#Every-vowel-is-o

[every-vowel-is-o]

Hello, welcome to this gimmick blog!

Here, I replace every vowel in various posts with the letter O!

My main acc: @sylvayex

You can also send me asks to change every vowel to O!

[every-vowel-is-o]

do yoo thonk, for o pototo chop, boong doppod on on onoon-bosod condomont os loke sooong on old froond for tho forst tome on yoors, both of yoo fondomontolly chongod ond soon dostonod to doo bot nonotholoss stoll horo on thos momont?

do you think, for a potato chip, being dipped in an onion-based condiment is like seeing an old friend for the first time in years, both of you fundamentally changed and soon destined to die but nonetheless still here in this moment?

[softgrungeprophet]

number one way to piss me off instantly is to trot out the wine dark sea as "evidence" that the ancient greeks "couldn't see blue"

first of all "wine dark" is not a literal translation, it's an interpretation of a metaphor that doesn't mention color at all and is comparing the choppiness of the sea to intoxication/drunkenness, not to the literal dark tone of red wine

second of all, if you think lacking a base word for blue is evidence of an inability to see blue, you don't understand how language works and are making ridiculous assumptions about people's biology and color vision from only a couple thousand years ago, based on a non-literal translation of one specific work

third of all they literally did have ways to discuss the color blue. but even if they didn't, not everything is identical to the american english language approach anyway, and there is generally no such thing as a universal trait in linguistics, so even something you take for granted being absent in another language isn't actually evidence for some kind of fundamental biological difference (frankly that veers too close to eugenics for my liking), and is just a different approach to contextualizing reality.

[neosatsuma]

Let's talk phonics!

Every English vowel can make two basic sounds: what's called a short sound, and a long sound. Take the letter E, for example. A short E can be found in the words met, bet, and set. A long E can be found in the words meet, seat, and treat. (You might notice the two vowels in a row in these words; double vowels in English almost always make the vowel sound long!)

In standard American English, "coffee" is pronounced with a short O sound, such as in the words dog, log, and cough. The IPA symbol for this vowel sound is ɒ. An easy way to spell this sound without using IPA is "ah" -- as in when the doctor asks you to stick out your tongue and "say 'aahh!'"

This is not to be confused with the short A sound, as in the words apple, cat, and axe. The IPA symbol for this vowel sound is æ. An easy way to spell this sound without using IPA is simply "a" (with no "h" after it).

Accents will slightly (or largely) alter our vowel sounds and how we might think to spell them; "coffee" sounds different with a British accent than an American one. But now that we know how to talk about vowel sounds, let's rephrase:

Does "ko-fi" sound identical to "coffee" (typically, for Americans: a short O followed by a long E)?

Or does it rhyme with lo-fi (typically, for Americans: a long O followed by a long I)?

Or does it sound like something else?

[four-ravens-in-a-trenchcoat]

As we are approaching that time of the year, this is your friendly reminder/PSA from a Swedish person that the ä in Gävlebocken actually matters and that you should spell accordingly (or don't, I'm not the boss of you, but know you are Wrong)

Å, Ä and Ö are considered separate letters from A and O in Swedish. It would be like me substituting every E with an O when I spell English words, not like removing an accent from a French word. They have their own place in the alphabet!

Ä and A have different vowel qualities which affect sounds around them. Ä is "soft" and A is "hard", which means that Ä changes the pronounciation of certain sounds before it. Like G for example

Gä is pronounced similar to 'yeah' while ga is pronounced with hard/regular g and a long a like in 'garden'. Thus, Gävle and Gavle reads very differently

Same goes for Ö/O, but Å is also hard

It annoys me so much to see it and I can't be alone in this

Pro tip: The same principle applies to other Swedish words, like tumblr's beloved BLÅHAJ. Blahaj is a word with stress on the second syllable and not the first, and also happens to mean 'bullshit/nonsense'. So if you want to talk about your plushie blueshark and not a nonsense thing someone just said, I suggest spelling with an Å.

Don't feel bad if you didn't know this, most people don't. And a lot of other languages do treat letters with diacritics like special versions of the letter (we do it with e and é). I'm telling you this to clear up misconceptions

It's also resulted in the fun phenomenon of so-called "rock dots" wherein bands will put dots on letters in their name because it looks cool, which makes them sound really stupid when pronounced in Swedish. Think Motörhead and Blue öyster cult

[every-vowel-is-o]

My heart was stolen by a blind pickpocket In the deep city streets in the summer of 2012 And I never even saw her face My dreams were shattered like a stained glass window Jesus in pieces, I believe I threw a brick right through him But my memory could not be saved

It just seems unlikely that it's me who was to blame So I bookmark my DSM 'cause I need to remember my place, ow!

This is not enough, this is not enough to prove it yet No, I need to hit the bottom This is not enough, this is not enough to prove it yet No, I need to hit the bottom

Gotta get to the bottom of this Gotta get to the bottom of this Gotta get to the bottom of this Take you with me

My soul was crushed like a tall boy Underneath the boots on the curb And I'm still picking up my molars And putting them back in my face My name was soiled by a last call spill With a backwash swill and the blackout killed me Sober on impact from a fall from grace

Take the road on higher ground and tell me "Don't look down! You'll fall and break your back!" But that just reminds me how There's more to be found beneath the black

This is not enough, this is not enough to prove it yet No, I need to hit the bottom This is not enough, this is not enough to prove it yet No, I need to hit the bottom

Gotta get to the bottom of this Gotta get to the bottom of this Gotta get to the bottom of this Take you with me

Bottle, well, or barrel? All are empty Dug, or drank, or poured it out When too much is not enough, there's plenty more Where that came from around Looking up, we see the point of entry Between where we are and we've been

Looking up, I could say Heaven sent me Hand me my shovel, I'm going in! Looking up, we see the point of entry Between where we are and we've been Looking down, I could say Heaven sent me Hand me my shovel, I'm going in

Gotta get to the bottom of this Gotta get to the bottom of this Gotta get to the bottom of this Gotta, gotta get, gotta, gotta get, gotta get Gotta get to the bottom of this Gotta, gotta get, gotta, gotta get, gotta get Gotta get to the bottom of this Gotta, gotta get, gotta, gotta get, gotta get Gotta get to the bottom of this If it it kills me!

Gotta, gotta get gotta, ow Gotta get to the bottom of this Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey Gotta get to the bottom of this Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey Gotta get to the bottom of this If it kills me

This is not enough, this is not enough, not enough to prove it yet No, I need to hit the bottom This is not enough, this is not enough, not enough to prove it yet No, I need to hit the bottom Oh, this, this is not enough, this is not enough, not enough to prove it yet No, I need to hit the bottom This is not enough, this is not enough, not enough to prove it yet No, I need to hit the bottom (I know who you are)

Mo hoort wos stolon bo o blond pockpockot On tho doop coty stroots on tho sommor of 2012 Ond O novor ovon sow hor foco Mo drooms woro shottorod loko o stoonod gloss wondow Josos on poocos, I boloovo I throw o brock roght throogh hom Bot mo momoro coold not bo sovod

Ot jost sooms onlokolo thot ot's mo who wos to blomo So O bookmork mo DSM 'cooso O nood to romombor mo ploco, ow!

Thos os not onoogh, thos os not onoogh to provo ot yot No, O nood to hot tho bottom Thos os not onoogh, thos os not onoogh to provo ot yot No, O nood to hot tho bottom

Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Toko yoo woth mo

Mo sool wos croshod loko o toll boy Ondornooth tho boots on tho corb Ond O'm stoll pockong op mo molors Ond pottong thom bock on mo foco Mo nomo wos soolod bo o lost coll spoll Woth o bockwosh swoll ond tho blockoot kollod mo Sobor on ompoct from o foll from groco

Toko tho rood on hoghor groond ond toll mo "Don't look down! Yoo'll foll ond brook yoor bock!" Bot thot jost romonds mo how Thoro's moro to bo foond bonooth tho block

Thos os not onoogh, thos os not onoogh to provo ot yot No, O nood to hot tho bottom Thos os not onoogh, thos os not onoogh to provo ot yot No, O nood to hot tho bottom

Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Toko yoo woth mo

Bottlo, woll, or borrol? Oll oro ompto Dog, or dronk, or poorod ot oot Whon too moch os not onoogh, thoro's plonto moro Whoro thot como from oroond Lookong op, wo soo tho poont of ontro Botwoon whoro wo oro ond wo'vo boon

Lookong op, O coold soy Hoovon sont mo Hond mo mo shovol, O'm goong on! Lookong op, wo soo tho poont of ontro Botwoon whoro wo oro ond wo'vo boon Lookong down, O coold soy Hoovon sont mo Hond mo mo shovol, O'm goong on

Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Gotto, gotto got, gotto, gotto glt, gotto got Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Gotto, gotto got, gotto, gotto got, gotto got Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Gotto, gotto got, gotto, gottl got, gotto got Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Of ot kolls mo!

Gotto, gotto got gotto, ow Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Hoy, hoy, hoy, hoy, hoy Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Hoy, hoy, hoy, hoy, hoy Gotto got to tho bottom of thos Of ot kolls mo

Thos os not onoogh, thls os not onoogh, not onoogh to provo ot yot No, O nood to hot tho bottom Thos os not onoogh, thos os not onoogh, not onoogh to provo ot yot No, O nood to hot tho bottom Oh, thos, thos os not onoogh, thos os not onoogh, not onoogh to provo ot yot No, O nood to hot tho bottom Thos os not onoogh, thos os not onoogh, not onoogh to provo ot yot No, O nood to hot tho bottom

(O know who yoo oro)

Oh boy did that take me a while! Well, if you ever wondered what hand me my shovel, I'm going in! Looks like if every vowel was replaced with o, then you've come to the right post!

[a-pute11as]

serendipity - kika nazareth

word count - 6.9k | summary - a ray of sunshine stumbles into your quiet cafe one morning, with heart shaped latte art and the added bonus of gaining a new english teacher, she decides to make it her everyday stop, even when your ex decides to pull a stunt. part 2.

warnings - mentions of toxic relationships - please take care of yourself <3

-

the small bell attached to the door dinged as it was pushed open, alerting you to a new customer entering the cafe. 

“buenos días” you greeted, not yet turning around, still busy cleaning the coffee machine behind the counter, “qué le gustaría?” (good morning, what would you like?)

when you turned around you were greeted with someone who looked like she’d stepped out of a different world and landed, somehow perfectly, in the middle of your quiet café. she was tall, lean but strong, wearing a matching hoodie and joggers like she’d just come from some kind of gym session. her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her scrunchie wrapped round her hair,  a few strands curling around her face. her eyes met yours with the kind of focus that made it feel like the rest of the room had gone quiet.

there was a little half-smile playing at the corner of her mouth, like she’d caught you off guard and knew it. not cocky, just effortlessly aware. you didn’t recognize her, but something about her made you feel like you were meant to know who she was. maybe it was the barcelona logo that sat prominently on her clothes, yet you still couldn’t place her name. 

“uhhh hablas catalán?” she asked, her fingers tapping on the counter as she looked up at the menu boards that hung above your head. (do you speak catalan?)

“no, lo siento, solo inglés o español.” you smiled lightly. (no, sorry, only english or spanish.)

“that’s perfect!” she beamed, “can i practice my english on you?��

you raised your eyebrows in slight shock. since moving to barcelona you had had a lot of english customers, mostly ones that butchered every kind of pronunciation when ordering, yet someone who seemed to be a spanish natural wanting to speak english? that was new. “i think that’s the first time anyone has ever asked me that.”

a grin tugged at her lips as she laughed slightly at your response, “well i need to get better so my friends stop bullying how i say words.”

“your pronunciation?” you questioned, tilting your head slightly.

“yes that! pronunciation” she copied, “but i’m not good at saying that word.” 

you let out a soft laugh, charmed with her effort and determination, “you actually said it pretty well.”

she smiled at you over the counter, a genuine smile, “thank you, i’ve been watching a lot of tiktoks.”

“that's the best way to learn,” you agreed, “so english practice, what’s your order?”.

she took a moment, scanning the board again like it was a test she wanted to pass. “i will have… an oat milk flat white, please.”

you blinked, “that was pretty perfect, have you been practicing on someone else?”

she grinned, visibly proud of herself. “i had to repeat it a lot in my head before i said it, but they make fun of how i say ‘flat.’ i say it like - ‘flaaat.’” she exaggerated the vowel, pulling a face as she did so.

you laughed slightly, her accent clear in her words, even when she tried to hide it, “well i think it was good.”

“thank you, my new english teacher.” she smiled, small dimples showing in her cheeks as she grinned. 

you turned around and started working on her order. you didn’t rush it, she was the only customer in the shop, other than your usual regular who sat reading his newspaper out the front. so you wanted to get it exactly right. the right measurement, temperature of milk and the prettiest heart in the middle of the latte.

as you perfected her coffee you heard her fingers tapping away at the counter, not impatiently, but curiously, as if she was wanting to say something but was working up the courage. 

“sooo, how long have you lived here?” she hummed, the finger tapping stopping briefly as she spoke. 

“not long, only 3 months.” you responded. 

“did you move here for erasmus?” she asked, curiosity clearly getting the better of her.

you laughed lightly, shaking your head, “no no, life just bought me out here.”

now wasn’t the time to tell kika your whole backstory about moving to barcelona. she didn’t know that you moved here to be with your girlfriend of 3 years just to find out she had been cheating on you for the last year and a half, and she certainly didn’t need to know about the way you walked in on her cheating on you on your birthday after only a month of living in barcelona. or even the way your now ex-girlfriend wouldn’t stop texting you, gaslighting you into thinking you were in the wrong, or the way she somehow saw every interaction you had with a pretty girl and accused you of doing the exact thing she had you crying over for weeks. 

things you would never do.

but, obviously, she didn’t need to know all that. 

you picked up a brown paper napkin, along with a nearby sharpie and as you placed her coffee gently on the counter, you scribbled something quickly before sliding it toward her with the drink.

in perfectly scripted handwriting, it read: “oat milk flat white – 10/10 english. very proud teacher.”

when you looked up, her eyes were already on the note. she let out a laugh, quiet and surprised, before biting her bottom lip in a way that made your stomach flip. 

“i need a picture of this.” she mumbled, pulling her phone out of her pocket as she positioned her coffee slightly diagonal to the note, before holding her phone above it. snapping the perfect picture before putting it back in her pocket. 

she picked up the napkin carefully, like it was something delicate.

“i’m gonna keep this,” she said, slipping it into the front pocket of her hoodie. “proof that i’m improving.”

“next time, there’s a sticker chart,” you teased, leaning your arms on the counter as you rested your chin on your hand.

“ohhh, dangerous,” she said with a mock-serious nod, “i love rewards.”

“you seem like someone who’s very competitive,” you said, watching the way her eyes crinkled with amusement.

“you have no idea,” she replied, grinning. “but i think i could be convinced to behave if the teacher is nice.”

you laughed, shaking your head, and tried not to let the flush in your cheeks betray you.

the quiet rhythm of the café wrapped around you both again. outside, the sun filtered through the windows, painting soft golden lines across her face. it was almost cinematic, the kind of moment you didn’t realize you’d remember until much later.

kika didn’t leave right away. she pulled out a chair at the table closest to the counter, and sat with her coffee in both hands.

you turned to rinse out a few mugs behind the bar, but her voice called your attention back after a few minutes.

“so, teacher,” she said, resting her chin in one hand while she swirled her coffee with the other, “is there an english word for when you meet someone and they make the whole day better?”

you glanced over at her, your heart beat suddenly picking up in pace, her question didn’t feel as casual as the way she asked it. it felt as if it was more than a question, more like a statement. 

“serendipity,” you said quietly.

she repeated the word under her breath, eyes locked on yours, “ser-en-dipity,” she murmured. “that’s pretty. i like that.”

you gave her a small smile. “me too.”

she stayed a while longer, asking little questions here and there between glances at her phone, how to pronounce ‘squirrel’,” why ‘laugh’ was spelled so weird, and whether ‘rain check’ actually had anything to do with weather.

by the time she stood to leave, she had her coffee finished, your napkin still tucked into her pocket and whilst you didn’t know her name, and she didn’t know yours, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be the last time seeing her. 

“have a good day, teacher” she smiled, already backing toward the door, still facing you as she did

you just nodded, amused and curious and undeniably intrigued,  “you too a-plus.”

the bell over the door jingled again as she slipped out into the street, and you stood behind the counter, staring at the spot where she’d just been.

serendipity.��

-

the bell above the door gave its familiar chime, softer, but still altering. you looked up from the espresso machine just in time to see her step inside, hoodie up, shoulders hunched slightly against the early chill.

she caught your eye immediately and smiled, tired yet still warm. “morning, favourite teacher.”

“sucking up isn’t going to get you a better grade,” you teased, already reaching for a cup. “oat milk flat white?”

“please,” she said with a grateful sigh, leaning against the counter as she watched your every move.

“didn’t peg you as a morning person.” you spoke, pouring the espresso into the cup with precision.

“i’m not,” she murmured, rubbing a hand across her face, “had to be somewhere early, figured i’d get a head start.”

you handed over the coffee, and she took it like it was the best thing to happen to her all morning, “god, this is good,” she mumbled, cradling the cup like she was trying to soak up its energy.

she lingered by the counter, the steam from her cup curling around her face as she tilted her head, eyes still heavy with sleep but alert enough to hold your gaze.

“do you always make them this perfect?” she asked, sipping again, “or am i just the chosen one?”

you smiled, leaning on your forearms across from her, “maybe a bit of both.”

she chuckled under her breath, then glanced at the clock behind you, “we’ve only got a short lesson today, but i wanted you to remind me of that word from yesterday.”

you tilted your head, “which word?”

she thought for a moment before speaking, “the one about making my whole day better.”

you picked up a napkin, scribbling the word on it. 

serendipity.

you slid it toward her, “there, now you have study material.”

she read it slowly, then tucked it carefully into her jacket pocket, “you really are my favourite teacher.”

and before you could even respond, she was gone again, disappearing out into the quiet street with her coffee and your napkin, leaving only the soft jingle of the door behind her.

you were just finishing up the midday prep when your phone buzzed sharply in your apron pocket. the familiar weight of it shifted against your side, and you almost ignored it. your coworker had just come in to take over the afternoon shift, and you were minutes away from freedom.

but something about the timing felt... off.

you wiped your hands on a towel and slid your phone out.

bea.

you hesitated, thumb hovering, heart ticking up a notch. then tapped.

[1:56pm] bea - i saw you smiling at her today, again. you know the one with the tracksuit and the ponytail with the scrunchie. cute.

your breath caught mid-read.

[1:57pm] bea - you were definitely already talking to her before we broke up. i’m not as stupid as you think i am.funny how you used to look at me like that, too.

a chill threaded through you, even in the warmth of the café kitchen.

scanning the handful of tables still occupied, no one familiar, no one watching. yet you turned your body slightly, like instinctively shielding yourself.

[1:58pm] bea - especially after all those lies about me cheating on you, yet you were doing it the entire time.

you typed out a reply. deleted it. tried again. deleted that too.

you leaned against the edge of the counter, swallowing hard, your other hand instinctively gripping the rag you’d just used, knuckles turning white. the words stung, not because they were true, but because they echoed every twisted manipulation you’d grown used to for the last 3 years. every time she flipped things around. every time she made you feel like the villain.

you’d been the one who walked in on her. you’d been the one who moved out. you’d been the one who stayed quiet.

and now, here she was again, reappearing only when she sensed something slipping from her control. 

the afternoon air felt colder than you'd expected, grey clouds pressing low over the rooftops, filling the sky with the same dread that was filling your body. you pulled your jacket tighter, hands buried deep in your pockets, steps quick without even thinking about it.

you’d done this walk more times than you could count, the same route as usual, yet it didn’t feel as calming as it usually was.

your thoughts drifted to yesterday. the way her laugh had softened the rest of your day, or how her dimples stuck in your mind ever since you saw them. the way being near her felt easy and safe, as if you could simply exist without feeling shame. 

you didn’t even know the girls name, but bea didn’t need a name to twist something good into a weapon. a tool to belittle you, something to make you feel small. 

-

the bell above the door chimed, and you glanced up just in time to see kika walk in, yet there were two people just behind her. this time she wasn’t in the crested tracksuit you had seen her in previous days, rather a dark pair of jeans, a black hoodie and a red cap covering her head.

“good afternoon” kika greeted, smiling as her eyes met yours, “i’m surprised you’re still here.”

“it’s your lucky day then, my shift finishes at 3.” you grinned back to her.

“so we really got here just in time for the best coffee in all of barcelona,” she tilted her head slightly, leaning against the counter as usual, “and i bought friends this time.”

you couldn’t help but laugh at her compliment, cheesy but it still made your heart flutter.

“ah so you’re the famous nameless barista.” the shorter brunette smiled, her eyes racking you up and down momentarily. 

“famous?” your eyebrows raised, looking between your a+ student and the two new girls. 

“apparently your english lessons are as good as your coffee.” patri added with a smirk, “i think i might need to start coming here too.” she winked. you almost missed the way kika shot her quick look, a look of unease before patri’s smirk changed into a teasing smile.

“well what can i get you guys?” you asked, breaking the short silence that had built.

“three oat milk lattes, please.” kika requested, her gaze shifting to yours. 

you sent her a nod before turning around to work on the order, jana and patri drifting over to a comfortable sofa in the corner of the cafe, kika still leant against the counter. 

“i still haven’t got your name.” she stated, fingers tapping as usual. 

you glanced over your shoulder, lips curving just slightly. “i’m starting to think you like the mystery.”

kika let out a soft laugh, “i like knowing the name of the person who makes my day start better, serendipity remember.”

you rolled your eyes lightly but gave in.

kika repeated it under her breath, like she was trying it out for herself. “it suits you.”

you tried not to let the smile that tugged at your mouth show too much as you finished steaming the milk, “and what’s yours?”

“my what?” kika questioned, her head tilting with confusion, before a look of realization snapped, “oh my name, kika.”

you turned around, placing the drinks in front of her, “it’s pretty,i like it.”

you had made the three with differing patterns of latte art, but the one with a heart you pushed forward in her direction, “enjoy.” you smiled.

she laughed lightly before making her way over to the corner where her friends sat. jana gave her a smug look whilst patri whispered something about being a flirt. kika, for the most part, ignored them both but you could see the slight red glow in her cheeks as she angled her seat just slightly, in your direction.

you pretended not to notice the way she stole one last glance your way as she sat down, fingers wrapped around her cup, the heart still intact in the foam.

you were stuck behind the counter, doing anything to look busy, you wiped it down and organised the cups. but your eyes flicked over occasionally, just quick enough to catch jana mouthing something exaggerated that made kika throw a sugar packet at her, and patri laughing behind her hand.

your shift had technically ended five minutes ago, but you were still tidying up, well more like delaying. the cafe had thinned out, a few of your regulars still hanging about, as well the three friends who were still deep in conversation.

from the corner, jana leaned back in her chair, eyes finding yours over the rim of her coffee cup. “chica,” she called casually, “your shift’s done, no? come sit. your star pupil should buy you a coffee, like a date.”

“jana.” kika hissed, her cheeks highlighting red.

“you were taking too long to make a move, she had to say something.” patri shrugged, taking a sip from her coffee. 

you wiped down the last corner of the counter, biting back a smile. the warmth of embarrassment rolled off kika, visible even from across the café. you tucked the cloth under the bar, pretending to consider the invitation for just a second longer than you needed.

“i’ll guess i can make some time for you,” you smiled, walking towards the empty chair at their table, “but i’m good for a drink.”

patri watched you for a beat too long, then smiled like she knew something you didn’t, “so, serendipity?”

you blinked, “what?”

“that’s what she’s been calling you,” she said, flicking her head toward kika, “kika doesn’t usually get poetic, so she must really like you.”

kika groaned into her hands, “stop talking.” she mumbled.

“she says your english lessons are better than the catalan lessons she’s getting from the team tutor.” jana added with a small laugh. 

your face scrunched a little at the mention of a ‘team’, and then it clicked, the matching tracksuits, the famous football club barcelona logo on each of their chests. there was no way it was a coincidence, maybe they just worked for the club?

kika just shook her head, cheeks red and glowing now, but her eyes flicked to yours with that same softness she always carried when she looked at you.

you let yourself hold her gaze. maybe just for a second longer than you should have.

and just as you were about to ask the question that was circling your brain, it all came crashing down. 

the door swung open with a violent jingle of the bell, louder than it had any right to be, your head turned and suddenly you were on your feet. 

your blood ran cold.

she didn’t wait. she walked straight toward you, voice already raised.

“you really don’t waste time, do you?”

your body tensed as the air in the room shifted.

a few people looked up, curious but cautious. you glanced toward kika and her friends, their conversation had stopped. kika had straightened in her seat, eyes narrowed slightly, jaw tight.

you forced a breath through your nose, standing up slowly, “bea, not here, i’m at work.”

her eyes flicked past you, to the corner table, then back again, “why not? thought you liked an audience.”

your face burned, not from embarrassment but the sharp sting of something you’d been trying to outrun for months, “i don’t want to speak to you, just leave, please.”

tears were threatening to fall from your eyes, your hands were starting to tremble as you watched her face light up as if she was enjoying this.

bea let out a bitter laugh. “no, you don’t get to say that. you don’t get to act like the injured party when i’m the one who got left!”

your jaw clenched, holding back everything that was threatening to spill, “you didn’t get left. you got caught.”

there was a heavy silence, followed by the scrape of a chair against the floor and then kika was on her feet.

“okay,” she said, stepping forward. her voice was calm, but her posture said otherwise, “you’ve said enough, it’s time to go.”

bea scoffed, eyes narrowing as her arms crossed, a mocking smile curling on her lips as she took a step closer, her eyes drifted to kika momentarily before they were back on you. “oh now you have a saviour?” she sneered, voice dripping with something that could only be described as venom, “cute, is she your rebound? gonna fix you huh, clean up your mess?”

her expression twisted into something crueler, “you act like i’m a monster, like you didn’t just walk away and erase all those years we had together. but sure, blame me, make yourself a saint. it’s easier than admitting you were never committed to us, to me…”

“i made one mistake, one, but you couldn’t handle it. you used it as an excuse to run, an opportunity to get out, just like you wanted. don’t pretend you didn’t want to leave me long before that.”

she looked around the room as if it was a stage, the deafening silence gave her power, “so go ahead and play the victim. let her defend you, but we don’t know the truth, don’t we?”

you stood frozen for a moment, the buzz of the cafe like static in your ears. your hands trembled as you took a step back, brushing past kika with a quiet ‘i need a minute’ and headed for the door. chest tight and vision blurring at the edges. 

bea saw it.

you didn’t have to look to know. she saw the way your shoulders curved in, the way your breath hitched and the way your pain was clawing its way to the surface. the same pain you had spent a long time trying to bury. 

and just like that, her entire demeanor shifted. 

gone was the snarling, spiteful ex as she morphed into someone new entirely, “hey… wait.” the change in her tone was nauseating, it became gentle, as if she was still someone you could trust. like she hadn't just tried to humiliate you in front of a room full of people. 

“you're upset, i get it.” she continued, voice laced with faux concern. “but you always do this, remember. run off all emotional. you always break and then you need me to pick up the pieces. that’s what we do, it’s why we work so well.”

bea smiled, too soft, too rehearsed. “just let me talk to you. alone. we can fix this, we always do.”

that’s when kika stepped between you two, no hesitation, “no, you don’t get to twist this,” she spoke, her tone cool and calm. “she’s upset because you made her this way, and you don’t get to feed off that anymore.”

bea’s eyes flicked to kika, as if she was debating whether she would be able to take her on and come out successful. but after a few moments she backed down and then turned her gaze back onto you. 

bea’s expression twisted, mouth curling into a smirk that didn't quite reach the eyes. she took another step forward, lowering her voice just enough to make it more threatening than loud. 

“oh you don’t want to leave me,” bea spoke, tone mocking. “then maybe i should tell everyone what you were like at the end. all those nights crying on the bathroom floor, begging me to stay, the fucking pathetic texts. the way you…”

bea reached for your arm, fingers latching on with a grip that was too tight. nails digging in. 

“maybe everyone would like to hear about how you couldn't even sleep alone without…”

but before she could finish, kika was there, shoving bea back with both hands hard, “back off!”

the force knocked bea a step or two back, almost stumbling over her own shoes. the tension in the room increased, crackling like static in the air. a few gasps broke out from nearby tables.

kika stood in front of you now, solid. her voice was low but lethal, “touch her again, and i promise you’ll regret it.”

jana and patri stood up too, “you better leave before you see how fast three footballers can throw you out of the building.” patri added. 

bea stared, blinking as if she couldn't believe what has just happened. her mask cracked, just for a second, and the bravado on display faltered. 

her eyes lingered on you for one final moment before she stepped back with a muttered curse, turned, and stormed out, the bell above the door marking her exit.

kika didn’t move until the door had fully swung shut. only then did her shoulders loosen slightly, her attention turning back to you.

“are you okay?” her voice quieter, her face painted with a look of empathy that surprised you. you weren’t used to it, it made your mind stutter.

you shook your head faintly, “i - i’m sorry, i need to go.” with that you grabbed your bag from behind the counter and ran straight out the door. 

-

the next day you called in sick. you couldn’t face kika, your regular customers, or your coworkers after the scene bea had pulled in front of everyone. 

you laid in bed staring at the ceiling, your body was riddled with anxiety. the silence in your apartment was suffocating, but the idea of filling it felt like too much.

your phone buzzed once. you didn’t look.

then again.

and again.

you peered at it, your coworkers name lighting up from your bedside table.

you rolled over, clutching your pillow to your chest. you weren’t sure if it was guilt or shame or some mix of both settling in your stomach. sure bea was gone, but her words and the impact they had weren’t.

none of it was true, but that didn’t dull the sting.

you thought about kika. the way she stood between you and everything ugly, the way her voice had cut through the noise. how she put herself on the line for you, protected you from something she knew nothing about.

but then you thought of her seeing you like that, completely frozen and helpless.

you hated it. 

so you stayed in bed, hardly moving, in the quiet where you could avoid everything.

-

but when the next day came, you couldn’t stay bundled up forever. so you pushed yourself out of bed, and went to work. 

you were doing your usual morning routine.

grinding the coffee beans, wiping the counter, checking the milk fridge, pretending your hands were shaking as you reached for the cups.

it was too early for your regulars but too late for the commuters. just you and the ache in your chest that hadn’t let up since bea decided to flip everything upside down.. again. 

you moved slower than usual, like your body hadn’t quite caught up to the fact that it was safe again, as if bea was still somewhere, watching.

the bell above the door didn’t ring, but your eyes kept flicking toward it anyway, like your brain couldn’t help bracing for impact. you didn’t even know if she’d come in.

but then she did. 

you didn’t look up right away, you told yourself it was a habit, that you were just focused on wiping down the steam wand. 

“morning.” her voice was soft, careful, as if part of her was hesitant to speak. 

you looked up. kika stood just inside the door, her hands in the pockets of her hoodie, her eyes on you with something unreadable behind them. she wasn’t smiling like she usually would, but there was a gentleness in her expression, like she was waiting for permission to be there.

“i didn’t see you yesterday.” she said after a beat, stepping forward slowly, like approaching something fragile, “i still came in, your coworker doesn’t make coffee as well as you do.”

you couldn’t help but smile faintly at her compliment, knowing your co-worker wouldn’t have spent the extra time perfecting the latte art or making sure the milk was at just the right temperature that kika liked. 

the quiet settled for a moment before you attempted to speak, “i didn’t think you’d come back,” you muttered, quieter than you meant to.

she tilted her head, eyes narrowing just slightly, “why?”

“i was worried she scared you off,” you started, your hands rubbing the cloth in your hand between your fingers, “she has a habit of ruining things that make me happy.”

she leaned her elbow on the counter, eyes still on yours, her voice dipping a little, playful but steady, “i train against some of the best football players in the world, i don’t get scared easily.”

your head tilted slightly as you tried to decipher what she was saying, eyebrows scrunching, “so you play football?” 

kika’s lips quirked, a soft curve that was half a smirk, half a dare, “i mean yeah, i run around a field with a ball for a living, so yeah.”

you blinked at her, brows still drawn, processing, “like for an actual team?”

her smile widened, like she was enjoying watching you put the pieces together, pointing to the barcelona crest that sat on her chest, “mhmm.”

the tracksuits, the subtle discipline, the confidence, the way jana and patri had joked. you felt your mouth part slightly. how did it take you that long for you to put the pieces together?

you exhaled a soft laugh, stepping back slightly with a stunned look. “and you didn’t think to mention that before?”

she raised an eyebrow, “you never asked.”

“i have so many questions.” you admitted.

yeah you weren’t necessarily ‘into’ football, your friends had dragged you to a game before but you spent most of it taking pictures of the cat mascot on the sidelines. barcelona breathed football and yet somehow the footballer who had been visiting you went right under your nose.

“perfect english practice then.” she grinned.

you made kika her usual, before drilling her with every football question you could possibly think of, including a very slowed down version of the offside rule.

you leaned on the counter, chin resting in your palm and a smile across your face as you watched her arrange the sugar packets like defenders and a spoon as the striker. her brows furrowed in concentration, tongue poking slightly out the corner of her mouth as she adjusted the layout so it would finally make sense.

“so,” she said seriously, tapping one of the sugar packets, “this is the last defender. if the striker, the spoon, is beyond this point when the pass is made, that’s offside.”

you stared at it, eyes narrowing. “but what if the spoon was, like, moving back behind the sugar?”

kika looked up at you slowly, “you’re trouble.”

you smiled sweetly, “i’m just trying to understand your world.”

she gave a small laugh, brushing a hand through her hair and shaking her head. “i can’t believe this is how i’m spending my recovery day.”

“you chose to come here.” you pointed out, nudging the napkin she’d used as a goalpost.

“i really did,” she murmured, eyes flicking up to meet yours again, softening at the edges, “i didn’t feel like being anywhere else.”

the words sank between you. 

lika leant back a little, letting her hand drift across the counter in a casual sweep. “and now you owe me.”

“i owe you?”

she nodded firmly, “you made me explain the offside rule with props, that deserves something.”

you tilted your head, amused. “what do i owe you then?”

“your number.” she grinned, a spark of mischief lighting in her eyes as if she set up that entire interaction perfectly. 

a soft smile pulled at your lips, “very smooth kika, very very smooth.” 

“what can i say? i obviously need some online english tutoring.”

you laughed slightly before grabbing the napkin she had used as a goalpost and a pen, scribbling down your number before sliding it across the counter towards her.

kika caught the napkin with a quick smile, her fingers brushing against yours for a moment longer than necessary.

“looking forward to our next lesson.” she smiled, voice low and teasing.

you felt your cheeks warm but managed a confident nod, with that she was gone. 

it had only been 20 minutes before an unknown number lit up your phone, 

[unknown number] - guess i’m a good teacher too, after that beautiful offside explanation 

you couldn’t help but laugh at her message, quickly changing her number into a contact, before responding. 

you - are you trying to steal my job?

kika - nothing could ever compare to your incredible english lessons

something in you was feeling bold, far bolder than you had been to kika in person.

you - careful… i don’t think you’re meant to flirt with your teachers

kika - then i don’t want to be your student

you caught yourself smiling, the kind that crept in slowly and made you warm. her message lingered on your screen, your thumb hovering just above a reply, heart skipping.

before you could type anything, the bell above the door chimed, sharp and familiar. you slipped your phone beneath the counter like it had caught fire, straightening just in time for the midday rush to pour in, pulling you back into routine with both hands.

serving what felt like hundreds of customers, the sudden rush filling the cafe swept you off your feet. 

the end of your shift arrived quicker than expected, and very typical for you the sunny barcelona weather had taken a turn. the once cloudless sky was now covered in a dark grey layer, one that had rain pounding against the pavement.  

you tried getting an uber, but of course it was nearly 25 euros for a 5 minute ride, so a 20 minute walk in the pouring rain seemed more ideal. 

pulling your hood over your head, you left the cafe and stepped out into the downpour, the kind that soaked you instantly. cold drops ran down your neck as you tugged your jacket tighter and started walking, head down, shoes already slipping against the wet pavement.

you’d only made it halfway down the street when a car slowed beside you, creeping just a little too perfectly in time with your steps. you glanced over, ready to ignore a stranger, until you saw her.

kika leaned across the passenger seat, window already down despite the rain.

“you weren’t going to text me back?” she said, one brow lifted, a teasing edge in her voice that was just soft enough to make your stomach twist.

you blinked, caught somewhere between disbelief and amusement, “you came all the way here just because i didn’t answer?”

“well my ego didn’t know how to handle it so i had to come check on you,” she gave you a crooked grin, “but now i see i’ve turned up at the right time, so get in because i’m not letting you walk home in this.”

you hesitated for half a second, until a gust of wind blew your hood back and rain trickled down your spine. with a quiet sigh, you climbed into the passenger seat, water dripping down your sleeves. 

kika reached over instinctively, tugging the heater dial up before glancing at you with a soft shake of her head, “you really were about to walk the whole way, huh?”

you shrugged, trying not to shiver as you pulled your sleeves down over your hand, “it’s only like 20 minutes, and it wasn’t exactly my first choice.”

she glanced sideways at you, her voice lower now, “next time, just text me, i’ll show up faster.”

you let out a breath of a laugh, heart skipping, “and here i thought footballers were busy.”

kika grinned, eyes back on the road as the car pulled away from the curb, “not too busy for you, put your address in my phone.”

you did as was asked and typed in your address before sitting back in the seat, “so do you always drive around rescuing baristas from the rain?” you teased, a grin across your face.

“only the ones who put little hearts in my coffee… and then ignore my texts.” she grinned back.

you laughed slightly, rolling your eyes, as a comfortable silence fell between you before you spoke up again, “thank you, for yesterday and today and just everything.”

“you never have to thank me,” she smiled lightly, “you deserve the same kindness you show people, and i’ll make sure i’m here to remind you.”

you gave her an appreciative hum, unsure of what to say other than thanking her again, but her words were running round your head at full speed. 

kika pulled up slowly to the curb outside your building, putting the car in park but making no move to rush you out. you turned to her, hand already on the door handle, then paused.

“i know you’ve just told me not to say thank you, so i appreciate you driving me home.” you smiled softly. 

she hesitated for a moment before speaking, “can i walk you in?” 

you blinked, surprised at the shift in her voice, a little more uncertain than usual.

“yeah,” you said gently, “of course.”

the two of you stepped out into the drizzle, kika flipping her hood up as she jogged around the front of the car walking in time with you. 

inside, the building was quiet, the soft hum of the elevator filling the silence between you. kika stood close, your arms just brushing as you were comfortably close. 

when the doors slid open on your floor, she followed you down the hallway, her gaze scanning the space before flicking back to you.

you stopped outside your door, turning back to face her. her hands were tucked in her jacket pockets now, and her brows drew together slightly like she was working up to something.

she let out a soft breath, glancing down for a second before meeting your eyes again. “i’ve got a game next week, a home game.”

you tilted your head slightly, you had a feeling you knew what was going to be asked, but you couldn’t help but tease her anticipation, “oh yeah.”

“yeah,” she nodded, a small smile playing at the corner of her mouth, “i’d really like it if you came.”

there was a short pause before you answered, “i’d really like to.”

her smile widened, warm and full of something unspoken, “i’ll text you the details.”

“looking forward to it,” your voice barely above a whisper but certain.

neither of you moved at first. then, slowly, she stepped back, still watching you like she didn’t quite want to leave just yet. she gave a small wave, backing down the hallway toward the elevator with a grin that stayed with you even after your door clicked shut.

inside your apartment, the silence felt safe. you stood still for a moment, a smile painted across your face as your heart fluttered. 

you had gotten so used to shrinking yourself down for someone who refused to let you live in happiness, apologising for taking up space as if you were never good enough no matter what you did. you were always wrong, never said the right thing, didn’t love correctly. even after moving cities, 700 miles away from everything you knew, everyone you loved, and you still become a second option to whatever was easier in the moment. 

yet kika made you feel the opposite. she was a ray of light, like a beam of sun that shone around her every where she went. you felt warm around her, safe, protected from everything negative your past could throw at you. 

you kicked off your shoes and hung your jacket, still damp from the rain, before moving to the kitchen and flicking on the kettle. the hum of it filled the space as your phone buzzed in your pocket.

kika - i meant what i said by the way. you deserve good things, and people who show up for you.

you - i’m starting to think you don’t need my english lessons anymore

kika - no entiendo ingles, ¿puedes enseñarme por favor? (i don’t understand english, can you teach me please?)

you couldn’t help but smile at your phone, warmth filling in your chest despite the rain still tapping softly against the windows. finally you felt a moment of peace, a moment where you weren’t concerned that a bulldozer was going to run through your life yet again, because in your little bubble, it was just you and her.

a/n - part 2 can be found here. i wanted to separate the angst of r's past from the real fluff of kika! thank you for reading, any feedback/requests can be left in my inbox! and ofc thank you @earpskeeper for your incredible help with the angst <3

[every-vowel-is-o]

Ovoro tomo o goy woors o skort o homophobo dops poss ot on

Every time a guy wears a skirt a homophobe dies pass it on

[rosewiltd]

rpc trends i have lived through: a compendium

this is by no means hate to trends ( "trends" in this case being something a large majority of people have participated in at some point, whether they're good or bad - not for me to judge ) bc i am a slave to the aesthetic as much as the next person. i've just been in the trenches, is all.

no promos, no formatting, no icons, no tagging system. we live in the wild west and if you can find someone to write with? godspeed.

small text and that's it for formatting. maybe a little italics for flavour. the beginnings of "omg you're so elitist for this" surfaces.

themes by manatopia ( if you were in the anime rpc ) or octomoosey ( if you favoured the rl fcs ).

simple one-word straightforward tagging system with no fancy text or symbols. ( ie. appearance, musings, closet, etc )

more complex tagging system, with symbols and quotes/lyrics using a generated font the tumblr tagging system can't actually read

one-panel simple promos with full resumes in the description ( ie. 10+ years experience, literate, etc )

2-panel simple promos

3 and 4-panel promos of varying complexity

the signerica font

text promos with icons

big, unedited gifs of varying sizes and colorings used interchangably

smaller gifs, but same as above

no icons

simple icons with simple one-line borders and whatever the fuck that checker texture was that everyone and their grandmother used

triggers? and you tag them???? wild. never heard of. we stumble blindly through content like god intended.

follower milestone/giveaways - essentially your speech at the oscars and here's a little incentive to keep following me. usually for large milestones like 100, 500, 1k, and 3k followers. if you had more than that, you had killed god.

photoshopped replies - as in, we wrote up replies into a graphic

fancy image dividers, usually something small and ornate and centered, the precursor to the dividers we use today.

container themes, with the containers getting progressively smaller. if you didn't use agirlingrey's themes, were you even an rper? quickly followed by container themes with pop-ups. look out. don't forget the floating orbs. or the little banners on the side that told you who the blog was for and the writer's name.

which reminds me, if you weren't using the spark/fire overlay on promos/graphics/etc, you were excommunicated from the rpc and sent to the dungeons.

magic anons. usually of the sexual variety. no, my muse will not be horny for 24 hours straight and they sure won't have an orgasm every time someone says their name, thank you very much. sometimes it was fun though. your muse as a neko? like, nya.

y'all i haven't even gotten past 2015 yet.... the rest is under the cut. feel free to add your own. im sure im forgetting so much.

burn blogs. enough said.

positivity blogs to counteract the burn blogs, but ultimately became a breeding ground for jealousy because the same three people were endlessly complimented. it's the thought that counts though!

memes/sentence starters, but they were made on your own rp blog and if it garnered 20k notes, there was nothing you could do to stop it. rip your activity feed. we learned. boy, did we learn.

prompt/aesthetic sideblogs.

missing e, the predecessor to xkit.

xkit. then new xkit. then xkit rewritten. missing e let us down, but we won't let this fucker die.

url trends im lumping together: latin urls, "of___", urlisms, random 'x's tacked on before and/or after the url or in place of a vowel. 'c's tacked in place of e's and o's. numbers in place of letters. changing your url just for holidays/seasons.

graphics that were either desaturated or so vibrant they were crispy

themes by eternalworks

themes by hyruleshop, isaworks, or other major creators.

the rise of callouts, for better or worse

the rise of purity culture, for better or worse

receipt/callout blogs

purple prose

extra af formatting ( no hate ), coloured text, spacing, etc.

elaborate graphics.

mains. affiliates. people you should be following. the successor of 'follow friday' and milestone 'thank you' announcements.

dni lists, for better or worse.

multimuse blogs

rp sideblogs

the current trend of ripping a canon from their og universe and re-writing them as an oc bc shut up that's why

probably a whole heck of a lot more i cannot remember. i've blocked out the trauma.

[prythiansprincess]

la petite mort.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: greedy by tate mcrae.

author's note: you guys, the wonka press tour is going to be the death of me. timothee looks so hot and therefore it gave me extra inspiration to finish this little piece.

Regulus Black was first and foremost a gentleman.

Before you started dating, Regulus was adamant about courting you properly. Your boyfriend was a bit old-fashioned that way, but you absolutely adored it. During your first date, Regulus took you out to the fanciest restaurant in town, opened the door for you, pulled out your chair, and didn’t even blink twice before sliding his card down when the check came. 

Ever since then, Regulus spoiled you rotten. Every day, he walked you to class, carried your bag and books, and even left sweet little notes for you to find throughout the day. In the eyes of the public, Regulus Black was the picture of the perfect gentleman, but in private, your boyfriend was anything but.

There was a dark side to Regulus. A side that you took great delight in awakening. Tonight, you were more determined than ever to push your boyfriend to his limits. 

It was a typical Friday night. You and Regulus were at his dorm for your weekly study date. Except you really weren’t in the mood to study. You were laying on your stomach on his bed, absentmindedly flipping through the potions manual in front of you. The assignment was to translate the text from French, but you hardly had more than a few sentences transcribed on your parchment. You were much too distracted at the moment. 

While the manual failed to capture your attention, Regulus did not. Your boyfriend was sitting across the room reading some obscure tome about dark magic. He leaned over the wooden desk, the sleeves of his shirt rolled just past his elbows, which gave you the perfect view of the veins on his forearms. His green and silver tie hung loosely around his neck, exposing the perfectly kissable column of his throat. 

Unaware of your ogling, Regulus twirled his wand between his fingers as his features pinched in concentration. Those angelic curls grazed his impossibly high cheekbones, drawing your attention to the smattering of freckles across his nose. As he read, Regulus mouthed the words silently, his lips curving around the vowels in the most delicious way. His green eyes burned intensely, illuminated by the warm glow of the lantern beside him. 

Abandoning your assignment, you dragged yourself off of the bed and sidled up behind him. Regulus melted into your touch as you massaged his shoulders. He looked up and the light hit his eyes just right, golden spears bursting through the rich green hues like a kaleidoscope. 

Regulus grabbed your chin and dragged your face down to his, planting a sweet kiss against your lips. You hummed against his mouth, eager to deepen the otherwise chaste kiss. You felt him smile at your enthusiasm before he gently tugged at your hair, forcing you to look at him once again. 

“Did you finish your translations, my love?’ 

You shook your head. “No, I think I need a study break.”

Regulus tutted. “Come show me what you’ve done so far and I’ll tell you if you’ve earned one.”

You pouted. It wasn’t very often that Regulus denied your request. Usually, he bent over backwards just to make you happy, so when he didn’t immediately grant you what you wanted, you couldn’t help but act like an absolute brat. Patience had never been your strong suit and Regulus knew that. 

Your boyfriend watched with an amused smirk as you retrieved your manual and parchment with a little frown on your face. You set the studying materials down on his desk and crossed your arms. 

“Where am I supposed to sit?”

Regulus patted his lap. “Right here is fine, darling.”

He almost chuckled at how quickly your mood brightened after that, but he didn’t want to give himself away. Regulus knew exactly what you wanted and he had every intention of making you work for it. You made yourself right at home on his lap, rubbing your arse against his crotch. He would’ve been embarrassed at how hard he already was underneath you, but Regulus had absolutely no shame when it came to his girl. 

“Why don’t you read what you have so far, mon amour?”

You began by reading the ingredients, which listed the main components of the potion. Those were easy enough to translate given that the terms were quite similar in each language. Regulus urged you to continue and you had no choice but to fumble through the instructions, which you had undoubtedly mucked up after getting distracted by him. 

“Faire chauffer à feu doux,” you said reluctantly.

Regulus shook his head. “Faire chauffer à feu fort,” he corrected in perfect French.

It was rather pathetic how hot and bothered you were over boiling instructions, but you couldn’t stop squirming at how attractive it was to hear your boyfriend speak the language of love. Regulus bid you to continue, which you did rather distractedly. 

You struggled through the next few sentences, pressing your thighs together every time Regulus corrected your pronunciation. “You have to roll your tongue, darling. Like this.” 

After Regulus demonstrated by rolling his tongue and sounding out the word flawlessly, your skin felt so hot that you were surprised you hadn’t burst into flames. As you stuttered over the next few sentences, you felt Regulus shuffle underneath you. He slowly unbuckled his belt and slid off his pants. You stopped mid-sentence when he lifted up your skirt. 

Regulus slapped your thigh so hard that the action made you jerk in his lap. “I didn’t say you could stop. Keep reading, love.”

“Trancher de la racine aux pointes—“ you stammered lamely through the words as his hands roamed underneath your skirt. 

You held your breath as he palmed you through the cotton fabric. Regulus smirked when he felt how wet and needy you were for him. He pulled your panties to the side, not bothering to take them off as he caressed your slit. Coating his index and middle fingers with your arousal, Regulus spread your wetness all along your folds. 

A pathetic little whimper escaped your lips. Regulus grabbed your chin and turned you towards him. “I told you to keep reading,” he growled. “Start that section over and don't stop or I’ll make you regret it. Do you understand, princess?”

With a nod, you continued to decipher the next section. Regulus hummed in approval as he lifted your hips. You gripped the parchment as your boyfriend positioned you over his length before thrusting his cock inside of you without warning. 

You bit your lip to keep your moan in. “What are you doing, Reg?” 

Regulus chuckled darkly. “You didn’t think I’d let you get away with acting like a spoiled fucking brat, did you?” You gasped as he sheathed himself in your warmth, filling you to the hilt and nearly making you squirm with pleasure. “You wanted my cock so I’m giving it to you, but I’m not moving until you finish your assignment.” 

The whine that escaped out of you made him smirk. “Now be a good girl so you can get your reward, yeah?” 

Your boyfriend stayed true to his word. Every time you translated a phrase correctly, Regulus rewarded you with a slow thrust. He grunted as he drove deeper into you, whispering praises of encouragement in your ear. 

“My smart girl,” Regulus declared proudly, littering kisses against your neck. “Keep going, baby. You want more, don’t you?” 

The growing need for him distracted you. When you pronounced a word wrong, Regulus pulled all the way out until only his tip teased along your folds. You whimpered at the loss, loathing the hollow and empty feeling it left you with. 

Regulus grabbed you by the throat. “Salé means savory, sucré is sweet. I’m disappointed. I know you know this, darling. Let’s refresh.” He pressed his lips against yours and you ached to kiss him, but you knew that he wouldn’t be pleased if you did so without permission. “Say it with me. Salé.” 

You swallowed thickly as he spoke the words against your mouth. The smooth way that the word rolled off of his tongue made you clench around him. Regulus smirked as you repeated the word, slightly stuttering while you struggled to stay still. 

“Salé.” 

“Does it turn you on when I speak French, mon amour?” You nodded silently, not trusting yourself with words at the moment. “I know it does, gorgeous girl. I can tell by the way your pretty little pussy is clenching around my cock. Poor thing, you must be aching to be fucked, aren’t you?” 

Tears pricked at your eyes. You wanted him so badly that it actually hurt. Regulus wiped the errant tear away with his thumb. “One more, darling. Surely you can manage.” He tilted your chin up and spoke the last word against your lips. “Sucré.”

“Sucré,” you repeated obediently.

“What does it mean?” 

“Sweet.” 

“Just like you, pretty girl.” Regulus kissed your cheek. “That wasn’t so hard, was it? Now you can have your study break.” 

You sighed in relief when Regulus finally kissed you. The chaste kiss from earlier was gone. Instead, he claimed your mouth with his tongue, leaving open mouthed kisses that had you tugging at his curls for more. He smiled as you grinded into him, making him grunt in pleasure as you lowered onto his length.

“So eager, aren’t we? Where do you want me, mon amour? Here or on the bed?”

“Neither,” you gasped into his mouth before glancing at the desk behind you. 

He chuckled when he realized what you meant. “Is this what you were thinking about, love? Couldn’t focus on your work because you were imagining me bending you over that desk?” 

You nodded. “Yes,” you breathed. “Please, Reg. I need you so bad.” 

“Fuck, you’re so pretty when you beg.” Regulus shifted and patted your thigh. “Come on, darling. Bend over for me. Let me fuck you on this desk until you cry.” 

Regulus watched with lust blown eyes as you bent over the wooden desk. He flipped your skirt up and palmed your ass, the cold bite of his rings sending shivers down your spine. You bit your lip as Regulus loosened his tie. He smirked as he slid it off his neck. 

“Put your arms behind your back, mon cœur.” 

You eagerly obeyed his command. Regulus pinned your wrists together and bound you with his tie. Pressing your cheek against the wood, he stripped you of your shirt and kissed along your spine. Regulus leaned over and slipped a hand underneath your lacy bra, squeezing your tits as he positioned himself behind you. His other hand guided his cock at your entrance. Regulus slipped in slowly, giving you inch after delicious inch. 

“Merde,” Regulus cursed. “You feel so fucking good, princess.” 

Once he started moving, you were reduced to a blubbering mess. Regulus was relentless as he fucked you from behind, his fingers digging into your hips while he drove in and out of you. The parchment and quills that were neatly laid out on his desk clattered to the ground with every slam of his hips. The desk rattled against the wall while he fucked you into oblivion. 

You pressed your cheek against the wood, the sound of your moans bouncing off the walls while you begged for more. “Baise-moi fort, Regulus.” 

Regulus hissed, thrusting into you with force just like you asked. The line between pain and pleasure blurred. Warm tears coated your cheeks as he pushed your body to the limit. Regulus pulled your hair and tugged him towards you for a sloppy kiss. Your legs shook underneath you as he slapped your ass. You could feel the imprint of his rings brand itself into your skin. He timed his thrusts with each smack, making you wetter and wetter by the second. 

He brushed your hair back, kissing your cheek. Regulus placed his hand on your stomach and pressed down just as he rutted into you. “Feel that, princess? This is what I think about all day. Burying myself so deep inside you that you can’t even form words.” You babbled in response, whatever words you were trying to form came out entirely incoherent. “Have I fucked you dumb, darling? You should know better than to ask me to fuck you harder. You know I have no control when it comes to you, Y/N.” 

You cried as he slammed into you. “S’too much, Reggie. I—I can’t take anymore—“

Regulus only laughed. “That’s too fucking bad, princess. You begged like a whore, so you get fucked like one too.” He licked a stripe against your neck before leaving love bites on every surface of your skin. 

There was nothing your boyfriend loved more than claiming your body like this. He smiled as you whimpered, knowing that you’d be marked and bruised for days to come. Though your cheeks were stained with tears, Regulus knew you could take more. Your body told him everything he needed to know. The way you fluttered around him indicated that you were close. He was definitely pushing your limit, but Regulus had a habit of coaxing you out of your comfort zone to provide the most mind-blowing orgasms that you’ve ever experienced. 

“Cum for me, mon amour.” 

White hot heat surged through your veins. You moaned his name while the orgasm crested like a wave, washing over your body like a biblical flood. For a second, it felt like your soul had left your body entirely. The phrase la petite mort flashed in your mind. The little death, the French called it. 

Just when you thought that the high was finally leveling out, Regulus picked you up and placed you on the desk. He untied your wrists before kneeling between your legs. Regulus smirked as he kissed along the inside of your thighs. Those pretty eyes flashed with mischief as he bit into your flesh. 

“Hang on, pretty girl. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as Regulus lapped up your arousal. He kissed and sucked at your wet cunt like they were hauling him off to Azkaban at any given moment. Your boyfriend grunted when you tugged at his luscious curls, utterly turned on by your roughness. When Regulus looked up at you through thick, dark lashes with his mouth dripping with your cum, you couldn’t help but shiver at the sight. 

You loved seeing Regulus like this. You loved knowing that only you could awaken this dark and dangerous side of him. 

“Oh god, Reg,” you keened, arching against his mouth. “Fuck, I love you.” 

Regulus hummed in approval, spelling out his initials against your folds. The curve of R.A.B. branded itself into your core in the most erotic way possible. The message was clear. You belonged to Regulus and Regulus alone. 

As he worked, Regulus pumped himself between his fingers. You could feel him edging towards release just as a second orgasm washed over you. Regulus looked up when you tugged at his hair. 

“Don’t cum yet, baby,” you said hoarsely. “Not until you’re inside me again.” 

“Mon dieu, you kill me when you say things like that.” Regulus hissed as he wrapped your legs around his waist. The groan that escaped his lips as he slipped inside of you again was downright vulgar. “My filthy fucking girl. I love being inside of you.”

You whimpered in response, bringing him closer as he pounded into you again and again. “I love when you fill me up, Reg. You’re the only one who can make me feel like this. You’re the only one who can fuck me like I need. Gods, you’re perfect.” 

“You feel so fucking good,” Regulus whispered against your lips. “Gods, I’m so close.”

“I know, Reggie. I know.” You kissed him, sighing as you canted your hips to match his rhythm. “I want to feel you cum inside of me, pretty boy.” 

Regulus grunted, his thrusts growing sloppy and desperate. Your words sent him over the edge and he came with a gasp, biting into your shoulder to keep himself from waking up the dungeons. You held him as the orgasm seized his body, whispering sweet nothings into his ear and following the praise with adoring kisses. 

Your heart warmed as he gazed lovingly up at you. He pulled out slowly, peppering kisses all over your face but never taking his eyes off of you. The way Regulus looked at you made you feel like you were the only girl in the world. 

“Reg?” you murmured. 

“Yes, my love?” 

“I think I like studying after all.” Regulus chuckled against your skin, his curls tickling your neck. “You’re excellent at inspiring motivation.” 

“Anything for you, mon amour. I was a goner the second you called me pretty boy.” 

“Is that so?” You teased, kissing the tip of his nose. “Well, you are, you know. You’re my pretty boy.” 

“Don’t say that unless you’re ready for another round.” 

“I’m always ready for you, Reggie. I can’t get enough.”

Regulus picked you up bridal style and carried you to the bed. “Je t'aime de tout mon cœur, my cheeky girl.”

“I love you too, Regulus Arcturus Black.” You smiled and kissed his temple. “With all my heart.”

[solarsturniolo]

Overstimulated Matt hcs??? Nextrrtr

Overstimulated!Matt Headcanons

Warnings: sexual content / cursing / overstimulation / p in v / no protection / cockwarming / use of ‘mommy’ kink if you squint / sub!matt / safe word

He can normally last a good three or four rounds before he’s empty and has nothing left to give. Five was the most he’s ever done.

He looks so pretty with his head thrown back, jaw slack, back arching to lift off of the mattress.

“F-Fuck please please please p-please, yes j-just like that, o-oh god, please f-fuck please please it feels s-so good.”

He’ll rut his hips up like an animal in heat, he can’t help it, his hips have a mind of their own when he’s blissed out like this. It’s hard to control himself when you make him feel so good.

He’ll watch with hooded eyes, his lips parted and spilling out numerous whimpers and pleas. He admires the way you touch him and please him, how your thumb rubs over his tip with each stroke. He’ll try hard to watch the entire time, it was almost pornographic the way you took care of him, but he would fail each time.

As waves of pleasure flood his body and his mind, he’ll lose the ability to hold himself up. He’ll fall back against the pillows, all of his energy going into thrusting his hips in time with your strokes.

By the time he’s reached his third orgasm he’s a sensitive, whining mess. His abdomen slick with his cum. The tip of his dick painfully red and leaking with his arousal.

“I-I-I c-can’t” he pants, trying to twist his hips away. But he knows his safe word. He knows what to say to make it all stop, but he doesn’t say it. He’s addicted to the feeling.

The pain is short lived, and the pleasure that follows is stronger and more intense than the previous times. He can’t keep his composure, all he can do is pant and whine and beg for you to keep going.

“F-Fuck, it feels s-so good. Don’t stop, please don’t stop. P-Please, i’m a good boy. I’m s-so good, f-fuck.”

He’ll try so hard to suppress it, but he’ll let a few ‘mommy’s slip out as he feels himself reaching his next orgasm.

His vocabulary diminishes to single worded pleas and a string of vowels falling from his lips as he lays there under your control in pure ecstasy.

By his fourth orgasm, he’s spent. His throat dry and raspy from all of the whining and begging he had previously been doing, he’ll whimper the safe word and look up at you with glassy lustful eyes He’ll let his head fall back onto the pillows and he’ll catch his breath, hiccuping and whimpering softly as his dick throbs and aches.

He’ll blush as you praise him for how well he did. He’ll turn his head slightly to look at you, his eyelids heavy, his cheeks rosy and warm, his hair sticking to his forehead. He’ll muster up a hoarse ‘thank you’ and he’ll let himself relax as you caress him and hold him afterwards.

He’ll lean into you, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you flush against his body. He’ll leave sloppy, open mouthed kisses all over your shoulders, your collarbone, your neck, your upper chest. He’ll pant heavily. He’ll mumble a quiet “God, I love you,” while his lips brush over your skin.

You’d have to be very gentle with him. He’s very sensitive, any accidental sensation against his dick will have him whimpering and biting at your skin. Some nights he’ll insist on being cockwarmed ‘to help ease the sensitivity’.

Not that you’re one to deny cockwarming him, you just know you’ll end up waking in the morning with a mess inside of you.

He’ll wake up too and pull your body closer to him. ‘Don’t go yet, you’re so warm,’ he’ll whisper. His hands tracing over your body, memorizing every curve and dip with his fingers.

When you finally do decide to get out of bed, Matt will wince as you ease yourself off of him. He’ll watch and lick his lips as his seed drools from your entrance, your thighs already sticky and glistening with a mix of arousal and sweat.

And with that, he’ll admit that “There’s no better way to wake up in the morning.”

——————

Tags: @flowerxbunnie @mattslolita @mattsbratt69 @oversturn @simplysturn @soursturniolo @megamett44-lover @sturnybabes @jjmaybankswifes-blog @plasticferal @cupidsword @liz-stxrn @sturniolosreads @sturnioloskies @bernardsleftbootycheek @egirlshit @matthemunch44 @nonamegirlxsturniolo @chrizz333 @sturniolopowers @mattsleftnipple03 @worldlxvlys @hearts4chris @tillies33ssss @janiellasblog @creamoncreamoncream2 @breeloveschris @meg-sturniolo @ellie-luvsfics @mattsfavwh3re @lustfulslxt @braindead4l @xtravrgnoliveoil @ghostlythinggoingaround @taekwite @rootbeerworshiper @leah-loves-lilies @querenciasturniolo @whicked-hazlatwhore @lacysturniolo @sara2233445 @junnniiieee07

[every-vowel-is-o]

Monstorfockor? O profor tho torm "Ctholo posso connoossoor" mosolf

-----

god O hopo thos gots zoro roblogs ond os lost to tomo

Monsterfucker? I prefer the term "Cthulu pussy connoisseur" myself

[sugardollcurse]

hi! do you think you can do headcanons of the guys with an s/o who has a southern accent? it’d be so funny clashing with their liverpool accent

𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒍𝒆𝒔 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉 𝒂 𝒔𝒐𝒖𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒏-𝒂𝒄𝒄𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒅 𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒏𝒆𝒓

꒰ pairing ꒱ paul mccartney x reader, john lennon x reader, george harrison x reader, ringo starr x reader

꒰ note ꒱ "ya'll" vs "lads"... ANYWAY HELLO I'VE GOT A SOUTHERN ACCENT TEW!!

꒰ JOHN ꒱

“You say that again, and I swear I’ll combust. D’you know what you sound like, love?”

He loves it.

Thinks it’s sexy, hilarious, and weirdly comforting.

Calls you things like “cowpoke,”

When you talk to strangers back home, he watches with awe.

“It’s like you’re speakin’ a different language,” he says, eyes wide.

That said, the clash is constant. You say “buggy,” he says “trolley.”

You say “coke” for any soda, and he’s like, “You want what?!”

“We’re gonna start a war with the way we talk,” he jokes, grinning.

But he always listens when you speak.

And when you get homesick? He does a terrible Southern accent just to make you laugh.

“Miss yer porch yet?”

You absolutely have miscommunications.

One time you said “fixin’ to” and he genuinely thought you meant you were repairing something.

“You’re fixin’ what?”

“No, I mean, I’m about to-”

“Well why didn’t you just say that?”

But he starts borrowing your sayings, throwing them into conversations just to make you laugh. “We’re fixin’ to leave, lads. Let’s go.”

꒰ PAUL ꒱

“You say things like molasses. Sweet and slow and hard to get outta your head.”

Paul is delighted by your accent. He finds it endearing, charming, and vaguely musical.

He leans in every time you talk, just to hear the curl of your vowels.

He especially loves when you say his name, “Paul” in your voice becomes “Paaawl,” and it drives him mad.

You tease each other constantly.

“Y’all alright?”

“Youse alright?”

He lives for the affectionate little phrases you use.

“If you keep talkin’ like that, I’ll do anything you say.”

When you visit your hometown, he asks a million questions.

“Do I have to eat grits?” “Why do you all wave to each other on the street?”

He starts using your phrases just to be cute.

Says it completely wrong and gets smacked for it.

He loves when you two blend accents in everyday life.

You say “supper,” he says “tea.” You say “y’all,” he says “you lot.”

Somehow, it works.

꒰ GEORGE ꒱

“Y’know, I reckon we confuse everyone when we talk. Good.”

It takes a minute for him to adjust when you two first meet.

He’s used to thick accents, sure, but yours is like molasses and light, and sometimes he has to ask you to repeat yourself.

“Wait, what was that? No, I’m not takin’ the piss, I swear. I just didn’t catch it.”

But once he does get it, he starts noticing the subtleties, when your accent gets stronger, or softer, depending on your mood.

He loves that.

George asks genuine questions about where you’re from, what it was like, what music played on the radio, how your voice got to sound like that.

Eventually, he picks up some of your phrases, quietly, without fanfare.

He kind of stereotypes you based off what he sees in movies.

He’ll tease you a bit, especially if you start sounding extra-Southern when emotional.

“Getting riled up, are we?” he smirks. “You sound like a banjo’s about to start playin’.”

꒰ RINGO ꒱

“I dunno what you just said, but it sounded sweet... so I’ll assume it’s nice.”

Ringo is delighted by your accent from the very first word.

“You’ve got such a nice voice. It’s all... soft an’ sunny. Like a radio show I’d fall asleep to.”

He grins every time you open your mouth.

“I mean it! You could read the phone book to me.”

The two of you absolutely have conversations where neither of you understands the other for a full 30 seconds.

He's like John with the miscommunications thing.

“I said I’m fixin’ to go.”

“You’re... what now? Fixin’ a toe?”

“No, I mean I’m about to go!”

“Ohhh! Right. Mad.”

He’ll try to imitate your accent and it’s terrible.

But he’s so earnest about it you let him get away with it.

He gives you cute nicknames that sound funny in his accent

He starts inventing phrases he thinks sound southern. You threaten to kick him. He thinks it’s adorable.

“Do I get points for effort?” he asks, pulling you into a hug.

“No,” you mutter into his chest.

“That’s fair.”

taglist: @sharksausages, @wavvytin, @wimpyvamps, @finallyforgotten, @lennongirlieee, @silly-lil-lee

[unhonestlymirror]

Why did Rumi lose her voice here?

Rumi, as a vocalist, is committing several important mistakes, which lead to sudden loss of voice, coughing and/or "rattling". The voice actor has done it all on purpose, which proves their incredible control over the whole vocal apparatus. Respect.👌

No, Rumi didn't lose her voice because of the demonic blood. The marks spreading was just another symptom of the main reason for her loss of voice. And the name of the culprit is: Stress. Which leads to:

1. Loss of control over the diaphragm, back, shoulder and neck muscles. Singing is like building: to grasp a really high note, you must have a very stable "foundation", formed by your tense abdomen and back muscles under shoulder blades. Once you start thinking not about the song, losing your head in the clouds, you lose this ab tension even for a moment - poof - the note is gone and you're coughing like a Monty Python peasant, like we see in the beginning of the video.

There is a way to fix it (and it's not grape juice XD). Ab workout and push-ups. You can just turn to a wall and sing the phrase doing wall push-ups. I've heard Miley Cyrus practices a daily vocal routine right on a treadmill, but it sounds a bit extreme to me. Anyway, it's a bit strange that Bobby didn't yell "Hey, what's going on with your core, take a proper breath and sit on your diaphragm muscles!" XD because taking a rest only will Not fix it.

2. While stress makes us lose control over our bodies, it also makes some of our muscles constantly unnecessary tense. Like a part of our diaphragm (to me, it's right under the solar plexus), which sort of prevents us from taking a proper breath, makes it sharp. This gives an illusion of our core not having enough space, tenses our neck and back muscles way too much, which makes us want to push too much air through our vocal cords at once, which leads to coughing and voice rattling (somewhere around 00:50 in the video). Can be improved by 10 minutes of pilates or breathing with a heavy book on your abdomen.

3. Improper oral cavity position. Tense tongue is also the reason for voice rattling. When you're really stressed, your tongue flexes and forms an "arch", closing your larynx, preventing the sound's liberation and guides it where it shouldn't be (back at your throat, stuck in the mouth, going up through the nose, etc). To make a note full, you need to relax your tongue and make it flat (which Rumi does only when she gets mad, lol, because that's how our vocal apparatus naturally works. If you fail to feel the proper sound, you need to get really angry, and you'll notice the difference.)

Rumi also makes her voice so full and thick thanks to making the vowels a bit round, like in academic vocals. Which is really cool but... It doesn't work with really high notes!!! In K-pop, like in every pop singing, you pronounce every word "with a smile". Aka, you open your mouth to say "A" and you say "O"; you lift and stretch your upper lip, pulling the corners of your mouth outward. Rumi can't take that note at first, and why? Because she doesn't feel like smiling.

4. It's really important not only to control your micro-mimics as a vocalist, but also to be psychologically happy and satisfied with your current state. Only emotionally stable, experienced in life people, confident in themselves and in those close to them, or people who have nothing to lose, can sing a happy, energetic song when they feel like crying cause the world is falling apart. When you sing, it's 10 times harder to hide your true feelings.

Obviously, if your job is to kill someone everyday, it will overstrain unnecessary muscles and make your blood pure cortisol, which will have a huge negative effect on your vocal apparatus. In fact, combining daily deadly combat with public singing is not a great idea for someone who doesn't udergo daily psychotherapy. For Rumi, it was just a matter of time when such an insane routine would lower her immunity, leading to demonic birth marks spread. Still, she could have had it way worse. She could have gotten viral laryngitis. Now, that would be deadly for the new release.

For Rumi, as someone with a lot of money, it would not hurt to do monthly blood test check-ups. Maybe, a week or two with B group vitamins would lower her stress.

Proper nutrition, proper sleep, proper physical activity and, of course, proper psychological support are the foundation for our mental and physical health. If there's a lack of any of them - no magic pill will help. Sometimes, constant stress makes us lose control over all of these four aspects, dragging us to this neverending cycle of worsening. You need to stop for a moment to be kind and truthful to yourself.

[pradapussy]

Don’t Hide Behind Your Rage

part 2

tags: dead dove do not eat , bloodplay , sub!remmick , dom!reader , smut , drug use maybe , lmk if im missing any.

A/N: Sorry for the delay, and also for possibly double posting. I haven’t written in a very long time, and I worry I sound corny and overindulgent. But WHO GAF!! My horoscope says i should treat myself more anyway.

SUMMARY:

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

The walk to your cottage is brief. You follow a narrow path through the woods, its trodden soil barely visible beneath the intense moonlight. You know every turn, every root, but Remmick still clings to you. His hands settle on your hips, guiding you as if you might get lost. You scoff, but he mistakes it for a sigh—and lets his hands wander, slow and possessive.

"Remmick, slow down. It’s too dark, and you’re going too fast." You let a whine slip into your voice.

He pulls you closer. "Don’t worry, duck, I got you."

Duck. The vowel drags—rounder than it should be. Almost an o. It snags in your mind like a thread pulling loose. His accent has been slipping all evening, somewhere between a Southern drawl and something that lilts. British, maybe?

He’s more of a talker than you initially thought. At the bar, he seemed to keep to himself, nursing a barely touched drink and observing the other patrons like a vulture eyeing a carcass. When he joined you on the patio, he offered nothing more than pleasantries and a light for your cigarette. Now he’s laying it on thick with compliments and charming stories. His hands finding unholy places doesn’t help your concentration. You’d be smitten if your mind weren’t clouded by a desire for violence.

That desire makes you grabby, too. You grope his built bicep and plant kisses all over his hands and face, avoiding those needy lips. You know that pair of lips is a death sentence.

The sounds of two lovers kissing down a trail are interrupted by a question. "Do you always walk girls home you barely know? Or am I special?"

"So special," he murmurs. Long fingers trace up your neck, the prickle of talons extending from their beds sending anticipation through your body.

The outline of your cabin begins to peek through the trees. You refocus. "So, Remmick... where are you from?"

Your question gives him pause. His body tenses, punctuating the moment. He breathes into your neck, hot and wet. Is he drooling?

"Oh, you know, around?" The end of the statement curls upward like a question.

"That’s not an answer," you say flatly, pulling away. His hands reach after your body, the heat you gave him dissipating like he's cold-blooded. "You’ve got all these stories about traveling the country, yet you don’t look like you’ve aged a day."

The cabin draws closer. The packed path turns loose, softer, blending with the forest floor.

"I’m blushing," he says with mock modesty. "I’m from everywhere nowadays. My home is the earth, and I am tasked to wander it for all time."

His arms lift wide, as if praising some god you don't recognize. The delivery unnerves you, like the ramblings of a zealot. You walk backward, almost at your cottage, taking his hands.

"Well, take a break from wandering tonight. I’m sure my place has room for both of us." The shakiness in your voice is barely masked by flirtation. Whether he notices or not is unclear. Your stiff shoulders shift awkwardly as he spins you, pulling you close. It’s almost romantic. Bodies pressed together in an impromptu dance. You allow yourself to swoon, just a little.

"That’s kind of you." You shuffle up to your porch, arms tangled together, Remmick in tow, lips brushing the nape of your neck. His chest siphons the warmth radiating from your skin. You spin away from him as you unlock your door, movements graceful and calculated. You step squarely into your cottage.

His face tightens as he stops at the threshold.

Your faces are dangerously close as he leans over, careful not to cross inside. "Darlin’, what gives?" He smirks. A small vein under his eye twitches.

"What do you mean, Remmick?" you ask, your voice sweet, teasing. "Something you need?" You pull off your coat, letting the cool air hit your neck. You crane it just slightly as you watch the smile drop from his face.

"Well, Con," he says, the name just as artificial on his tongue as it feels to you. "It’d be impolite to barge into a lady’s home."

"What a gentleman." Your sarcasm bounces off him. He peers past you. The cabin is tidy, well-furnished, but the scent of dust lingers. A tweed couch and a mounted bobcat head clash with your otherwise bookish and naive presentation. He cocks a brow.

"Do a lot of hunting?" he asks.

You close the door slightly, left arm hidden behind it as you lean on the frame. "Sometimes. But that," you nod to the taxidermy, "That was all my uncle. I just keep the place warm in the off-season."

A corner of his mouth quirks up. The silence stretches. "It’s October," he says slowly. His accent has shifted entirely. "Hunting season’s well underway."

His vowels are rounder, longer now. His r's linger like echoes. And his eyes are alight with fascination. "Where’s your uncle now?"

Damn.

He reaches for you. His hand stops just short of your face, once manicured digits now sharper and more dangerous. "I’d like to meet the man of the house before I come in."

"How gentlemanly. Guys like you are rare nowadays." You lean out from the doorframe, right hand bunching his collar. "You’re not from around here, are you?"

"You got me," he says, head dipping down to kiss your arm. "But I get the feeling you’re not local either."

His teeth graze your skin, leaving a trail of wet, hungry kisses. He stops just where your arm meets the doorframe. Burning red eyes meet yours, eggshell fangs just brushing the line of threat.

"We’ve got each other figured out," you muse, cupping his drooling face. "Why don’t you come in?"

SLAM.

Bodies tumble into the abandoned cottage and the door slams shut.The quiet of the cabin is disrupted by a ringing click. Except, to Remmick’s surprise, it's your form straddling his. His chest is pressed into the floor as your shin depresses his upper back. Claws fight to find flesh to tear into, but are given no purchase, bound behind him. A pair of silk wrapped manacles glints in the light of the moon. You’ve caught yourself a vampire.

“Naughty boy, you could have cut me up.” Your own voice has changed. In fact, you don’t seem like the shy and flighty Connie that Remmick has been toying with all night. Your voice is steadier now, strong, sultry, hateful.

You rise, and on your way up you grab the back of his shirt and throw him back against the wall. He sits on the floor, looking at you as the door mysteriously slams shut.

“What are you?” He asks, eyes half-lidded reeling from the impact.

The feeling of dark thick blood spatters on his lips as you bleed onto him. A bronze dagger bites into your palm. It stings like a kiss.

“Lots of things, lover. A whore, a murderer, a poacher…” Remmick’s pupils obscure his irises, his vision going blurry as your blood slides down his throat. “A witch.” Your eyes, distinctly human, glint with dark intentions. Whispered words fill his head, the language hard to decipher. Greek? Latin? Something farther away? All he knows is that it’s casting a spell. He’s bound, struggling, and most importantly, he’s hard.

🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟🌟

A/N: I pinkie prommie that part 3 will be smutty and be up soon. There will be some dubcon elements and drug use this is a dead dove fic, at least to me lol.

[every-vowel-is-o]

tho skoloton opprocootoon doy fonboso os doong roblog of yoo'ro o troo bonor

the skeleton appreciation day fanbase is dying reblog if you're a true boner