#I had to do it on the floor because this particular drawing is too big for my desk

[drefear]

Imagine reader artist, who loves to draw Miguel. And the other day she's just drawing naked Miguel's body. He saw it and just smirks and say: "I've got bigger than that" or "I could show/pose for accuracy"

TW: raunchy smut, Dom!miguel, fem reader, smut with no plot.

A/N: I wrote half of this while at work and a little drunk. So here ya go. Also currently in the process of writing a part two.

Miguel’s face filled your sketchbook, his back in his spider suit, his mask, every angle you could find him at. You often sat in his office for hours while he did reports, sketching him and drawing him. You loved using different mediums and colors, giving him new features and styles. You specifically loved practicing drawing his broad body and sculpted as-

Ahem. Legs.

Yes, ok, fine, you had a small crush on your boss, whatever, no big deal.

You would purposefully finish all of your work as fast as possible so you could sit back and draw him. And because you weren’t loud or annoying, and everything was always done on time and orderly, he let you.

But one mission in particular made him stressed out, and as you watched him filling out data about the anomaly he’d just captured, he glitched his suit down his torso and injected himself with that mysterious green liquid, entrancing you for those glorious few seconds.

It was very obvious he had a nice body, duh. But you never let your mind go too far in imagining him out of his suit, scared to go into a territory you couldn’t back out of.

And now you did, drawing his torso and pecks, shading his abs, and this got you curious about more.

Lower.

Biting your lip, you sat in the cafeteria a few days later. You purposefully sat with your back to a wall, making sure no one could sneak up on you and see what you were drawing, as you drew him laying down. His arms splayed behind his head, face relaxed, as you defined his leg muscles. As you finished the piece of art, the only area you’d avoided was his groin.

And now you stared at the empty area of art, knee bouncing from anxiety about how you were supposed to draw this. You had no reference for him. Yes, you’d seen dicks before, obviously. You lived in a universe with unrestricted internet access, so it’s not like you’d never been around the block, but here you were, blushing like a 15 year old just because of a dick.

Drawing and then erasing and drawing, you repeated the process a few times before you heard someone click their tongue in front of you. You’d been so consumed by what you were doing, you didn’t even feel your spider senses or hear them come close.

Miguel stood with an eyebrow raised and his hands on his hips, eyeing you curiously. “Why are you so jumpy?” He asked and you snatched the book in front of you to your chest, stuttering some bullshit answer about too much caffeine. He just nodded and continued giving you a new order.

You got up from your seat and moved to follow him to his cold, dark lair area. As you were about to step onto his platform, you tripped and your hands flew out to stabilize your fall. As you did, the notebook flew across the floor and slid as your vision blurred from how fast you’d collapsed, getting up slowly and rolling your shoulders. You reached to where the sketch book had fallen, but it was no longer there.

No.

NO.

It was between his fingers, as he flipped through the pages slowly, eyeing your work with his brows furrowed, focused. You jumped towards him and he just turned his back, making you feel like you ran into a wall. You reached around him and he webbed your wrist to the table beside you, still not tearing his eyes from your work.

“Stop, that’s private! Give it back!” You shouted and he rolled his eyes briefly.

“It’s all drawings of me, I think I’m allowed to see-“ and his words stopped as he flipped to the newest page.

The nude drawing of him.

You gulped as his expression became unreadable, stoic, and your eyes flashed between the art and him. “I-I was just practicing forms and poses-“

“It’s… inaccurate.” He spoke lowly before your eyes blinked for a moment, confused.

“What do you mean?”

He walked to you and stood tall, bending down slightly to stare directly into your eyes. His mouth turned up at the ends and his eyes glittered with something you’d never seen in him before.

Turning the book back to you and showing you your own drawing, he smirked deeper.

“I’m much bigger.” His eyes were almost challenging you, making your blood run ice cold, and you felt his hands yank your body against his. “Do you want to see for reference?”

And then his watch made a loud sound, Lyla popping up to explain some anomaly on earth number whatever. He groaned and turned to walk out. “I’ll be back once this is done. Don’t go anywhere because When I do return, we’re continuing where we left off.”

Then he was gone and you stood, mouth agape from the whole exchange. You thought it might take a while for him to capture this anomaly, so You’d decided to go back to your own universe in preparation, showering and fixing yourself up. You bit your nail nervously as you thought about it all. Was he serious? No way, right…?

As you stood in the bathroom mirror, the sound of a portal opening cut through your mind like a knife, making your body rush into your living room. You gripped the towel tight around your torso as you saw Miguel walk out of the colorful dimension behind him and into yours. The portal closed and with that, his mask disintegrated so you could see his face. A bit tired, he still had a less-than-enthusiastic expression on.

“I thought I told you not to go anywhere.” He repeated and you stood stuff as a board, now a bit scared. He took slow, calculated steps towards you as your head tilted back to continue watching him. “Inaccurate and disobedient. I have a lot to teach you, don’t I?” His index finger hooked under your chin as he smirked and grabbed your hand with his free one, pulling you into your bathroom. He looked around for a second before hitting a button on his watch and letting the fabric disappear.

You bit your lip as your eyes took full advantage of his exposed skin. “You- it-“

“Yeah. I know.” He grabbed your wrist and spun you around, bending you over your counter with your hand breached against your back. “Now I want you to really study how I fuck you, so that you get a good look at how big I am, and how easy I can maneuver this body.” He whispered into your damp hair and pushed down, then ripping the towel away and throwing it out of the bathroom completely.

His eyes stared down at your weeping cunt and he licked his lips. “I’ll be tasting you another time. Today, I want you to really feel my size.” He was cocky, and he had a right to be. His dick was huge, almost alarmingly big.

The tip of his cock pressed against your entrance and you clenched your jaw. “It’s gonna hurt, but I’ll go slow. That way you can feel good and still learn.” He cooed in a teasing tone and your eyes found his in the mirror, watching intently as he began to push into you. The sudden width he was stretching you to was mind numbing and your knees began to buckle, but he just held you up with one hand, the other still guiding himself into you.

“Coño, your sucking me in so nicely, might not even need to slow down.” He spoke and your eyes were rolling back from his words, to which you snapped out of once his hand that was holding you up held your face harshly towards the mirror. “No slacking, little girl. You better keep your eyes on my cock.”

Halfway inside, and you were already fluttering around him, on the verge of orgasm. “That’s it, sucia, cum on my cock. It’ll be the first time of many.” You shivered at his words, feeling him sink in further and immediately orgasming. The rolls of pleasure washing through you made him grunt as his hips couldn’t help but rut into you harshly. The lack of prep had you feeling everything he was giving you, hyper aware of your insides wrapping around him.

“Mm, wanna fuck me back? Grind back onto my cock? Paciencia, Nena.” He instructed as you kept trying to get him in further. Wrapping a hand around your torso, he tweeked at your nipples and made you gasp from the sensation. “That’s it,” he mumbled.

Finally, smirked, he chuckled darkly as you tried once more to thrust backwards. “Fine, you asked for it.” He met your eyes in the mirror, now blood red and swirling with the threat as he snapped his hips forward and forced the rest of him into you, making you gargle out a strained sound in shock and pleasure. The pain was beautiful, and began to subside quickly as you felt him twitch. He hit every spot and more, feeling new depths and points of pleasure.

Tears welled in the corners of your eyes as he started a slightly faster pace. Your body jiggled from the movements and the sound of skin slapping against skin filled your apartment, your mouth hanging open as your eyes never left were his dick was buried into you. He smiled, enjoying the way you watched his cock disappear into you over and over, and you felt the pressure building once more. How he bullied your cunt and grinned while doing it made you burst, tears breaking free and a scream ripping through you as your pussy squeezed him.

“Fuck, so tight.” He groaned, head now falling back and he kept going, beginning to chase his own high. Your mind had shut off now, fucked practically stupid on his cock and he rocking into you mercilessly. His speed was unmatched and he moved to pick up your hips to meet his, closing the gap your height difference had created, and finally having him slam into you until his hips met your ass, making you choke on your own oxygen from the absolute brutal beating he was giving your cervix.

He slid one hand to the back of your neck and pressed you further into the counter top of your sink, forcing your pert nipples to meet the cold marble and you cried out more, barely able to push back against him now as you were trapped between his body and your bathroom’s confinements with only your top toes touching the floor. Your face was streaked with tears as he grunted and let out ragged breaths.

“The perfect little pussy, so perfect for my cock. You can take it, little artist. You wanted to draw my cock so badly, now you have the perfect image to do it. Fucked deep inside of you. Draw us like this for me, yeah? I wanna see it everyday. Or should I just fuck you every day instead?” His words tumbled from his mouth like an avalanche and you could feel his cock about to burst, making you teeter over that cliff as well. “That’s it, strangle my cock. Cum all over me, niña, paint me with your cute cunt.” He demanded and you obliged, feeling a shooting electric sensation rip out of you. Suddenly, you were both a bit wet between the thighs and he was mesmerized by what he saw. Your juices squirt all over him and he came instantly after seeing that, pounding into you as far as he could and forcing his cum the deepest it could be inside of you.

Both of you were unmoving as you caught your breath, a layer of sweat covering you both as you stared at each other in the mirror. No words could describe what had just happened and Miguel smiled once more, which prompted you to ask.

“What?”

“You need to get a mirror by your bed. Because I want to do this to you every day.” He watched your eyes widen in the mirror in front of you both as he licked your neck from behind and sinking his fangs into your soft skin, jutting his hips once more and making you realize he was still hard.

“For art purposes.”

Part two is out!

[bonus-links]

IMMA BE THE FIRST TO ASK (I HOPE) CUZ IM LITERALLY CHOMPING AT THE BIT DIRECTORS COMMENTARY PLEASE

GANON??? THE EYES???? BANGER UPDATE 👹

the people have spoken and they want director's commentary (this isn't even all of them lol) OKAY HERE WE GO

the original draft of this scene was much shorter, and Loft actually didn't say anything at all in it. As I kept making the chapter it started to feel weird that he would just. Let Ganondorf say his piece without contributing anything. i like this version of the scene much better

listen. I love WW Ganondorf. He's my favorite Ganondorf. I was going to find a way to fit him into this chapter no matter what

in particular, I love that you get a sense from WW Ganondorf that he is, on some level, sympathetic to Link. Or if not sympathetic, understanding of his place in all this. He tells Link that his gods have abandoned him, that he has not particular quarrel with him, etc. But ultimately it doesn't matter. If this is who the gods have sent to stand in his way, so be it. Essentially, it's not my fault the gods are so callous as to send a child after me.

we're going w the canon that WW Ganondorf is the same as OOT, or at least remembers being him. Don't ask me how. Nintendo doesn't know either

big ol eyeball. which could mean nothing

How does Ganondorf recognize Loft? by that stupid hat. jokes aside he doesn't know Which Link Specifically Loft is, but he's smart enough to figure out that he's a hero of some sort.

Likewise, Loft is smart enough to figure it out as well. He's spent a lot of his chapter thinking about Ganondorf, and if you'll recall from Ch1, he knows from Zelda that Ganon once had a mortal form. I think, from Loft's perspective, he has a hunch that this Ganon figure is the mortal reincarnation of Demise, the way Zelda is the mortal reincarnation of Hylia. I wanna emphasize that's what HE thinks might be going on based on his experiences. He's not the knower of all things. He has a conspiracy board in his mind

the face of a guy who's like. I am not going to be lectured to about morality from the King of Evil. I was very excited to let Loft be snarky at long last. But he also, notably, doesn't push back against what Ganondorf is saying that hard. He doesn't even say that he's wrong, just implies that he's probably a hypocrite. In fact, a lot of this update is about what Loft DOESN'T say or acknowledge

Ganondorf's opening line is about how much he hates that statue of the hero of time, because it's "such grandeur for a mere child". I think he means that at face value, but he's also making another point— the hero of time was a child, but they're not going to depict him that way in his monument. It's honestly sort of ambiguous with the actual model because of ww's style, but it looks like adult proportions to me. The story Wake grew up with calls him a child, but his monument in the castle is of an adult. That was the idea behind this set of panels, the parts of the Hero of Time's story that aren't going to be put on the pedestal

speaking of that I realized making this update that I literally. forgot the pedestal. I just didn't draw it all this time. in my defense the castle in no clip looks like this. no statue or pedestal

except I recently found out by accident that he's literally. under the floor. what the fuck

ANYWAY. I really liked the symmetry of Ganondorf turing to stone at the end of the dream. He won't get any perfect monuments made to him. Also, looks like there's a suspicious lack of water in the underwater castle. which could mean nothing

I'm not gonna comment too much on other details, because i've got to keep some of my secrets. I do think that this update gives a lot away HAHA though that was kind of on purpose. We're entering year 3 of this comic and we're finally starting to get places lolol

WAIT I ALMOST FORGOT loft looks the same way he did when he last touched the triforce

and we've seen a border similar to this before haven't we

that's all i got for now, thanks everybody! im having a blast reading ur comments <3

[cressidagrey]

Something good and right and real - Chapter 11

Summary:

Azriel had spent centuries believing that he of all people didn't deserve a mate. And if anything, the last three years had just galvinised that particular belief. And then he meets her.

The first time Oriana met Azriel, she thought that he reminded her of a skittish cat. Shy and a little bit broken. Good for him that she absolutely excelled in fixing the things around her.

Warnings:

Definitely NSFW

Notes:

I put a lot of world building into this. If you don't recognise it from canon, I probably invented. Or I forgot that canon existed.

(thanks to @firefly-graphics for the super pretty dividers!)

Oriana hadn’t thought that it was going to feel like this . 

She hadn’t. 

(But then, she had never been mated before, so what did she have to draw a comparison? Her wedding night at 19, when she had been filled with more trepidation than anything else?)

She only knew that her whole life narrowed to Azriel, onto that moment in the middle of their living room. 

And then they met in a clash of lips and tongue, his knife clattering to the floor and she just hoped that the blueberries weren’t going to stain anything important because…

That was the last thought she had. 

The last thought as Azriel lifted her in his arms and somehow managed to get them into their bedroom without running into any walls. 

Oriana wasn’t a big help, she knew that . 

Oriana’s hands uselessly clawed at his shirt as he kissed her, his tongue pressing against the roof of her mind, arousal punching through her so harshly and suddenly that her knees grew weak. 

She managed to pull her head back enough to gasp for breath before she fainted from lack of air. “You know I bought lingerie just for you,” she managed to blurt out. 

Pretty lingerie, too. In cobalt blue. 

She had thought that he would like that. 

And really, who was she to refuse him anything? 

“Later,” Azriel growled and that sound was enough to make her shiver. And then he had his mouth on her again and she didn’t really think anymore. 

Finally, he pulled back, a broad, scarred hand cupping her cheek, leaning his forehead against his. “How do you want me?” he asked her, his voice hoarse. 

“I don’t care,” she breathed. “I don’t care. I just want to have you.” In whatever way she could get away with. Whatever he wanted. 

His hands went to the back of her dress and she turned in his arms, letting him open the laces that kept it closed. She kicked off her shoes at the same time, as he bunched up the dress and pulled it over her head. 

A pained noise escaped him, as he reached out to her back. She froze as she felt his fingers touch her right lower back, the exit wound of when the sword had pinned her to the floor. 

It had entered her front lower belly at an angle, slicing through her near diagonally. Thankfully not severing her spinal cord, but gone straight through her womb and intestines. 

If it hadn't been for Enya...

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he whispered, touching the scar, nearly painfully soft. 

Her heart constricted at it. The way he touched her with so much care, always terrified that he did something that was going to make her run from him…

She wondered if he was ever going to believe in her love for him. If he was ever going to trust in her the way she trusted in him. 

She didn’t know when, but someday, his scarred hands had started to give Oriana more safety than anything else in her life. She had started to trust in him, in his unassuming presence, the steadfast calm of him. 

So when she leant back against him, she did that with the full trust that he would take her weight. 

“You won’t,” Oriana promised. He wouldn’t hurt her. She didn’t think he had that in him. And still, she wanted him to feel safe with her, safe in the knowledge that if he did something, something that was too much for her to take, that she would tell him. 

“Give me a safe word,” she said softly. “I say it and everything stops.”

“Lake,” his response was immediate. 

“What’s yours?” Oriana asked and she felt him hesitate. She wasn’t sure if it was just the idea of having a safeword for himself or if it was something else. 

“Cell.”

Of course, Oriana would get a safeword with a myriad of beautiful memories connected to it. Of course, Azriel would pick one for himself that was everything but that. 

She didn’t comment on it. 

She couldn’t, not right now. 

So instead, she turned in his arms, embracing him. 

“You aren’t going to hurt me,” she promised. He pressed a kiss against her forehead, a hand gently smoothing down her hair. 

“I don’t want to ruin you, either,” he admitted, something dark in his voice.

She couldn’t help but snort. 

“Sweetling, I am a lot of things, but a virgin is not one of those,” she pointed out drily. Granted there had only ever been Wynstan but they had still been married for a good few decades. “I am your mate. I am pretty sure that means I am yours to ruin.”

Somehow these words were what he had needed to hear. He kissed her again and she shuddered as she felt his shadows brush against her skin. 

“Not today,” he bit out, aloud. Normally she felt him dismiss the shadows worldlessly. Just a thought and off they went. But today, he said it aloud, glaring at the swirling darkness. 

To her surprise though, they went without a discussion. 

He ran a hand questioningly over her undergarments and she smiled, stepping back to strip out of them. 

She made quick work out of it, crawling into their bed in their house, throwing back the blankets and relaxing, right there, watching him. Waiting. 

He drank her in, every inch of her body, his eyes nearly as pitch black as her hair. 

He nearly stumbled into bed in his hurry to join her, throwing off the shirt and pants he wore and then he was there, next to her. Azriel cupped her cheek again, warm kisses raining on her face. His thumb gently traced her brow. 

“Don’t hide your eyes,” he requested, his voice soft. 

It took her by surprise. She hadn’t expected that. She just stared at him but pulled back the glamour she kept on them, letting them flare to life. 

Nobody had ever asked that of her. 

“I want you. All of you,” Azriel said softly. “Your eyes are you. Every time they are just pitch black I feel like something is missing.”

She smiled at that, leaning into his touch, turning her head to press a kiss to the inside of his hands to one of the worst scars. 

"Anything else?" she asked softly. 

"Your hair."

She pulled out the two pins that kept it up during the day, letting the dark curls fall around her waist, shaking her head so they settled. 

“Tell me I can touch you,” he whispered.

“Everywhere you want,” she whispered right back, twining her arms around his neck. 

That was all he needed. One hand slid down over her neck, his mouth finding hers again as fingertips softly trailed over her clavicle and her arm to her fingertips…up again, down her torso, in between the valley of her breast…and then over her ribs, up again, until callouses and mottled skin rasped against a sensitive peak and she gasped. 

He swallowed her sound, pulling back slightly to repeat the touch, circling her breast, even as they tightened to a near-painful point, her arousal racketing up. 

She wanted to reach out to touch him, to be the one to make him come but all she could was moan at his ministrations until he caught her nipple between his fingertips and she whimpered. 

“Will you give me two?” he asked her, nearly conversationally and she stared at him. He may acted like nothing bothered him but she could still smell his desire. 

It was filling the room, intermixing for both of them. 

His cedar mist and her jasmine fire. She wasn’t even sure what the result would be. Nor did she care. 

“Two?” she repeated hollowly. 

Just…now? How…

“Yes,” Azriel said evenly. “Will you give me two peaks? Drench my fingers?” 

“I…Then we’ll be here in three days,” she exclaimed. “It was hit or miss when I used to…” She didn’t get to answer the rest of the way. Probably better. 

He caught her mouth in another bruising kiss. 

It had been hit or miss the last time she had sex. Granted, Wynstan and her marriage had been a fucking mess at this point and so their sex had been…questionable if anything. And it had never been a desire-filled clash of wills anyway. 

It had just been…something they had done because people expected that of them. Sometimes she had gotten something out of it. Especially when she had taken matters into her own hands. 

It was better when it was just herself, but then she had the problem of shutting up her brain that ran a million miles an hour and…there had only really been a few occasions since when she had even wanted to even touch herself. 

Azriel growled against her mouth, the sound somehow resulting in a rush of wetness between her thighs. 

He pulled back, only to go back to attacking her neck with kisses, lips and teeth against her sensitive skin.

“It…takes a long time. I have been the one in charge of my own orgasms since I was 18,” she managed to get out, her voice wrecked. He pulled back, staring at her. She couldn’t help but catch her lip between her teeth and then he caught it with his thumb. 

“That’s unacceptable,” Azriel told her, his voice low. “You are going to come and you are going to say my name while you do it.”

She swallowed. 

There was not one fucking way where she was going to be in charge, was there? 

She couldn’t find it in herself to care, nor could she stop the squeak that escaped her as his hand reached the apex of her thigh and dipped one thick finger between her lower lips. 

“You are drenched ,”  he bit out these words before he caught her mouth in another bruising kiss…and then, really it was just a question of hanging on to him. 

While Azriel made it his mission to take her apart. 

Every noise she made was catalogued by him. Every twitch of her body that felt so overstimulated by him and being surrounded by him…all of it made a roadmap for him, made it possible for him to push her higher and higher. 

One single finger pressed inside her, a faint burning stretch that made her gasp, his thumb finding the bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs and she shook, fingernails biting against Azriel‘s shoulder. 

He wasn’t going to do this, was he?

He was. 

The rhythm he set was just at the edge of too much. 

A thick finger that stretched her, a thumb circling that nub…her back arched on her own account. 

He took that as an invitation, catching one breast in his mouth, a warm, wet tongue rasping around a hard nipple. 

And then somehow it was just the faint bite of his teeth against her breast, thumb still circling her knot as she shook apart, clenching against his hand, surrounded by him, owned by him.

She tumbled headfirst into her first peak, his name a gasp leaving her mouth. “Azriel!” 

“Cauldron, you are beautiful,” he breathed, letting go of her breast. 

“Azriel,” she whispered, her breathing coming in rapid gasps. 

“That’s one,” he said evenly. 

One?

…By the cauldron.

“There is no way you can…” she tried to protest. That was how far she came. 

He moved faster than she thought he even could. One moment she had been on her side, his hand still buried between her legs… the next she was on her back and he loomed over her. 

“What did you just say, love?” he said softly, hazel eyes near black with his desire. She swallowed. “No way I can make you come again for me?” Azriel offered, his voice gentle. She managed a nod. 

“We’ll see about that,” he told her, a grin widening over his features. He pressed a kiss against her unresisting lips and she curled a hand against his ribcage…and then he left her mouth and worked himself down her body, dropping kisses wherever he went, feather-light and gentle. Somehow a harsh contrast to how intense he was being, to how he had thought that she…

Well. He parted her legs and she slid them open for him to settle between them, swallowing once again as her brain finally caught up with what was happening. 

She opened her mouth to protest, but then he licked her from her hole to that bundle of nerves and there was nothing left anymore, just a whimper leaving her mouth. 

She had thought that his fingers were clever. Shee had thought that he had been…quick to make her come, quick to let her find her peak like that. That he had somehow figured out a way to read her moans and give her exactly what she needed…and not…

Her hands gripped the bedsheets in a white-knuckled grip as her body started to shake, the arousal in her belly tightening to a fever pitch, her breathing coming in pants. 

He buried his finger into her once again, his tongue concentrating on the apex of her thighs, stretching her open.

“I…I…so good. So good.” She was reduced to babbling, her eyes closed, fireworks already exploding behind them as he prodded and pushed her towards her release, his finger slowly sinking inside her and then withdrawing again. 

More.

“Can you take another one?” Azriel asked, lifting his head from between her legs and she managed a whimper, maybe an affirmative. 

She wasn’t even sure. 

She just knew that his mouth went back to making her lose her cauldron-forsaken brain and then she was stretched seemingly impossibly wide with another thick, ridged finger slipped inside her. 

“There we go,” he whispered against her, his breath cool against her drenched and overheated flesh.

There we go.

Her body shuddered, her legs tightening against his arms that kept her stretched open, pinned to the bed, unable to escape. 

She had thought two fingers were all she could take. Azriel had broad hands and…

And then he somehow pressed a third finger inside her. 

He actually did it. 

What she had thought was nothing but male mating posturing…yeah, he had every fucking reason to be as arrogant as he liked about it, because she shattered. 

There was no other word for it. No other word that could possibly describe the feeling as she seemingly reached a cliff's edge and hurled down over it, a high-pitched noise leaving her throat as she shook through it. 

He pulled his fingers from her, absolutely drenched in her slick, and by the time she once again felt able to open her eyes, he had already pressed kisses to her quivering form, over her stomach and breast. 

“I think I proved my point,” Azriel whispered against her pulse point and she managed a weak laugh, loosening the death grip she had on the sheets to lay her hands on his shoulder. 

“You did, Sweetling,” she promised him, lightly pulling at his hair, until he slipped upstairs to kiss her properly, and she moaned at the taste of herself in his mouth. 

She let her hands wander, down his shoulders to his side, then between them, reaching to take him in hand to return the favour….he shuddered at her hand wrapped around him, a hiss escaping him. 

She swallowed. 

Suddenly his insistence on making her come at least twice made perfect sense because he was massive . 

Titania had been right to talk about proportionality. 

Still, there was absolutely no hesitance in her anywhere. Nothing, but the need within her firing up again, or maybe it had never even left her, as she swirled her thumb over the head of his cock, catching that bead of moisture...it made him hiss once again . 

“I want you,” she whispered and he growled against her neck. 

“If it’s too much…” he warned her. It wouldn’t be. She was sure about that. 

Oriana was also sure that she had never been more ready for the taking than she was at that particular moment. 

So letting go of him and wrapping her legs around his waist was clearly the reasonable thing to do.

Very reasonable. 

He made a noise low in his throat, moving impossibly closer to her and she could finally feel him throb against her, hard and massive and big.

“It won’t be too much,” she promised him, as he leant his forehead against her.

It wasn’t. 

It was heat and pressure and her body giving way and the sight of Azriel above her, wings stretching out and her reaching out for him. 

It was her body stretching to take him and a burning sensation, of the fire welling up inside her as she forced herself to take a deep breath even when it seemed impossible.

She met his eyes, curling a hand against the nape of his neck, kissing him.

And then finally, he hit the end of her, coming to rest against her. 

He didn’t move. 

“It’s alright. I can take it, sweetling,” she cooed.

She could. For him, she would take everything.

The first snap of his hips made her see stars. The second made the bond in her chest bloom brightly, the golden bond coming into stark focus.

It was right there, thrumming with their love and pleasure, with every passing second growing stronger and more solid.

She couldn’t describe it any differently. 

Oriana had thought when the bond snapped for the first time that it had already been a solid string tying her to Azriel. She had thought it was strong.

It was nothing against what it turned into at that moment.

It had been nothing but the thinnest of threads, nothing but a wisp of connection, a quiet echo of feelings.

Now…now it was a rope. Strong and supple and flexible. A rope that tied her to Azriel, that connected their feelings. 

Everything he felt poured over her. All his adoration, his pleasure and his love. A maelstrom that took her and she could do nothing to fight against it. 

Not that she wanted to. She never would want to. 

This was Azriel. The male she loved. 

Her mate. 

Her everything. 

And as her nails bit into his shoulders, she fell apart. 

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The moment the mating bond had first snapped in Azriel’s mind, would always count as one of the most shocking moments in his long, immortal life. 

But the moment they finally accepted the mating bond and it solidified in place…that would always be one of the most beautiful things he had ever felt. 

It solidified and Oriana’s mind collided with his, bursting open with feelings. She drenched him. Drenched him in her love, the feeling so strongly that it made his very heart shudder. 

She loved him. 

He had doubted many things in 540 years of life. 

But he would never be able to doubt the depth of her love for him. 

Not when he dwelled in it, when she poured it over him, pushing it into the bond, warming and nurturing him. 

Her love. The very essence of her, of bright and brilliant Oriana, who loved him. 

For some cauldron-forsaken reason, she loved him like that . 

It all culminated in that. 

He splintered apart at the seams, there was no other explanation for it. 

He splintered apart, as mind-numbing pleasure took over his body, and all he could concentrate on was Oriana. Oriana underneath him, Oriana’s love, Oriana, surrounding him, her warm body so welcoming to him, wrapped around him to the best of their ability. 

He came back to himself slowly, still shuddering with the strength of the bond between them, but he wasn’t the only one. 

She clutched him to him, holding him so tightly, her chest still rising and falling rapidly. 

He pushed up on shaky arms, not wanting to hurt her with his weight.

“No, don’t go, Sweetling,” she protested, her voice hoarse, eyes blinking open, protest seemingly pouring over their bond. 

“Shhh, I don’t want to hurt you,” he shushed her softly, managing somehow to pull out of her and collapse next to her…pulling her as tightly against his side as she could. 

“I thought this would be different,” he finally whispered, breathing in the scent of her and him, intermixing into something beautiful. The smell of blood hit his nostrils.

“Did I hurt you?” he asked, desperation bleeding into his eyes, immediately taking in her still form and Oriana’s eyes blinked open

“What?” she asked him. 

“I smell blood,” he explained, eyes still tracking over her body. He couldn’t see blood, but that didn’t mean anything. 

What had he done? Where had he hurt her? He knew that he had been rough with her but he hadn't...

But then Oriana was reaching out for him, her hand touching his side, where she had clung onto him and came away wet. 

“It’s yours,” she said, eyes widening. “I…My fingernails.”

Oh.

Relief poured out of him all over her as she blinked at him. But then he could feel Oriana’s regret, tinged with sadness and apology, pushing against him.

“I am so sorry,” she whispered, sitting up, carefully reaching out to see the already-closing wounds. 

“I didn’t even feel it,” he admitted. “Don’t be sorry." He didn't want her to be sad. Not because of this. Not when he had enjoyed every fucking moment of it. 

She fixed him with a glare. “I made you bleed.”

“I have bled for a lot less than our pleasure,” he shot back. 

“Azriel,” she said quietly, seemingly searching for words. Finally, she sighed. “At least let me clean it up,” she bargained, reaching over to her bedside table that she had bought in some kind of antique shop a few weeks ago. He had gotten one as well, though they definitely weren’t matching.  

“Did you stock your bedside table with potions?” he asked her, as she pulled out one.

“Yes, because I am paranoid and if I accidentally burned you I wanted to be prepared,” Oriana admitted. “I had my sister send them to me.” 

“Did you think that was going to happen?” he asked her curiously, shifting slightly as she poured said potion onto a rag and pressed it to his side. 

“No,” Oriana said quietly. “But I wanted to be prepared if something did happen. I was counting on the mating bond stopping my magic from hurting you, if I am being honest.”

“You weren’t scared that I was going to hurt you?” he asked her and she just looked at him. 

“No, Azriel. I didn’t think that for one moment,” she said softly. “If my emotions are high, my magic tends to lash out. All I have come to know about you, makes me think that if your emotions go high…you would rather shut down. Unless your temper gets the better of you.”

She was right. She was so fucking right. 

Sometimes it scared him about how much Orianaa seemed to get him. 

His exact opposite in so many ways, a complimentary half in others…his equal in all. 

“At least you didn’t put us both on fire,” he finally said drily, figuring that that was the safest thing to say. Her hand came away from where she had wiped the blood from his skin. 

“That’s not funny,” she said, though he could feel her amusement bleed over the bond. 

“It’s a bit funny. You need to admit that,” he gave back, reaching back out to touch her as she put away the rag and the whatever tonic she had put on his skin. 

He rolled his shoulder, not even feeling a twinge at his skin moving. 

She curled back up with him, though he could still feel her apology thrumming through the bond. 

He batted it away with a wave of his adoration for her and she huffed, stretching out in their bed, unapologetically naked. 

Cauldron, she was gorgeous like that, all lush curves, not a single angle anywhere in side. Long limbs, well muscles by her work, near black skin that seemed to swallow all sunlight stretching over her body, and there in her face, these eyes that he adored so much. 

“I thought it would be…worse,” he admitted as he turned so that he could bed his head on her stomach, stretching his wings over both of them. 

“You thought you would feel less than yourself? Less in control?” Oriana guessed, burying a hand in his hair, scratching her nails over his scalp delicately and he moaned softly at the sensation. 

“Yes,” he whispered. “I thought it would be more…feral.”

“I think we were plenty feral,” Oriana admitted drily. “I got my claws in you after all.” 

He couldn’t help but snort. “I thought sex was all we were going to think about. Unable to have an actual conversation,” he said thoughtfully.

“Or maybe, once we sated the first…wave of…desire, it’s banked until it comes back,” Oriana suggested. 

He could see that. At least then it would make sense why it took other faes weeks to finally be fit for companionship again.

He traced his fingers over her stomach thoughtfully, tripping over the puckered scar tissue and she shivered underneath him in response. 

“Do you feel that?” he asked her curiously. “I don’t always have feelings in my hands.” Sometimes it prickled like needles under his gnarled skin…sometimes they were overly sensitive. And sometimes they were numb.

“I do,” Oriana said softly. “If the weather changes especially.”

It was the same for him. 

“It went straight through you,” he said softly, still tracing the long line. Whoever had healed it for her, had done a phenomenal job at at least trying to make the slice less jagged than it had been. Still, it was long and brutal. “I could have lost you before I ever met you,” he whispered against her skin as he pressed a kiss against her skin, against the scar that could have claimed her life. 

It could have killed her, easily. And if it had…he would have never met her. Never got what he now got from her. Never gotten this, this mating bond, this moment right there in their bed, where the bond between them thrummed with love and sweetness and could imagine a future for the two of them. 

He hadn’t expected as she lifted one of his hands to her mouth, raining a myriad of kisses over his scarred skin. “I could have lost you too,” Oriana said softly. “But I haven’t. We haven’t.”

He shuddered as the bond flared back to life between them, as the banked desire flared back to life. 

“I think I was right,” Oriana breathed, her eyes glowing with fire. 

She was right. She always was right.

He nary brought out a noise as he crawled back up her body, as she stretched out underneath him, seemingly revelling in the presence of him on top of her. 

He wanted to remember every single second of this, even when he knew that it would all be lost in another wave of desire. 

He wanted her and she wanted him, the scent of her want thick in the air as he kissed her again, her body easily opening up underneath him, a soft gasp from her as he slid back into her like he had never left in the first place. 

He promised himself to go slow this time, to savour every moment, as the bond between them flexed and her desire was reflected onto him, flickering like warm, painless flames all over him. 

She was careful this time, no nails biting in his skin, flat hands rubbing over his sides and then hands carefully reaching out to touch the delicate skin of his wings. 

He shuddered above her, wings spreading out for her touch on her own accord as Oriana looked at him, the flames in her eyes flickering.  

Illyirans were taught from a very young age to be careful with their wings. And especially Azriel who hadn’t even learnt to fly until he had been far older than any other Illyrian…he had always been…careful with them. 

They were seen as an Illyiran’s pride, their greatest joy, their biggest strength… their biggest weakness they had. 

Not even Cassian and Rhys reached out to touch his wings because they knew how weird he could be about them. 

But Oriana…she reached out and she touched and he loved every fucking moment of it. 

He arched into her touch, revelled into it, as her arms stretched out so that she could grip the talon at their tip, his wings shuddering against her grasp, strong hands that were being so carefully with him, that touched him with so much care and love and when they left marks, then it were marks of love. 

All she left behind her were marks of love. 

She shuddered against him and he kissed her, tasting her, drinking her in, everything that she was offering to him for the taking. 

She has said that she was his to ruin. 

And he was sure he was doing a brilliant job at it, but he couldn’t help himself. 

Couldn’t help but chase after even more pleasure, of losing himself in the warm embrace of her body and mind and loving every minute of it. 

Azriel didn’t know what he had done in his life to somehow deserve Oriana. 

He didn’t know, nor did he care. Not right now. 

Not when he could lose himself in her, when she held him close to her, embracing him, her love cocooning him and keeping the world at bay. 

His sanctuary.

[sunlightmurdock]

okay apocalypse dbf!jake will not let me go again so- I need the confession 🙏 I need the tear-stained first kiss after an attack, with too much adrenaline and too little care for the inappropriate age gap

EEK me either me either me either ! I’m so insane about him rn

And I feel like this particular attack would be a big one. Resources are running low and Jake won’t leave you up on that mountain by yourself, so he has no choice but to bring you with him. He has done what he can, preparing you for this.

It scares you, even when it’s just all pretend with him. He’s not as kind when he’s training you. Even as you’re crying and telling him to stop it, that you don’t want to, he’s yelling and insisting that you aim straight and breathe — that these things won’t stop no matter how much you cry, or scream, or beg.

He doesn’t mean to be cruel. It would be far more cruel to leave you unprepared, to let something happen to you.

This is a low stakes run, but you can feel that he’s unhappy having you here. It’s itching at you that maybe it’s because you couldn’t hit that target last time. He had tied a thick tree branch to a length of rope, pushed hard, and let it swing. Your first moving target. Not so much as a chip in the wood. You’ve got a pretty big knife, one that could tear muscle from bone— he won’t give you a gun.

You know he’s focused on protecting you, it’s an awful feeling to think that you may not be able to do the same for him, especially after all he has done for you so far.

It’s a gas station, back off of the road, early enough on that it hasn’t yet been completely raided. Heavy metal shutters cover the windows, but Jake makes quick work of the padlocks on the back door. The power has all gone out by now, it’s just the light from your flashlights to guide the way. Jake is two paces ahead, close enough to jump back and pull you behind him if he needs.

It’s eerily quiet. You’re stuck to him like a shadow as he surveys for danger, and ultimately decides that it’s okay.

Keep away from the doors and windows, stay where I can see you. Dejected and feeling more uselessly childish than you have in a long time, you sweep the shelves and take what you can while Jake does the same. Continually, he checks over top of the shelves to see if he can see the top of your head.

It’s going too well, it tricks you both into thinking that this is going to be easy. You’re focused, on your knees and rummaging through the medicines to take everything you could need. You don’t even notice the noise that you’re making. Jake doesn’t mind the rummaging sounds, it means he can hear where you are without needing to watch.

But then, so can the employee who took such care to fortify this place before he took swallowed back a cocktail and pills the second that he saw his home in flames and his undead mother staggering around on the news footage. He made himself comfortable before he passed. His shoes and his jacket are in the back room. His socks are almost silent against the linoleum as he staggers around the corner.

He’s tall, and skinny, and hadn’t hurt anyone in his entire life. But he’s close enough by the time you spot him that his height gives you no room to stand up. His eyes are wide and gorging, the sockets sullen and lifeless. You haven’t seen one of them so clean before, part of him still looks human. His lips are pulled back, animal, growling weakly as he reaches for you and tumbles forwards.

Jake hears the scream and he swears that he’s going to be too late. Even just across the floor of the gas station — it takes seconds for one of those things to get their jaws around you. He’s sick to his stomach, his gun pulled and the safety off, uncaring about if the sound draws attention for miles around.

He rounds the corner and spots the puddle of dark, thick blood first. His heart sinks to his stomach, until he realises that it isn’t yours. You push the corpse back, off of you. Your knife is plunged through the socket of its eye, it’s dead. You take one look at Jake, and crumble, tears pouring from your eyes as you stare at your blood soaked hands.

“Shh, I’m here. Shh, shh, shh. You’re okay,” Jake whispers, sinking to his knees and pulling you off of the floor, cradling you in his arms as he kisses the top of your head. “It’s alright, I’m right here. You’re safe, you’re okay.”

“I didn’t— I didn’t see it— it was —“

“I know, sweet girl,” Jake whispers, rubbing soothingly at your back. He presses his lips together and kisses softly at your temple. “You did so good. You did it. You’re alright now.”

Again, Jake kisses your temple softly, hugging you closer. His weight and his smell, his strong arms wrapped around you. All of it almost makes you forget where you are. Blinking back any more tears, you turn your head as he kisses at your temple again. This time, you’re looking at him as he pulls back.

Tears soaking your lashes and your cheeks, staring up at him. Jake’s throat feels thick, his mouth suddenly dry as your fingers press into his arms. You are okay, you did it. He’s here. You sit forwards first, and Jake’s met with the exact thing that he has been trying to stop himself from thinking about for these past few weeks. Your lips are just as soft as they look, and your hands pawing at his arms make him melt into you.

Before all of this, Jake tried so hard to fight it. You’re so much younger. Your father would have never approved. Now, he supposes — it doesn’t matter. What matters, is keeping you safe, and he’s so glad that you’re safe.

His hand grabs firmly at the nape of your neck as he presses closer, deepening his hold on you, kissing you firmly.

[commiegoth]

Okay at this point I gotta be real: season 2 of Severance has not been nearly as strong as season 1 for me. But I feel like a lotta the criticism I've seen from outlets and stuff has been kinda missing the mark a little bit on why it hasn't been working (to me). Like a lot of the criticisms I've seen kinda go on abt how the show introduces more mysterious elements without resolving them and people on reddit or whatever have their theorizing threads to occupy them but the show is only stringing them along, which is true to a certain degree this season but here's the thing: resolving all the little mysterious elements wasn't really the point in season 1. It kinda didn't matter what the numbers did because the show was really about the characters, and their arcs in terms of "waking up" from the indoctrination innies go through and fighting back. The show is a big ol allegory for working in a corporate office that treats you like shit so it kinda doesn't matter if the numbers do anything because they fulfill the role of mindnumbing busywork and a lot of the other little details are just worldbuilding set dressing and don't need the show to put a lot of attention on them. And of course once the show progresses to a second season we want some of these mysteries to actually get addressed. Of course we're invested in why Mark's dead wife is really alive and of course we're curious about what top secret evil thing Lumon is making the innies participate in through their work. But fundamentally that shouldn't GET IN THE WAY of the focus being on the core cast of characters, their relationship to one another, and the arcs they go through. The thing that, y'know, the show is about.

So the season started out pretty strong. Characters have new motivations since the first season based on where they left off, we have some intrigue with Helena's involvement from the outside (and inside too maybe wink wink), and some new variables introduced with Milchick promoted to floor manager and the "more ethical" changes made to their work environment. Fertile ground for exploring the themes and relationships we loved so much in the first season, oh boy! But then we get to Woe's Hollow and. The characters are dropped into a contextless environment, so we are pulled out of the momentum the preceeding episodes built. And it ends with one of the characters getting fired, so he's cut out of the core dynamic and spends the rest of the season divorced from the primary action, reduced to a secondary character. Then the season chugs along. Then we get an episode entirely devoted to flashbacks and another character divorced from the core dynamic. Then that episode is immediately followed by another episode entirely devoted to a different character divorced from the core dynamic. And then the next episode we see all our main cast again but they're all up to stuff that is, again, divorced from one another and the dynamic that made the first season so interesting, and we, the audience, are reminded of just how little time we've spent with Dylan and Irving and innie Helly this season. Their plot arcs are given a bit of a wrap-up in the lead up to the finale, and we're left to wonder how much more satisfied we might feel if the season had given them adequate time to establish further character development too.

And all this is not to say I hate this season or anything, in fact it's because I LIKE this show so much that it's so disappointing to me when it doesn't reach its full potential. There's plenty of stuff I enjoyed about this season, Milchick's arc in particular, and I liked what we do see of Burt and Irving, the idea behind Dylan's arc, etc. but it feels like wasted potential when we have barely enough time spent on them before their storyline wraps up. And none of the bottle eps are "bad" necessarily as stand-alone episodes, but when you only have ten episodes to tell your story in, it really detracts from the pacing to have like a third of the season draw us away from the stuff that made the first season so interesting. It's the shift away from character arcs and how the main cast of characters influence and interact with one another, and towards addressing the "mysteries" established earlier and then establishing more "mysteries" to build hype for a third season that really hurts the writing and my investment in the show. Even the commentary on capitalism and corporate culture seems to fall to the wayside (again, great ideas but where did they go??), which in conjunction with all the fucking CROSSOVER ADVERTISING we've been seeing leaves a bad taste in my mouth. This show could be good. It could be so so good. Why were these choices made to make it less good. Jesus christ.

[perictione00]

Oops!...I Did It Again

Ch 4: Fuck me like you hate me.

Pairing: Nanami x reader

Warnings: MDNI, smut, unprotected sex, angst, use of curse words.

Synopsis: When life was throwing you uncountable curveballs, an unexpected reunion with your high school friend helped you dodge every single one of them. Coping mechanisms leave you both in a complicated situationship. So what happens when one of you ends up catching feelings? The cliche or the unexpected?

Jujutsu Kaisen Masterlist

Ch 3

Fuck me like you hate me? That particular expression from you conveyed the exact opposite of Nanami's sentiment. The dynamics between you two underwent a noticeable shift after that exchange. Previously, you instigated random conversations with him while sharing dinner, but now you steer clear of interactions and instead aggressively approach him with sex on your mind. Suddenly, that was all it was about. Secret visits to his office evolved into regular and conspicuous events. He wasn't complaining; he enjoyed having you in his arms; however, it felt like there was a wall that kept him from reaching you.

"You're doing it again, y'know." He confronted you as he saw your form entering the room.

"Doing what again?" you inquired, diligently drying your hair.

"Pushing me out-"

"You're just too big for me, but I promise I'll try to make it fit this time." You replied playfully.

Kento audibly sighed at the apparent endeavor on your part to ignore his inquiry with an innuendo. His gaze traced your motions, uncertain if you intended to swiftly segue into intimate matters or address the pending discussion. The predictability manifested as you opted for the former, leaving your bathrobe on the floor, settling onto his lap, adjusting your damp tresses, and drawing him closer, close enough to kiss. Your mere presence proved intoxicating, and despite his earnest attempts to grapple with his dilemmas, the overpowering sensation of your lips meeting his was enough to conquer his doubts and uncertainties. And right when he had started to drown himself in the kiss, you pulled away. It looked like you wouldn't listen to him, so he decided to speak your language and give into you.

What were you doing to him? You pondered as you observed every detail on his face that reflected nothing but his unwavering devotion to you. He was a great person, and yet you could never be the same as him. A lingering feeling of fear, borne of past disappointments and betrayals, veiled your sentiments. You had experienced them far too many times from far too many people you considered close. Your trust was fractured by the scars of abandonment etched by some friends, some endgames, who left you when they were bored. Were you the problem? Were you the catalyst for their departures? You don't know. There's one thing you know for sure, though: you are never going to grant anyone that power over you. You're never going to surrender dominion over your emotions or believe in anyone because people suck no matter how perfect they appear to be on the outside. You are tired of being on the receiving end of pain. Maybe now you'll take your sweet time giving it. Kento appears to be flawless, and that's uncanny because you don't know what you'll do if he leaves you like everyone else. So you have decided to own him without having him—an attempt to possess without being possessed—to lay claim to his heart without the surrender of your own, as yours remains beyond his grasp.

Kento lithely guided you onto the plush mattress, divesting himself of his shirt. A heavy breath escaped him as he traced a path of delicate kisses along your neck. Captivated by the allure of your taut nipples, he indulged in drawing one into his mouth while ardently caressing the other, savoring the sensation of your hands entwined firmly in his tousled locks. Sucking indelible marks on your bosom, he earned fervent moans from you. Intertwining his fingers into yours, he slowly moved down to your pussy. Interlocking his fingers with yours, he moved down to your pussy to bestow his attention upon the realm of your desire.

"Ah, Kento!" Your limbs entwined around his head, where his adept mouth and tongue worked a beguiling dance upon your sloping core, his hands asserting control over your hips. The vice of your thighs clamped down upon his head, giving him an unspoken insistence to continue his abuse, and so he did. Swiftly, Nanami wasted no time, seamlessly immersing himself between your parted legs.

"Don't move," he commanded as his sizable hands encircled your hips, conveying a tacit warning to stay still when you tried to move away due to the overwhelming sensitivity.

“K-Kento, I'm coming.” You whimpered while grinding your cunt against his tongue, riding through your orgasm.

Without a break, he pulled you onto his lap, seating you with your back leaning against his chest and his already-leaking cock rubbing against your bare cunt. Keeping one thick arm around your waist and the other holding your jaw, he kissed you passionately as he entered your warmth.

"Shi-shit, hah-...fuck" Curses slipped out of his mouth as your wet pussy swallowed up his whole length. He started drilling his cock into you at a dizzying speed, snapping his hips against yours.

"Does this feel like I hate you?" He asked in between his thrusts.

There it was again. Why doesn't he understand that the thrill will be lost the moment they commit? Why can't he just continue this no-strings-attached relationship? Why can't he accept that this feeling of love won't last and all that will be left of it will be dispair?

"A-answer me?" He questioned you as he violently rubbed fast circles on your clit and mouthed at your neck, savoring your taste.

"No."

This wasn't the answer he wanted to hear. It frustrated him to no end that you would go to such lengths just to deny his questions. Pounding relentlessly into your cunt, his tight hold on your waist left bruises.

"Umf-yesh...jus like tha..." You arched your back as he started thrusting at an animalistic pace, each stroke greater and more urgent than the last. You were nearing your climax once again. His teeth pulled at your bottom lip, kissing you over and over as you continued bouncing on his cock. You came with a high-pitched squeal, causing his jaw to clench as he felt your pussy spasm around him.

A series of guttural groans escaped his lips as he climaxed within your embrace. Exhaling deeply, he gazed upon you, a glistening sheen of sweat enveloping your entire form. Your disheveled, damp locks clung haphazardly, yet in this disarray, you appeared flawless. The most beautifully perfect being. Why couldn't you view yourself through his lens?

"I can't do this anymore." He smiled softly, his eyes gleaming with tears.

"What? Why? Is the sex not good?" Why was he doing this?

"Can we be something more than this?" He asked hopelessly, almost sounding tired.

"Where's this coming from?" You inquired.

"Answer me."

"What the fuck is this-"

"Why can't you see it?!" His sorrowful voice gave away his dispair.

"I dunno what you're talking about. Y'know what? Let's take a breather." You stated to avoid the matter at hand.

"No... please. I need to know."

"Kento, let's not-"

"I love you."

"No. Don't do this."

"I love you-"

"Stop it!" you screamed, gasping, a tear escaping your eye. "It's not worth it; let's act like this never happened."

"I can't-"

"Why not? What more can you want? I'm giving you everything, aren't I?"

"I want you." Nanami embraced you in a hug. "I want all of you, and I'm willing to wait."

You pulled away.

"There's nothing there for you to wait for. I don't want you if I can't have you like this. I'm sorry, Kento, but I guess you will only ever be just another good fuck for me."

Series Masterlist

[rexscanonwife]

First Impressions

The galaxy was in pure chaos. She wasn't one to shy away from a bit of chaos now and then. In fact, some would say she was something of an expert back in her padawan days! This was different, however. Ever since The Battle of Geonosis, everyone from the outer rim to the heart of Coruscant was in a tizzy to say the least. Drawing lines, choosing sides, making plans, and in the middle of it were the Jedi. Once they were the galaxy's humble peacekeepers, now they were expected to fight this war for the citizens they had sworn to protect.

A/N: I suddenly got in the mood to write a little something about the day Kepler was assigned as Brea's padawan because I don't think I've talked very much about how everything started! No warnings for this one, just a short drabble and some dialogue to sort of establish their relationship dynamic at the beginning to set the stage. Maybe I'll add onto it and include their first mission, maybe not, but for now here it is! (Divider cred. @/cafekitsune)

Brea’s foot tapped anxiously against the spotless floor of the temple as she wrote out the report on her last mission, her boots leaving slight scuffs on the pristine marble in the process. She'd developed the nervous habit over time after suddenly finding herself in the position of Commander, less than a week after becoming a Jedi Knight to begin with.

She had no battalion to command. When she was deployed on missions, it was usually either as backup for a Jedi General who'd gotten in a bit over their heads as they attempted to push back Separatist droids with their clones, or she went out solo. Using her skills to scout out potential threats, in which case she was solely responsible for the outcome of such missions…and for all the paperwork. Her least favorite part of the job.

Getting shot at by droves of nasally-voiced droids was somehow preferable to this. Her eyes strained against the walls of text on the datapad before her, a headache beginning to form from blue light exposure. Her focus started to wane as she wondered how a droid could have a nasally voice anyhow? What kind of person would program them with that particular kind of voice box? Was their intention to annoy the Grand Army of the Republic to death?

“Speak with you, may I, Young Callisto?” An unmistakable voice and speech pattern shook her out of her thoughts.

“Oh, Master Yoda! How can I help you?” She said, lowering her datapad to reveal the short, green Jedi before her.

He was not alone, however. A young boy stood awkwardly just a few inches behind him. His small frame was emphasized by his posture, shoulders slightly hunched as he looked nervously between her and the back of Yoda's head. Though his robes were disheveled and seemed to be just a bit too big for him and his signature braid was done rather sloppily, he was obviously a padawan. Seemed the right age, probably between 12 and 13 years old. He wore thick goggles that obscured most of his face, but behind them his brow was furrowed, and he had slight wrinkles under his eyes that he was definitely too young for.

She didn't have to use the Force to know that this was a kid who didn't want to be here. That begged the question, why was he? She looked back towards Yoda for answers.

His large ears twitched as he leaned against his cane, always taking such a long time to say what he was going to say. She tried to remind herself that she was in the presence of someone much older and wiser than her and to not get impatient.

“Young Callisto, a very important task for you, I have. As you know, spread thin across the galaxy are the Jedi. Yes. Very thin.” He started pacing slowly, his cane tapping against the floor as he did so. “As many hands as possible, we will need to win this war.”

Finally, he gestured to the boy. “Introduce yourself, young one.”

He seemed unprepared, as he suddenly snapped upright and his hands fumbled to clumsily grip at his robes. “O-oh, me do it? Ok, uhm…my name is Kepler Quinn, Master Jedi!” He punctuated this with a quick and shallow bow, more akin to a nod than anything else. His small voice had an extremely distinct squeak to it, as though it couldn't decide whether the pitch wanted to settle up or down.

“Well, it's uh, nice to meet you, Kepler!” She smiled invitingly to try and set him more at ease, “Heh, so polite. Thank you, but I'm not a Master.” wait…

Brea began to piece together just what Yoda was suggesting and was stunned into silence for the briefest of moments. Not long ago, Anakin had told her about how a padawan was suddenly sprung onto him without so much as a warning, and in the middle of a battle no less. Sure, she had thought about perhaps someday in the future taking on a padawan learner herself, but she always thought it would be a long time from now and that it would be her own choice. And with the war going on, she just didn't have the time.

“Master Yoda, I- I- don't know…how good of an idea this is. I mean, I've only been a Knight for how long?” She stammered, not wanting to sound like she was just outright rejecting the kid when he was standing within earshot. “Do you really want me to be a master?”

Yoda hummed thoughtfully, stroking his chin “a strange and unusual time this is for us all, Young Callisto. Do things the way we have in the past, we cannot. Learn to adapt, we must. And learn from you this youngling will!” He pointed at her with his cane for emphasis.

“In need of help, General Skywalker and his men are. You and Young Quinn will go to the front lines and assist them. Yes, that is your task.”

Brea perked up just a bit upon hearing this. Ever since seeing Anakin on Geonosis what seemed like only yesterday, the two were as thick as they had been as younglings, but with how the war was going they hardly had any time to spend together. They usually ended up posted in totally separate star systems and always seemed to be running off to a new mission. This would be a good opportunity to catch up with him, once she was done saving his butt, of course.

She breathed in deeply through her nose, and out through her mouth, resting her free hand on her hip. This was classic Yoda. He wasn't allowing her a lot of time to consider it, if Anakin needed her help, then she would never be the one to keep him waiting. “Well, Kep. What do you say?”

“I guess I don't really have a choice, so…” He replied with a hint of bitterness, his eyes not meeting her gaze. This gave her a bit of pause.

“Hmm, decided then, it is.” Yoda glanced up at her knowingly. She hated when he did that, like he had some sort of trick up his sleeve in order to teach her a lesson. “If unsure you still are when you return, another master we will find for the youngling. There is no time to waste. Leave immediately, you must!”

“Yes, Master Yoda.” Brea said in unison with the boy, as they watched the ancient one shuffle down the temple hall and out of sight. There really was no arguing with him in the end, and at least for now, it seemed Brea had a padawan of her own.

—--------------------------

That was how she found herself where she was now. Her ship was roomy enough to comfortably house two people, but she had been so used to riding alone that she couldn't help but feel a sort of…weight in the Force around them. She sat arms crossed in the pilot's seat and watched the lines of blue and white light streak past through the cockpit window. There were few places as good to strike up conversation in than hyperspace.

She looked over at Kepler, who sat stiffly and silently in the co-pilot's seat, as though he was afraid to move even a muscle for some reason.

“So, this is your first time off-world, isn't it? it's exciting, huh?”

“I dunno. I feel more nauseous than anything.”

“Eh, that's normal! It'll go away after a while.” She said with a wave of her hand, a deceptively blasé gesture to hide the fact that she was actually floundering just a bit. She'd been trying to break the ice between them for a little while now, but had only managed to get similarly dry responses from him thus far. She was normally so good with younglings. When she visited the initiates when they had a break from their studies to play in the courtyards, they had lots of fun. But this one was so different. Most children raised in the Jedi Temple never see anything else until they reach padawanship, the little guy should be ecstatic right now!

But she wasn't sensing any sort of joy from him right now. Not a hint of excitement. He sat disgruntled and the slightest bit on edge like he was waiting for something terrible to happen at any moment.

“I hope you're not worried about it being your first mission, too. I promise, it won't be that ba-”

“You don't have to keep trying to talk to me, you know.” He said suddenly, cutting off her train of thought.

She quirked an eyebrow, eyeing him from the side as she idly flipped a switch here and there on the control panel to keep the hyperspace jump running smoothly. “I want to talk to you. It seems like we're gonna be spending quite some time with each other from now on, right?”

“Sure. If you say so…” He said under his breath, but just loud enough that Brea heard it over the hum of the ship's engines.

If she says so? That was more than a little concerning to say the least.

“Well, did anyone say otherwise? Come on, we're in this together now.”

He stayed quiet, retreating into himself both physically and emotionally. That wasn't good, she needed to get him to elaborate more so she could finally figure this kid out. What would her Master have done if she needed her to open up to her…?

“Well, this reminds me of my first mission as a Padawan. My Master Yora Tos was a very powerful Jedi, and she had such a kind soul. But she was also such a chatterbox. There we were, it's my first time entering hyperspace, I'm trying to focus be amazed by it and she just would not stop yammering on and on and on and on and on-”

She heard him heave a rather large sigh. Bingo.

“Alright, I'm sorry, it's just…I don't have. A very good track record with this sort of thing.”

“What, with hyperspace?”

“No, with my Masters.”

Masters…plural? It wasn't necessarily unheard of for a padawan to be reassigned once in a while. Sometimes the matchup just didn't work out for one reason or another. It seemed like what was bothering him ran a little deeper than that, though.

“How many…Masters have you had?” She pried carefully, not wanting him to clam up again. She was worried she'd made a mistake by asking when he didn't reply right away, but after a few moments and another large sigh, he did.

“Three.”

She blinked. Three previous Masters? Ok, now that actually was a little bit unheard of. Now she was starting to understand him a little bit. She only ever had one, so maybe this wasn't a matter she could relate to personally, but she felt that she could at least try to sympathize with him.

“Jeez, that's rough, buddy. Why did you drop them? You didn't like em?”

He turned away from her, leaning against the arm of the seat and resting his chin on his hand. “I didn't. They dropped me. Because I'm, well… I'm not really cut out to be a Jedi.”

Her head swiveled towards him, “Hey, don't say that! I'm sure it's not true.”

“Well, I mean? I kinda tend to fall behind, someone is always having to wait for me to catch up. My saber technique needs work. I can barely move a pebble with the Force. And on top of that I'm always getting sick.” He emphasized this with a wet-sounding sniffle and wiped his nose with the sleeve of his robe. “I'm not exactly a star pupil.”

Brea exhaled through her nose as she pondered this. All of that stuff had always come so easily to her, she couldn't imagine how frustrating it must be to struggle so much with it.

“Well, everybody has stuff they're not so good with. It just takes time. And the right guidance! Who were your previous Masters anyway?”

“Well, there was Master Tiin, and Master Koth, and I guess most recently Master Windu.”

“Whew! Well I can hardly blame you, kid.” She said raucously, “That one definitely wasn't your fault.”

He tilted his head to the side as he turned towards her, suddenly seemingly interested for the first time since they met. “What do you mean?”

“Listen, Master Windu has always been bit of a hardass.” She began, leaning back in her chair. Surprisingly enough, this got what she thought was actually a snort out of him. It was almost laughter. Not quite, but close enough. “Ha, that's probably why he's on the Council now, so I doubt much has changed since I was a youngling. His standards are so high you couldn't reach them if you were at the highest point of Cloud City.”

“Yeah…” He turned away, his expression starting to fall again.

Shoot. She dared to reach over and tried to put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, causing him to flinch ever so slightly. She retreated a bit, but suddenly it seemed like a new resolve had settled in her mind. Somehow she wasn't convinced that this kid was the problem here.

“Listen…if becoming a Jedi was easy, then everyone would do it, right? If you're here then it means you have every right to be.”

He said nothing, merely humming a noncommittal reply in return before looking ahead through the cockpit window. Her eyes turned in the same direction. The star streaks that had been shooting past them at impossible speeds suddenly slowing until they stopped entirely and returned to their natural shape as points of light in the far distance. The whole ship shook slightly as they were finally dropped out of hyperspace.

Brea sighed and rolled her neck to pop her upper vertebrae before turning her attention to the control panel, switching the ship from autopilot to manual controls again.

“Alright. Let's get down there and save Skywalker's skin!” they began their descent and soon they would be breaking the atmosphere. “In my experience, hands-on learning is way more useful than anything you can learn from silly old books anyway!”

She glanced over at him and saw how his eyes widened as he watched the planet's surface slowly approach them. His lips pulled tightly in a sort of grimace as he was no doubt imagining what sort of scene awaited the both of them there. So, he was a bit nervous about his first mission. In an ideal world, it wouldn't have been under these circumstances, but at least one thing was clear to her. She wasn't gonna let anything happen to him.

“Remember, I got your back out there, kiddo.”

He swallowed harshly and turned, throwing her a thumbs up and some semblance of an awkward smile, revealing that he had a gap between his two front teeth. Something she hadn't noticed before now.

Fear response or not, this was the first smile she'd seen from him this entire time, and as she returned her focus to the ship's steering apparatus and prepared for landing, she smiled back.

[the-copycat-hero]

In my mind, Monoma knows how to pickpocket, do sleight of hand, roll a coin across his knuckles, all that good stuff :D I also hc him to have voluntary nystagmus. No particular reason, I just 100% think Monoma would use that skill to freak people out

Also I hc him to be friends with Hatsume Mei. Each time he visits he brings a whole packet of papers, diagrams, analytics of quirks and how they relate to their costumes, and Mei def eats it up EVERY TIME. She also has him try quirks she needs for the equipment whenever possible. They’re smart kids :>

What do you like seeing most in monoma fics/fan work and what do you want to see more of? Any relationships (romance or gen) you like? Also I’m very curious about the Monoma family 👀 Clearly they don’t seem to keep in touch. What does Monoma say when he’s asked about them? Is it something he keeps under wraps or are most of his friends aware

!!!!!!! Big Brain Takes! Massive!

sleight of hand (and other assorted part trick) Monoma is near and dear to my heart, and i could definitely see him being able to do Some Sorta Nonsense with his body like voluntarily vibrate his eyes. i could see him being double jointed, too. (he is a Bendy Boy.)

ALSO the fact that Monoma and Hatsume never interacted in any meaningful way will haunt me until i die. they are so smart, and they are such freaks (/pos). their aura would have been so powerful. maybe too powerful? i guess Hori had to nerf them somehow.

as far as fanworks go, i am a massive fan of any fic that has Monoma showcasing his quirk. (for example, Learning Curve has a fantastic scene with a training exercise/mock battle that i frequently go back to because it is So Peak to me.)

as far as things i'd like to see more of, i'd kill for more introspective pieces of Monoma learning how to adjust after the war. (let me see him talk to Bakugo, who he watched die! let me see him talk to Aizawa, who tried to protect him!!!) i'm hoping some more of that will come with time as the anime draws closer to the end, but i suppose we shall see.

romance-wise, i'm big on Monoshin and have been since season 2. the fact that it used to be a rarepair floors me. (really played the long game on that one). that being said, i could honestly read about Monoma with almost any other student, his personality is just that much fun to me. apart from Monoshin, i've been seeing quite a bit of Timebomb and Monoma/Pony on my timeline, and i find both so incredibly charming.

platonically: Kendo. Shinsou. Tokage. Mei. Honenuki. Bakugo (especially after the war). ERI. Vlad and/or Aizawa. slap Monoma in an interaction with any of them and i am Locked In.

FINALLY, the Monoma family. (man, the Monoma family.) @smallvictorianchildwhofoundwifi and i have constructed pages upon pages of lore for these human disasters, but i'll try to keep it brief:

Monoma's dad (still need a name) - only ever agreed to have a child in the first place because his side of the family was pressing for it. resents Neito for reasons that i'll probably dig into later - but as long as Neito isn't actively making a mockery of the family name, his dad really can't be bothered to think about him.

Monoma's mom (Hiromi) [PRE WAR] - had Neito when she was young (around 21 years old) because, again, her husband's side of the family was insistent. she adored him at first sight; however, she has had to make a lot of changes to appease her husband's side of the family over the years, and it has turned her into a harsher, colder person overall. every once and a while, she'll be struck with fondness for her son, but it never lasts for long before she goes back to being made of ice. maybe also unconsciously resents Neito some for marking the end of her old life.

Hiromi (cont) [Post-War] - determined to reconnect with her son after almost losing him in the final battle. has made so many mistakes that it seems impossible, but Neito got his tenacity from someone, and it certainly wasn't his father.

Monoma's class knows next to nothing about his family. even Kendo, who has known Monoma for a long while, has precious little information to go off of.

some of the girls in Monoma's class stumble across a picture of Monoma's mother from one of her last modeling shoots, but when they ask him about her, Monoma just tells them that he has his mother to thank for his dashing good looks and leaves it at that. Ittaka - Monoma's old caretaker (and pseudo-older sister) - comes to visit him once, and his classmates briefly think that his real mother must have died until Kendo corrects them (because she may not know much about the Monomas, but she knows that they are all still kicking). but that's about all they've got.

tldr; trying to wrangle a straight answer out of Monoma regarding his family is impossible.

[anadrym]

Extended Author's Notes for Left Behind Ch6.

Spoilers!

Chapter title is from "Burn" by 2WEI and Edda Hayes.

Caitlyn has no context for how big a deal it is for Vi to disobey an order, and she doesn't get a chance to gather much information before Vi is sent to Maintenance. Cait didn't get to see Vi's defiance, and everything she saw after that initial refusal was mindless obedience. Pretty much all the info she has on Vi's mental state is what Renata tells her.

About the "elegance" of the parlor: my interpretation of the Baroness is that she enjoys the finer things in life. Her mechanical arm is made by the very best, it's fully functional but also beautiful and expensive. She chose a mansion with marble floors and carved fireplaces and crystal chandeliers. She wears tailored suits and drinks from fine porcelain tea cups and sets out more food than she can possibly eat. She's even adopted the highborn accent.

"Very soon for another dose" - Vi had a round of injections about a week before this. Normally, they're about once a month. I'm sure the increase in frequency will have no negative effects.

Renata doesn't really even consider that Vi resisted the order because she recognized Caitlyn. It's been five years, and Renata is pretty much certain that she has Vi completely under control. It helps that she sends Vi away BEFORE she learns who Ghost is, because her brain just doesn't quite make the connection between the two seemingly separate events.

The Baroness here is just throwing all kinds of stuff at Caitlyn. Some of it is true, some of it is lies, and most of it is somewhere in between. She genuinely DOES want Caitlyn to work for her.

I really wanted to try drawing the comparisons between Renata and Cassandra AND Renata and Ambessa. She's smart and diplomatic and strategic. It also kinda plays with the whole "does she actually care about Caitlyn and her goals? Or is she just being manipulative and using Caitlyn for personal gain?"

So. How much does the Baroness know? I don't want to spoil it too much, but why would she continue the injections if she didn't need to? If Vi really is just an animal mind in a dead woman's body - and we already know that she's not - then what would be the point of drugging her?

She gambles on what she thinks Cait knows. Caitlyn obviously isn't sure what's going on, she's in emotional turmoil from just finding out that Vi's alive. So Renata tells her a story that fits that: the body is alive, the mind is non-verbal and terrified.

Another reminder that Caitlyn did NOT see a spray of blood or gore or brain matter when Vi was shot. Her brain made up the details later, as brains do when there are gaps to fill in.

I really like the line about reloading a rifle that's run out of bullers instead of discarding it. I think that kinda sums up Renata's...practicality?

The Baroness abruptly changing the subject was to throw Cait off-balance.

She's not lying about cutting ties with the mercenary group, but she is lying about the reason. It basically came down to "group with no particular loyalty to me" vs. "skilled assassin who also happens to be the girl that I've wanted for five years." She also has a way to potentially control said assassin. It's an easy choice.

Renata DOES know who attacked the Kiramman's manor and is absolutely fine with Caitlyn killing them. It's kind of a "two birds, one stone" situation.

The offer to let Caitlyn "use" Vi was two-fold: first, it was meant to completely throw Caitlyn off-balance (and it did); second, it was intended to dissuade Caitlyn from leaving (after all, if Caitlyn's not "using" her, who else might?) I'm not lying in the tags though, there is NO actual non-consensual sex in this work. Vi is a strange combination of pet and weapon and conquered enemy to Renata, and you wouldn't assault a weapon or a pet, at least. And she's way too possessive to let anyone else touch her "property" like that.

Originally, I had Renata inviting Caitlyn to have lunch with her and then offering to send dinner up later when Cait refused the invitation. Then I realized that it was supposed to be about an hour or two after sunset. Glad I caught that and fixed it.

I really need to stop saying that the extended notes will be up on Friday or Saturday. I'm always late.

Teaser for next week:

She can't forget. Not now. Not when she's this close. Not when the woman upstairs... She knows her. She knows her, more certainly than she's known anything since...

The scar on the side of her head throbs, and the girl presses the ring deeper into her flesh. She can't forget. She won't forget.

[beeeinyourbonnet]

Unbowed | Chapter 1

Rating: E

Pairing: Develle (Danny Devine x Belle) and some Ivelle for fun (Colonel Ives x Belle)

Summary: Belle works nights at the Parrot Club to pay off her estranged husband’s debts to Danny Devine, and days at a bookstore where she has struck up a friendship with a gentleman named Ives. Belle is just supposed to do Danny's books and keep the office organized, but when Something Happens, the she gets drawn into a world she never expected.

Some notes: 1. Pls remember Ravenous is about cannibalism and Ives is a cannibal x] So I'm squeamish, there won't be any gross descriptions here, but like. You know. Sometimes shit has to happen xD 2. Develle is endgame here! 3. You should watch Ravenous if you haven't. It's so good. If you haven't seen Dead Fish...maybe just watch the Danny scenes xD But I try to make it so you don't HAVE to have seen either to read this. 4. If there's anything else you're worried about re: triggers, pls message me and I will gladly tell you! I don't want to give spoilers too broadly but I am happy to give them. 5. I know that the queerness of Ravenous is one of its big themes and draws, and I am taking that into account. But if you got here from the Ravenous tag and are looking for m/m, that won't be here. Just a heads up!

ANYWAY HERE'S THE FIC

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

In the fell clutch of circumstance

      I have not winced nor cried aloud.

Under the bludgeonings of chance

      My head is bloody, but unbowed.

-William Ernest Henley

Belle hated the Parrot Club. It wasn’t the club’s fault—actually, Belle liked the theatrical, glittering floor shows and psychedelic decor and talented dancers—it was that she was trapped here five nights a week, stuck in the well-decorated but windowless office of her employer, Danny Devine.

She hated it in particular tonight, because it was her twenty-ninth birthday, and even if she hadn’t been in the club pretending to sort through receipts, she wouldn’t have had anyone to spend it with. She might as well spend it alone in their office while Danny drove all over trying to collect payments. At least it wasn’t with Gaston.

“Oi.” Danny burst in from the club side, and Belle’s spirits perked up for a second or so at his presence before plummeting back down. “Did anyone come in here? Mr. fucking Beatty said he fucking dropped off a hundred quid and I told him he was a fucking liar.”

“He was a fucking liar,” Belle agreed. “No one dropped anything off.”

Danny muttered to himself as he stomped to his desk, a little tempest in a teacup. His ostentatiously tight suits had irked Belle when she’d first met him six months ago, but now they were as familiar as Danny himself. 

“Some good news, though.” He shuffled through some papers on his desk. “Your fucking good-for-fucking-nothing husband paid me for the first time since fucking July.” 

Read on ao3

[thymehaspassed]

This fucking. Horrible thing I got from a blind box that has somehow somewhat lesbian colors if you squint hard enough and are stupid (like me)

If I threw this at you it’d just bounce off pathetically and doink along the floor a couple times. It sucks

I’d say “don’t overwork yourself” or “don’t worry about following arbitrary deadlines you set for yourself” but yk. But I will say yes do not feel bad for not working on your day off. It’s your dog-given right to not do shit. Saying this as a person who had to go to fucking work today. I don’t want to be here

Lesbian adjacent little thang. Grisps it.

:3 Sundays, Mondays, and Wednesdays are my day off and I stopped working Sundays in particular because they stressed me out too bad. Sundays at work are god-awful and I know that. So I felt a little bad for ignoring my manager in the gc because there were an insane amount of orders for 8 in the morning and I woke up at 5. Like I could’ve just gone in and it wouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But alsooooo I don’t like Sundays they suckkkk and I had drawing stuff to do

[saturdaymournings]

DS tour :)

Hiiiiiiii y’all :) I’m finally making this after putting it off for ages! It’s not going to be completely coherent and I don’t care because I’m making it purely for the pleasure of myself and bestie jay xiaomiao on spacehey <2

I have a New Nintendo 2DS XL in white and orange. I’ve had it since September of 2017, making it almost seven years old! It’s held up really well in my opinion, especially seeing as it has been thoroughly abused and enjoyed by me since the age of 11. A particular incident springs to mind that occurred on a school trip— I dropped the damn ds on the floor and it slid around the aisle of the coach I was on until we stopped Dx

This is the top and bottom half of my ds. As you can see she has been stickered to fuck, I have no shame and if you’re going to be like bitches on Reddit and start bitching about it getting all sticky then I’ll have to inform you that 1) you are like bitches on Reddit. Embarrassing for u and 2) I have used alcohol wipes to get gunk off of this fucker a concerning amount of times before and I’ll fucking do it again. Isn’t she beautiful tho don’t we think so

This is my splash screen I just think it’s a vibe don’t u. It is a good reminder to see this pop up every time I open my ds

This is my theme it’s Miku admittedly I’m not big into the miku I like to listen to like three of the songs, simp over kaito and play the 3ds game that’s about it but the theme is cute and it plays one of the three songs I really like

Some examples of my games!!! I originally took pictures of every single game but it was too many files for tumble to handle lol. The games I’m currently like super duper playing are Ace Attorney Investigations 2 (fan translation), miitopia and animal crossing new leaf! Casually tho I will occasionally pick up tomodachi life, project mirai dx and ofc I do my daily wordle on the ds lol.

My Bluetooth headphones broke a while back so I was exclusively listening to music on my disc Walkman, but I managed to get an mp3 player on my ds and now I can use this for all my music! It’s very handy and it works with the clam shell hingey thing shut :) plus because I have the rainbow light mod I can look at the rainbow light while my music is playing it’s kinda silly but it makes me happy idk if the reason is goofy lol. Also admire my sick ass taste in music!!!! You WISH you had as good taste in ska as me

I also have an mp4 player chock full of Dan and Phil and Shelbizleee videos for on the go which is fun especially seeing as I can no longer get YouTube working on my ds because they fucked up the app and the other app and the website :( thirdtube works for a lot of people but not me unforch

I also do most of my drawing on my ds nowadays purely for 1) the gimmick and 2) the chunky glitter pens that I hacked into swapdoodle. It’s nice to be able to do more drawing for fun again because I totally fell off last year and it’s good to enjoy things

BONUS: archive of our own is more than functional on the 3ds browser. It is a thoroughly enjoyable experience to use it on my ds! Purely for research purposes I have also found Pornhub is difficult to navigate but ultimately useable. And for once I haven’t actually been utilising this feature I literally just get curious. Rare lack of perversion from silly girl we ball <2

anyways tysm for reading this! Jay tysm especially for allowing this to happen in the first place, you rock 🎸 peace

[your-divine-ribs]

Forbidden Part 26

Words: 3.1k

Forbidden Masterlist Main Masterlist

It wasn't so long ago that you lived for the weekends, glad to be free from the constraints of lectures and tutorials, your precious time your own to spend however you wish. Now you just feel restless on those two days not spent in lecture halls. You try all sorts but nothing seems to work. Immersing yourself in revision is nowhere near distracting enough and no amount of partying down at the Student Union bar is hard enough or hedonistic enough to dampen the yearning that you feel.

You've not seen or or heard anything from Van since your Thursday morning lecture despite him procuring your mobile number with promises of arranging private study sessions. But what were you really expecting? You suppose he probably has much better things to do on a weekend... namely his beautiful fiancée... and the bitter taste of envy lingers unwelcomely at the back of your throat. You need to get out of this unhealthy mindset and fast, but it's hard to even try to think about anything else the way he dominates your every thought.

By the time Monday morning comes around you're tense and restless and you feel like you've been holding your breath for three days straight, a jittery kind of frustrated energy spurring you on to get up out of bed way before you'd even consider normally emerging after a weekend of indulgence. And you're not the only one shocked by your uncharacteristic early rising. Bob practically chokes on his weetabix as you shuffle into the kitchen and flick on the kettle with a dramatic sigh.

"Surprised to see you up before lunchtime," he comments, frozen in place with his spoon raised halfway to his open mouth.

"I've got a 9am class so thought I'd better get moving... don't wanna be late do I?"

You shrug like it's the most natural thing in the world even though you've never managed to make this particular timetabled slot all semester. Bob knows it too. He pauses for a second like he's waiting for the punchline of a joke but when it doesn't come he resumes shovelling his breakfast into his mouth, brows raised in disbelief.

"Really? I've never known you make a Monday morning lecture yet."

You draw your robe tightly around yourself before folding your arms across your chest, leaning back against the kitchen cabinet. "Yeah well, I've got exams next week and I need to cram in as much revision as I can. I really don't see what the big deal is."

You'd hoped that your little chat last week and your promise to finish things with Van would have got you off the hook, but it doesn't seem to be the case. Bob's radiating suspicion as he takes his last mouthful of cereal and plops the spoon back into the bowl, watching you carefully. "Come on Y/N, it'd take a nuclear arsenal to get you out of bed at this time on a Monday usually. You're not really going to a lecture are you?"

"I am!" You insist, affronted. "First it's Benji and now it's you. Why is everyone always so bloody suspicious of me?"

Bob looks incredulous. "Oh, I don't know... maybe because you've been shagging your History Professor on the quiet!"

You really walked straight into that one. There's a smile on Bob's face but it's certainly not amiable.

"Shhh, for god's sake Bob!" You hiss, eyes darting nervously to the doorway and back. "It's over. I finished it with him last week just like I promised I would." You purposefully soften your voice, hoping for pity. "And besides, I didn't shag him. It was just a... a... I don't know... a moment of weakness we had... a stupid moment, I realise that now. I just wanna get on with my studies and forget it ever happened to be honest."

"You really told him that was it? What did he say? How did he take it?"

You let your gaze drop down to the floor, chewing on your cheek and looking repentant, hoping Bob's as easy to fool as most other men you encounter. You suspect he probably isn't, he's certainly not the type to fall for your fickle charms like other guys, but he has got a certain naivety which you hope to exploit by appealing to his sweet nature.

"I just told him it was a mistake... that it was wrong and we shouldn't have done it." You realise you're fiddling with the hem of your robe, the sort of nervous gesture you adopt when you're building yourself up to tell a lie. You immediately drop it, smoothing down the material. "He actually agreed with me, he was feeling guilty as hell too. He said he'd never dream of acting that way with a student usually and I believe him. He's usually so professional. He just made a mistake... well we both did. We agreed it wasn't worth messing up our lives over and we should just move on and put it in the past. I still feel awful though."

"Aww Y/N..."

Bob actually looks sorry for you. You can see him visibly softening as he gets up from his seat and makes his way over to where you're standing. "I hope you know you're absolutely doing the right thing. And you shouldn't feel too bad... he took advantage of you remember?"

Bob really is a sweetheart and you can't believe he's taken in so easily by your perfected play at contrition. You wonder what he'd think if he knew you were riding another member of the history faculty's cock in the driver's seat of his car just a few days previously.

"It wasn't all Van... it takes two you know," you say. You want him to swallow your story but you don't want him to think that Van manipulated you into doing something that you didn't want to do. Knowing Bob if he did he'd be even more likely to report him out of some misguided belief that he was preying on vulnerable female students. It couldn't be further from the truth. You know your own mind and you know exactly what you want.

"I know but he still should've known better." He shakes his head, looking wary. "And I know you said he felt bad but I still don't trust him. Maybe you should ask to be assigned a new Personal Tutor or something."

"That won't be necessary," you say quickly, assuredly. "Van's the best lecturer in the department and if anyone's going to get me through this course it's him. He knows just how to motivate me. I've never known anyone teach like him before, I'm learning so much."

Bob's eyes narrow but your show of determination seems to have placated him... for now. "Well just be careful. Guys like him only look out for themselves. Don't make the mistake of thinking he actually cares about you just because he's shown you some attention."

Ouch... that stung.

Your heart cracks with an unexpected surge of hurt which you try your hardest to ignore. You should be used to this. You should be used to being used by men. It's happened enough. Every boyfriend that you've ever had has let you down. They take whatever they can get from you, bits and pieces they never return, discarding you when they've had their fill. And why should Van be any different? He said he wanted things to continue with the two of you and now he's simply left you hanging.

"You don't have to worry about me, seriously... I'm over it."

You turn to grab a cup off the shelf so Bob can't see your face, or rather the conflict that's etched there. Much as you're trying to hide it you're sure it's visible.

"Good," you hear Bob say and you think he's moving away but then you jump as he suddenly appears next to you, lightly nudging your arm. "Look Y/N... I want you to know that I'm only looking out for you. I can't stand men like Van thinking they can just abuse their position and get away with it. If it wasn't you he was fooling around with I'd have reported him in a heartbeat." He clears his throat in an awkward manner like he's got something important to say but he's finding it difficult to articulate. "And I know we don't always get along... but if you ever need to talk... about anything... you know where I am."

Something that's stretched taut relaxes inside you. As inconvenient as Bob's interfering is his intentions are honourable. He's a good person, better than you'll ever be. You really ought to cut him a break. "Thanks Bob, that means a lot," you say, and you actually mean it.

He smiles before he casually checks his watch, his face twisting into a mask of panic as he curses under his breath. "Shit! Is that the time? I'm gonna be late!”

You glance at your own watch, puzzled. "But it's not even 8am! I know you're keen but you're not gonna get brownie points from Kathleen for turning up to your lecture a whole hour early!"

Your teasing remark goes unnoticed, Bob's too busy backing hurriedly out of the kitchen. "There's no lectures today, the whole of our year's off to London for a couple of days, Professor Turner and Kathleen organised it. A Midsummer Nights Dream's on at The Globe. The coach is picking us up at quarter past."

That makes your ears prick up. Kathleen and Alex arranging a trip away... together? Since Johnny's reaction to you questioning the nature of their relationship you've been simmering over their possible involvement with each other. This is perfect... too perfect.

"Hold up... Professor Turner's going too?" You call after Bob as he ducks into his room and emerges a few second later with a hold-all. He mumbles a reply that yes, he's going, and he doesn't sound happy at all about that fact. Not like you. You're grinning happily for the first time that morning as you stir your tea.

You raise up a hand to stifle a yawn as you shift in your seat, impatient. There's a quiet hum of conversation all around from your classmates as books are taken from bags and past weekend pursuits are discussed. You're surprised that so many have turned up for an early Monday morning lecture, but you suppose everyone's eager to soak up as much content as they can before next week's exams. Either that or the draw is the fact that the usual tedious lecture on the Industrial Revolution with Professor Stevens has been replaced with a special revision session with Van. It's certainly the only reason that you've hauled yourself out of bed.

You can see Erica up ahead, prime position at the front of the class, her blonde waves perfectly coiffed as she runs a hand through, studying her reflection in a small mirrored compact. It doesn't matter that she's no doubt spent the best part of an hour dolling herself up to look pristine for her gorgeous Professor, his focus won't be on her. You'll make sure of that.

As usual your skirt's indecently short and you hitch it even higher as you cross your legs under the desk, smiling to yourself as you feel your thighs rub together over your naked core. As you'd arrived early for class you'd taken the opportunity to slip into the toilets beforehand to quickly remove your panties, stuffing them into the side pocket of your bag. If Van's going to ignore you for days on end you'll make damn sure to command his attention today whether he likes it or not.

It's shameless really, the way that you act around him, pulling a desperate stunt like this to get a reaction from him. You're fully aware that you're debasing yourself with your sleazy display in a very public place and you suppose you ought to be ashamed of yourself. In fact you are, but as you're starting to realise that's part of the turn on. There's something about boldly putting yourself on show for him like this that's so degradingly appealingly.

"Morning everyone."

His voice rings out and your gut clenches in excitement as he pushes through the door. Shit... he looks good, better than usual if that's even possible. His hair's a little mussed and there's a hint of stubble along his jawline like he's just tumbled straight out of bed and into the lecture room, a thought which has you squeezing your thighs together with longing.

"Well... I must say I'm pleasantly surprised to see so many of you here for this session today." His eyes scan the room, alighting on you but only briefly, a ghost of a smile gracing his lips. "Very surprised to see certain people, that's for sure."

He switches on the projector, the screen flickering to life as delves into his bag for a sheaf of notes. He's talking about the exams, guidance on what to expect and advice on revision tactics. It's valuable information but you're hardly taking it in. You're watching him like a hawk, waiting for the moment your eyes meet, wanting to hold his gaze just so you can bask in the heat of it as it drops down to discover your dirty secret.

"So as we have a lot to cover today we'd better get started. I'll walk you through a quick summary of the topics you'll likely be assessed on and then give you some pointers on the best way to structure the essay questions. Those should be your main focus, where you can pick up the most marks. I'm sure you'll all be aiming for the highest possible grades seeing as this semester's marks feed into your overall degree mark."

He paces as he talks, never one for standing in one place for too long, gesturing animatedly as he starts to reel off a list of topics and a brief summary of each one. You glance around, seeing everyone's heads bowed down as they frantically take notes. You reach for your pen, aware that you should be following suit but you can't bring yourself to do it, worrying that if you look away for even the briefest of moments you'll miss the chance of making a connection.

"Van... err excuse me. Can I ask you something?" Erica's voice sounds out, bringing Van to a halt. He walks over to where she's sitting, looking down on her with an expectant smile, urging her to continue. You know it's ridiculous but even this small interaction sends spikes of jealousy through you.

"I'm sorry for interrupting but I just wanted to know if you'll be offering any individual tutorials this week to go over any topics that we need a bit more help with?"

Erica's question seems innocent enough but you prickle with irritation as you imagine her cosying up to Van alone in his office. Fuck... you really have it bad. You need to rein in this absurd jealously that seems to be rearing it's head all too regularly.

"You know my door's usually open to students but I'm afraid I'm going to be rather busy this week. I have some very important business to attend to. You'll find that Professor Stevens and Professor Bond are keeping their usual office hours though."

At the mention of Johnny's name his eyes flick to you, and you notice them darken, an intensity that sends a little shiver of exhilaration through you. It almost looks like a threat... or a warning. But that's impossible, there's no way he could know what you've been up to, Johnny was adamant that he shouldn't find out about your tryst. You quickly look down, squirming in your seat.

The rest of the class continues uneventfully, ninety minutes slipping past quietly and without incident with Van giving you only the most cursory of glances and before you know it he's wrapping up the session. This wasn't how you envisioned your lecture turning out. Your heart's so heavy it's sinking like a stone and you start to worry that he might be losing interest in you.

"Just one last thing before you all go..." Your head snaps up at this, your despondency broken. Van's wearing a wide smile as he scans each row of seats. "I know student prizes are usually announced on the last week of semester but I thought we'd do things a little differently this time around... a little break from the pressure of exams..."

Oh great, that counts you out then. Prizes are handed out only to the best students, those achieving consistently high grades or impressing with outstanding quality pieces of work. The rewards are usually token gestures anyway, a year's supply of text books or some other yawn-inducing incentive. You slump in your seat, completely disinterested as Van starts making announcements to the tune of congratulatory claps and whistles, your head propped in your hand as you trace doodles on the cover of your textbook.

"And last but by very means not least... Y/N..."

What the actual fuck?

Your eyes go wide as you sit bolt upright in your seat, wondering whether you've just slipped into some parallel universe. Maybe you misheard... But no, sure enough Van's looking right at you, along with the rest of the class, necks craning as they twist around in their seats with expressions that range from disbelief to amusement.

"Huh?" You squeak out, confused.

Van chuckles at your reaction. "Don't look so shocked. The last piece of coursework you handed in was well thought out and executed... I'd even go so far as to say exemplary. You'll know I don't hand out Distinctions lightly. This one was well deserved, the highest mark any student's received all semester in fact."

Your heart's pounding, your face surely as red as a beetroot at this unexpected turn of events, but there's a smug kind of pride blooming in your chest, especially when you hear Erica mutter scathing comments to her friend across the desks about how there has to be some sort of mistake.

"Thank you Sir... err Van," you mumble shyly.

"This just goes to show that you're more than capable... and it's been decided that the Faculty will pick up any costs incurred for your trip to Italy in a few weeks for your prize. Well done!"

Then he looks down, eyes brimming with fire and lust even though you've got your legs pressed tightly together... despite your earlier worries you know that he has carefully laid plans for you. Even though the class has finished your lessons are far from over...

[ofelation]

you’re   not   from   around   here   ,   are   you?   i   figured   because   you   totally   just   missed  AGNES   TORREZ   walking   by.   don’t   tell   me   you   don’t   know   who  THEY  are   ?   they   kind   of   look   like  LIZETH   SELENE   and   i   could   be   wrong   but   i   think   that   they   might   be  TWENTY4  years   old   right   now.   they’ve   been   living   in   palmview   for   the   last  TWELVE   YEARS   and   i   don’t   know   if   anyone   has   ever   told   them   this   before   but   they   kind   of   remind   me   of  CALLIE   ADAMS   from  THE FOSTERS.   if   you   stick   around   the   town   long   enough   you   might   catch   them   in   action   working   at  THE LOST BOYS   INK  as   a   TATTOO   ARTIST.   you   see   this   town   isn’t   really   that   big   of   a   place,   some   folks   like   to   call   them   the  LONER   of   palmview!   they   took   a   liking   to   the   name   too   after   a   while,   go   figure.   oh   crap,   they   must   have   heard   me   yapping.   they’re   coming   this   way.   i   got   to   warn   you   though,   rumor   has   it   they   can   pretty  RUDE   at   times.   i   wouldn’t   take   it   too   seriously   though,   from   the   times   i’ve   spoken   to   them   they   seemed   pretty  ARTISTIC  to   me.   we   see   each   other   all   the   time   since   they   live   in   that  ONE   BEDROOM  apartment   beside   me   over   in  MANGO   BAY LOFTS.   i   better   leave   you   to   it.   it   was   nice   meeting   you!

STATISTICS !

name:               agnes torrez. nicknames:               auggie ( close friends ), brujo/bruja ( coworkers ),                                      tintebrujx     ( instagram handle ). gender   &   pronouns:               non - binary   +   they / them. sexual   orientation:               lesbian. spoken   languages:               english and spanish ( mexican ). birthday:               april   5th,   2000. address:               # 1B   mango bay   lofts.

BIOGRAPHY !

this bio contains triggers such as homophobia

𝖎.

there  was  never  anything  special  that  happened  in  agnes'  childhood.  not  a  moment  in  particular  that  stood  out.  they  were  a  healthy  ,  happy  baby  with  two  doting,  somewhat  overbearing,  parents.  they  were  fed,  they  were  clothed.  they  were  loved.  everything  appeared  as  normal  as  can  be. it  wasn't  until  agnes  started  mentioning  every  cute  girl  they  saw  that  their  parents  distaste  and  disgust  started  to  seep  through  their  picture  perfect  facade,  leaving  agnes  speechless.

𝖎𝖎.

after  that  it  was  as  if  a  wall  had  been  built  between  them.  so,  with  that,  agnes  started  hiding.  they  hid  their  feelings,  interests  and  everything  they  had  come  to  realise  wouldn't  be  met  with  acceptance  from  their  parents.  to  keep  up  appearances  they  kept  up  their  grades  and  put  girlish  bows  in  their  hair  even  though  that  made  their  skin  crawl. when  they  were  thirteen  they  kissed  a  girl  for  the  first  time,  as  well  as  won  their  first  art  competition.  they  weren't  mutually  exclusive,  but  both  felt  significant. at  sixteen  they  had  finally  had  enough  and  packed  as  much  as  they  could  before  moving  in  with  one  of  their  closest  friends.  it  didn't  matter  that  the  love  and  care  shown  between  the  family  made  their  heart  ache.  anything  was  better  than  what  they  left  behind.

𝖎𝖎𝖎.

they  kept  drawing,  feeling  more  and  more  emboldened  with  each  stroke  on  the  page.  on  a  whim  they  sent  their  portfolio  to  the  only  tattoo  studio  in  the  city,  as  a  joke  until  it  suddenly  became  real. it  was  boring  work  at  first,  sweeping  floors  and  refilling  supplies.  jobs  fitting  for  a  teenager  who  didn't  know  what  to  do  with  their  life.  eventually  they  were  learning  the  basics  and  painting  their  body  with  artworks  their  parents  would  shudder  at. now,  eight  years  later,  they're  putting  their  own  art  on  other  people,  building  a  strong  clientele  base.  they  see  their  parents  around  palmview  sometimes,  but  it's  only  met  with  a  frosty  silence.  agnes  tries  not  to  let  it  get  to  them,  choosing  instead  to  hold  their  head  high  and  surround  themself  with  the  people  that  matter.

CONNECTIONS !

𝖎.               tba. 𝖎𝖎.               tba. 𝖎𝖎𝖎.               tba. 𝖎𝖛.               tba. 𝖛.               tba. 𝖛𝖎.               tba.

[annoyinglandmagazine]

♦️▪️for the ask game - the sons of feanor? (don’t feel pressure to talk about all of them 😅)

Thank for the ask! You’re right all 7 of them might be a bit much for one post and i don’t want to take too long but I think I’ll start with Maedhros and I’ll try to add to do some of the others later? I was going to do more but the Maedhros stuff got way out of control and I didn’t want to take too long on it if all of them turn out this length so I thought I might post it as it is and if there’s anyone in particular you’d like me to do please feel free to send a follow up ask!

He has always had a huge interest in politics. Like he’s not just good at it, he finds it fascinating the way that there can be so much hidden beneath the surface of every interaction and how much can be said and implied while remaining perfectly civil. He he spent of his youth and adolescence just watching the way people go about things and keeping up with everything that went on in court and he absolutely loved it. He spends days in the library reading diplomatic correspondence in the archives and trying to read the political climate from between the lines. He also learns by the time he’s almost of age that there are kinds power and influence that you can’t get with a title you were given at birth. For some situations the best kind of power you can have is for people to actual like you and want to help you. This is conveniently also around the time he’s coming of age and beginning to grow out of that gawky stage of being all limbs. So as well as his Prince Nelyafinwe mannerisms of extreme political awareness and intelligence he also learns how to lean into the fact that most elves of varying genders find him absolutely stunning. He doesn’t flirt exactly and never goes beyond a fairly innocent dance but he knows that aesthetic appreciation is a pretty big thing for a lot of elves and they can definitely be more inclined to cooperation when focused on his wide, pleasant smile. And one of the particular habits he picks up from this is that, since one of his most admired features (so much so that one of his name is based around it) are his waist length copper curls, he often subtly draws attention to them while in social situations. A little stray lock tucked behind an ear, tightening some braid work, pulling it over a shoulder, whenever he’s trying to make connections at some kind of function his hands will always run through his hair. It’s not even conscious at some point, he begins to find it reassuring because he subconsciously associates it with being something to fall back on when he doesn’t like where a conversation is going. He still finds himself doing it in Beleriand and he hates it. Partly because as soon as he feels hands in his hair he thinks of it being grabbed and stroked to taunt him in Angband but also because the reminder of the elf he used to be hurts, how small his worries were in comparison that something like a pretty smile would ease the things he considered tense discussions. The idea that something like that would mean anything to the Sindar ambassadors was laughable and he got frustrated with himself every time he slips into that particular mannerism though no one else sees it, except perhaps his brothers.

I feel like in Himring Maedhros has the most impersonal chambers out of any of his brothers. He’s paranoid about revealing too much and he hates the idea of extravagance mainly because of the fact he has an excessive fear about appearing weak so he overcompensates by making everything needlessly unpleasant for himself. There’s a constant draft and the stone floors aren’t carpeted so it’s even colder. He has fireplaces but he rarely uses them only really when he has visitors, which he doesn’t often do in his private rooms because of aforementioned paranoia, so we’re mainly talking about his brothers and Fingon who worry about his wellbeing in such temperatures even if they’re fooled into thinking he normally has a fire going. He receives gifts of things like blankets, rugs, wall hangings and paintings but never puts them in his living quarters out of a reluctance to attach personal value or sentimentality to material things (is this about the Silmarils? Probably.) Caranthir has more than once visited his brother in Himring and seen one of his embroidered blankets hung in the banquet hall like a tapestry. And he knows that he couldn’t possibly express offence, it was a very respectful place for a diplomatic gift, but it hadn’t been a diplomatic gift. He hadn’t spent some politically calculated sum of money to buy it for the Lord of Himring as some show of his loyalty, he’d knitted that with his own hands for his brother because he’d heard it was going to be a cold winter. It hadn’t been meant for the Lord of Himring it had been meant for Maedhros. Caranthir was beginning to worry his brother couldn’t tell the difference anymore. So he’s not offended but he is hurt, though he never shows it. He keeps sending them but knows deep down none will make it past that wooden door.

[sgt-scottymoreau]

Behind the nickname

Summary: Scotty as mamy nicknames from the people around her. But it seems like a pattern or an unspoken rule revolves around some of them. One particular. Ghost is about to find out the meaning of it.

Warning: None

Words: 1.3k // Masterlist

A/N: This was supposed to be a very small fic, turning into an above the 1k one. Welp. Also, although it is in my plan to visit Keukenhof (I tried this year but schedule didn't work out BUT next year for sure!) I haven't gone yet and so I was very vague on the description of it. Not helped that timeline wise they would have visited in 1997, what did the park even looked like back then?! Anyway, just a little fluff fic! Oh, Scotty's kid/baby pictures are inspired by my own.

“Auntie, what was the thing I was supposed to say if grandma was about to embarass you?” Nicolas asked as soon as his head popped in the door frame of the kitchen.

Camille lifted her head from the drawing she was making with Mathéo, rather confused. “I don’t remember, why?”

“Grandma is about to show an album to Uncle Ghost.”

“What! SHI- Mom!” Camille dropped her pen, jumped off the chair as if it was on fire, the said chair creaking loudly on the floor. The woman passed her nephew, almost shoved him out of the way in the wall. “Sorry Nic!” The two brothers looked at each other confused. 

Scotty arrived in the living room out of breath, hands crisped on the doorframe and sadly too late. Suzanne was seated with Ghost next to her, him half bent to check on the album she had placed on her and his laps. He lifted his head, a grin behind his mask. Despite being considered family, he wasn’t too comfortable yet to show more of his face. Yet she could still see the glimpse of amusement in his eyes when their gaze crossed. “A little hippie? That’s adorable.” 

“Shut it, Riley. That was for the carnaval, my mom did a great job on the costume.” Scotty rolled her eyes and joined them. She saw the picture he was commenting on. She was maybe five or six, all smiling with baggy pants and white long sleeve shirt, a too big headband on her forehead decorated with a peace sign, and a necklace with an even bigger one. In retrospective, she found herself ridiculous in this, however Ghost wasn’t so wrong, it was also adorable.

“Oh wait, this one is my favorite!” Suzanne said pointing at a picture on the next page. On this one Scotty was around the age of two, a cup of chocolate mousse in her hand and a nice little chocolate mustache on her face. “Her first time trying mousse. It was a mess to clean.”

“Mom, please!”

“Don’t be so embarrassed, tulip.” Henri chimed in from behind his newspaper. “She hasn’t shown him you naked in your first bath at least. Well, not like the young man hasn't seen you naked already.”

“Papa!” Scotty almost shrieked, face turning red.

“Henri! Pour l’amour de Dieu!” For the love of God. Her mother agreed on the boldness her husband just showed. The glare she gave him meant a thousand words. He cleared his throat and adjusted his newspaper, making himself as small as he could in the seat. Ghost was sitting there with a smile spread on his face. It was funny to see them like this. However, a little something caught his attention and the question burned his tongue. It wasn’t the first time he heard them calling her that way. Actually it seemed they were the only ones to do it. He never heard her sister or nephews use it.

“Why do you call her tulip?” He simply asked. There was a small silence. Not the awkward kind. The look Camille gave to her mom silently begged her to not tell the whole story. But the woman had none of it. She waved at her daughter to take a seat because if this man wanted to know the story behind the nickname he would have the whole story.

“It was her first word.”

*****

It has been a long road trip from their town to the Netherlands. Especially with two young kids. Luckily one of them slept almost the entire three hour ride. Gabrielle was getting restless near the end and as soon as the car stopped in the parking lot she was ready to jump out and stretch her legs. She was already working on the seatbelt keeping her restrained. Her mother was quick to tell her to wait till her dad would do it. Suzanne stretched her back, went on the other side of the car and took care of the baby who was slowly waking up from her slumber. 

Anyone would have wondered why a florist who would see flowers on the daily, work with them, arrange bouquets for all occasions five days a week would want to travel such a long distance to see flowers. Simply because Keukenhof had a reputation to have one of the best gardens of many species of plants. Although mainly known for its field of tulips, her favorite. 

It had been awhile since the whole family had been able to do something together, for once that Henri was home, Suzanne appreciated having all her loved ones together. To make it a better day, the sun was shining bright, not a single cloud in the sky. She couldn’t ask for anything better. Little Camille started to wiggle in her seat, smiling as her mother lifted her up and placed her in the scarf. The woman wrapped the rest around and secured the cloth in her back. Her daughter was facing away from her so she could see the world around them. Once everyone was ready, the family headed to the entrance eager to start their walk in the park and see what beauty it had to offer. Gabrielle held both her parents' hands, skipping happily as they walked down the path, already seeing some beautiful composition and arrangement here and there. The mix of different colors was pretty making up for very nice pictures. Henry took a few of them hoping they would turn out good once developed. He was never the best photographer in the family. 

“Mom, when do baby speak? Because all Camille does is…” She imitated the babbling her sister always did. Camille wiggled in the scarf with a small laughter. 

“It depends, but probably soon.” Her mother replied. Suzanne was stroking the baby’s cheek and Camille was more than eager to bite on her finger. Her mother’s reaction made both girls giggle. The family kept walking around till they found themselves in front of a small field of tulips. Suzanne’s favorite. 

Gabrielle went ahead to check on the small pond followed by her father who better keep an eye on her. The wind gently blew in the field, allowing some sensation of cool as the day was getting hotter. For a spring day, it was warmer than expected. Carefully, Suzanne crouched at the flowers level. Gently her fingers brushed on the soft petals. Camille whined a little from the change of position before extending her arms, trying to grab at the flowers. The woman moved her out of the scarf to be more comfortable sitting on her laps. “Carefully sweetie. They are pretty, aren’t they? These are tulips.”

“Too-pip!”

“What?” Suzanne looked at her daughter surprised. Camille repeated the word, hand reaching for the flower. It suddenly hit her that she just spoke her first word! A wide smile grew on her lips and called up her husband, happy to share the news! 

*****

“It’s Henry who then started to call her Tulip afterwards. It became our nickname for her.” Suzanne’s fingers lingered on a picture of a baby Camille sitting with a background of tulip. “Surprisingly, Camille grew to also love these flowers. Alright I think I embarrassed her enough for today.” She closed the album, put it back where it belonged, just in time when her grandkids came to ask if they could go buy some ice cream to the store. Scotty proposed herself and Ghost to take them. It would be nice to take a breath of fresh air, they could easily walk there.

As the two boys walked four steps ahead of them, Ghost leaned closer to her, his hand taking hers. 

“Too-pip uh? That's a good call sign, I like it.” He teased. 

“Don’t you even dare mention this to anyone. This is between you and me, you take this to your grave!”

“As you wish, Too-pip.” Scotty elbowed him hard in the side, but it was worth the laugh.