#GIT ME FUCKING FOAMING AT THE MOUTH

[satoruoo]

jesus christ

🪷 — A ROYAL AFFAIR . . . THE SCANDAL OF THE CHILDHOOD CONSORT

LADY DRIA WRITES . . . ˚ ༘ *

🪷 dearest gentle reader, in matters of love and longing, prince satoru comes to the realization that love may only visit the fearless, whilst prince suguru comes to terms with the taste of hope on his tongue... 5k words.

🪷 prince gojo x reader x prince geto jjk regency/royal au, romeo & juliet esque balcony meeting, fruit flavored jealousy.

CHAPTER TWO. . . ˚ ༘ *

GRAPE FLAVORED.

Sleep eludes you tonight.

Two nights have passed since the first feast and despite Areta’s consistent chatter of appearances and well needed fun time for a lady of your stature — you’ve chosen not to attend the others for the time being.

You’re assured that Satoru’s presence at the feasts and balls in between remain slim to none unless called upon by his mother, a notion that you would be grateful for under any other circumstance to dodge the question everyone at the palace court whispers behind your back—

( why hasn’t the prince married her yet? )

—but you miss him.

Embarrassingly so.

With palms outstretched, you cradle your weight against the concrete rail of the terrace adjoined to your bedroom. A wisp of wind cooling your cheeks, realization settling in.

You miss Satoru — your best friend, your person.

You miss when he’d sleepily stumble into your alcove by the palace’s west wing and lay dramatically before you, begging you to paint him or at least sketch the width of his shoulders ; begging you to 'immortalize the omnipotent beauty of the realm’s strongest' — his words not yours.

The way he’d linger by your side, laugh at your jokes and make even cruder ones of his own—

This yearning settled deep within your bones akin to that of a grieving widow doesn’t feel the way it should feel when one misses a friend.

( satoru does not yearn for you in this way, you know it. )

It’s hot, a boiling pit within your stomach and it never leaves your veins—

—not until two nights ago, that is.

Two nights ago when he reappeared.

“Your highness?”

Dearest gentle reader,

in these delicate matters

of love and longing—

“My lady,” Suguru calls out in a similarly hushed fashion. “You're awake.”

Down below the terrace, he stands on the trimmed lawn in his sleep trousers and shirt, dark hair tousled and eyes half lidded — you would've laughed at him if the air between you two hadn't settled with something else.

“I couldn't sleep,” you respond, watching with bated breath as he steps forward, one foot resting atop a raised brick in the mud, eyes trained above, where you stand.

“You often take late strolls, your grace?”

Suguru laughs, breathy, soft. “Your grace,” he repeats your words, mockingly. A few dark strands fall over his eyes as he tilts his head back to look up at you. “You’d think having me in my sleeping trousers alone would be enough for you to discard all formalities—”

( right, this encounter is improper. )

“Forgive me, Suguru,” leaves your lips in correction. You lean further over the terrace rail, body bent in near half to gaze down at him. “It isn't often I speak with men while in my dressing gown.”

“Dear God, I hope not.”

A laugh of your own breaks through and he joins in unison.

So far, and yet so close.

A soft silence soon passes over the two of you under the moonlight.

Suguru, who’d been away for so long, could make years of absence feel null — as if he’d been residing here with you all this time. As if he had been keeping your company in tow, as if the breath of your laugh belonged to him.

As if he hadn't left you.

“I wondered,” Suguru breaks the silence, pale fist wrapping around a stray vine along the wall. “If I would get the chance to speak with you like this.” He whispers, but even from so high above, you hear him clearly in the night's silence.

You know what he means. Just us two. You’ve wondered the same, albeit too often through the years.

Why didn't you write to me? You want to ask. Why didn't you come to visit? Follows next in your brain. Did you move on? Did you fall in love?

( have you been happy away from me? )

��Did you read my letters?”

—often we forget

just how greedy

the heart can be.

“All of them,” Suguru breathes, almost like it hurts to say.

As if it pains him physically to remember how he tore the wax seals open with his teeth, licked the flap of the envelopes and nearly cried when it tasted of you—

“More than once, more than I ought to.”

Suguru grips the vine tighter in his fist, stilling himself and invoking restraint. This isn't his place, not anymore.

If he had it his way, he’d be on the terrace with you, and he’d tell you every thought he had about each word you’d written, with his hands, his teeth, his tongue.

“Suguru. . .”

It reminds you too much of your childhood.

Often you would chase after Satoru and Suguru.

Always both, never one.

And though you knew your fate as a Princess — who would marry a crowned Prince — your foolish heart, so greedy and naive. . .

“I have my obligations.” It leaves your lungs like a lie, something you won't even begin to believe.

You're betrothed to Satoru. It's set in stone.

But the both of you know that's not why you're saying no. “The solstice ends in a week and you will be—” He'll be gone again.

“I’ll not wait a whole week.” Suguru’s voice is still quiet, but even you can't deny the raw hunger behind his words. “If I apologize and say that I wish—”

“You will do no such thing,” you warn, shakily. “Not now, not. . . because of this.” Not because in nearly every way that matters, you’re Satoru’s.

( i wish i told you. i wish i wasn't too late. i wish )

Suguru wished he had stayed.

He wished he had made do on the promises he made to you as children and been at your side, not just as your friend but as the man you would marry—

All those things he had sworn upon his own heart. . .

“Who’ll marry you if you spend your days swinging a sword and broadening your shoulders?”

“And if I say I will, what then?” Suguru had scoffed at your cousin back then. At the mere age of twelve.

“Aren’t there girls your age you can follow around? I don’t care if you’re a princess, we’re not friends.”

“Don't be so crass, Satoru.” Suguru grumbled, grabbing ahold of your hand and tugging you forward the moment you fell behind. “She's my friend.”

( and yet. )

Lady Dria writes : Prince Geto to assume royal estate in the North following rumored betrothal to mystery woman! Is this the end of our beloved royal trio?

( duty came first. )

“I don’t know why you’d believe he’d ever want to court you.”

“I’ll let you keep your tongue,” Satoru scoffed, stepping between you and one of the ladies at court the day after Suguru left. “But address the Princess so loosely again and I swear—”

That night, you cried in the confines of Satoru’s private chambers, your fingers bleeding ink and red wax staining the front of your dress.

What was her name? How long had Suguru known it was arranged? Why didn't he tell you? If you ask him now, will he tell you? Is he ever coming back?

Does he love her?

And it was then, when you didn't have any more words to write, nothing left to say to Suguru that he might not have known, did Satoru tell you,

“I’m here.”

And you believed him.

“Name—” Suguru calls to you and you shake your head, straightening your posture and leaning off the terrace rail. “I wanted to say it before, you were gorgeous at the first solstice feast. . . Still are, even after so long.”

Suguru bites back the words he really wanted to say. I dreamt of you, you look the same.

“You flatter me,” it leaves you breathily, and the beats of your heart elude your better judgement.

“Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.” Suguru's words hold an undertone that’s lost on you in the moment, yet still you smile at him.

He doesn't see the expression on your face when you turn away, craning his neck to find something— some inclination that he has a chance—

“Goodnight, your highness.” In your voice he finds it, that small sliver of nostalgia, and his heart grasps it in earnest.

Beloved reader,

I fear I must also

impart the knowledge—

Satoru stops dead in his tracks, a single peach colored rose falling from his palm.

—that there are always

three sides to a story.

From across the way his cerulean eyes lock with Suguru’s darker ones, and there is nothing to be said, as they both know what the other is thinking.

You are not worthy of her.

Morning gives way to the first of three hunting days.

As per the terms of the competition, all commoners go ahead before nobles to keep the proceedings fair.

Satoru sits still atop his horse, cerulean orbs downcast and flitting through the mass of bodies in the crowd riding ahead of him.

“Have you and Suguru finally fought?”

Satoru’s eyes widen for a brief moment, turning his head to the side and loosening his grip on the horse’s reins, his mother standing at his side, caressing the mare’s mane with jewel adorned fingers.

“I’ve no idea what you mean, mother.”

The older woman scoffs, the horse leaning eagerly into the touch of her palm.

“When you and Suguru were but meek babes, you two had your first fight you know.” Satoru’s mother smiles a little at the memory.

Back then, both boys were merely toddlers and squabbling with tiny fists over nothing but a simple rattle.

Neither would concede to the other.

Even so young, they fought as they still do to this day. As rivals, as best friends.

“Did I win?” Satoru asks, lifting his gaze to the scenery of dawn before him, drowning out the eager shouts of men and women alike, placing their bets for the competition to come.

“No,” she responds and Satoru’s lips curl into a small frown. “The rattle you fought over snapped in two, ‘toru.”

This isn't about a rattle, is it?

“I won't concede, if that’s what you’ve come to ask of me.” He affirms, and his mother shakes her head, stifling a laugh.

“She isn't a rattle, nor is this a battlefield—” Satoru’s mother is observant, painfully so. “I asked your father to arrange the match myself for the sole purpose that I know you care for her, and I would not subject you to a fate not of your choosing—”

( she can choose, whereas a rattle could not. that is the sole difference is it not? )

“But you would have me sit here and let her choose him?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

Doting reader,

our beloved Prince Satoru

has yet to realize—

“I did not raise a selfish fool. Maybe a proud fool but not a selfish one—” She smacks the side of his leg to which he immediately recoils with a pout on his lips. “You never win love, you earn it.”

As if love can be akin to fleeting favor.

“I am selfish,” Satoru confirms, not shy of shame though. “She would hate me for it, if she doesn't already.” He hangs his head for a brief moment, a puff of a sigh leaving his parted lips. “But can you blame me?”

Satoru is many things.

But not blind.

How can he tell you that he cares for you, that he’s fallen helplessly and carelessly in love with you knowing that he’d be imprisoning you to a fate he loathes?

Whispers behind your back the more you are seen with him or without, the more he puts off the betrothal, the more he leaves your side the more he hopes you’ll learn you don't want him—

That this life, at this palace is less than you deserve.

And yet. . .

—that love is not

a war you march into

of your own accord.

He’s selfish.

“Have you asked her what she wants?”

No, because he’s afraid you’ll say what he wants you to. That you don't want him.

That by the hour you grow more miserable the more he keeps you waiting, tethered by a short thread just waiting to snap—

Satoru convinced himself that if he waited just a little longer, that maybe you’d grow tired and snap the thread all together in one go.

And then the marriage wouldn't happen, you’d contest it and he'd agree. He could keep you close like before, without breaking your heart, even at the cost of his.

“Satoru.” His mother warns, deep azure boring into the side of his face. “That debutant at the dinner—” God forbid she did raise a selfish fool, who would selfishly self sabotage—

“I never touched her.”

“You say that and then you do these things as if I'm to be convinced you've changed.” His mother sighs, as if history has come around to repeat itself. “You don't even realize you're clutching your end too tight.”

And you’ll break if he doesn't let go.

“I can't tell her.”

“You must.”

Who is he to condemn you to the life of a Queen?

In the same way his father did his mother?

That spark in your eyes will go dim, and he’ll watch you give yourself to your duty and it’ll kill him, even worse than you not wanting him will.

He’d prefer you hate him altogether.

“Are you happy with father?”

Darling reader,

perhaps love

only visits the fearless.

“Your father is a good man.”

Satoru would rather die by his own hand before he hears those words from your lips too.

“My lady?”

You visibly wince, cowering behind one of the marble columns in the ballroom.

The few chandeliers that provide light do little to help your situation as Areta’s voice had already notified a few of the dancing nobles of your presence — to which you were met with confused stares.

“Please, keep your voice down.” You hush her, sliding around to the other side of the column where Areta stands, eyes wide and curious.

Areta’s eyebrows furrow in confusion, her lips parting, about to question your odd behavior.

You're hiding. Or at least trying to.

You had no choice in coming to tonight's festivities, as you were already knee deep in your pre-arranged afternoon nap when your dearest mother barged in and asked ( read : demanded ) that you attended tonight's ball to quote en quote ‘keep up appearances.’

With much practiced skill, you’ve eluded Satoru and Suguru by barring yourself in your room recently.

But, cowering behind a column won't get you far, right?

“I don't think hiding is what I mean when I encouraged you to have fun, my lady.” Areta speaks hushedly, joining you behind the column, two full glasses clutched between her fingers. “And if it’s the Prince who you—”

“Oh, spare me, which one?” You chuckle, tilting your head back onto the marble with an eye roll.

“You’ve had trouble with Prince Geto too?” Areta gasps, though not shocked, the young girl's eyes gloss over with curiosity — ever the devoted gossip.

( perhaps if you stay here and sip drinks with Areta, no one will even notice your presence ! )

Devoted reader,

our protagonist

has a pattern of

terrible judgement.

“Hardly trouble, I’m afraid.” You take one of the glasses from Areta’s hands and bring the rim to your nose — grape juice. How fitting. “Trouble would be better, I can handle trouble.”

What you can't handle is both your childhood friends driving you mad with feelings you never even knew existed.

One who torments you with mixed signals and provokes new feelings in the pit of your stomach.

And another who stirs and awakens old feelings inside of you that you thought were long lost.

“Well, I doubt trouble is what you need presently, my lady.” Areta chuckles a little, her voice soon trailing off as she takes a sip of her own drink. “Oh! You wore them—”

“I thought perhaps,” You murmur, more to yourself, fingers fiddling with the edge of your silk gloves – the same black ones from a few nights ago. “I’d wear them once more before I set them aside.”

Now that you think about it, Satoru never said anything about the dress or the gloves — not that it matters to you anyway.

Faithful reader,

it matters.

Too much.

“They're quite beautiful, as are all Prince Satoru’s gifts.” Areta affirms with a soft smile as you drink from your glass, leaning off the column and straightening your posture. “But, I thought he usually had more of an affinity for lace—”

“I was called?”

You jump just a little, turning immediately to meet the source of the intrusion, to which you bump straight into Satoru, spilling the contents of your cup on both of you.

“I’m sorry—” “Grape juice—”

You take a few steps back, immediately crouching to retrieve your fallen cup, but Areta beats you to it, not shy of shooting you a quick wink before she scurries off into the crowd. Deviant.

“You don't like the wine tonight?” Satoru hums, outstretching a hand to pull you to your feet, and you hesitate for a moment.

Only for a moment.

“I didn't think drinking would be wise,” You take his hand, silk sliding soft against his awaiting palm. You don't miss the way his shoulders tighten. “And grape juice—”

“Is your preferred drink of choice, I know.” He finishes, cerulean orbs gazing into your very soul.

You can feel the thrum of his pulse speeding up against your fingertips, calling you, like a siren song. . .

( you should've stayed in bed tonight. )

Admittedly, Satoru was never the type to drink either. He could never hold his alcohol, hated the taste, even if it was just a drop in fermented fruit.

Grape juice was his drink of choice.

And then it became yours.

“I’m sorry, again.” It leaves your lips in a hurry as you look away from him, pulling your hand back as soon as you're upright. “My head must've been somewhere else. . .” Last night on the terrace. Your mind remains there.

Is Suguru going to magically appear too?

You furiously rub a fist over the purple stain forming at the front of your gown. “I need to change my dress—”

“It's not your fault, silk can be slippery.” Satoru bites back a grunt, bringing a palm to your elbow as he guides you off to the side, towards the adjacent corridor. “Come, I’ll help.”

Silk.

( what's his problem with the gloves? )

You follow his lead, a sigh escaping your lips as you both come upon the nearest alcove in the dim light.

You can barely see the velvet cushioning of the sofa tucked away neatly in the back.

The soft moonlight falling through the open window brings a sense of calm when you take a seat, eyes catching on the violet smudge against Satoru’s pearl white vest.

Often in your youth between balls, you, Satoru and Suguru would sneak off to the nearest alcove you could find, pry the window open and sit together on the sill—

“Your vest—” He follows your gaze as he bends a knee, kneeling at your feet casually.

Satoru presses his middle finger over the damp fabric, and unabashedly sticks the digit into his mouth. “Mhm, that's grape juice.”

“Satoru!” You scold.

He only laughs, strands of snowy hair bouncing with each shake of his shoulders. It's a very Satoru-like laugh, but there's something else you can't quite place—

“It's just a juice spill, I’ll live.” Satoru’s smile dips into his cheeks. Dimples. “Hated this stupid thing anyway, I should be thanking you for ridding me of it,” he murmurs, rolling his shoulders back to slip the vest off, muscles taut against his shirt with each movement of his arms.

“Hey— hey—!” You raise your palms to push against his chest to stop him, heat rising at the back of your neck. “Don't do that—” It comes out too late because Satoru is in the middle of rolling the vest off his arms. "You can't just undress—"

The way Satoru only leans forward, shades of azure searching your gaze for something, it's like he's daring you to not look away as he slips the vest off his arms bent behind him.

( why did you run away from me? )

You hold his gaze, the longest you have in days, manicured nails digging into the fabric of his shirt.

( why didn't you give chase? )

“Name,” he whispers, as if he’s holding back, but he refuses to look away from you. Not right now.

“Don't look at me like that, ‘toru. . .” You whisper, and it takes everything inside you not scream at him, to say everything you've been wanting to say, everything that's burning your insides.

( don't look at me as if you know desire. )

“Name.” Satoru calls your name, firmer this time, just as his vest drops to the floor behind him.

His knees burn, or maybe his eyes — he doesn't know, his mouth has gone dry and oxygen eludes him.

He's not how he was in your youth.

Satoru slides a pale hand up to grasp one of your palms against his chest, pads of his fingers hooking under the dark silk, and in one fluid motion, he's pulling the glove off your hand.

“That's disrespectful,” you breathe, voice barely audible, the echo of classical instruments sauntering through the vacant corridor. “You can't have two times the favor in any competition—”

“It's not your favor I want.” Satoru grasps the silk in his palm, biting back a grimace.

I’m jealous, he wants to say. Instead he leans closer, and without letting go of your bare hand, he’s aiming to toss the glove over your shoulder and out the window.

“Satoru—!” You retract your hand from his chest to paw at the glove, trying to get it back, and his breath tickles the skin of your throat, his eyes looking down at you, only this time a few shades darker — royal blue, cobalt.

Perhaps, silken gloves suit you, my lady.

( so that's what suguru meant. . . )

“Are you—”

“Jealous? Me? Never.” Satoru rasps the words out like a cancer, his heart seizing and doing somersaults against his ribcage.

“I have to commend Suguru though, the North does make the finest silk. . . Any lady would be glad for such a gift,” he whispers. Even praising Suguru is like an act of surrender to him.

“I wasn't going to say jealous, my Prince.” Your brain melts to a mush of questions.

Satoru isn't jealous because of you— no, that can't be right— he’d be jealous if someone bet on the same horse race as him and won—

( you’re thinking too much, name. )

It's the assessment of his audacity that has the back of your neck heated.

Satoru bites down on his bottom lip, and for a second he squeezes his eyes shut.

Everything burns, it's a miracle he can still see straight.

“What were you going to say?”

You swallow, hard.

Satoru’s face is so close to yours that every word he speaks reverberates through your being like electricity. “I was going to ask if you were okay.” A half truth, really. "Your vest is stained—"

First, you were going to ask if he’d lost his damn mind.

“God, name.” Satoru grunts, dropping the glove dramatically onto the velvet sofa, instead moving his hand to cage you between his arms, his hips against the outerskirts of your dress. “You don't even know what you're doing. . .”

His lips curve into a smile, dimpled cheeks staring back at you.

“Satoru—” It’s innocent enough, the way he leans forward enough to press the side of his face against your cheek.

It’s innocent enough, the way his hand grips your hip, firm and reassuring, the way he’d guide you on horseback. You only pretended not to be good so he'd teach you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he breathes against the shell of your ear, his lips soft against your burning skin.

“Do you even know all the ways a woman can be seduced?” It's a sultry tease that has your nails digging into the sofa under you.

Silk gloves, he wants to say. Men seduce women with silk.

Satoru dips his head in a swift motion, his mouth planting a ghost of a kiss to the corner or your lips, and his dimples deepen when your head moves forward to chase his taste, something you’ve never had but crave with every inch of your being.

“Satoru.” You whisper, desperate. He hates himself for wanting this so bad.

He doesn't make you wait long as he presses his lips to yours, it's rough, hungry — he sighs into your mouth, shoulders drooping like he’s finally found what he's been searching for all his life on your tongue.

He’s kissed you before, on the cheek, side of your neck, corner of your mouth — tasted the salty tears of your youth, licked his lips and drank in the remnants of your flavored lipgloss.

He was too young then, too foolish, too afraid to want more.

Satoru’s tongue slips past your parted lips, teeth on wet pink muscle and a shiver runs down his spine when he tastes you, truly tastes you for the first time.

Grape flavored and starving.

Your hand reaches for the collar of his shirt to tug him closer, to pull him deeper into you.

Slender fingers wrap around your wrist and your body trembles, unravelling, unravelling for him until—

He stops.

“Name,” Satoru breathes it in a broken whine, lips wet and swollen with you, each exhale he makes tickles your chin. “We have to stop.”

He’s made a mistake. A foolish one.

“‘Toru, it's okay,” you urge him, moving to pull him closer but his grip on your wrist tightens, keeping you still.

A frown forms on your lips when you see his gaze downcast, unable to meet you, and that gleam in his eyes — guilt.

“We should stop.”

Darling reader,

we all know

how the saying goes. . .

“Why?” The way it leaves your mouth so innocently, so small, in the same tone you had when you were little, chasing behind him no matter how he tried to leave you behind—

( why won't you look at me? )

It makes Satoru hate himself more.

“I’m a gentleman.” Satoru clears his throat and rises to his feet, folding his vest haphazardly over his arm. “You're a lady— a Princess— I can't just. . .”

“You can't just what?” Satoru doesn't recognize the bite behind your voice, the thread he kept toying at with razor blades finally thinning out, ready to snap and break apart. “You can't take me in a dark corridor as you do the other girls?”

He sputters.

It is that. But it's also so much more.

“Princess—”

“No.”

Nothing has changed. And you're not stupid, maybe slow, but never stupid. This isn't about a grape juice spill. It isn't about titles or being respectable.

( it’s about the three of you. )

Is it jealousy? Is this all about a stupid pair of gloves? About his pride? Why? Because he won't let Suguru win even if it means—

“Look at me.” Satoru is slouching in front of you, holding out his palm for you to take. He’s sincere, raw. “I swear to you, the way I feel about you cannot be likened to a secret in a corridor.”

( and yet, you always wished you were one of those girls with him in a dark corridor. )

. . . it's all downhill

from the first kiss.

“Your excuses again—” Satoru steps back when he feels silk stinging against his outstretched palm in a slap of rejection.

The glove he pulled off your hand, the glove Suguru gave to you, falls to the floor.

“And what even is it that you feel?” Your tone reverberates through his bones and Satoru’s considering finding purchase on his knees, where he’d show you what exactly he feels, he'd drink you in, drown in you and be done with the aftermath. “Do you enjoy this? Making me feel like a fool while you stay the bachelor—”

“This engagement was never my choice!” Satoru’s tone raises an octave, brows dipped and frown deep. “And I never—”

That's not what he means to say, not now.

( i never touched another since i laid awake thinking of you. )

“And that's why you won't touch me? Because I'm not your choice, I'm your duty?”

“God, ofcourse I want to touch you—” A guttural groan leaves him then, a rumble in the back of his throat. “If you would just understand—”

He’s a gentleman. Is what he says every waking moment he spends lying to himself that this is for you, that this is for your own good. . .

Because he knows—

( if he touched you now, he’d never stop. )

“Even now you can't say it.” How long have you known Satoru? How long have you been by his side, or rather, chased after him while he remained out of your reach? How long— “That you want me.”

It's almost comical, the way Satoru’s breath hitches in the back of his throat and the palm at his side forms a fist.

He wants you.

“Say it.”

Tell me you want me, tell me it’s me, tell me you feel what I feel too—

“I can't.”

You don't deserve this, I can't give you what you want, hate me so it hurts a little less—

You rise to your feet, the grape juice bleeding into your dress forgotten. “I always thought you were the bravest person to ever live. . .” The strongest. Prince Satoru, the realm’s omnipotent son — “You’ve fought in all these wars and you’ve fought and fought—”

Ever since you were children.

Satoru was every bit a soldier, princely and polished to perfection with his blade. He’s never lost a battle, you're sure, poets write about him.

( what does it feel like to be fought for? )

“Why won't you fight for me, Satoru?”

Satoru Gojo is many things.

Selfish, spoiled, strong. Greedy even.

He fights for what he wants and he remains determined to win no matter what.

But when it comes to you. . .

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

Sorry, I’m so selfish. Sorry, I don't want you to leave. Sorry, it should be me and not him.

Sorry, I'm paralyzed in love with you.

He’s not asking you to stay.

This is what he wanted, right? For you to hate him — who is he kidding, you wouldn't hate him even if tried to make you — for you to realize he isn't what you need.

“You won't even give me one reason to stay.” Your throat hurts, you can still taste his tongue in your mouth, grape and mint, mint and grape. “Of all things, I never thought you to be such a damn coward—”

“I’m the Prince, for fucks sake!”

Your lips part then shut again, and Satoru takes a step back. This barrier between you two was always there, wasn't it? Invisible, cold to the touch.

Don't question me, I'm the Prince, he had said the day you asked him why, why can't I come play with you and Suguru?

( why won't you let me in? what are you so afraid of? )

“Then if it pleases the Prince,” It comes out shakier, in a voice that's barely your own.

Satoru picks it up before you do, you sound like a child — the same way you used to when he left you behind. “I’d like to be dismissed.”

The Prince.

Not your Prince.

( does a heart make noise when it shatters? )

“No,” Satoru steps forward, and you step back. It's like a sick game now, and with every thrum of his heart he swears he’ll die. “Name— just. . . no.”

He’s selfish. He knows that.

After this you’ll run off to Suguru won't you? And he’ll be there with open arms and words as soft as silk—

Satoru would know. Because he did the same thing once Suguru left.

But that was before it was this, before this was everything, before—

“Then forgive my defiance to the crown tonight.” You murmur and turn away, the glove is left behind.

Satoru is left behind.

You never win love, you earn it.

L’Incomparable is hardly the jewel on Satoru’s mind when you walk away from him for the second time.

( before he knew he loved you. )

🪷 taglist : @angelshimaa @yunymphs @todorokies @satocidal @maeby-cursed @rinniessance @cinnaboonn @shegetsburned @starry-grace2 @selfishdoll @shuuennovirche @wishmemel @riaki @yazzzmints @aphroditisxc @gojorbit @izakyun @satoruoo @irisxyphium @zwtari @/lollipop974 @r0ckst4rjk @softgirlgonehaywire @lilvampirina @brianmaysclog @/baepsays @xxemmarldxx @/adoraspace @/hikaorinx @/lanecass @/theloveofnagiseishiroslife @/bajbbq @/jiraiyaisgod69 @/gojo-sunglasses @/in4rizaki @/chimsblogg @xkittiecatx @lordbugs @soultoru @ladytamayolover @the1exiled @pasta-warlord @drogonfruitzen @sexeyess @siren776 @v0ctin @scinclaitnoir @gugggu6gvai @shartnart1 @nnanamii @vanevafu @lillmyg @nikitopia @altyx @beaniedoodz @fubukeys @simpforramenboy @sinnerstardoll @coco-cat @melancholia-k

[bridenore]

HD Suds Fest 2023

Here are some of my favorite fics from @hdsudsfest 2023. Listed in alphabetical order.

Celestial (paint me like one of your starscapes) by @thecouchsofa [30k]

Draco needs a partner for an art project. The only catch is, they have to be magically compatible with him for the paints to work properly. He’s fairly certain that he knows who his partner will need to be, he’s just not sure that he wants to admit it.

Draco L Malfoy (the L stands for legs) by @starquestingfordrarry [1k]

Harry could spend the rest of his life in the embrace of Draco Malfoy’s legs. If he was lucky, he would.

Strawberry Kisses by @peachydreamxx [3k]

“I’m extremely naked right now.” Potter says, in a way that suggests it’s a crime that Draco isn’t. Draco nods, painfully aware that his eyes are also mapping over the planes of Potter’s body, lingering a little too long on the plush, slick-haired thighs that are streaming with foam. The thought consumes Draco that he’ll happily dry Potter with a towel then proceed to soak him with his tongue instead, but he’ll keep that little musing to himself. “Yes, you are.”

Take My Pure (Wash It All Away) by @peachydreamxx [16k]

The only thing Draco is good at is using his mouth. The only thing Harry Potter is good at is everything, apparently. (The one where both of them are total sluts for each other and they don't care who knows it)

What a Fucking Git by @lqtraintracks [2k]

For all anybody else knows, Quidditch stars Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy still hate each other....

I hope you enjoy these stories as much as I did!

[omegawolverine]

Braid Me a Home

summary:

"Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.” 

or

A story about the Sleepy Bois being family, told through braids.

word count: 2.5k

warnings: child neglect, hurt/no comfort, canonical character death, implied/referenced mental health issues (like it’s obvious but there isn’t much detail to it), brief blood mentions (ik this fic sounds kinda angsty as hell but its not? imo its light angst)

a/n: first dream smp fic and im ALREADY projecting? christ. anyways. go easy on me pls this is far from my best work i just havent written a fic in like 5 months (more if you dont count the fucking chat fics) mm also i may have posted this like a week ago on ao3 just to test the waters and its already gotten way more comments and kudos than any fic of mine usually gets this early on so hopefully tumblr enjoys it too :]

—

When Wilbur Soot was born, he came out crying, as most babies do. Covered in vernix and blood, he weighed just barely above the seven-pound mark, gasping out sharp cries that only a parent could truly stand, or worse—love. Though he was the second baby born into the family that day, he was fussed over far more than he would ever be again.

Technoblade, on the other hand, had barely made a sound when he came out, a trail of blood smeared across his forehead, almost as if it was meant to be there. He made small noises that were more akin to confused mumbles, weakly grasping at his father’s hair when he was eventually passed on for the second child to be welcomed into the world.

Only when both boys were held in their father’s grasp did Wilbur quiet down, his soft head leaning into his father’s beard as he stared wide eyed at the boy across from him. Though they looked similar enough, Technoblade’s nose was squished further back into his face, appearing almost snout-like to Philza. Of course Wilbur noted this, wiggling until their father somehow managed to get them pressed right up against each other with minimal damage done. Though Techno never stopped squinting like an annoyed old man at Wilbur, he allowed the other to press a fist against his nose, his eyebrows unfurrowing just the slightest bit at the touch.

From that day on, Philza was the father of two twin boys—a loud boy who cried easily, but always calmed down for his older brother, and a rather monotone one, who’s face seemed to be permanently stuck in a scowl, unless said face was being smushed around by the younger. And things worked like that for a while. Not forever, but...a while.

—

Philza taught Wilbur to braid on a hot Monday afternoon.

It had been a rough day for the boy, though Phil hadn’t a clue why. Maybe he had just woken up on the wrong side of the bed? Or maybe he hadn’t slept enough between bedtime and the time Tommy had started crying again, the youngest boy’s crib being right beside his head and all. Though it might’ve seemed cruel from an outsider’s perspective, Wilbur had been the one to ask for it. Something about Tommy being his little brother and how he needed to teach the boy the ways of the world in the same way Techno had taught him—because apparently that was all Techno’s doing now, not Phil’s.

Regardless, Wilbur had been a bit too snippy for Phil’s liking that day, complaining about every little thing they did until finally, the day was over.

Well, as over as it could be with Techno leaving mid foam sword fight, an annoyed shout of ‘I quit!’ leaving his mouth before he snatched up Tommy’s carrier and brought him inside for god knows what reason.

It had only been around four P.M. by that time—too early for dinner, yet too late for Phil to really demand the boy stay outside and continue to entertain himself with a brother who was clearly not entertained himself.

Details aside, Phil isn’t really sure how they got to braiding. He just knows at some point they did and by the end of their outside time, just before the clock struck six, Wilbur had made two thick, messy braids in his hair. They stuck out awkwardly, looking all too similar to Pippi Longstocking’s iconic hairdo for his comfort, but he’d be damned if he took out the braids his son had so happily rushed inside to show his older brother before demanding to do his hair as well. After all, Wilbur didn’t have long enough hair for braids, but Technoblade sure as hell did. It was only at his shoulder blades back then, brunette curls wrapping around his narrow shoulders and thin arms like thick vines.

Wilbur had always enjoyed brushing it out with his fingers and putting cute, handmade clips or flowers in it at random, decorating the waves for his brother who was more than happy to let the boy do as he pleased. Though he would never admit it, Technoblade liked how it felt when Will played with his hair. He was always careful not to tug too hard, prioritizing the comfort of his other half more than the beauty of his work, as he so often referred to it.

So when Will had presented him with the mess that was his first two braids, he wasn’t hesitant at all to let the boy practice on him. Instead, he walked to the couch with a small smile, removing his glasses gently and getting comfortable before his brother plopped down into the space behind him. Long legs draped over long legs with no warning, thighs pressed together as if they were meant to be like that all along—and they might as well have been, for how often they did this.

Phil had watched them from the doorway in content silence, Tommy sitting behind him in a wooden high chair looking bored, but not making a fuss for once. And as he left that doorway to begin dinner, he listened to their muffled conversation and soft bursts of laughter with a small smile on his lips, for he knew things wouldn’t always be this way. They would have to grow up eventually, and when they did, things would change. Phil could only hope it was for the better.

—

When Tommy turns nine, Wilbur teaches him to braid under circumstances not too different from the ones he had learned under himself.

Well. Not too too different.

Philza and Technoblade had been...busy as of late. In the house for three days, out for a week, in for a week, out for three more, over and over and over again. Wilbur had become more like a father to Tommy in recent months than he should’ve been, his fourteenth birthday fast approaching as their father took Techno out for yet another job, one that Wilbur couldn’t come on because he was too fucking weak to do anything Techno could do, too fucking stupid to learn all the techniques Techno did, lacking all the strength and agility his older sibling possessed, like the useless prick he was-

Right. This is about Tommy.

When Tommy was nine, his hair rested gently against his collarbones in the exact same cut and color as their father wore. If Wilbur was a lesser man, he would’ve hated the kid for it, but it wasn’t his fault that he couldn’t see what a selfish git their father truly was yet. All he knew was that their dad was busy a lot and that, for some reason, Techno needed to go with him. Apparently, that was enough for him to keep holding onto the idea that one day, the man would stay longer and maybe, just maybe, show him some of the same care that his older brother did.

If Wilbur was a better man, he would tell Tommy the truth. He would tell him all about the way Philza had called him useless in a fight, forcing him to instead stay home and care for a child while still being one himself. He would mention how Philza had given him no instructions on how to care for a developing child, how he left out key details to parenting on his own as a goddamn thirteen-year-old, yet remembered to tell him things would be better this way because god forbid he does his fucking job as a father for anyone but Technoblade—

Who he missed. He missed Technoblade, his other half, so fucking bad it hurt sometimes—so bad it left him gasping for breath at two A.M., his head pounding in tandem with his uneven heartbeat, lungs burning as his snot and tears soaked into his brother’s cold, cold sheets. And it made him feel fucking pathetic because the truth of the matter was that...Techno had left him behind too. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to hate the older boy, no matter how hard he tried. Couldn’t hate Philza either, if he were to be honest with himself, but it was a lot easier to pretend he did when his father was the one putting them all in this position to begin with.

So, Tommy was nine when he learned how to braid.

Phil had promised him and Techno would be back Tuesday morning.

It was Wednesday afternoon.

Tommy didn’t fucking understand, and as frustrating as it was that the prick decided to take it out on Wilbur, he couldn’t blame him. Who else was he supposed to take this shit out on? Certainly not the man who had yet to return.

Wilbur had started the braid as a way to distract him. It was simple, really—tell him you know something he doesn’t and that he won’t get to know if he doesn’t sit the fuck down and listen.

When he had started tugging the boy’s hair back from his face, his immediate reaction was to jerk away, swatting at the hands that hovered over his shoulders. This only happened once or twice more before he let it happen naturally, his posture stiff as Wilbur ran his fingers through the boy’s hair with practiced ease.

Though it may not have seemed like it, Tommy was significantly more averse to touch than Techno had ever been. The only reason Techno even seemed averse to it was because of his hesitance to initiate, something he and Wilbur had discussed in depth. Rejection was one of the few fears Technoblade truly had and Wilbur held that fact close to his heart, ready to die with it if need be. Tommy, on the other hand? He was very particular about where and when and why someone was touching him, and it had taken Wilbur a long time to get used to that fact. But, he wasn’t about to make his little brother uncomfortable just so he could be happy and, eventually, he learned the ins and outs of how to touch TommyInnit without causing issue.

Pulling a few of the shorter strands towards the front of Tommy’s face loose, Will separated the blonde’s hair into three sections. They were rather small, what with how thin and short his hair was, it just barely being long enough to even have a proper braid in it, but Wilbur knew he could make it work.

“Now, Toms, you gotta listen to me here, because I can’t show you this bit, yeah? Phil and Tech aren’t here, and my hair is too short, so you’ll just have to feel it out for now, but...this is how you braid hair-” Wilbur had said in a soft voice, brushing the pad of his thumb over the boys neck slowly to ease the tension out of his shoulders. The effect was immediate, the boy slouching forward as if he had just noticed he was holding himself so sternly. Smiling softly, Wilbur instructed him on how to weave the strands together, answering questions and pulling lightly at Tommy’s hair so he could feel exactly where everything went. After he was done, Tommy had reached back to feel the bumps in his hair, all his earlier anger seemingly gone as he gave a small smile. And then he tried it himself.

Of course he got a bit of help at first, Wilbur’s larger hands guiding his own with gentle corrections, but after that Tommy worked on it alone, his older brother watching in silence from a patch of grass beside the porch step.

That night, Tommy and Wilbur slept in Techno’s bed, a soft, blue blanket wrapped tightly around them. And if another body woke them up at some point that night, shoving its way into the mess of limbs, their chest pressed right up against the youngest boy’s back, then that was only for them to know.

—

At eleven years old, Tommy takes a pair of scissors to his hair. With flushed cheeks and salty lips, his hands shaking and his eyes foggy, he cuts, cuts, cuts, until he can no longer braid his hair—until he can no longer look like fucking Phil.

Even though Wilbur had once said he hated Tommy’s long hair—hated how similar he and their dad looked—he felt like crying as he ran his fingers through the uneven strands. He didn’t tell his brother this though, instead grabbing his face and planting a wet kiss on his freckled forehead. In a fierce whisper, Wilbur had said, “I’m so fucking proud of you, Tommy. So fucking proud.”

Tommy never forgets the way he felt that day. He doesn’t forget Wilbur’s words either.

—

When Wilbur loses his last life, Technoblade tells Tommy to braid his hair.

It wasn’t a question either, but a demand forced out between gritted teeth, his face red, his nose stuffy and his lashes wet with unshed tears. Still, his words were clear as day.

“Braid my fucking hair, Theseus. Braid it.”

It had sounded like a plea falling from Techno’s chapped lips, blood caked under his nails as he sat in front of Tommy on a tree stump, slowly itching at his wrists.

“Wilbur told me to stop you if you ever started doing that-”

“Wilbur isn’t fucking here. Just...braid, Toms. Braid.”

Tommy sniffled, but did as he was told.

Maybe it was because he was too tired to argue with the only person he even had left. Maybe it was because he could tell Technoblade was mad at their father for the first time in his life, and he knew how bad his first time had felt. Or, maybe, it was just because he knew Techno fucking cared. Nobody else seemed to, but he knew Techno did and...that was enough for him.

As long as someone else cared—as long as it was fucking Technoblade—that was enough for him.

Just as Tommy had finished the braid, curling his finger around the light pink tail that tied the whole thing off, Techno yanked it forward. Before he could even register that the hair had left his hand, the older boy had taken an axe to the top of it, letting the rest of his hair fall around his face in uneven curls. Though it was a good ten minutes of work wasted, Tommy couldn’t say a damn thing as he watched Techno pocket the braid, muttering a thank you and heading in the direction of Wilbur’s unofficial grave.

In that moment, he felt relief for the first time in a long while.

—

Wilbur Soot was born covered in vernix and blood, weighing just barely above the seven-pound mark, and he came into the world much like he left it. Everyone had heard his cries—even if they weren’t there, even if they didn’t know him well—they had saw the way he spiraled, desperate and afraid and paranoid, searching for help, but never receiving enough.

And though he was the second child born, he left the world first, returning in a yellow sweater with a small braid tucked behind his ear. He didn’t really know why he had one, but he remembered braiding Techno’s hair and he remembered teaching Tommy how to do his own and he remembered, he remembered, he remembered the braids.

[crybabytoy59]

The reality of choices we make..

I knew this would be hard but life had steered me to this point & with a need in me that would simply never leave me I had to try after all what had I too loose....so taking a Deep Breath I knocked the Door....She opened the door a look of both shock & startled silence followed ..I spoke first “Please can I come into see you both” again she looked surprised, looking over her shoulder she voiced “there’s someone here to see you darling” I felt sad at here ignoring me...

He appeared out the living room “Fuck Hello Stranger ? “Again I asked “Please can I come into see you both?” This time her look was different as my voice was broken a soft genuine pleading voice...they both said i tandem “Yeah come in ...”

As I passed entering the living room I stood as they sat down She invited me to sit seeing I was very nervous about something she asked if I would like a cuppa “No am fine thank you...Please know I am Very scared right now, as this is the hardest thing I have done in my life...(they were sitting side by side I went off the opposite chai to my knees lifted the envelope from my pocket laying it face up in my pals together I bowed my head putting my arms out with the envelope ...She lifted the envelope as he spoke to me “What the ? Get up ya dozy git”....I snatched from my peripheral vision as she put a hand on his knee leave IT...... she was reading my letter....after reading it she simply got up handing him the letter, as he read the letter she went behind me after collecting something.....”Put your hands behind your head” I felt a scarf being tied around my neck then tied around My wrists securing me there, she simply sat back down saying nothing.....he spoke to her “Is This for Real ? He chuckled.....she took his hand “Come up stairs darling” as they passed me She lifted my chin “Don’t You Dare Move” pushing my head back down they both left.....I could hear them talking often raised voices they talked so long my knees hurt but I Did Not Move I could feel my legs going to sleep....

After what seemed like an eternity they both returned saying nothing they sat down ....Well Well this is a dilemma it’s it not she said to me I nodded....she spoke again “No we don’t nod in this house address us property Slave !” I had waited so very long to hear those words...my response was swift “Sorry Mistress” she went behind me “Open Wide!” I felt the wet hot pants being fed into my mouth....”Close tightly” as I did vet wrapping was pulled around my face gagging me....she sat back down then spoke “ So you want to be a 24/7 Babyslave Do you.....put in Nappy’s always and be our Play Thing... How very interesting...Ok first things first You should know if we both take You on there will be No backing out..you will serve us both, Obediently without question...

Would you do that ? Again I gave a swift answer “Yes Mistress” Slave am in In this room alone ? “No Mistress..Sorry Master” Clever Babyslave that’s better now that’s very muffled from behind your gag so look up at us Both Please And ask for what it is You Truly Desire from Us Both !!” A tear formed as I roared with all I was into the wet piss gag “Please Mistress & Master can I be Your Babyslave !!!!!.....she stood up kissed my cheek then put a pillow case over my head.....She Barked at me Stand up Slave !...follow us as I followed them upstairs my heart was pounding as the pillow case bellowed in & Out with each breath......She Spoke “Let’s Get you striped as we are Both going to give you a Very thorough Spanking !! Then You will go home and make arrangements to give up your Old life....as we prepare your new life Slave !!!.....

I was stripped naked bent over both there knees as the other held my arms I was spanked till my rear was red after this she tied me over a chair & I was flogged, belted, paddled, the lastly caned until I was Crying uncontrollably...after this I was put in my clothes and sent home in floods of tears.....over the next Three weeks I sold all my worldly goods gave up my flat on the date they had both given me....the 1st of June I made my way to there home nervously hoping I had made the right choice in life.....

Again I knocked the door not so much as a bag of clothes, she opened the door smiling warmly “Hello You..in you come”  as I passed she smiled into the bathroom Sweetheart” I did as told there was a small black stool &a bin with a black plastic bag in it. She again spoke smiling “Strip Put All your old clothes in the bin, then sit on the stool I will be back in a moment” I stripped putting my clothes into the bin I sat on the stool as she came back in with a small white bag, Turn & face the mirror Please” she tilted my head forward then I heard a buzzing sound as she started cutting my hair off ! My head was fully shaved then foam applied as she shaved me completely bald but to my surprise she shaved my eyebrows also I said nothing she Kissed my cheek “Well Done you remember to Only talk when spoken too” I instantly replied “Yes Mistress” she gave a chuckle at this, next she had me stand & put the stool to one side she applied foam over my entire body having me bend over to do my rear as I was Very hairy there, I started to heat up and a slight odour filled the room to leave me in no doubt what she had just done “Hands on your head Please” I was then left for 20mins then she wiped me down removing all the foam with All my hair I was now voided of all body hair ! Next she had me put on a clear pvc suit with a hood that zipped up The rear in the hood was a dummy hole at my mouth, through this she put a large dummy then spoke “Ok Let’s Get you through for Your “little talking to”....she pushed me down on all fours then patted her thigh “Heal” I crawled with her into the living room she put the stool from the bathroom in the middle of the room “Sit” was all she said....I sat looking as she joined him on the couch they kissed Smiling Wide like the cat that had the cream she began...

Now Sweetheart you’re old life is over You belong to us now, so let us explain what you are to us...A Baby ...You Are two years old...You Are a Baby girl...you will be in Nappy’s 24/7 ..these you will use fully wetting & soiling Yourself, you will Never use the toilet as that’s for adults....You will be dressed as a Baby girl always, even when we are out you will have Baby girl clothes on under what we decide to put you in...You will show Obedience in everything we ask of you, You will be put in bondage Every night at bedtime, Day time Bondage will become apparent as we train you, You Are here For our Pleasure Not Yours..But we are fair & if you Please us well we will time to time reward You...You will serve All our friends in this way also as we have made lots of friends in the bdsm community this You Will Do Without Question.....Now You Will call me Mistress Mummy” she looked at him as he smiled then spoke “You will Call me Master Daddy”

She looked at me “Aaawwww Sweetheart why are you crying? Are you just so happy to be our Baby Girlie?” I nodded ...then she got up kissed him,looking at me she cooed “One last thing Crybaby...You will use GAGA ..for Yes GOGO for no...As you will Not talk until your Baby talk lessons are done...understand?” GAGA! Clever girlie Crybaby Toy all fours and follow me....as I crawled after her there was a loud crack ! My rear exploded in pain “Best behaviour for Mistress Mummy Crybaby!!!....or else Madam” I crawled up stairs after her into the up stairs bathroom the bath was filled with bubbles, I felt the cool air as the zip came down “Clever Baby girlie into your bath as we have to get you all cute and pretty don’t We” GAGA .....she patted my sore red mark “in Crybaby!”

She put on a clear pvc apron then got a sponge then started washing me all over with a strawberry soap, the smell was Devine I couldn’t help getting excited, this she wiggled playfully (I had forgot how much she enjoyed Mind games) Your a Very Naughty girlie Crybaby aren’t You?” GAGA..she chuckled “My my what fun we are going to have, but Sweetheart unfortunately it’s not going to be fun for You Am Afraid...As last time You Were Very Disobedient..But don’t fret That’s All going to Change Now Crybaby Toy....up you get ! She dried me off then put a blindfold on me “Let’s Get you Dressed for today Crybaby Sweetheart” I crawled to another room onto something plastic & padded, lay on your back, as I did she gave me a bottle I could feel it was quite large around a pint the teat was also like the dummy very large, I knew what she wanted as I sucked the bottle she lubed my rear pushing a rubber gloved finger

Deep into my rear, this made me moan, then Two fingers I felt something cold then lub being squirted up inside me quite a lot of it next I felt a plug it was quite large but had ridges all around it, my breathing quickened as it grew wider as she inserted it too al most the widest part I knew this was going to hurt, I blurted Out GOOGOO ! She smacked me lightly “Hush now Baby & drink your milk Mummy help” she took my shaft holding it slowly squeezing it till I was moaning again, then as I relaxed she slid it home onto the narrow base “Clever girlie Crybaby that’s much better see what a clever Baby You can be, Now lift Your botty!” I felt her slide a nappy under me as she closed it I could feel it had a pad inside it but must still have been quite a large one as it felt bulky, she again told me to lift up as I did a second Nappy went on then a third and fourth ! I could now not close my legs Such was the bulk, next I had rubber pants put on the thigh cuffs felt wide as did the tummy band, next came frilly rumba pants followed by tights then suspenders that she put too the tights, next she sat me up pulling over a soft silk top it felt lovely this was followed by some sort of petticoat then a large heavy Dress, a pair of Oprah gloves were last...i was just finished the last of my formula when she gave me a second bottle “Clever Baby Finnish that one to Sweetheart, so we can get you down stairs as Master Daddy will be all set up by Now Crybaby, for Your Big Day !” Her voice had changed it had that wicked tone to it I had heard before When i subbed for her as she had a Very wicked side I had always Topped from the bottom..But this was different they would decide They would set my limits....I was feeling scared at what lay ahead but I truly wanted to please them show them I could be a good submissive to Own ....the very thought of it made me tingle inside......She patted my rear firmly “Finnish that Now Crybaby Swallow faster !...Clever girlie Crybaby that’s the way..yes all of it...come on Baby Toy..Clever girlie..Open Wide!” I got my dummy back in.....”Let’s Get you down to Master Daddy” As I crawled down the stairs I thought I could hear voices...

As I entered the living room I was led to the stool “Sit up Crybaby!” My blind fold was removed but I could not see due to a bright light in my face, Mistress Mummy tilted my head backwards as she did someone was putting ear plugs Deep into My ears I felt foam forms put over them hugging my ears then some sort of tape Master Daddy appeared holding a rubber face mask this he pushed on me smoothing it out then zipped it up the rear, he then lifted a large pink frilly posture collar wrapping it around my neck clipping it at the rear I felt Mistress Mummy let my head go as she set about lacing it up ! I started to panic slightly that they would choke me but Master Daddy smacks my inner thigh “Relax Crybaby your fine just breath slowly..look I can get my fingers in (he pushed a finger at my throat, it was just in my mind due to the sensory deprivation) Clever Baby that’s better..No Babyslave tears don’t wash your a Crybaby aren’t You ?” Gaga...they both giggled as they stood up “Handies behind your back Daddy told me I felt my gloved hands pushed into a narrow leather sleeve, I was having an arm binder fitted ! Mistress Mummy smacked my thigh hard “on your Knees  Crybaby !” As I did Master Daddy pulled up a small frame, it was a T shape with a padded top bar this had a wide belt hanging from it, a 45degree bar came from the upright bar too just above the top bar as I bent over the bar my head went into the half circle as Master Daddy clipped the collar too the frame Mistress Mummy was pulling the wide belt over my back tightly, what happened next had me squeal into my Dummy as they took a leg each pulling them apart then forward to cuffs at the T legs they were shaped like a large Y under me at the bottom of the Y behind me Master Daddy was fixing a long pole that went well above me this too had a leather strap he was now holding as Mistress Mummy clipped the arm binder too it Master Daddy pulled my arms up behind me untill I patted feeling unable to breath properly due to my new Bondage position....Mistress Mummy Spoke “Open Wide for Master Daddy Crybaby Sweetheart !!” As I Open Wide he removed my Dummy hanging it around my head, I could now see The next Dummy it was a 4” cock dummy with a full face harnessing as the cock gag went into My mouth I clamped it worried over vomiting, Mistress Mummy smacks me again “Crybaby Open Wide!” The cock Dummy was almost at the back of my throat when I felt something shoot out of the end “Swallow Crybaby!!” As I did my throat felt funny...I hung panting holding the cock in my mouth as they simply stood by..Mummy spoke to Daddy..”She has had both bottles and her gel, so am going to rub her tummy too start her off” as she lifted the dress she started rubbing my tummy ? Just then Master Daddy stopped looking at his watch then pushed the cock dummy all the way home ! Then started strapping the harnessing behind my head through the slots in the huge bonnet they put on me ! He went out of sight..again I could hear voices but in the distance, as Mistress Mummy rubbed my tummy I was aware of movement I stared to feel as if I needed to go to the toilet ! She tugged my dress back down & she too disappeared behind me, slowly the light dimmed, There was a camera in front of Me !...

Everyone this is Crybaby potty girlie she has been a Very Naughty girlie so we are going to punish her, Mistress Mummy has given her a very special gel up her botty and shortly she Will go poopies uncontrollably, she has had two pints of very special formula that will make her wet her Nappy’s also uncontrollably she will feel she has to constantly go pee’pees, we will all know when this happens as she will ring her Sissy bells ( now I knew what mummy had been clipping on my feet mittens and hood !) She is going to cry for you all as in her Tumblr Page stories you have all read, Master Daddy & I Are going to have her in the punishment frame until bedtime so please enjoy what we have in store for her till then” Mistress Mummy was loving this such humiliation & control over him, who would have thought this day would come from all that simple play years earlier.....Fuck they were both going to have such fun with this....

Just as she was thinking that she heard him Draw a Deep Breath then go Silent his face behind the rubber hood going bright red with effort as there New sissy Baby Toy pushed past the plug filling the first Nappy..each nappy but the last had been cut with a small blade to let the fluids pass from each.....26000ml in total ! They were going to make him fill them all before bedtime, So Mistress Mummy had lots of material for tomorrow’s fun....She was soaking wet now dripping with Dominant lust for his Deep submission...a submission she would take from him every last ounce as he caved to There whimsical needs ....There Truly diabolical Training would bring complete Obedience to them...she took his hand putting it to her sex, as the unmistakable sound of him filling his Nappy !!...

[theonewiththefanfics]

Pinky Promise (one-shot)

Synopsys: Even though the rest of the Avengers are enjoying their summer, the Reader and Bucky get sent out on a mission in the middle of Siberia. What should have been an easy in-and-out, turns into them becoming stranded. And even though they both seem to be have gotten out pretty unscathed, one of them might be lying and is in mortal danger.

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Genre: fluff with some teensy bit of angst

Warnings: swearing, mentions of blood, so nothing unusual coming from me

Word count: 2775

   It was summer. Everywhere was summer. Pinacoladas were being drunk, bodies were getting tanner or they cooled off in the ocean, sea, lake, wherever they got the chance to. Yet here was Y/N and Bucky- stuck in the middle of a snowed-over Siberian forest, trudging their way to a safe-house. Oh, and it didn’t hurt that the rest of the Avengers were relaxing in Bora-Bora.    “When I get back, I’m taking a month off and leaving those assholes behind as I go to Bali,” Y/N muttered through chattering teeth as she tried to see something through the heavy snowfall.    “Can I come?” the man threw the girl an amused smile. He didn’t necessarily like the cold, but it didn’t bother him the way it used to.    “Be my guest,” she replied, pulling her furry hood over her head. “As long as those idiots ain’t coming. And we’re taking Stark’s credit card.”    “Wasn’t planning on paying with my own money. Not after this.”    Y/N snorted despite the inability to feel her toes, nose or any protruding limb.    It was supposed to be an easy in-and-out mission from a HYDRA base. Nothing they hadn’t done before and seeing how neither had gone on one in a long time they were put on a jet and flown there. Twenty agents, Fury had said. A day or two max, Bruce had promised. Instead, they had been surrounded to what rounded up to a hundred and fifty agents, barely gotten out alive, Y/N sporting a dislocated shoulder and a massive bruise forming on her ribs and add to that, their jet had been blown up. Obviously, the pair immediately contacted Stark and SHIELD, but when they informed the two Avengers about an incoming snow storm and the fact that their specific part of the woods would be unreachable, it really just put the cherry on the top.    Tony had said there was a hidden cottage about twenty miles from the base, so Bucky and Y/N had set off on their journey. With the girl’s injuries, it complicated things and the fact she refused any help from the super soldier was an added bonus.    “You know, you can go ahead. I know you’re only trailing behind because I can’t walk as fast as you.”    “If you would allow me to help, we wouldn’t be moving at a snail's pace,” he had smirked at her, right as the first snow fluttered to the ground.    “Bite me, Barnes.”    “Any time, babydoll.”

   That had made Y/N smile. They had formed an incredibly close relationship since the second they met. Teasing was a must,  but it never overstepped a boundary, always with the intention of fun, not harm.    She had been a new addition to the team, almost right after Bucky had been introduced. Literally, two days later, in comes Y/N Y/L/N, strolling behind Bruce and Tony, chatting with Scott Lang and Hope van Dyne.    His blue eyes only saw her. There was something fresh about the girl, something pure and untainted. Immediately Bucky wanted to know her, wanted to explore why his heart thumped faster with every second that he gazed upon the woman. Yet the dark thoughts, the blackness pressing upon his mind, told him no, she wouldn’t want to know him, hell, probably wouldn’t want to be associated with the ex-Winter Soldier in any capacity. So he admired her from afar.    Even though he was cold and distant towards her, she responded with affection. And Y/N didn’t give him much choice in how they were going to communicate, changing his mind on the third or fourth day completely.    Bucky had been lounging on one of the expensive leather sofas, watching a show called ‘F.R.I.E.N.D.S’, trying to catch up on what he'd missed in pop culture during the years when suddenly had Y/N slipped up next to him on the couch. Bucky didn’t move nor did he say anything, receiving the same reaction from the girl, though what he did not expect was her sliding her hands around his metal arm and taking it between her palms.    He pulled in a harsh breath, head whipping to look at her, but something in the way her Y/E/C eyes glinted made his body relax. Y/N put a finger to her lips in a ‘shh’ motion and once again took a hold of his palm. Bucky felt every little touch of her skin, setting the rest of his body aflame, because for once in his life, somebody else apart from Steve was touching him without disgust or fear or the intent to harm. At least not harm him. Because as it turned out her movements with the vibranium were deliberate as it caught the sunlight and she positioned the plates where the beam bounced off directly into Sam’s eyes.    Bucky had to contain a snort seeing what Y/N’s plan had always been and instantly a warm feeling spread through his chest. It was something akin to content, to peace. His heart rate slowed down and all the bad thoughts disappeared. Just from a single touch. Ever since that day he craved for Y/N’s presence, to have her glide her fingers against his, to feel her soft skin on his or simply be near her.    The crunch of her boots upon the snow brought him back to where they actually were.    “Buck, really, just go. We’re almost halfway there, so I’ll be fine.”    “I’m not going to leave you behind. The night is almost over us, so you’ll need protectin’.”    “What? You think I can’t hold my own?”    Bucky shook his head, smiling down at the woman. “I know you can. Have seen it in person. Though if a bear comes, don’t want to sound too cocky, doll, but I don’t think you could take it.”    “Pff, easy. I’ll just whine until it starts to regret it decided to eat me.”    “Well, you wouldn’t have to fight off a bear, if you just allowed me to carry you.”    “I said,” Y/N gritted through her teeth. “Bite me.”    Bucky huffed what now had turned from amusement to annoyance. “What do you have against me helping? No one would think you’re weak.”    “Buck, it’s freezing cold outside. You pick me up, I might just fall asleep and die. I need to move my body, because at this point, I can’t feel the shoulder, and I don’t think that’s a good thing.”    “Don’t worry, it’ll hurt like a bitch when I pop it back in.”    She stuck her tongue out at the man. “How generous of you.”    They walked twenty more minutes in silence, but then from the corner of his eye, Bucky saw Y/N shudder. At first, he thought it was just the cold getting to her, eyes having completely adjusted to the pitch black sky of the night but then she stumbled and fell into the deep snow.    “Doll?” worry instantly colluded his mind. In a matter of seconds, he had turned her over and he was plunged into a nightmare. Her face had gone at least three shades lighter, an ashy colour having settled underneath her closed eyes, but what was worse- Y/N wasn’t breathing. No little puffs of air escaped her nose or mouth.    “No, no, no, no, no,” Bucky exclaimed, ridding her from the winter clothes to assess what had happened. There was no way that the shoulder could’ve made her lose consciousness, let alone the ability to breathe.    He ripped open the front of her tactical suit only to be greeted by a stream of blood. There, right underneath the bulletproof sports bra was a bullet hole, scarlet spilling out of it.        “Come on, Y/N, you absolute idiot!” a stream of profanities echoed throughout the silent forest as he pressed down onto her chest, starting CPR. When his lips touched Y/N’s to push air into her lungs, it was not how he had imagined it. Butterflies invaded his stomach, not because of excitement, but because of terror, his eyes were wide, not because of the impossibility of the girl reciprocating, but because he was watching her chest rise and fall with the motion. After a full-blown minute of doing so, her body shuddered, mouth pulling in a painful breath of air. Bucky was on the verge of crying, yet there would be another time for rejoicing.    With trembling hands, he picked up the girl and ran. There was no time for Bucky to stop the damage the bullet had caused, nor was it the place, so with fear pumping through his veins every step of the way, the ex-Winter Soldier dashed through the darkness as fast as he could towards the safe house.

***

   The cottage was a little bit run down, but if Stark had anything to do with it, it’d be occupied by the top-tier technology. And the billionaire did. The second Bucky walked inside lights went on and F.R.I.D.A.Y’s voice invaded his ears.    “Good evening, Mister Barnes. Congratulations on the successful mission.”    “Thanks, F.R.Y. Now tell me where the first aid kit is. Also, monitor Y/N’s vitals. Anything goes out of proportion, I need to know,” he said placing her down on an expensive looking leather couch.    “Of course.”    With the A.I. guiding him around the house, Bucky gathered every medical supply he could, starting from gauze and stitching thread to a some nano-foam Tony had invented a little while before his showdown with Thanos. It had saved the man’s life on Titan, so the super soldier could only hope it would work in this situation as well.    “Why do you always have to be such an idiot? Why in the hell would you not tell anything? God fucking damn it, Y/N, you absolute git,” the accusations and questions Bucky muttered underneath his breath while his whole attention went to the now clogged wound.    He knew how to safely remove a bullet, how to stitch up things and do it in a way that avoided infections, but he wasn’t a surgeon with any kind of expertise in mortal wounds. In his HYDRA days, they only thought him about minuscule things. Anything that even had a whisper of potential death was disregarded. After all, anyone who couldn’t pull through wasn’t worthy nor strong enough to be part of the great organisation. Luckily Bucky had always valued human lives, especially the ones of who he cared for.    “Stay with me, doll. I can’t lose you.”    Sending a little prayer to whoever might be listening upstairs, he disinfected and removed the dried up blood. Immediately a small stream started to pour out again, so he pressed the white gauze against the hole, turning it scarlet in seconds.    “What’s the damage F.R.I.D.A.Y?”    “My scans show that the bullet seems to have not penetrated any vital organ nor slashed any major artery. However, the bleeding is major and could result in death.”    A hologram appeared in front of Bucky’s face of what he could only describe as Y/N’s blueprint. Every organ and artery was shown, every bone, ligament and muscle was highlighted. By a narrow slice, the metal had missed Y/N’s lungs and the man himself sighed in relief. Now the most important thing was to stop the bleeding.    He didn’t bother pulling it out, most times no one did and the A.I.’s x-ray clearly showed other little souvenirs from battles Y/N had gotten injured in.    “If I leave the bullet in, will it cause any permanent damage or worsen her recovery?”    “If everything goes accordingly and she does not injure or overwork herself, Miss Y/L/N should be just fine.” "So maybe. Okay," he huffed and leaned in.    Trembling hands grasped onto the can of foam and unclasped it. Just to be safe, he treated the nozzle with some disinfectant before pushing it inside of the wound.    “I’m so sorry if this hurts you, darling.”    But she didn’t even flinch as the nanotech entered her body and started patching things up. It was in greyish colour which Bucky was not a fan of, but when he removed the red bandage he stared in awe as the skin moved together, leaving only a barely visible scar, a few shades lighter than Y/N’s own.    “How’s she lookin’?”    “Perfectly stable, Mister Barnes.”    His whole body sagged in relief and he rested his forehead against Y/N’s, noticing how even only after a few minutes of being treated, her cheeks had returned to their healthy glow.

***    While Y/N rested, Bucky took a quick shower and changed out of the bloody gear. There were three bedrooms in the place, wardrobes fully stocked with clothes in all different sizes and for different occasions, though he had no idea what someone could use an evening gown for in the middle of nowhere.    Once he came downstairs, gently he popped Y/N’s shoulder back and put a makeshift sling around her arm, securing it. The wood had just barely started crackling in the fireplace when Y/N slowly opened her eyes.    “Hey there, doll,” a gentle smile washed over Bucky’s features finally able to look into those Y/E/C orbs that had enthralled him so much.    “Hey, Buck.” Y/N’s tone was soft as a feather and he swore he saw love shine in her gaze.    “How ya feelin’?”    “Like a bulldozer ran over me and Hulk bashed my head against a wall, but other than that- perfect.”    Bucky threaded his fingers through her matted down hair before leaning against the couch, placing himself on the ground in front of the girl so she wouldn’t have to strain.    “You scared me. Like really scared me. I’ve never felt so helpless when you collapsed. Why- why did you not say anything?” he choked out, tears threatening to slip down his cheeks.    “I-“ Y/N huffed before pressing her palms against the couch to sit up, “I honestly don’t know. At first, I didn’t even feel it. The adrenaline and everything that was going on around us… it was all clouding my head. Hell, I didn’t even feel it while walking. I think I was just so cold to the point nothing mattered. It was only when you mentioned something about me fighting a bear I realised things were not at all peachy. But we were just so close, I thought I could pull through it until we got here. Guess, I was wrong.”    “Severely,” Bucky snorted through a sob. He stood up on his knees and leaned, in. His mind screamed at the man to stop whatever he was about to do, but the ex-Winter Soldier had run out of fucks to give. With a small touch to her cheekbone, his nose caressed hers before their lips met.    It was sweet, tentative, a barely-there caress, but it expressed more than a thousand words ever could. Her own hand traced Bucky’s jawline, nails scraping along his scruff before settling on the nape of his neck, making him smile into the kiss as Y/N seemed reluctant to break apart.    Only when it was apparent she was struggling for a breath, did Bucky disconnect, followed by a long whine from the girl. She tried to pull his face back towards her own, but he laid a palm on her chest, making her drop back onto the couch.    “I’ve had enough of you not breathing for one day. Don’t wanna be the cause of you getting put seven feet under.”    Her adorable pout made him chuckle, before Bucky stood, picking Y/N up like she weighed next to nothing and sat back down together, her head resting underneath his chin.    “Pinky promise you won’t die on me ever again?” Bucky extended his waiting finger for Y/N to grasp it.    “Well,” she whined out, cheek resting comfortably against his chest, but it was cut off by a giggle as he dug his fingers into her sides. “Okay, I promise, if you stop doing that.” Her laughter encased them, trapping the pair in a little bubble of happiness.    When Y/N finally linked her pinky with Bucky’s, it was like a boulder had rolled off of his chest. Such a simple and in all actuality meaningless motion, but it held such weight, such promise and care.    “I love you, Buck,” her warm lips pressed against his knuckles.    “I love you too, doll,” Bucky pecked her nose before burying it in her Y/H/C hair. “So fucking much.” "I guess being stuck is not gonna be that bad." He lifted an eyebrow at her. "We still going to Bali, right?" "Oh, definitely," and their happiness echoed through the cabin as the two people in love let their minds be washed clean of everything that wasn't their little moment of peace.

Tags (crossed out wouldn’t take): @thunderous-flower @who-cares-rn @projectxhappiness @callmebucky-doll @coal000 @killuaenthusiast @courtneychicken @sophiealiice @raquelbc2003 @watch-out-for-thorns @potentially-kinetic @thatonegirljessy99 @proxinge @bbkenna @buckysclub @ulired @fangirlofeverythingbasically @mrsalh32611 @horrorx570ximagines @the-nargles-made-me-do-it @pooslie @itsisabelanotisabella @httpmcrvel @nerissa98 @happyseagrill @asguardiansoftheavengers @lumelgy @palaiasaurus64 @supernaturalbaesduh @breezy1415 @pizzarollpatrol @crazy--me @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sea040561 @staryeyedgirl @deathbyarabbit @s-c-a-r-e-d-po-t-t-e-r @reblogger-not-a-blogger

A/N: I have barely two weeks left before I go back to uni and I’m stressing out :D

P.S. if you wanna be tagged in future works, drop a message or if you have any requests :)

P.S.S. please, don’t repost without credit :)

[isolemlysweariamwolfstarforever]

"I want an answer, goddamit!"

Harry stumbled out of the floo, a goofy smile on his face, as he dusted the soot of his clothes. It had taken a lot longer than he had anticipated, but it would be worth it. Worth all the early days and late nights. Even worth the fighting with Draco that always ensued.

“Where have you been?” Harry’s smile was quickly lost at the growled words. “You were supposed to be home three hours ago,” Draco stood a few feet away, arms crossed and all but foaming at the mouth with anger.

“I lost track of time. I’m sorry. It’s the last time I promise,” Harry replied easily. Too easily, it was the same excuse he always gave and Draco was sick of it.

“Bullshit!” Draco snapped, causing Harry to jump. “I went to your office Harry. I went at 6, when you were supposed to be getting off. Instead I learned that you had already left an hour early,” Draco’s anger was slowly deflating, instead it was replaced with fear and insecurities. He didn’t know what Harry had been up to the past month, but he had always come home smiling like someone else cologne.

Harry could see the insecurities in Draco’s smoke grey eyes and it made his stomach twist into guilty knots. Draco thought he was off seeing some other bloke. Which he wasn’t, but he was off seeing a girl. He was off seeing Pansy and getting her help picking out a ring for Draco.

“I-It’s not what you think! Draco I’d never do that to you!”

“Then what are you doing?! I want an answer, goddammit!” Draco was shouting again, but there were tears welling in his eyes. “You know what? Fine. Fine, I don’t care anymore. I’m done,” Draco turned and stalked out of the room. His words hung in the air, slowly suffocating Harry with every step Draco took away from him.

“Draco wait!” Draco ignored Harry and kept walking. If he stopped now he wouldn’t be able to leave. “Marry me!” Draco froze, his blood boiling in anger.

“Are you serious right now? That’s what you think needs to happen? We’ve been arguing all month, and now you want to get married?” Draco seethed, keeping his back to Harry.

“No, fuck, Draco just… look at me!” Draco sighed, defeated, and turned to face Harry. He had dropped to one knee, a black velvet box in one hand and a pleading look in his eyes. “I’ve been seeing Pansy. I asked her to help me pick out a ring. I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way, but I love you and I can’t lose you,” Draco couldn’t stop the tears as he threw his arms around Harry’s neck, almost knocking them both over. He felt Harry chuckle, slowly snaking his arms around Draco. “Is that a yes then?”

“Of course it is. Stupid git,” Draco replied, stealing Harry’s lips in a searing kiss.

Yes they fought often and usually over stupid things, but in the end it made them stronger. This wouldn’t be the last of their arguments, but it was the start of their forever. A forever where they can learn not to buttheads as much. A forever to work out their problems and open up to each other. If both of them were being honest they wouldn’t trade any of their fights for anything else, because they all lead to this, their forever.

(Thank you @ilovepie-morethanyou for this suggestion. I almost left it angsty, but I couldn't do that to them.

I'm still taking suggestions! So keep sending them!)

[jeza-red]

The one thing that people in and outside the community constantly get wrong, imho, is that there is this prevalent conviction that the games are HARD. This is what fuels the pathetic grandstanding of some folk who think that being good at a game is a good character trait and want to gatekeep content form ‘casuals’ least it becomes tainted with, god forbid, ‘broad appeal’ and’ accessibility’.  

And here I am standing before you (a general You that can’t find their stride with DS), a noob and a casual more interested in the stories than the gameplay, that they aren’t that hard. Not really. 

The more enlightened members of the community will tell you Soulsborne wasn’t designed to be hard, but to be challenging, and then they will not tell you what the challenge actually is - leaving you thinking that the challenge is to get good, which isn’t really any help at all, is it?

There are those who will tell you the game is ‘hard but fair’  and then you encounter blatant hitbox issues and all the moment FROM just wanted to fuck with the players and yeah, not really. 

And then there’s those who love the games so much and are really great folk, but they will try to tell you there’s ’right’ way to play Soulsborne for it to be ‘enjoyable’ and that way centers on, when you get down to it, playing offensively and learning boss times and patterns and, you know, getting good in essence. Which isn’t helpful, is it?

And here I am telling you that this is not the case at all. The real challenge of Soulsborne is choosing what will make the game fun for you. Because the game itself caters to those who are ‘not gud’ splendidly - there’s a plethora of cheese and help at every corner, you can pick a ranged weapon and beat the bosses with wild flailing (on my first BB playthrough I killed Henryk via a moment of wild flailing cause he startled me). There are ways to go through the games without ‘gitting gud’ - Yahtzee compared Soulsborne games to hitting your head on the wall and I’ve seen a lot of people repeat that sentiment, and sure, if that does it for you, do it, but please be aware that there are ways to just walk around that wall.

Because getting good in Soulsborne means perfecting the playstyle you chose - invest in magic, over level, hell, use cheese at every opportunity, call a friend to help, etc. - and the only way to get good at it is to find out what part of the game makes it fun for you and sticking to it. 

Like, there’s apparently this ‘right way’ to play Bloodborne, sure, but nothing gave me more joy than stealthing my way through the game and playing at a distance (1, 2, beast cutter combo is your friend), cheesing my way with all the bosses I could and throwing molotovs from the rooftops at the unsuspecting npc hunters. Bow is your friend in DS, use it! 

And if you can’t firn the playstyle that fits, if you can’t find joy in ‘gettin better’ and think this is a waste of time, that’s also good - this isn’t your fault for not being ‘gud enough’ this is a game that simply isn’t fun for you and anyone telling you different can go straddle a cactus.    

The fanbase, when parts of it aren’t foaming at the mouths at the sole idea of an ‘easy mode’ (conveniently ignoring that more appeal means more games like that and all the exploits already existing in the game) is also more welcoming and patient than it would seem a the first glance. It’s not bad, it’s just challenging;] 

I have a near undying love for the Soulsborne community, at least as much as for the games themselves.

It has a bad reputation, much like the games, about having an elitist playerbase and the notorious "git gud" community that actually TAKE that meme seriously. And to be fair I find the meme itself extremely funny, but not at the expense of folks who'd be interested but immediately get made fun of by the toxic part of the community for daring to ask questions.

But, there are so much helpful folks around. I've met so many kind hearted, fun people while being in this fandom that would either offer me tips, or just outright come join me to help with a particularly difficult boss.

And I haven't even mentioned all the artists, the writers, the analysers, the composers, all of which are just cranking out gorgeous and inspiring and beautiful and thoughtful content, it is just absolutely mind boggling! All this love nd devotion and passion these games invoke in people!

I legit have never seen anything like this in ANY other fandoms, never with this kind of enthusiasm. I have no words, I love you all so much.

And I love y'all and I love these games and can't wait to continuously be amazed by you all 💜💜💜💜💜