new things. She’s been a pizza delivery girl, an aspiring doll stylist, a waterslide tester, a fortune cookie writer, a Zumba teacher, a skydiving instructor, and many other exotic jobs like that. But in reality, she’s an ethical hacker by passion. She works within the law, as strange or curious as that might seem. She basically mitigates company vulnerabilities, investigates incidents, and develops secure software for computer systems, networks, and applications. A bit of boring office work sometimes—why not?

Unlike her sister, she has a more chaotic and bold personality, always trying out new things. She’s extroverted, communicative, and often quarrelsome.

She loves dressing in things that reference the '80s for some reason. Brighter colors, exaggerated accessories, a much more extravagant fashion, but adapted to modern times. She even likes to say that those who criticize '80s fashion lack a distinctive artistic sense.

She loves summer, loves organizing trips to the beach with the most important people in her life, and enjoys building sandcastles.

She drives a Beetle.

She’s a very free-spirited person and has had several flings, but no serious relationships in recent years. She’s quite happy with that, for now.

She would love to have a dog, specifically a Labrador, but unfortunately, she’s allergic to animal fur.

Out of curiosity, here is the prototype of the twins before the renovation as a bonus.

#my candy love #amor doce #amour sucre #corazon de melón #mcl new gen #my candy love new gen #mcl ng #my oc #headcanon #mcl edit #Lilian Leclerc #Louise Leclerc #Dante Lebarde #Colette Lebarde #lgbt

18 notes · View notes

welldonekhushi · 1 year ago

Text

Under My Spell | Part 9

Part 7 Part 8

Part 9 of Under My Spell!

Note: I deeply apologize for the sudden hiatus of this series! Now that I'm back on track, here's another part. Finally.

Enjoy, amigos! <3

Previously..

You two were bound by the beasts, and being ready to attack, until the wolves whimpered and flopped their ears, bowing down gently as they back off and slowly found an opportunity to run away. It confused you and Valeria on the fact that what could have pushed them back in fear.

Turning around, you see through the darkness, a figure walking out from the shadows, holding a flaming torch as it makes its way into the light. Your eyes widened when you realised who the individual who was approaching its way towards them.

It was Rodolfo.

Feeling relieved, you were glad that after his reluctance about going with you two, he finally made up his mind to follow you. He couldn't leave you alone in this danger and he knew it.

"Rudy!" You ran towards the man and hugged him tight. ".. I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been stubborn but, I needed answers.."

"It's okay, Y/N. I know.. I also need the answers like you all, as well. Walking away from the battle feels like I'm being a coward." Rudy replied, furrowing his eyebrows. "I need the people of Las Almas to be free from this threat, too. And this is why.. I came back for you."

You smiled, feeling glad that Rudy was able to convince himself.

"I'm happy that you're back on track, Rodolfo." Valeria nods her head. "Seems like the amulets drove us here. To this cave."

Rudy looked towards the huge entrance, analysing it. "This cave seems ancient.. as if it stayed here for generations."

"It was the same cave I saw when the demon caught me! This whole place.. it feels so similar.. I think this is where we can find all our answers." You said, in hope.

"But, Y/N.. currently I can sense whatever is in there, it's not friendly. It's going to kill us.. I'm not doing this because I am preventing you from finding the answers, but you well know the demon is doing this from reaching our goal late."

"I know.. but I wouldn't let El Charro Negro stop us.. he knows it's the end of his wrath, so he's doing his best to stop us. But if we can do this together, I'm sure we'll be unstoppable." You walk towards Rudy, and extend your hand so that you can grab the torch.

Rudy blinked his eyes a few times, but then gently handed you the flaming torch, walking inside the cave. Rudy and Valeria look at each other for a while, and then agreed to follow you as well. You delve deeper into the cave, seeing the dark habitat present around the interior.. bats, dead plants.. strange noises.. and the eerie atmosphere. You made sure Rudy and Valeria followed you from behind, while looking around the place.

"We need to be careful as well, amigos. Make sure nothing attacks us out of nowhere."

"Got it." Valeria responds, and as the three walk further for a couple of minutes, you could realise things were getting shadier and obvious once you go deeper into the darkness. There were strange writings on the wall.. mostly Spanish but they were impossible to read, having the texts ragged and withered, with the strange drawings on the wall.

You wanted to make sure that no one gets lost again. "Hope whatever is beyond this darkness.. we can find out the solution.. guys.. guys—" You turn around to see Rudy and Valeria.. gone in thin air. You widened your eyes, realising you were talking to yourself all this time.

"Rodolfo? Valeria?" You called the two but you could only hear your voice echoing through the walls of the cave. "Shit.. what do I do now?" You try to muster up your courage, and walk further into the cave, trying to find the two as well. Maybe they lost track in the middle of nowhere, or..

You grew a little panicked, and held your torch tighter, while you walked further through the darkness. Mustering up the courage, you tried calling for the two but your head started to ache. You were getting strong visions of a powerful entity, with a skull face and wide-brimmed hat. You tried to hold onto yourself, and clenched your eyes, but as soon you opened them.. you found something which you couldn't believe.

The light of the torch illuminated the texts on the walls, which were now clearer, and readable. You carefully observed the words, though you weren't really trained in Spanish, but you made sure to remember the sentence.

"Dicen.. que si viene a tu casa.." You carefully read the texts. "Se come.. almas para mantenerse con.. vida? I don't get it.. but it seems to have a connection with this area." You then keep on exploring further, reaching the center of the cave. The texts turned into carvings, scriptures, paintings.. something that looked more like the El Charro Negro. Did people worship the devil here too?

As everything was now revealed, you saw.. a huge rock in front of you, with a scripture. It felt more like a chanting prayer, something which you pray for. It looked like some ancient language, but you couldn't find anything special.

All of a sudden, your mind started to show blurry images about a lifeless forest, damp and dark, with a man in a brimmed hat while he's on its horse. It was the other time where you faced a flashback like that, and you gasped, sweating profusely. The vision looked really horrifying, and then you faced the ancient rock again. The texts on the rough surface started to glow green in color, with an orb of light hitting your eyes. It seems like the amulet had brought the rock back alive from the dead.

Your body shivered, and goosebumps arose from your skin, and you had a headache again, experiencing another flashback. You saw a figure, who was getting its neck grabbed, by a mysterious presence, with a wide brimmed hat and glowing green eyes.

It must be the demon.

You thought it must be Rudy getting choked, but the face was blurry, making it impossible to recognise. As another scene flashed in your head, the figure getting choked passes down on the ground, while the demon brought his horse back and prepared to take him away with it. appearance becoming more visible to reveal the one who was getting taken away by the strange figure, on it's horse.

That face.. looked so familiar.

"Alejandro?" You opened your eyes, and widened them, seeing your amulet glow brighter, feeling a presence behind your back. You could only try to look behind yourself, slightly, as the demon roars and you push him back with your amulet powers with brute force.

The El Charro Negro groaned, and cried in anger. You held your flaming torch tighter, being prepared for the impact. It was a trap. The demon's trap, to capture you. "I know you want this, you monster." The demon roars and then pulls its attack towards you, and you bash the flaming torch over its head, making it cry out demonically. The demon growled, and destroyed the torch in your hand. But, knowing you had your powers from the amulet, you whirl your hands, and brought your attack to hit the beast with it. But, the devil was trying to take control of the fight, making you powerless in the process, though you aren't giving up this easily.

One attack of the devil pushed you behind, and you took hold of yourself, till the devil disappeared from your eyes. You looked around everywhere, finding a trace of him, but with nothing to see. You immediately flinched in instinct and saw the demon behind you, your hands charging the energy and creating a force field so its attack wouldn't reach you. But, knowing how strong the demon is, you were losing balance.

You used all of your force, to be able to make it walk back towards the rock, the demon still protesting.

It was dragging you through it's veil, as it tries to pull you back so it can seal you permanently. So with the help of your amulet powers, you were slowly burning its hands, making them evaporate. The demon's eyes glow brighter, and more violently, pushing you towards the rock.

But midway, before you could bring a more powerful wave, he suddenly vanishes with a demonic screech when someone attacks it from the back. You were shocked but saw that the one who saved you.. was none other than, the cloaked man again. It came running towards you, seeing if you're alright.

"Oh dios mío.. are you okay?" The man checked to see if you were injured, but forgot the injuries, you were more shocked about his sudden arrival.

"Wait a second! Are you following us all the time?!" You cried.

"I came here because I knew it was going to happen, querida!" The cloaked man replied. "The truth is coming closer.. and the devil El Charro Negro will do anything in it's power to stop you."

"I think this was the place where the spirit of the El Charro Negro existed.. and through these writings.. I can't believe there were people who worshipped him too."

"People do find a particular entity divine. Especially when they're supernaturally powered." The cloaked man spoke while he treated your wounds. "And it was enough to drive humanity into its trap so it can find itself a way to survive through human souls."

After it finishes healing you, he gets up and takes a look around the carvings of the devil, while talking to you. "The melody from its guitar.. could make anybody admire him in a matter of seconds, and then, you're a goner. You don't even have a way back. Let it be for falling in love.. or worship him. Only a few.. possess such power where they don't fall for both options. More like, individuals who know the true intentions of the devil, and its plans to threaten human civilization."

The cloaked man turned around, facing you back with a concerned look. "The devil knows you're his ultimate end. And you're going to stop it, once and for all, Y/N."

Hearing the man's words, you sure had many questions in your head, but you wanted to ask him that one doubt. "Do you think.. that Alejandro Vargas is the vessel for the El Charro Negro? Or it's—"

"Y/N!" A voice echoed in the area, hearing arriving footsteps to see Valeria, panting for air, looking absolutely panicked and terrified, with her face and clothes covered in slight dirt.

"Valeria? What happened?"

"We need to get going! Rudy is in trouble!" Valeria said, with her eyebrows furrowed. "If we didn't save him, it'll be too late!"

"But where did you go last time when I saw you both disappear?"

"I don't know.. all I remember is following you, but we unexpectedly lost track all of a sudden and I fell into a large pit. Rudy said that he was going to rescue me, but I heard him scream.. I'm scared that something might have happened to him!" Valeria explained the events that happened to her, feeling worried for what's beyond. "Thank God, I was able to get myself out of the pit and came looking for you."

"I'm glad you're still okay, Valeria." You sighed in relief.

".. but, who is he?" Valeria's attention diverted towards the individual next to you.

"This is the cloaked man, that I used to talk about. I don't know his name, but.. he wears a cloak. That's all." You cleared your throat. "But he knows a way on how to stop the devil."

Valeria came rushing towards him. "Please.. you got to help us."

"I always waited for this moment to come, mujer joven." The cloaked man smiled underneath his shaded appearance. "I'll do whatever it takes to seal the pendejo from hurting anymore people."

"Don't worry, Valeria.. we're going to save him. All this time, he had been saving our lives. But now, we'll return the favor." You smiled, and gave a determined nod, so does the woman in return, and the cloaked man closing his eyes, preparing himself for the moment, as they continue their journey further into the cave.

The camera then switches to a cave painting of the El Charro Negro, in it's full, demonic form, where the rest kept worshipping him.

During the quest, you, Valeria and the cloaked man continued their journey to locate Rudy. For a brief moment, Valeria started to look a little unsettled, that the man with the cloak noticed. "You seem tensed, mi señora."

"Huh? No. I'm just.. not feeling very good. Whatever this is going on.. it's just, messed up. I don't know but, my mind is getting more puzzled and fuzzier." Valeria said in concern. "Alejandro being possessed.. Rudy getting kidnapped. This.. is too much."

"I'm very sure we'll find your friend, señora. The devil won't stand a chance in front of us." The cloaked man tried to encourage Valeria, giving her hope. She held the amulet more closely, gripping it tighter with her hand.

You were listening to Valeria, but your mind kept on constantly flashing over that one scene of Alejandro Vargas getting taken away by the El Charro Negro. You felt a deep pit in your stomach, realising something was wrong. If Rudy is the victim, why would they show Alejandro? And if Alejandro is the real victim.. where is he now?

No.. I think this is just a way to distract or weaken your aim for defeating the devil. But what kept you divided.. was it a way to divert you from the truth.. or was it actually the truth?

Is Alejandro really the El Charro Negro or—

You were brought back to reality when you heard Valeria scream, seeing someone through the distance, who was passed out on the ground. You could sense who it was even being far away..

"Rudy.."

#cod #call of duty #cod mw #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw22 #call of duty modern warfare 2022 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty fanfic #alejandro vargas #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas x you #rodoflo parra #valeria garza #call of duty x reader #under my spell

84 notes · View notes