#I have normal amounts of social etiquette

[afterartist]

Just panicked and answered the phone with ‘(street name)’s pizzeria and abortion clinic, you supply it we fry it’

Never going out in public again

[meanbossart]

Hey! I was thinking of trying to write something for you about DU Drow but after a trying to gather stuff about him via your page I’m struggling to get something substantial for his personality- like I get it mostly (I think?) but it’s hard to put into words (which makes it easier for me) so if it’s not too much to ask; how would you explain DU Drows personality and maybe some of his values? - if you don’t mind! I love your art BTW!

Man, this is a tough ask and I MADE the guy. The fic is definitely the best place to see his personality in action, but it is also 20 chapters long so far - and I'm a fairly reasonable man.

Before I get to any descriptions, there's two important things to note: A) Overwhelmingly, his looks do not match his demeanor. and B) DU drow is extremely hedonistic in practice. He might claim to have certain beliefs or standards but hardly ever practices them.

Anyways, I present to you: The guy, more-or-less summarized to the best of my abilities.

BEHAVIOR: Purposefully standoffish. He wants to be noticed, but he does not want to be bothered. He's a little bit stiff with his body language and mostly makes use of head/neck gestures to assert his sentences and signal his level of interest. On that note, me makes it extremely obvious for the socially-versed individual to tell what he thinks of them - he hardly ever tries to hide if he's disinterested, annoyed, or having a laugh at your expense. He expresses emotion through his face a normal amount, but his default look is eerily bland, and subtle emotions might go unnoticed because of his eye-color and thin brows.

As it is with most people, the more uncomfortable he is with a situation the more stiff and inexpressive he becomes, and vice versa.

SPEECH: DU drow is very much well spoken, and simultaneously very blunt. He abides by most conversational formalities (definitely more formal than you would assume him to be) and basic etiquette. He will greet you and he will say please and thank you even if clearly not meaning it or feeling like you're unworthy of the gesture. Sometimes, he does it just to be patronizing.

With all of that in mind, he has a tendency to use violent turns of phrase and analogies to express himself, this applies to both negative and positive feelings. That being said he's aware of social norma and knows full well when things are or aren't appropriate, even if sometimes he chooses to ignore that and be weird anyway - usually with the purpose of intimidation.

He is the most earnest and sincere with very close friends (quite literally only Astarion and Shadowheart) and rather curt with everyone else unless you catch him in a particularly good mood. He's a little chummier with dwarves and duergar (he finds them amusing and fun to hang out with) and reserves a slight bit more tenderness and kindness for children and mothers, especially if they're elves. He's also fond of animals. He is dismissive of gnomes, goblins, bugbears, half/full orcs and hobgoblins. He despises githyanki and drow. He treats humans fairly respectfully but thinks they are a far lesser race than pretty much all others.

He has a very dark/offensive sense of humor and a tendency to make well crafted, but cruel jokes or quips about sensitive topics. This goes for everybody, including people he's on good terms with.

VALUES: Here's where things get tricky. DU drow is both a hypocrite and a unreliable narrator of his own story, not to mention deeply unfamiliar with his own inner-workings and feelings. Politically, he would be the guy who doesn't vote, doesn't want to pay taxes and dreams of living off the grid, who thinks everybody should pull themselves up by the bootstraps and that it's a dog-eats-dog world. He hates systems of government, authority figures, hierarchical structures and archaic customs. He believes it would a chaotic but functional world if people governed themselves.

In practice, he doesn't stand for anything and gladly overlooks injustices and things that don't align with his supposed values as long as they favor him, or just don't get in his way, and easily makes exceptions for things on a whim. He's indifferent to slavery; unless it's Astarion's. - He thinks humans are a worthless pet-race, except for his dearest and nearest friend, the half-elf Shadowheart. He thinks Half-orcs are intellectually inferior, but he will gladly be chummy with them if they amuse him and make for good-company during a night-out.

INNER WORLD AND INTIMACY: DU drow is extremely unfamiliar with his own emotions and very often comes up empty when he has to justify or explain anything that is based on feeling, while simultaneously operating on impulse and instinct for the vast majority of the time. He is subject to fear, resentment, and insecurity as much as anyone else, but carries a deep shame in acknowledging his own vulnerability at all. He is very intense when it comes to love, however, and shows no reluctance in expressing it through his words and actions towards the people he cares about. He does care for the levels of comfort of those dearest to him though, and doesn't bombard them with it unless the moment is right, or if overwhelmed into doing so. The same applies to physical affection - he's extremely comfortable with it, but cares deeply for respecting the boundaries of his loved ones. When it comes to strangers, he only touches them outside of combat if there is some kind of power-game at play.

A couple of other things that might be of note:

-He likes creature comforts, but is also fine with going without them and won't ever complain about having to live, sleep, or survive in less-than-ideal circumstances as long as he feels in control of the situation. -He can be enticed by valuables and gold because they make the immediate future easier, but he doesn't seek a life of vast riches. -He is not an alcoholic but probably has a binge-drinking problem. -While he is fond and respectful of animals, he has no issues killing them if the situation calls for it. -He pretty much always believes himself to be the most impressive person in the room. -He is not a vain man, but very much likes the way that he looks and to have it be acknowledged by his partner. -He believes faith, religion, and gods to be a waste of time.

[caffedrine]

Matias Asbrink - Fake Lovers for a Day - Event Summary

This is mostly a summary for me - I make no promises on the accuracy of what’s happening. I’m not nearly fluent enough to get half the jokes/innuendo much less accurate plot points.

As a warning - this event goes into some dark things with Matias. Beware.

Matias, the First Prince of Achroite, the Land of Snow and Laws was a serious man who deeply respects the laws. Yes, he has some rather eccentric aspects to his personality, but deep down, he was honest and good. However, when he appears in court as a Judge, he only embodies the face of the cold impartial justice of the law. 

After finishing her role as Belle with no romantic entanglements, Emma went to Achroite with Akatsuki. Akatsuki, too young to be her father, travels around various countries to their bookstores, buying and selling rare and valuable books. 

Since coming to Achroite, Emma has grown accustomed to the sight of snow falling like flower petals, but the sight still makes her heart jump with joy. Snow was rare in her home country of Rhodolite, so she has never had a chance to get used to the fairytale scenery. Then again, the person who truly looks like he stepped out of a fairytale illustration is walking next to her.

Up close, Matias looks even more fantastical, with hair the color of fading twilight and eyes the color of snow in the shadows. His aura is as pure and beautiful as the white snow falling around them.

Matias notes that Emma has been exploring parts of the city and asks if she has some favorite places yet. 

While marveling over how approachable and personable he is, Emma tells him about a bookstore in the center of town. She’s been visiting almost every day and can’t stop. Matias recognizes the place; he’s been visiting it since he was a schoolboy. They both agree that the owner is what makes it so welcoming, with his cheerful, friendly, and all-around decent persona. 

Emma heard recently from the bookstore owner about a museum that specializes in romantic exhibits. She asks if Matias has ever been there.

Unfortunately, no. It’s a relatively new museum, but the owner is an eccentric with particular requirements for people to even enter. For one, all his customers must be in a romantic relationship, and come as a couple. 

Since Matias is single, and unless he misunderstood, Emma is too, they are both out of luck. 

That’s a shame, Emma heard that one of the limited exhibits would be centered around her newest favorite novel (set in Achroite). It’s a shame she’ll probably never get a chance to see it.

(Now she knows what it’s like in Keith’s route when you want to read a romantic book/see a romantic scene but can't)

Matias pauses, deep in consideration. They both want to go visit the museum, but they’re both woefully single. Maybe . . . Maybe they could work something out?

Matias quickly assures her that he doesn’t intend to break any rules. But, if they become a couple for the express purpose of visiting the museum, and then break up right after, that wouldn’t be technically breaking any laws. Right?

Also, Matias isn’t the type to normally rush things, he knows the social etiquette rules around becoming lovers, and he doesn’t intend to have a whirlwind romance. 

After a fateful encounter, they would slowly grow closer over an appropriate amount of time. As they fall deeply and helplessly in love, they finally confess and soon, are united as one . . . 

Emma gives him a good shake, calling his name. This brings Matias back to reality, and he coughs uncomfortably, centering himself. Anyway - before he got distracted - he was saying that he’s not the type of person to push boundaries and rush into relationships. 

However, the exhibit they’re both interested in is on display for a limited time. Without wishing to offend, perhaps they can be lovers for a short amount of time, just to visit the museum?

Honestly, Emma is the only one he can depend on in this situation. As a friend, does she agree?

Emma understands completely. Matias is very popular with the women, and if he were to propose being temporary lovers, she has no doubt it will end with the other person in tears. Honestly, this arrangement works out for both of them. 

Emma agrees to Matias’ proposal. Even though they’ve been friends for such a short time, she knows that deep down he’s a good man. Besides, there is nothing weird about friends being fake lovers. Right?

Matias beams at her, his expression suddenly switching from friendly to sexy. He assures her that he will take good care of her.

Emma thought the princes of Rhodolite had prepared her on how to handle attractive men. However, their collective attractiveness could not hold a candle to the radiant sun of Matias’ charms. Emma has to take a deep breath to steel herself and then bows politely to Matias. She is in his (temporary) care as his lover.

Suddenly Matias holds out his hand to her. At her confused expression, Matias explains that he wants her to hold hands with him.

Wait a minute. Are they starting right now?

Yes, Matias doesn’t think he can escort her adequately on the day of their museum trip without some time to get used to thinking of her as his (temporary) lover.

From this moment until after they visit the museum, he intends to be lovers with her. That should give them enough time to go on at least one outing as lovers too. 

Wow, Matias does not do things by halves. Looking into his earnest eyes, Emma can tell that he is absolutely serious. 

Well then, they’ll be lovers for only a short while, but she will give it her all too. She timidly accepts Matias’s hand, and he grasps her fingers, rubbing them. As her lover, he noticed that her hands were cold, even though she was wearing gloves. He grows worried, Achroite is famously much colder than Rhodolite - is she having any trouble adjusting?

(Now he cares)

Emma assures him that she is fine - it’s cold but she doesn’t mind. The country of Achroite is very beautiful, so to her, the positives far outweigh the negatives. 

Matias is relieved, Achroite is the land of snow, it would be difficult to stay here without enjoying it. So that she can enjoy the scenery even more, he grasps her other hand to warm it in his.

Matias is truly doting on her. Emma looks away bashfully as he brings her hands to his face to blow hot air on them. 

He touches her hands like they are precious treasures. The edges of his mouth lift in the beginnings of a smile as he exhales over them.

Forget her hands, the rest of Emma is growing uncomfortably warm. Maybe it was a mistake, to agree to be his temporary lover. 

They make plans for a date later in the week, and part ways to return to their respective duties. 

On the day of their date, Emma arrives at their prearranged meeting place a little early. She is still surprised by the events of the last few days; she has received a letter from Matias every day since she agreed to be his (temporary) lover. Andrea what Matias wrote . . . Her face grows red remembering. She knew that he was a romantic at heart, but those letters . . . 

Emma is taken out of her reverie by the sound of the people talking next to her. They’re discussing the bookstore in the center of town, and how it is running a fraudulent business. Their book prices are outrageous, and the owner has a nasty temper just because one of the two was a bit rough with his books. They agree to warn their friends to stay away from the bookstore.

Emma recognizes that store as one of her favorites. Yes, the prices are high, but the owner sells rare books. Also, as a fellow book lover, her heart sinks at the thought of a book being handled roughly.

Emma starts to interject gently, telling the two men that there must be a misunderstanding.

The two men immediately accuse her of being an agent of the bookstore owner. They ask if she’s in on the fraud and close in around her, threateningly.

Matias asks if the two men are prepared to make that statement in a court of law. He reminds them that perjury and defamation are very heavy crimes in Achroite, and they will need to be prepared to pay for any crimes. 

The two men fall silent, only now noticing Matias. He continues, that if the bookstore owner wanted to, he had two witnesses to them making false statements. He warns them that while they are free citizens of Achroite, they are still responsible for behaving in accordance with the law.

Emma rarely gets to see Matias like this, as the impartial arbiter of justice. 

Matias ends by adding that he personally will not tolerate continued disrespect to his girlfriend. Who totally loves him, as much as he loves her. Which is a lot.

Smiling beatifically at her, Matias drapes his arm around her shoulders and leads her away from the two thugs.

(Step one of dating - make sure the local thugs spread the news)

After they leave the area, Emma thanks Matias for protecting her back there. Matias assures her that it was fine, besides, she did the right thing back then. Emma is confused and Matias elaborates. Like he said, those men were slandering the store owner. Granted, it’s not a crime if the victim, the store owner, doesn’t report it, but those men were still behaving criminally. He is proud that his ‘girlfriend’ can recognize and call out criminals so quickly. 

Oh, how awkward. Emma wasn’t calling out those men to uphold the law, she just wanted to clear up any misunderstandings about the store owner. She’s not a champion of justice or anything, and probably wouldn’t have intervened if those men weren’t talking about someone she personally knew.

But Matias seems happy with it, and it’s such a small matter that Emma decides to leave it be. She promises Matias that she will do her best to be a woman worthy of him.

After that, they went to the various places Matias had planned out on their date, and Emma’s appreciation for the country of Achroite grew. She tried candy with frozen fruit, admired the intricate woodwork, and freaked out when Matias seemed to look at her too closely. Matias immediately backed down from the last bit, explaining that he’d never had a girlfriend before and that this was a new experience for him as well.

Matias was also able to explain Achroite culture to Emma, which helped her gain a deeper understanding of a scene in one of her favorite romance books. Matias admires the fictional couple, as he too wants to find a love that he would risk his own life for. 

He adds though, that he thinks the male lead is entirely unreasonable, letting the main character get into all these dangerous situations. If he could switch places, he would keep his princess in a safe cage place free from all danger where he could keep her pure.

Matias notices the side eye Emma is giving him and apologizes for saying all that in front of her. His girlfriend. 

No - that’s not the part Emma was worried about. What’s this about a Princess? Is Matias cheating on his real lover with Emma?

Oh, no, not at all. Matias is talking about his future wife whom he has yet to find. 

Matias begins to describe his ideal future wife: a woman full of noble dignity, a warm heart, and an honest appreciation for things. 

As he continues, Emma is amazed at how specific Matias’ ideals for his future wife are. It’s almost as if he’s describing someone he knows.

Eventually, Matias winds down his explanation, finishing up that his future wife would be a lot like Emma herself. 

Emma gives him a puzzled look and Matias coughs uncomfortably. 

Wow, he is really looking forward to seeing the couple’s museum. Isn’t Emma?

They continue their date long into the day as the sun begins to set, dying the town red. 

Suddenly the air around Matias seems to change, and he pulls them both to a stop, staring at the crowd of people. Looking at him, Emma thinks he has gone as cold as ice.

Just as she starts to ask him what is wrong, Matias apologizes and asks her to wait just a moment. Before she can respond, he sprints out into the crowd. He jumps a man walking through the crowd, pulling him to the ground and pinning his arm behind him. Matias has recognized this man as a criminal who intends to break into Ultima Thule, free some of the prisoners, and escape the country. Matias knows everything, and this man will pay for his crimes.

This man has enacted illegal means to acquire restricted information, bribed some of the guards, and, worst of all, had made contact with an individual in Obsidian for his escape route.

The man is shocked at how much Matias knows. Matias tells him not to underestimate the National Guard, they haven’t apprehended him yet only because they were looking for his hideout. Thanks to this man, this criminal, walking through town, the investigation can be brought to an end. 

The man wails that ‘her’ body is failing and that she can’t take it anymore.

Matias nods, the man was waiting for the right time to strike but became impatient and moved ahead. 

Of course, even if Matias hadn’t just found him, the man would have failed. Ultima Thule’s security would have stopped him, no one can escape. 

The man screams that it’s not ‘her’ fault. She was just trying to help someone; she didn’t realize that person was connected to Obsidian. 

In a monotone voice, Matias pronounces that anyone who breaks the law is a criminal.

Matias notices Emma watching and a small thaw in his demeanor appears. He assures Emma this will all be over shortly. 

The man on the ground has heard that Matias has a lover. Matias tells him that his relationship status is none of the man’s business. 

The man shouts that if Matias has a lover, he must know exactly how he feels. The wish to do anything for your lover, even at the expense of yourself.

Yes, the man has committed grave sins, and he will commit them again and again for ‘her’ sake. He will bear any punishment, even if it costs him his life, just please show his lover mercy. 

Matias tells the man not to lump in his girlfriend with criminals. Unlike them, Emma is a pure and righteous woman. 

By this time the city guard has come, and Matias hands the man over to them. Then, as if nothing out of the ordinary happened, he comes back to where Emma is standing.

He immediately notices that she’s shaking and smiling gently and asks if she’s okay.

Emma assures him she is and asks about Ultima Thule.

Ultima Thule is Achroite’s forced labor prison. Criminals who’s crimes are not so bad that they’re executed are sent there to work off their debts to society. It’s in the coldest, most remote, and most desolate place in Achroite. 

Matias apologizes for the scene that Emma just saw. He understands that she isn’t one for violence. Would she mind continuing the date with him and giving him the chance to apologize?

Matias is trying to cheer her up, but Emma can’t shake the realization that Matias is being so kind to her because he thinks she is someone that she is not. Emma isn’t a crusader for justice, if anything, she’s sympathetic to that criminal’s plight. She couldn’t say for sure that she wouldn’t break the law if she and that man’s places were switched. 

Emma is one misstep from being hauled away to prison under Matias’ cold, unforgiving gaze. 

She realizes that Matias is dangerous.

Matias gently strokes her back as if trying to soothe her. He tells her that he made reservations at a nearby restaurant and suggests they head there for a break.

The food, which Emma had no doubt tasted delicious, tasted like nothing at all.

Sweet End 

On the day of the museum date, Emma looks at the exhibits with Matias, but she is still trembling with fear. The joy of the exhibits fails her as she focuses on the man next to her.

Matias stops her from going to the next one - he’s noticed her state and wants to apologize. He understands that what she saw during their date frightened her, and he wants to apologize for subjecting her to that scene. 

Emma thinks that it must be difficult for Matias, who is just doing his job, to have everyone afraid of him. She apologizes too.

Matias shakes his head and assures her that her feelings are natural. It must be a blow to realize how far into the country criminals connected to Obsidian can infiltrate. As a member of the criminal justice system, the fact that the criminal got so far in his nefarious plot is a stain upon his honor. It’s not only her whom he should apologize to but to all the good citizens in the square that day. He came so close to failing to protect everyone.

Er . . . Matias doesn’t quite get how she feels after all. Those words the man had flung at Matias, about having to understand him since he knows what it’s like to have a lover, ring in Emma’s ears. She wonders if Matias was unable to understand that man at all. Matias is nice and fun, but she truly has no idea what is going on in his head.

And that is what she’s afraid of.

In reality, Matias apologizes to Emma for failing to protect her. Emma shakes her head, reminding Matias that she wasn’t hurt at all. In fact, no one at the square was hurt. 

Matias disagrees, as her lover, it’s his job to protect her physically and mentally. And right now, she is full of anxiety and fear. 

Matias wants her to feel safe and have a fun time. He wants her to only feel happiness.

For that goal, he will put everything he has, everything that makes him Matias on the line. He tells Emma to relax and enjoy herself and reminds her of that exhibit she wanted to see. 

Matias wishes she would smile.

Emma is still afraid, but Matias’ passionate speech has touched her heart. She looks at him, trying to shake off the fear, and smiles. He smiles back at her, relief on his face.

And, oh, that smile. Emma can feel her face heat up.

Oh no. Emma can’t take her eyes off Matias. Not just her face but her whole body is heating up. She’s about to explode from the heat boiling up in her.

Suddenly Matias grabs her by her shoulders, and Emma realizes she was listing to the side. He asks if she’s okay, supporting her.

Emma snaps back to herself and shakes her head, trying to return to normal. She assures him that she’s fine and lets Matias lead her through the museum. 

That charm of his is something else.

Emma has seen a few ladies her age standing in a daze next to Matias, but she never thought she would be one of them. Ugh, how humiliating - Emma wishes she could just crawl off into a hole somewhere. As she considers cutting the date short to save whatever is left of her dignity, Matias catches her attention and directs her gaze at a painting.

Oh. That painting. The one Emma wanted to see more than anything else.

Matias had said that this painting was supposed to evoke the feelings of spring love, but that description falls flat. Emma’s heart leaps at the sight of it, entranced in the beauty before her.

Matias nods, this isn’t that far from how he imagined the scene. The man was fine, but he thought the woman should be smaller, like Emma, with long brown hair, like Emma. Hmmm . . . Oh, he gets it now.

(Does Emma have a single/available sister by chance?)

The woman in the book was described as the most beautiful woman in the world, which is why he thought of Emma. 

In Matias’ imagination, her hair would sway in the southern wind, and her eyes would sparkle in the sunlight. She would turn towards him, smiling as if the whole world was celebrating. 

Emma cuts him short - he is praising her too much. Matias disagrees, as his girlfriend, it is no exaggeration to say she is the most beautiful woman in the world. 

Well, Matias sure has a strong imagination of his girlfriend. 

Matias suggests they move on to the next painting. He has created an itemized list and flowchart to look at the paintings he thought Emma would like the best. Emma agrees that this sounds like fun.

You know, Matias was looking forward to the paintings, but he thinks the best part will be seeing them together with Emma.

They walk through the paintings, admiring the exhibits. Before long, they find themselves at the exit.

Emma peers at the exit - it appears there are rules to leave the building. They must demonstrate how their love has deepened before they leave.

Matias muses that the rule leaves it open for interpretation but wonders about the various ways people can demonstrate their love. Emma thinks words or declarations of affirmation would probably be the most popular, though she grows flushed at the idea of saying such things to Matias.

Well, rules are rules. And Matias, who researched this in advance, is prepared.

He wraps a cute, fluffy pastel scarf around Emma’s neck. He explains that even with her gloves on, sometimes Emma looks so cold. 

He also has gloves for her, which match his own. They go past the wrist and are waterproof so should keep her warm longer. 

Matias’ idea to prove his love for her is to protect her, in this case, from the elements. Emma thanks him, now, not only is her body but her heart warm. 

And now it’s Emma’s turn. Her heart is fuzzy and warm, she takes a deep breath and begins.

When they leave the museum, the city is red with the sunset. Matias thanks her for being his temporary lover, he had a lot more fun than he expected.

So much fun that he doesn’t quite want their time together to end just yet. Didn’t they agree that they’d be lovers until the end of the day today? He asks if she wouldn’t mind grabbing dinner together. 

Emma’s heart pounds in her chest as she looks into Matias’ snow-colored eyes. They were endlessly kind when they looked at her, but she has seen them become frozen at a moment's notice. She’s curious about Matias, about the way he thinks. Maybe if she spends more time with him, she’ll find something that will satisfy her and wipe away the fear that lingers in her heart. Feeling hopeful, Emma agrees to spend the rest of the day together.

Premium End

On the day of their museum date, Matias arrived early at their prearranged meeting place and had been waiting for Emma. She apologizes for keeping him waiting and he waives her off - she was waiting for him last time and he hadn’t wanted to make her wait for him a second time.

Emma thinks that Matias really is a nice person. That time at the town square, he had just been fulfilling his duties as a guardian of the law. If anything, Emma should be relieved that he was truly impartial and egalitarian in dispensing justice.

But she is still afraid.

Emma tries to stuff the fear somewhere down in her stomach and smiles at Matias. 

Matias pulls out a notebook from his pocket and proffers it to Emma. He explains that he was researching the exhibits, and thought there were a few that depended on a deep cultural understanding of Achroite. He thought she would like to look up and understand those points at her leisure. 

Emma accepts the notebook and opens it, realizing that it is all in Matias’ own handwriting. Matias explains that while he hoped that it would be useful to her both as a reference for the museum and as something to aid her grow accustomed to Achroite.

Just as Emma begins to open her mouth to thank him, Matias beckons her closer, he wants to give her a souvenir from their last date. He takes out a package and starts touching her earlobes. Afterwards, she looks at her reflection in the window of a nearby shop and admires the wooden earrings. He also gives her a package of sweets from the coffee shop they visited.

(This man is the reason why women's clothes should come with more pockets)

These gifts remind her of the good times they had yesterday and show his care towards her. Really, she had been having a great time until that scene at the end. 

But she’s still afraid.

Emma resolves herself to face Matias without being trapped by fear. The gratefully thanks him.

Matias’ snow-blue eyes narrow slightly and he reminds her that they’re lovers. These gifts should be as natural as breathing. Emma shakes her head, a lover wouldn’t take their partner for granted, and she can feel the time and effort he put into these gifts. She might not have experience with a lover before, but she is certain Matias would make his partner the happiest woman in the world. 

Matias assures Emma that she has been the perfect lover, the time he has spent daydreaming about her has been too perfect for words. 

Uhh, what?

Matias quickly assures her that he wasn’t skipping work to daydream about her, just when he had a quiet moment to take a break. He would picture the smile she would give him, and every moment basking in her radiant prescience.

Oh, that’s what he meant. Yeah, that’s okay then.

The feeling of fear hasn’t left Emma completely, but she thinks that she can enjoy their museum date. Seeing her smile, Matias smiles back. They haven’t even started their date, but Matias is having a great time already. That said, they probably should start making their way over. 

Matias courteously holds out his hand and Emma accepts it without hesitation.

After the museum date, Matias brought them to the dance hall in Achroite Castle. It was completely different from the one in Rhodolite, with soft wood tones and candles illuminating the national crest carved into the wooden floor. 

Matias admits that he hasn’t had many good experiences in this place, but he has always fantasized about dancing here with his lover. He thanks Emma for coming with him and asks if she would like to dance with him. Emma agrees and accepts Matias’ hand. 

Matias is impressed, Emma is a much better dancer than he was anticipating. Emma admits to practicing hard in the past. She is happy it worked out for them, after all, if she couldn’t dance then she wouldn’t be able to be his lover, right? After all, Matias is a member of the royalty, and his beloved would need to be a noble.

Actually, not necessarily. It would be better if his queen could dance, but it would be fine if she learned how to between their engagement and the actual wedding. Achroite is less class-conscious than other countries, so his wife could come from any class. 

Besides, the Asbrink family rules are very vague on the qualification for their wives. The only real rule is that she be worthy of the distinguished Asbrink family. Which is why Matias wants someone he can love and cherish and make happy. Emma notes that Matias looks so happy when he talks about his future wife. 

Choosing his wife is technically one of the few personal choices Matias can make in his life. He wouldn’t be constrained as a keeper of the law, or as the scion of the Asbrink family. He would be able to just be Matias and choose and love someone just for himself.

Emma understands that as both the keeper of the law and the first prince of Achroite, Matias has many responsibilities and rules he must follow. The time spent with his lover is probably the only time he gets to be himself.

Matias begins describing his ideal lover to Emma. Emma nods, she understands why he speaks so enthusiastically about his future lover. Matias adds that since his lover would be marrying a guardian of the law and the first prince of Achroite, the most important thing is that she is righteous and pure.

Emma thinks that his definition of the last bit would be that Matias’ wife would never violate the law no matter the circumstances. Emma doesn’t have it in her to live up to those standards. But she is his lover until the end of the day, so she should enjoy it while it lasts. She asks if they could dance a little longer, and Matias mutters that he wishes he could dance with her forever. She hopes that at least until the end of the day, Matias feels a little bit of freedom.

Suddenly Matias grabs her waist and spins her around. Emma is surprised and impressed, she never thought she’d be able to spin like that. Matias admits to trying it with her for the first time, he’s only read and fantasized about it.

Surprised, Emma asks about all the dance parties he’s been expected to attend as a royal. Matias reveals that he has always tried to keep a certain distance between himself and the ladies. If he gets too close, he will suddenly find it difficult to get away.

While Emma would normally think it’s nice to be liked, she can see the downsides. But with Matias’ seductive aura, she’ll need to be careful too. Subtly, Emma tries to move away from him, at least so she feels less of his body heat.

Oh no! Matias has noticed and asks why she’s pulling away. The hand on her waist tightens, pulling her closer to him. 

His snow-colored eyes exuded such sensuality that it made chills run down Emma’s spine. The shock of his face so close makes Emma lose her breath and forget how to breathe. A heat stirs in her body, and she suddenly can’t look away from his face. 

Her head was full of Matias, just Matias, and she climbed onto him and his heat. She wants nothing more than to cling to him.

A sudden image of a young woman dazed and confused next to Matias flashes through Emma’s head. She remembers that Matias doesn’t like women like that and awkwardly tries to push him away. Emma explains that she’s trying to put a little distance between them. She pushes at his chest again, but the arm around her waist only tightens. 

Matias reminds Emma that she’s his lover, so he needs her close to him. Emma refuses, if this continues, she’ll get in trouble.

With the saddest eyes, Matias asks what kind of trouble she is talking about.

Oh, that did it. The last of Emma’s strength leaves her body as Matias calls her name.

Epilogue

During the last night as Matias’s lover, she and he attended a dance party. Unfortunately, the prolonged exposure to Matias’ seductive aura overwhelmed Emma, and she came close to fainting. Thankfully Matias was able to steady her, and she was able to pretend that she simply missed a dance step and injured her ankle. Which did happen.

Suddenly she is in Matias’ arms as he lifts her. He tells her that they’re done dancing, instead, he’ll bring her to her room. And, since it’s late, he’ll arrange for her to stay in a guest room tonight.

Matias bridal carries Emma into a room and places her on the bed. He fetches a small box of medical supplies and begins tending to her ankle.

Emma apologizes for the trouble, but Matias assures her that he’s used to doing this in the National Guard. Weirdly impersonally, Matias rolls up Emma’s skirt, so her leg is exposed up to her thigh before he starts manipulating her ankle. Emma wants to preserve some modesty and lower her hemline, but she doesn’t want to get in his way.

Looking at Matias, it is clear that he has barely even noticed her state, and instead is focused on her ankle. She reminds herself that this is just a medical treatment, something that Matias is used to and has done to his fellow soldiers before. She tries to think of something else, but her thoughts just keep on returning to Matias bent over her ankle.

After what seemed like a small eternity has passed, Matias pronounces his field treatment as complete. He instructs Emma to keep her ankle elevated so the swelling will go down by tomorrow-

Matias suddenly freezes, as if realizing the position he and Emma are in. He immediately apologizes, explaining that he moved by instinct and had no ulterior intentions toward her. 

Oh, even though she’s his lover, he has gone too far to pin her down to a bed, and even touched her bare skin with his ungloved hands- 

Matias’ panic is making Emma feel embarrassed all over again. She quickly assures him that she understands he had nothing but the best of intentions and concerns over her injury. Honestly, she’s grateful that he was so quick and efficient in his medical treatment. Emma bows her head and Matias snatches his hands away from her leg.

Well, okay then. Matias nods to himself, regains his composure, and sits next to Emma on the bed. Once again, he is close enough for her to feel his body heat.

Well, there’s only one last thing for a couple to do on a night like this. Suddenly, Matias’ face draws closer to Emma’s. She begins to protest.

But why? They’ve just finished their second date, so shouldn’t they do the proper thing? Sit close to each other and talk about the parts they enjoyed and what they want to do next. And, as they talk, the bond between them grows and the feelings they have are reflected in their softening gazes and then-

(Besides, according to the Asbrink family rules, no sex before the third date)

Oh, okay, Emma gets it now. She feels embarrassed - Matias apologized for touching her just to treat her injury, of course, he wouldn’t expect to go further physically. Emma sighs in relief and tries to objectively look at Matias. He seems to really enjoy being a ‘temporary’ lover, to the point that he’s forgotten that there will be no ‘next’ for them. 

Matias asks Emma to tell him more about herself - for future reference.

At Emma’s puzzled look, Matias explains that while they won’t be lovers, they’ll still be friends. Besides, now that he knows her a little better, he thinks they could be great friends. So, he wants to know more about her.

Emma understands that Matias’ words are saying that he wants a deeper friendship, but something about his sensual gaze makes her feel like what he really wants is something else.

Still, Emma agrees, and Matias smiles like the sun reflecting off of ice crystals. Maybe he’s still in the headspace that they’re lovers since the night isn’t yet over.

[queserasora]

Nanami Kento | JJK Series: Part 2 of Love Kills | Fem! Reader, She/Her Previous WORD COUNT: 6k and honestly it would have been more if I wasn’t yelling at myself CONTENT: NSFW / public nudity because y/n doesn’t own clothes apparently, oral male giving female receiving, shower shenanigans with more fluff than you would imagine actually, profanity, fingering, vaginal penetration, cervix fucking? Kisses? Whatever the kids are calling it these days, and some moderate amount of creampie  A BAD SUMMARY: The one where Nanami and Y/N get a hotel room to prepare for the mission and to wash off the sweat, the rental car is still on fire, Nanami learns a thing or two about curly hair care, and there is absolutely no smoking allowed in the presidential suite

the rental is still on fire when you begin to walk away, barefoot in only your underwear and too tight black blazer. Nanami walks beside you, mostly dressed save for the jacket he left in the car. you try not to scowl, it wouldn’t be fair to him, after all he had offered you his shoes.

you had declined, not keen on looking further like a clown. 

your pride took precedence in that moment, and it was something you would come quickly to regret.

the asphalt under your bare feet was hot, so you walked with light steps; almost dancing. you could feel Nanami’s eyes on you and he’d occasionally pull you by the elbow away from traffic, doing his best to hide you with his larger body from the passing cars.

this was a ridiculous situation, but even in the face of it, nanami kento never forgot to be a gentleman. the jury was still out on whether you liked that or not.

Luckily, your legs hadn’t given out by the time you reached the hotel, although you almost wish they had. You hesitate entering–dressed as you are, with nothing but your panties and blazer. Nanami stops you before you lose what’s left of your pride, and asks you to wait outside. You decide to hide back by the dumpster after several glances and whispers while you stand near the lobby entrance steal your courage.

Now that the heat of nanami’s mouth was no longer clouding your senses, you realize just how stupid you had been. You had sworn to yourself, every night that you dared to think of him, that you would never allow this to happen; that some fantasies should remain as only that. You had sworn to never clash your mouth against his, never allow yourself to explore the hardened edges of his body. You knew the risks outweigh the benefits of such encounters.

Nanami Kento was too reliable, almost normal. It would be too easy to fall into the trap of dreams and make believe. It would be too easy to end up believing in happily ever afters.

There was no way you could allow that to happen.

He comes out at last, and disrupts your thoughts–casting them askew on the dirty parking lot. 

“I was looking for you,” he says, brows raised. If you hadn’t known him, observed him as obsessively as you did, his annoyance wouldn’t be so evident. Nanami Kento was very good at keeping his expression emotionless. He liked structure, and rules. He adhered to his schedule, and constantly looked at his watch. It was something that had bothered you at first and you felt like a hypocrite. How could you call him rude when you were the very epitome of mannerless?It didn’t help that your questionable alliance with Gojo Satoru only furthered your lack of proper social etiquette.

“It was a little unsettling standing there like this,” you gesture quickly at your mostly naked body, before slipping your arms back over your breasts. You weren’t covering anything up with your arms, you were aware, but keeping them folded in front of you somehow gave you a false sense of security. At this point you would take all the crumbs your greedy little hands could grab on to.

There’s a ghost of a smile that flickers across his lips. It fades quickly, barely a memory. He distracts you by gesturing back towards the hotel entrance. “Then let’s make a quick entrance. I got us a room.”

Your legs move before your brain can click the words together. It isn’t until he urges you into the elevator and the doors shut that you realize what he had said. He didn't misspoke. You heard correctly. A room. Singular.

“Did you get double beds?” You ask him, absolutely sure that he had. Nanami Kento wasn’t Gojo Satoru. He had no reason to play little games; however, he doesn’t answer you. His attention is on the glowing dots above the elevator doors and you watch them in silence along with him; one lighting up after the other.

It is quiet in the elevator and you detest it. Silence was never your friend. Your thoughts were always too loud, too quick to speak up one after the other, barely finishing their sentences before they were onto their next tangent. It was always like this with Nanami. The silences between you filled you with anxiety. You wondered how quickly you would annoy him this time, how badly would you fuck up that he’d never want to work with you again?

You were afraid to be without a partner. That’s what you told yourself, at least. The idea of Nanami, of all people, turning their back on you filled you with dread but why wasn’t it enough to stop you from breaking every rule? Why didn’t it stop you from ignoring him during missions when he would ask you to stand back, to think before you act, to allow him to help you?

Why couldn’t you just get it fucking together for once?

A ding snaps you from your reverie and the elevator doors open. You take a deep breath, and Nanami moves before you, stepping into the corridor. He stops, turning his face slightly. Your breath hitches in your chest, and you curse at yourself. What was that about? Maybe you were due for a health examination.

His shoulders tense; hesitation holding him down. He thinks perhaps he shouldn’t have been so impulsive. He should have pushed a little more at the counter, demanded a room with two beds but they had offered a free upgrade for his troubles at the sight of the black card being held in his fingers.

Nanami hated doing overtime, and he loved saving money. How was he supposed to turn it down?

He swallows the apology he wanted to give, and resumes his walk, assuming you will follow him. He stills for a fraction of a second and continues walking once he feels your presence slowly coming up behind him. It wasn’t like you to stick close when he wanted you to. You were unpredictable, and untameable. God knows he had tried, multiple times. You fought him tooth and nail over everything, and skittered around conversations that didn’t involve you asking him to buy you some instant ramen, or a cup of coffee. On occasion, on particularly hard missions when the mini bar of the hotel was very tempting, you’d reveal little jagged pieces of yourself with flushed cheeks and glassy eyes. He held on to those, tucking them in the inside pocket of his blazer.

Still, the only time you ever cooperated with him was to agree with him that Gojo Satoru was the bane of both of your existences. 

That’s why it had surprised him how compliant you had become in the car, of course, before it all blew up in your faces.

He tries to push you out of his thoughts as he opens the door to the room. Your body heat makes it intolerable to be near so he quickly side steps away from you once inside. You are too busy taking in the suite, the expansive floor to ceiling windows, to notice the way his hands fall on his hips, the way his mouth gapes for air once your back is turned.

Perhaps he over estimated himself. He was a gentleman, he tells himself. He could survive the night without touching you, he tries to convince himself as his eyes wander down the length of your legs, eyes resting on the muscular meatiness of your calves. 

Thoughts of how your skin would taste on his tongue prickle the back of his mind, and he counters them by pointing at the bathrobes hanging by the bathroom door. “You should shower first,” he tells you, breathing harshly through his nose. He battles the images of you writhing under his touch. 

You don’t respond quick enough for his liking, so he walks hurriedly towards the bathrobes. He grabs one, almost bringing down the hook rack from the door. When he turns to fling it at you, in a hope of keeping you away from him and his pent up lust, he sees you standing there in nothing but a blazer, and your panties, pressed up against the glass like a kid at a candy shop.

Your hands are flush against the glass, eyes bright as they take in the ocean across the street. You turn your face and smile at him, cheeks pink like the sky being kissed by the sinking sun.

“The sunset is beautiful, Nanamin,” you say, voice dyed with awe. He swallows a hard lump, and clenches his hands into fists. “You should come look.”

He nods, and stays rooted to where he is, feet refusing to follow his commands. “I can see it from here,” he breathes out, voice low and grating. The sunset is indeed beautiful, he notices, when he tears his eyes away from you long enough to take it in. He blinks, trying to capture the image of you against the glass, the ocean and the pastel sky in his mind.

This would haunt him, he knew. He should try harder to forget. He should try harder to resist the urge to press you against the glass wall, just so that he can see you painted under his hands in front of the watercolor sky

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he steps towards you, hand outstretched. Heart beating against his ears, he makes his move. “I was being rude. Let me have a look.” You feel a warmth slip under your blazer as his hand presses against the small of your back. As you turn to meet him, surprised by his sudden appearance he grasps your wrists in his, forcing you against the glass.

“Nanami,” you squeak in surprise, wiggling your fingers as he holds your wrists over your head. The cool glass against your skin sends shivers down your spine. At least, that’s what you’re telling yourself.

“Kento,” he reminds you with narrowed eyes, looking down at his nose. “Don’t move, please. I’m trying to watch the view you were talking about.” One of his thighs slips between your legs, and you find yourself holding your breath. You’re not sure of the reason except that it feels urgent; as if you’d fall if you didn’t. He leans into you, pressing his chest against you. The difference in heights places your face against his clavicle. You tilt your head up into his neck instead, trying to get away from the scent of sweat and cologne clinging to his skin.

It doesn’t work. It was a terrible attempt. He floods your senses, aching hot, pulsing through your body. He doesn’t seem to care, in your opinion, as he peers out the window with his chin on the top of your head.

“You should really take a shower,” his voice is gravely, almost a growl. It freezes you, and thaws you immediately; a terrible contradiction–one that could prove fatal if you didn’t get away fast enough. With your hands over your head, his fingers gripping your wrists tightly, you become irritated at his request. How did he expect you to do anything in this situation, especially with his thigh pressing against the heat between your legs? His mouth brushes against your fingers, and you barely contain their twitching. He nips at your knuckles, drops a kiss on the back of one hand.

“I-I–I would love to take a shower,” you say at last, ashamed of your stuttering. “But it seems like your mouth says one thing, and your body has another idea.”

That was bold of you. You are well aware. You’re wondering if this would be enough to shake him to his senses, to remind him of who he was; Nanami Kento the man just outside of your reach.

He is distraught. Your fingers captivate him, as he continues to brush his lips lightly against them. There is a carnal urge to plop each and every one into his mouth; to suck on them with leisure, not a care of the ticking clock on the wall.

Tick. Tock. He licks the inside of one wrist. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. He presses his open mouth against it, and sucks loudly. 

Tick. Tock. Tick.

You jolt out from under him, almost stumbling towards the bathroom. He follows you, picking up the discarded bathrobe he had dropped on the ground; the one he had meant to give you before he was wholly distracted by your brown skin set aglow by the sunset. 

“Go on then,” he instructs, pointing his head in the direction of the bathroom. You walk backwards, feeling like a corralled prey. There is a sense of danger, a need to escape. Typically when it came to fight or flight your response was always fight; an innate need to put your life at risk. You had contemplated why that was before, and did not reach any conclusions you liked. Perhaps you didn’t find your life that valuable after all.

Yet somehow, today, it seemed imperative that you survived. 

You did not wish to question it further. Your ass bumps into the door, and you bounce slightly. Nanami smirks at the sight, humming darkly as he tilts his head. 

“Nice cushion,” he jokes as he approaches you. Your heart is hammering away, rattling the bars of your ribs. There is a whooshing sound, deafening, in your ears. He is close enough again that you smell the sweat and dirt off of him. His hand reaches out and you feel yourself falling backwards at the creak of the door.

His reflexes never disappoint. He is quick to grab you by the waist, moving you backwards. Your legs feel heavy, and useless. All you seem capable of doing is watching him. His gaze never leaves your face. You feel it floating over your lips, the bit of exposed cleavage through the blazer. Underneath the fabric, your nipples harden, shaming you some more.

“Is this necessary?” You hiss, face feeling hot. In your embarrassment you found the last dregs of your pride. You cling on to them with sharpened nails. “I can shower by myself, thank you very much.”

“Can you?” he asks with another tilt of his head. He hasn’t removed his arm where it was wrapped around your waist. Once again, you are trapped between him and glass–this time the glass of the shower. He keeps you there, as irritation grows. His thigh was too good at finding its home between your legs. He presses it up against your crotch eliciting a gasp. You’re too afraid to move even as he pulls on the door handle of the clear shower door with one hand.

His other hand undoes the singular button keeping  your blazer from exposing your breasts.

You curse his nimble fingers, and the way your breasts react to the cool air of the room. If your nipples weren't hard before, they surely were now. He looks down at them, his eyes darkening. You slap his hand away, thinking that if you shove your nose in the air high enough it’ll bring back some of your dignity.

It does not, and he laughs at you, slipping the blazer off your shoulders.

“Why are you upset?” he asks you, leaning down to drop a kiss on each shoulder. You shiver and turn around, not wanting to look at him as you hook your thumb under the elastic of your underwear.

“I’m not upset,” you deny. You feel your nostrils flare, a tell tale sign. You’re thankful you’re not facing him but there’s a light reflection on one of the glass panels of the shower. You see him smirk as you bend over slightly to lower your panties over your knees. You stand up right, shimmy until they’re at your ankles. Your leg swings out and you kick them somewhere far, not really caring where.

He laughs again as you get in the shower, fumbling with the knobs. You hear him ask if that means then that you’re embarrassed. The water comes pouring down, quieting his laughter. You stand directly under the shower with your eyes closed, ignoring his question.

He is doing his best, goddammit. He is a gentleman, but he was also a sinner.

He removes his clothes quickly, before he does something stupid like jump in fully clothed. The packed travel bag had been left in the flaming vehicle. He couldn’t really afford to have wet clothes at the moment.

When he joins you in the shower, you are completely soaked. Your curls are now wet wavy tendrils stuck to your neck and your back. He takes in a sharp breath, feeling his cock react at the sight of you; the way drops of water cling to your thighs. He takes residency at the back of the shower, and watches you as you glance at him sideways. Water clings to your lashes, it pours over your breasts, arching over erect nipples.

If he moved from his spot, you would never make it out of this shower without him attached.

You try to ignore him. You had made the mistake of glancing his way while searching for the little bar of hotel soap. The sight of his erection, pink tip calling out to you was enough to make you aroused. You curse at your libido, thinking it its own form of curse. As far as curses went, this one was useless. It would not help you in battle.

You choose to focus your emotions instead, and choose anger. You are angry at the cheap hotel shampoo, and you shake the tiny bottle in Nanami’s direction. “This…crap,” you say, standing under the shower, water pelting your skin. “Does nothing but dry out my curls.” You watch him even as water pours down your face, his figure fluid and moving. 

He humors you, anything to keep from reaching out. “I’m sorry,” he says on behalf of the hotel franchise–if that would please you, he’d repeat it again. “They really should consider some research.” He watches you flip open the lid. An urge flutters in his chest. His hands move before he can chastise them. He takes the bottle from you, and pours some on the crook of his palm. “Allow me.”

You’re too taken aback to put up a fight. He is standing in front of you, naked, with water splattering against his chest. He pulls you gently with one hand away from the shower. You watch him, feeling your cheeks catch fire. His fingers are in your hair, rubbing your scalp. He uses enough pressure to massage and lather. Your eyes close before you can think to fight it. It feels so good, you don’t want him to stop. Your hands find his chest, and you rest them there, feeling his muscles move slightly under your palms.

“Is that good?” he asks you. There is amusement weaved in his words. He watches your face, calm and serene, as he continues to massage your scalp. He liked your fiery mouth that never knew how to shut up even at the cost of his peace; but he liked this side of you as well.

Just as gently as before, he moves you both under the water. His hands move softly through your hair, rinsing the shampoo off. You open your eyes, a little peek–you tell yourself, and it was your mistake. Your heart skips a beat at the sight of him; cheeks tinted pink, his hair plastered on his forehead, water running down the tip of his nose, pouring off his bottom lip.

“Kento,” you breathe out, hands still on his chest. He frowns as he runs his fingers through your hair, gently untangling as best as he can. 

“Don’t say my name like that,” his words sound almost like a whine. Your heart beats even faster as you contemplate that. Why was there a distant sadness behind his eyes? Before you can investigate further, he pulls his gaze away from you, and buries his face on your neck. Instinct wins, and you tilt your head back, giving him more access. His tongue is hot in contrast with the almost cold temperature of the shower. 

Your hands slide from his chest, over his shoulders, where you wrap them around his neck keeping him close to you.

“Why not?” You ask him, fingers tangling in his wet hair. “I thought you wanted me to call you Kento.”

He nips at your neck, mumbling something you don’t catch. His lips move to your ear. “You should finish with your hair first. Don’t you need to untangle it?’

You hum wondering when Nanami Kento became verse in anything to do with your curly hair. Your eyes wander around the shower, trying to find what you need but Nanami keeps cutting into your view, his mouth now hungrily leaving kisses on your jawline.

“I saw a comb,” he mumbles against the corner of your mouth. You turn your face to catch his lips but he avoids you, brushing his nose against yours instead. “By the sink.”

You figured you might as well wash your body in that case, and turn away from him, feeling embarrassed at the idea. You quickly lather your body, feeling Nanami’s eyes on you. Unable to take it anymore, you shove the bar of soap at him.

“Don’t just stare at me,” you say, sounding like a petulant child even to your own ears. He only smiles, and it is evident to you that he is holding back from laughing; again.

As he lathers, you try your best to pretend to be completely busy with conditioning your hair. Your fingers work at your wet curls, massaging, and ensuring your ends are coated enough. Meanwhile, your eyes take the absolute work of art in front of you. You are enraptured by the way bubbles form over his tan skin, how lather slinks lazily down the edges of his abs, and down his meaty thighs.

You swallow harshly, at the sight of his hardened cock, partially concealed by his dark blond fuzz and foamy white bubbles. A sigh escapes your mouth. You turn quickly to rinse off some of the excess conditioner before you can see the smirk form on Nanami’s mouth.

You don’t announce your departure and simply exit the shower before he can stop you. You feel like a newborn fawn, stumbling towards the sink. 

“It’s right there,” he says, stepping out from the shower after shutting off the water. He slips into a bathrobe, and walks towards you. You grasp the comb as he places the robe over your wet body. You slip your arms through the sleeves. Words form in your throat but you forget them, when he gently takes one of your hands in his, and leads you out of the bathroom.

“Kento,” you say his name again, a breathy prayer. Why was he doing this to you? Your heart had just started to slow down, and it continued its desperate race again; anything to get away from its natural enemy. 

“Hmm?” he hums, as he pushes you down to sit on the edge of the bed. His fingers pluck the comb from your hand. “Please let me.”

He had dreamed of you, too often. He had learned to become ashamed of it. The dreams were sometimes so vastly different from each other he couldn’t understand his own feelings. At first he was convinced it was nothing but lust. He was depriving himself of release. Having reached that conclusion, he had tried beating it out of himself, moaning in bed as he tried not to think of you, his hand furiously pumping his pulsing cock.

But he always thought of you when he did, and it never worked at keeping you away.

He had dreamed of your voice moaning his name. He dreamed of kissing your skin, every inch until he had memorized the way you tasted. He had dreamed of holding you against him in bed, burying his face in your hair until the smell of your shampoo lulled him to sleep. 

Maybe it was lust. Maybe it was something a little bit different.

You don’t stop him. You never do. He glides the comb through your hair delicately. You can tell he’s trying his best not to hurt you. You bite back a smile.

“You need to be a little more forceful if you’re going to do that, Kento,” you tell him, turning your head slightly. His face is just out of sight, but you think you see his brows knit together. He grasps your hair, and starts combing the ends when you prompt him. You praise him when he manages to untangle half your hair, and hold back the urge to slap him when he gets the comb stuck in a knot. 

“Sorry sorry,” he mumbles at the top of your head, and drops a kiss that stills you. You feel it travel down your spine, electrifying your toes and fingers. He finishes quickly after, and palms the hair that has fallen out. “You shed…” he says and you fix him with an impatient look. He smiles. “It’s the size of a fat hamster. You want to keep it?”

You take it silently from his hand and throw it at the bin, missing it entirely. 

“Let’s not worry about that right now,” you tell him, turning to face him. You run your fingers through your hair, fluffing up your curls. Eagerly, he joins you, hands brushing against yours. You laugh at his fascination. “What is with you and my hair?”

There is a sheepish smile on his face; one that looks out of place. It takes your breath away.

“I just..” he stops to pull his hands away from your hair, but they find your face instead. His eyes are on your mouth, and you feel as if he is sucking the breath out of your lungs through them. “You never tell me about yourself. I want to know.”

You feel guilty. He was right, of course. You had done that on purpose. It was your modus operandi; your act of self preservation.

“Why?” you ask him, and wish you hadn’t. You didn’t want to know. You shouldn’t know. You want to take it back.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly, a whispered confession only meant for you. “I don’t know but I want to find out. Won’t you let me?”

It is too late to take it back. His truth is something you can’t erase. The words burn your skin. Smoke clouds your senses; the aftermath of your scorched soul. You feel like death; like falling.

His mouth is on yours, pulling you to his reality. In your mind you know you should put up a fight, claw at his face and run away. In your mind you know this will only end in tragedy; an avoidable disaster. You know this, and more, but you open your mouth to let him in. You moan against him when he sucks on your tongue and pushes the robe off your shoulders.

His kisses are blistering against your skin, his hands travel over your body unannounced with no apparent plan. He pushes you back on the bed, and straddles you. He stops only to take off his robe before he pounces on you again, desperate to taste all of your mouth. His tongue is invasive, and demanding, kisses growing more sloppy the longer he savors you. You feel his hardened cock against your soft belly, precum smearing against your skin.

You can’t wait any longer. Your fingers reach between your bodies to wrap around the base of his cock. Slowly, you stroke up and down, brushing your thumb against the slit. He moans against your neck, as he moves his hips against you, desperately wanting you to continue. He kisses you like he had dreamed about, every inch of your neck, down the middle of your breasts. He kisses your hips, the top of your knees. He presses his lips against the inside of one thigh, takes a deep breath of your skin; the mundane scent of hotel soap quickly becomes intoxicating.

Your back arches as he moves upwards, opening his mouth to take as much as your wet cunt he could into his mouth. His tongue laps at your folds, eyes rolling to the back of his head at the slight salty taste. He uses his hands to part your lips, and he drags his tongue against the slot of your pussy, before slipping his tongue inside you.

You shout his name, fingers clutching strands of dirty blond hair. He barely hears you. His blood pumps loudly in his ears, he feels like a man possessed, devouring your cunt as if this would be the one thing to grant him salvation. He teases your swollen bud with his tongue, flicking and sucking in turns.

When he hears you cry out his name again, he slips a finger inside you, then two.

“There you go again,” he pants against your thigh before he bites down. You cry out in a mixture of pain and pleasure. “You keep saying my name like that and expect me to act with reason.”

He was a reasonable man. A goddamn gentleman, but if you kept saying his name as if you were offering yourself up as sacrifice what was a man supposed to do except accept?

Fuck reason, he thinks viciously, as he pulls himself up from between your legs. He kneels on the bed, and pulls you by the hips to him. With one hand, he adjusts the tip of his throbbing cock against your wet opening. He grabs one of your legs stretched out in the air and holds it against him.

Your hands falter, they find his abdomen. Fingers dance across his muscles. You feel a plea trying to find its way out but no matter how you push it won’t go. You want to ask him to be gentle; maybe ask him to reconsider. You think, if Nanami Kento fucks you, you’ll never be the same again.

He doesn’t give you that privilege.

He slams his hips against yours, bottoming out inside you in one stroke. A groan that lifts your back off the bed is cut off as you run out of breath. You take in a loud gasp as you try to adjust around him, feeling your pussy clench around his thick length. 

“Oh, Kento,” you pant, hands desperately pushing at his pelvis. “You’re in too deep.”

He grits his teeth as he looks down at you. His chest moves quickly as his breaths come in ragged. His jaw is tense, shoulders unmoving.

“I’m doing my fucking best here,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady and low. He doesn’t mean to come off mean, but you were being unreasonable. “Just relax.”

You think of cussing him out, and running for your life. Once again, he denies you that privilege. He leans over you, your leg still in his possession. You bend your knee, ankle now over his shoulder. You whine, and bite your bottom lip, try your best to glare at him.

“I’m not that bendy,” you spit through clenched teeth. He watches you for a second, and seems to choose to ignore you. You pull on his hair but he is on your breasts, sucking on your nipples with newfound greed. You moan, feeling yourself become even wetter. His hips are moving, very slowly; a new kind of torture.

“Kento, what are you–” You’re cut off by him hissing, bringing his annoyed face close to yours.

“What do you want?” he asks you, face riddled with frustration. “Tell me. And I'll give it to you.” The truth was you didn’t know what you wanted. He sees your lack of response as an unnecessary delay. He only had so much time with you, why were you taking it up with useless hesitations?

“You are a nuisance sometimes,” he says against your breast, taking his time to wrap his tongue against your nipples. You shiver, and whimper, fingers rolling over the muscles of his back. “You don’t have to fight me over everything.”

He was right. He was often right. You close your eyes and loosen your hold on him. Your body relaxes under his touch, his hands gripping your breasts as he nips at your sensitive parts.

“Just let go,” he asks you, pulling away to look down at you. His hair is a mess, his face is flushed as he adjusts your legs again, folding your knees against your chest. You moan, feeling him move deeper.

His hips begin to move again, picking up speed. He thrusts in you, as he falls over you, keeping his mouth next to one of your ears. Even through his pants, and low moans, you hear the squelching of your pussy every time he pushes inside you. You bite down on your lip, desperately trying to keep quiet. It wasn’t that you wanted to deprive him of anything; he kept asking you to say his name but you were selfish. You enjoyed the lewd sounds of your soaking wet pussy being pounded by his cock; loved to hear the sound of his balls slapping against your ass.

“You’re being mean,” he growls against your neck, his fingers digging into the flesh of your hips; hard enough to bruise. “Why can’t you give me what I want?”

You whimper. “It’s not that,” you breathe out, a yelp flying past your teeth as he changes the angle of his hips slightly. Your thoughts are scattered as the tip of his cock begins hitting your cervix.

“Then what?” he hisses through his teeth. His eyes want to close at the pleasure but he doesn’t want to miss the way you squirm underneath him. He can’t believe how wet you are; how it feels like you keep sucking him back in. He picks up the pace even more, thrusts becoming sloppy and merciless.

You become unbound. He holds you tightly as you try to get away from him, your cries urging him on.

“See? It wasn’t so hard,” he says with a small smile. You barely see it through your tears, your moans become unintelligible noises. You lick your lips, feeling drool fall down the corner of your mouth. Kento licks up your chin, taking care of it for you. It was just as well, you felt like collapsing. Your muscles ached, and your pussy felt puffy and overstimulated. You could feel yourself so close. You try to tell him, try to urge him on but no words come out.

He slips his hands under your head, holds you up so he can watch your face; watch how it contorts every time he pushes inside you. He smiles softly before he presses his forehead against yours. “That’s my girl,” he says, chest full.

He chases his high the more you cry. The way your pussy milks him when you cum isn’t something he is used to. He loses the battle and spills inside you. He watches with mild awe the way his cum seeps out between his cock from your pussy, milky white against the soaked bed sheets. His hips roll gently against yours, still feeling high from ecstasy.

You kiss his cheeks as your fingers dance over his jawline. He chuckles, nipping at them. “You, and your little fingers,” he mumbles against them, taking an index finger into his mouth for a suck. 

You hum as he does, chest burning. “I think I need a smoke.”

He releases your finger with a pop, and glares down at you. “This is a non-smoking room.”

“Oh, come on,” you say with a crooked grin, doing your best to roll a strand of his hair around one finger tip. “I’m sure you can think of some excuse if they ask.”

“Am I joke to you?”

[liesmyth]

My friend is going to Rome next Feb for her birthday and she's super excited, is there anything you'd recommend that a) she absolutely has to see or do (including food places) or b) she should absolutely NOT do (either because its overrated, underwhelming or just socially bad etiquette)? Unsure if the country of origin helps but she is English and doesn't speak a lick of Italian

a) absolutely should do: walking tour of the city centre. Just book a free half day in your schedule and do some sightseeing! The last time I showed a friend around we walked like Colosseo > Fori Imperiali > Campidoglio > Piazza Venezia > Trevi > Trinità dei Monti > Piazza del Popolo > St Peter Square, took our time and just wandered around it was FUN. Also: make a list in advance of museums / sites she wants to visit and get online tickets to skip the queue. There are way too many museums in Rome to visit comfortably (I live here and legit have a spreadsheet to keep track of museums I want to see when there's an exhibit of whatever.. we're talking like dozens) so just pick a few and enjoy really looking at the art instead of rushing through. If she's in town on a first Sunday of the month, some of them are free. If the weather is nice (and tbh it should be decent in February!) she could visit the Villa Borghese park + IF she likes hiking, I really like the old Appian way for a midday walk when it's sunny.

Gelato places. Also this cemetery if you're a goth.

b) do NOT do: Ok I do joke about tourists a normal amount being someone who lives in a tourist-heavy location but actually! there's no wrong way to be a tourist. Like, no matter what you do some locals are gonna think you're a bit cringe or be annoyed because they're late for work and you're sightseeing on the bus. Who cares!! I think your friend shouldn't worry about faux passes at all. Live her best life! THAT SAID I would avoid tourist traps like plague. The Gelatist near Trevi Fountain? MY GOD GO AWAY.

Also. Lot of people who visit Rome complain about pickpocketers. This is way less of an issue for locals who take public transit more often. tldr, IMO this is less of a "Rome" specific issue and more of a "big city" issue. If your friend is not used to city living just like... watch out where you put your things. Every time I see a tourist with their phone hanging from their back pocket I want to cry. Put your (her) phone and wallet in a zipped up front pocket or in a bag you have on your lap on the metro! Stuff like that idk.

[djddni]

Could I ask about your medic fang au 👀✨?

absolutely.... i made it a while back, inspired by that one vampire ratchet au that was floating around for a while basically, the idea is transformer medics have these teeth that function as syringes! the inner pair inject, the outer pair extract. theyre named accordingly lol ^-^ those that are "forged to be medics" (like ratchet) are . forged with them ! while cold constructed medics obviously are built with them. you can also get them added post forging/building as a sort of body mod, but it can be looked down upon because people might assume youre a medic both of these sets of teeth can fold in and out, and its actually "proper etiquette" to have at least one set (usually extractors due to how they morph the mouth unnervingly) folded in, for the comfort of your non medic peers though, having the teeth folded like that can be painful for the medic themself, as it forces the teeth in a position they arent supposed to be for an extensive amount of time </3 medics that wear faceplates have to fold both sets in, which is uncomfortable the fangs each connect to 2 small sacs in the medics throat, which are connected to each other through a pinched connection the medic can open and close, like a valve (a literal one. dont be weird lol) ALSO their spit is numbing! which can make kissing even more awkward for them. and if 2 medics kiss without folding their fangs back then theyre liable to getting stuck lol heres an old art diagram of sorts

due to these teeth, biting the wrist to extract energon for testing is a p normal part of a check up... which can add to a fear of doctors lol. they can also bite the neck if needed ive also thought about how theyd word socially.. (mostly thinking abt idw, ik i drew tfp ratchet up there lol) these can feed into anti cold constructed rhetoric, as built fangs tend to be larger and "less durable" than forged fangs, despite the fact theyre just as good. theres also stereotypes that cc medics are more likely to have leaks, but the statistic is just from the fact theres more cold constructs than forged bots nowadays forged medics are commonly specifically requested just for this. with specific fang hcs for medic characters, i only have pharma and ratchet done </3

for ratchet, his are near "perfect fangs". they are thin, forged, and all 4 are around the same length. he has a crooked extractor from folding them in for a prolonged period of time, though. it gives him toothaches :(

pharma's are bigger as his are actually bot made! he wasnt forged with fangs, as he is a jet. (theyre linked to alt mode). bot made implanted teeth are usually perfectly aligned, but its rare for a forged medic's fangs to be perfect. so, pharma has since altered his fangs in an attempt to conceal the fact he had them put in. he wants to create the illusion that he was forged with them. large crooked ones create a sort of permasmile, which is what pharma has as he doesnt fold his teeth in after delphi. predelphi, he folded the extractors in the same way ratchet does :3 medic beauty standards are also fairly centered around the fangs. again, ratchets are near perfect ty for the ask!! i think youre my first real one <3

[pynkhues]

Speaking of Armand and Lestat and survivors not understanding other’s experiences, do you have any thoughts on how Armand and Lestat see each others experiences and, for that matter, how much they really know or understand about what the other has been through? I tend to think they’re both exceptionally poorly matched to get each other’s brand of trauma if that makes sense.

Also to tack onto the other anons ask about Armand, have you read The Vampire Armand? Might just be me but I can’t see how on earth half of that stuff could be adapted. I audiobooked Interview, The Vampire Lestat, and the Vampire Armand and while I totally get Rolin and Co.’s interest in adapting the first two books I have no clue how to handle the stuff in TVA in a visual medium.

I agree that they're both particularly poorly matched to understand each other's trauma. It was interesting actually in getting to that section of The Vampire Lestat again, because i'd forgotten that Armand just like, rifles through Lestat's head almost immediately upon meeting him and pulls out what he wants, including his turning with Magnus, so if the show sticks with that, presumably Armand would have a fair amount of detail of what happened to Lestat? I'd forgotten too that when Lestat tries to counter and rifle through Armand's head, Armand just like. bombards him with insane images to toss him straight back out again, which is a very fun and very visual detail that I hope they adapt now, haha.

As for how much Lestat knows - - I don't know! I'd kind of presume not too much, given Armand doesn't let him into his head in that way, and they don't speak much about anything outside of Paris. They could change that for the show, of course, and it'd be interesting if Lestat had that context when meeting Marius given the audience now does through Armand telling Louis, but again - - I think you're right in that Lestat probably wouldn't get it.

After all, the era that Lestat's from, courtesans are an incredibly normal (and sometimes even respected) part of French aristocratic society. The fact that Lestat's father was too poor to afford them doesn't mean Lestat wouldn't have been socialised with the concept, particularly once he was in Paris, and I don't think Lestat would really interrogate the intricacies of Armand's story beyond that, at least not with Marius. Even working in the brothel - - well, he was around the ones Louis ran, right? And being sold into sexual slavery by his parents is, of course, utterly horrific, but I don't know. Like you said, in a lot of ways, Lestat and Armand almost feel written as characters to be capable of feeling totally toxically about the other's experience, because Lestat spent his own childhood trapped by his horribly abusive father and so a part of me can see Lestat reading it that at least Armand got to escape and find a path to social elevation.

As for Armand's feelings about Lestat, I kiiind of touched on this in my fic, Hold Me Close and Hold Me Fast, but I think there's an interesting factor with Armand who's been so groomed and is so used to being commodified himself that wouldn't really see Magnus' abduction of Lestat as anything other than perhaps Magnus having shoplift the body of a beautiful boy where Marius bought it (hell, I could even see him feeling a little superior with that in the resources and etiquette of his maker).

Because that's kind of what happens, right? Marius buys Armand, Magnus steals Lestat, they're both kept and used as humans (albeit for very different amounts of time) before they're turned (albeit in very different ways given Armand wants the dark gift and Lestat doesn't). If anything, I can see Armand finding it a bit distasteful, but this is also just a reality that he's been socialised to think is pretty normal. Hell, not even just normal - - good. Armand's been groomed by Marius to think what happened to him was a salvation, and I don't think it's out of the realm of possibility that he sees it as the same for Lestat, who in his mortality was an abused, unloved, uneducated penniless aristocrat.

It's ugly, but I think with the context of the time periods they're from, it makes sense.

[monimccoythings]

Eddie Brock & Symby headcanons part II

I love them so much, they are my cringefail hyperfixations and deserved way better in the series. I just think they are neat.

Sometimes when Eddie sleeps, he has nightmares. Of his past, of the verbal abuse he suffered at the hands of his father and Jameson and of that time he spent in a coma completely helpless. The symbiote tries to comfort him as best as it can, but given its naivieté and young age he has barely any grasp of humans emotions other that Eddie’s preferred anger and self hate. So it decides that the best course of action will be to wrap itself around Eddie’s body like a cocoon reassuring him of its presence through their shared bond. It may seem a simple gesture, but it really means more to Eddie than anything else.

Even if their diet consists mostly of junk food and coffee (which is probably the only thing they can afford) Eddie is constantly working out to keep fit. Given his symbiotic partner, the normal amount of weightlifting is nothing to him, so he has to ask his other to turn off their increased combined strength so he can improve his not so regular human powress.

I saw someone headcanon that once Eddie and the symbiote were fully merged a lot of body horror would be commonly happening in Eddie’s body, and boy they were absolutely right. Sometimes it’s extra white eyes all over his body, other times it’s a second mouth full of sharp teeth on his torso… These random transformations keep happening even when he is in human form, though they doesn’t seem to be bothering him at all and just accepts them as part of his daily life.

Eddie rarely smiles, given his gloomy view of life and low opinion of society. However there are two rare occasions were he allows himself to do it: one is when he feels is other wiggling playfull inside him; his lips quirk upwards in a soft smile full of tenderness; the other is when some bitch that has been annoying them is about to get it, that smile is wide, full of pointy teeth and devoid of any tenderness. It’s diabolical and menacing.

Eddie is a very determined man, and sometimes he tends to surpass his own limits, which drives dear Symby nuts. A healthy host is a happy host and an even happier symbiote, so they constatnly have to remind Eddie to sleep, eat and even shower when they are in the middle of a very intriguing case.

Despite being very vulnerable to fire and loud noises, the symbiote loves fireworks, they are entraced by the magical colorful lights illuminating the skies. They make sure to watch them from a safe distance though, no matter how pretty, fireworks are still very dangerous for symbiotes.

The symbiote also loves movies, Symby is fascinated by the storytelling and the acting of the characters. Their favorite genre are romantic comedies and dramas where everything turns alright in the end, they are a very sappy go. I think Eddie would also be interested in cinema, but more than the actual product he is more invested in the process of making a movie. Eventhough he likes to act though and uncaring, the symbiote can feel when one of their favorite sappy movies has touched him.

They may have been bonded to Eddie for as long as they can remember, but the symbiote has little no none idea about human culture and etiquette, and given Eddie’s lack of social skills they don’t have much to learn. That’s why sometimes they misinterpret some festivities (e.g. In St. Valentines they tried to take someone’s actual heart to give it to Eddie, thinking it was the meaning of the holiday.And Eddie thought it was the most romantic thing ever, they really are two idiots made for each other)

Given that now they have each other to rely on and being bonded gave them a massive boost in confidence, Eddie is less willing to take shit from anybody. If anyone tries to pull the same stunts on him that Jameson pulled it won’t end good.

But the thing I firmly believe in is that since they are bonded, their mental health has improved. They may be terrible influences over each other; yet Eddie is definitely happier than he was before (even if he remains a grump) and doesn’t feel like a failure anymore and the symbiote has someone who they can connect with and pursue a mutually beneficial relationship.

[lordelmelloi2]

a lot of work that was done for feminist media analysis in the 90s-2010s was thrown out the window thanks to modern "fandom" etiquette and stuff that just boiled down to "muh ships" and a lot of the mindset that resulted in this shift is outright rooted in racism per the "fiction has no bearing on reality/you should know the difference". I really think honestly its a very privileged & white mindset to have to believe "it's fictional/pretend/private so I don't have to think about if it affects anyone". if you are against racism you should know the impact of media on reality, black feminists and civil rights activists have been pointing out the effects of propaganda and also representation of groups on the social consciousness forever; And I think quite honestly for the whole "well it's common sense to not treat someone a certain way just because you enjoy media that depicts it being shown!" argument, the minute you learn about the history of Minstrels and the Mammy stereotype or the Sapphire stereotype or etc. It should become blatantly clear to you how depictions of anything affect how people act in real life. This in turn also relates to media showing children as sexual objects, incestuous relationships as being funny/desirable/normal, rape as being "tough love", all of these are things that feminists have been doing work to try to combat for YEARS, and right now because of the whole ""pro ship"" BS it's kind of going out the window because people value their own personal comfort over making any meaningful changes. It's not like you get a manual stating when you turn 18 "here's all the crazy stuff you should unlearn so you can help break cycles of abuse and normalization of abuse", but people seem to have given up on trying to understand anymore. Nothing is exempt from criticism, we don't live in a vacuum, media has and historically has impact on reality, social attitudes, normalizing abuse. It's... obvious. Like its blatantly obvious. If you've cared about anything, ever, if you've ever been like "ugh. I hate how (animal movie) made people go out and buy (animal) as pets even though they're not meant for domestication!" you understand already how media impacts reality and people's behaviors, you're just choosing to pick and choose which ones you personally feel are valid.

And I think that when there's epidemics of children being groomed and an abuse and mental health epidemic that's because of rampant pedophilia, incest and rape we need to be more aware of the ways that media feeds these messages to you about what is and what isn't acceptable to do to another person. I don't believe in Neutering media to Never Show it, but I do think people are very stupid and despite saying they don't believe in condoning stuff "in real life" I think there's a wild amount of people who truthfully have no idea what boundaries are acceptable anymore and will gratefully allow the messages to permeate their brain without stopping to think like what the director or author is trying to say or what overall message they're trying to convey. I don't enjoy the discussions being held about "media literacy" in fan communities anymore but there is kind of a shocking lack of discussion about trying to understand the overall point of a story. The big picture. Overarching narrative meanings. Messages communicated. Themes and what they mean and how they tie into the narrative. Idk. There's better ways of writing all this up and I have to get ready for work

[searaeberry]

After the Revival

Decade long lurker, first-time posting anything ever. Guys I'm losing my mind about this.

Many months ago now someone had posted about there not being any "Modern girl in Faerun" fanfics available. I dusted off my writer's gloves and spat out something that I find to be half decent. I don't have anything that I consider finished, and I don't know if I ever will. However I have put together what I consider to be a complete chapter in what amounts to a retelling of the events in game, and how they could be different if someone were dragged from our world into BG3.

I have fragments of other scenes written out, and if people like what I have maybe I'll post more in the future. For now, please enjoy my self-indulgent filthy fanfic.

After the Revival -

After being overwhelmed by a pack of gnolls, our hero wakes from death and faces the reality of how far from home they really are.

When I next opened my eyes I found Shadowheart sitting beside me, reading one of the many books I looted along our travels. I slowly sat upright in my bedroll.

"Welcome back." She said gently, setting the book aside. "How're you feeling."

I thought a moment, checking in with my body before nodding. "Like I died."

"Makes sense. You seem to be full of all sorts of surprises."

"Surprises are a lot of work... I suppose you'd like to ask me a bunch of questions?"

"You've been respectful of my history. Everyone agrees. We won't push you. Whatever you wish to tell us is up to you."

"Thank you." I sat quietly for a moment. "Honestly, I wasn't really sure if I was in another world, or just crazy. Where I come from, you don't just show up in a different plane of existence. You used to be locked up in a padded room for even suggesting such things."

"Makes sense why you wouldn't bring it up right away then."

I nodded. "I've just been trying to piece enough things together to pass as normal. I've been lucky, by surviving an Illithid kidnapping I've been given leniency." I gave a weak smile.

"A great many things would be forgiven given the circumstances." She returned my smile. "For what it's worth, you feel like the most normal person in this camp."

I laughed at that. "Thanks. I don't know what the social etiquette is, but I hope we can still be friends, despite my... otherworldliness."

"I would like that. Where you come from doesn't change the things you've done since your arrival. You still rescued me from that pod, you still brought all of us together, and you've still been helping everyone on your way. For better or for worse."

"It does seem to drive Astarion insane whenever I agree to help someone."

"I admit, even I would have passed up the tieflings in the grove. But watching you garner their goodwill, and see the smiles on the children's faces... It feels right."

"I'm glad someone said that out loud. I was worried that you hated everything I did for some reason.."

"We just questioned the choices you were making." She smiled, realizing how that sounds out loud. "What I mean to say is, you did a lot of unusual things. If you're not from this world, then a lot of things suddenly make sense."

"Like making friends with a Gith?" I teased.

"Like making friends with a Gith... I still don't like it. But she's proven useful."

"If it makes you feel better, I think she's said the exact same thing about you."

She shook her head. "I would rather not think about it today" She stood and dusted herself off. "Wyll and Gale both made food for the camp tonight. I thought they were going to fight over it, but they worked it out. I'll bring you some broth. Unless you'd like to join everyone by the fire?"

"That sounds lovely, but I really would like to just stay here for a while. Last time I saw everyone I tried to kill the guy that can bring people back from the dead."

"Broth it is. Coming right up." She smiled warmly and left my tent.

I felt incredibly grateful for her and pulled my blankets close. I felt exposed and vulnerable. Emotional too, and I really didn't want to deal with that right now. I felt weak and I felt hopeless. I pulled the blankets in even tighter. I was starting to spiral and I didn't know how to stop myself. My breathing started to hasten. I tried to slow it down, but it just made my chest hurt. Just as I was about to panic, I heard a small whine just outside my tent.

"Scratch?" I turned and caught his warm brown eyes. He gazed back at me with earnest. "I'm sorry boy, my potion has worn off. I can't understand you right now."

He still seemed to understand me however. Striding over, he gave my arm a heavy nudge and snorted. I smiled and started to pet him. Tears fell from my cheeks and eventually I pulled him into my lap and held him close. Running my fingers through his thick fur helped pull me back to reality. "You're a good boy, Scratch." He licked the tears off my face and I pulled away with a laugh.

"Gods, you just let him into your tent?"

My head snapped up to see Shadowheart's disgusted look. "Scratch needed a hug." I gave him a little squeeze and smiled at Shadowheart, aware of how pitiful my lie was.

"Well, I brought you a bowl. There's more than just broth if you're properly hungry. I'll just leave it here if you don't mind."

"Thank you, Shadowheart." I smiled at her, and even Scratch gave a little woof of approval.

She paused, but the corners of her mouth turned up just the slightest bit. "I'll leave you to it."

I ate with Scratch stretched out across my lap. I was overwhelmed and my chest was tight. But so long as I could still fight, I would. Even if that meant being revived by a forgotten god in order to fight some more. I would see this through if for no other reason than because no one else deserved this fate.

I reached for the bowl and gave it a careful sip. It was delicious. I would have to give my thanks to the boys. I rubbed Scratch’s side while I sipped at the broth, feeling the warmth soothe my chest. I could hear the camp speak in hushed tones between bursts of what seemed like them pretending nothing was wrong. Once I finished the broth, I just sat quietly for a moment.

So I would see this through… That’s all well and good, but now I’ve made the choice, I had no idea how to proceed. I gave Scratch a pat and he moved off my lap. Carefully I peeked out of my tent, unsure if I was ready to face anyone yet. The moment I saw someone come into view I flinched. I pulled away feeling a pang of guilt, and looked around my tent. It was cozy enough, but I felt trapped. I rummaged through my pack and found a couple vials of ‘speak with animals’ I brewed myself. I wanted to see how my own skills were compared to the premade stuff I found. I threw a vial of it back and swallowed the grassy liquid. I winked at Scratch as I slipped on a pair of shoes and shimmied my way out from under the rear of my tent.

I wasn’t trying to sneak per se, but I wanted more time by myself. Time that seemed to be increasingly difficult to come by in recent days. So with the greatest amount of stealth my tired body could muster, I meandered down by the river. Many seasonal flowers were in bloom and with the blazing sun overhead, I thought for a moment I was in a painting. I smiled and started to carefully pick a variety of long-stemmed flowers. While I wasn’t in a real painting, I could admit the beauty of the world around me. I pressed a flower to my lips, the velvet petals tickling my skin as I inhaled its scent. It was unlike any flower I knew back at home, but its familiarity was welcome. I brushed my fingers over a fern-like leaf that belonged to a flower that reminded me of Queen Anne’s lace. To my surprise, my hand came back smelling like carrot, like it would from the flower back home. Maybe there was more home around me than I originally thought?

Resuming my flower picking, I let the nature around me fill my heart with something important to me: hope. I’ve heard people call hope many things. Dangerous, was the first that came to mind. I longed to ask them, ‘dangerous to whom?’ I slowly made my way closer to the water, sorting through the tangle of feelings in my head and heart. Things were both easier and more difficult now that I’ve died. I hadn’t expected to make it very far in this adventure, so revival means I’ll face greater challenges ahead. But it'll be easier because I already experienced the worst-case scenario. There is no worse consequence than death. That’s it. I’ve done the bad ending. Now to find the good one.

I sat on a rock facing the setting sun, eyes unfocused, ears tuned in to the babbling water and gentle rustling of leaves. I was still tired from my resurrection. I breathed the warm air deeply and wove the wild-flowers together into a small flower crown. It was cathartic to meditate on things while keeping the hands busy. An art that had taken years to learn for myself.

I was pulled from my thoughts when I heard footsteps behind me. I paused my weaving and smiled at the figure that approached me.

"I thought I might find you here." Gale said with some amount of relief in his voice. "Might I join you for a moment?"

I cleared the flowers from the spot beside me and gave it a gentle pat. "By all means."

"Ah. Thank you." He took the space beside me and sat quietly for a moment. He looked like he was still gathering his thoughts, so I gave him a moment. "How are you doing?"

"I am... exhausted." I gave a weak chuckle. "But in time, I'll be better. Just, maybe not today. I need to process a lot of things."

"I can only imagine. Dying is difficult for anyone. Let alone coming back from death when you aren't anticipating it." He inhaled slowly, and looked more hesitant than I had ever previously seen him. "I had been doing some thinking of my own. About my condition-"

"Oh!" I reached into my pocket and held out a necklace I had found before the gnoll attack. "I meant to give this to you earlier for that."

He gripped the hem of his robe and exhaled. "You quite literally died. Experienced your first resurrection. You would be forgiven for forgetting such things. Honestly, the fact that you died and you are still thinking about… not yourself." He eyed the necklace, reluctant to take it.

I placed it on his lap after he didn't grab it. "You need it. It's that simple."

"What I was trying to say... I think I'm a greater liability than I am an asset. You experienced, a frankly gruesome and horrible death, and I can't help but feel responsible for that. If I hadn't faltered in that moment, if you hadn't needed to step in-"

"Gale… first off, look at me."

It took a moment, but he relented. Guilt and strife clear in his brown eyes.

"Speaking as the person who died the very fiery and horrible death, I don't have any regrets. As for you being a liability, that moment could possibly be the worst example you could provide. It was your spell that pushed enough of them away to let everyone get to safety. If it weren't for you, more of us would have fallen. Easily."

He looked away again, unable to hold my gaze anymore. "It is very kind of you to say that." He took the necklace from his lap and held it firmly in his fist.

"I don't say it to be kind. It's the truth. If you're thinking that you need to repent or something, or you think we'd be better off without you- well you'd better just stop. Everyone in this camp would be poorer with your absence. So, suck it up buttercup."

"Buttercup?" He looked incredulous.

I laughed. He smiled. "I don't have a locally equivalent phrase, I'm sorry."

"Well, thank you." He softened his grip on the necklace. "You truly aren't from here then?"

"No. As it happens, I am not." It was my turn to look away. I watched the water flow past rocks and reeds.

"Tell me about it. Where you're from, I mean."

"For starters, death is significantly more permanant than around here."

"I gathered that much from your rather recent reaction."

I looked away sheepishly. "Not my proudest moment. I already had a complicated relationship with death before ressurections were on the table..." I wasn't sure if I was ready to expand on the more personal details of my life just yet. "I could probably tell you about the part that would shock you the most." I offered.

"Try me." He looked so confident. Smug? Probably.

"Well for starters, there is no magic where I'm from."

I watched him pause for a second while he processed what I had just said. "At all?"

"None. Not even a little. Withers and all his grand destiny confirmed it."

"That can't be right. You're sure?"

I pursed my lips and nodded my head solemnly.

"Well, that explains… some things. No offense, mind you but- no magic at all? How does your society function? How do your gods do anything?"

I did this to myself. "You think that's wild? I'm not even certain my world has gods. And if we do, nothing like what you know."

His eyebrows furrowed deeply as he mulled over the information he was given. "I think this will have to be a conversation had over a course of several days. No magic? No gods? Yet you somehow seem perfectly normal-"

"Hey! Don't be rude." I laughed despite myself.

"Apologies." He gave me a sheepish grin.

"You can make it up to me by sticking around, yeah?"

"It's a deal." He looked down at the necklace I gave him, properly looking at it for the first time. "You hid your lack of magical knowledge well. A necklace of keen sight. Might be of more use to an archer than me?"

"It isn't better than what everyone's already using. Go on." I nudged his shoulder gently with mine.

"I really don't think I can thank you enough. You have the patience of a saint as far as I can tell; putting up with my condition, being thrown into an entirely new world, as well as being infected by mind flayers like the rest of us.” He chuckled, really seeing what I had been doing for the first time. "Just back from the dead and here you are, making flower crowns, ostensibly having a regular evening by the water."

"Careful, you inflate my ego anymore, my head will float away."

"Ah, well we can't have that now can we?" He paused for a moment. "You know, if you ever have need of a teacher, I am quite versed in all things arcane. I was never fond of the idea of teaching entry-level magics in the past, but I’ve never had such an unpredictable student before. Though I would probably have to rethink what defines 'entry-level' in your case. How much so called 'common knowledge' would be lost on you that we take for granted here?"

"It sounds like you've already made up your mind." I smiled to myself. Glad that he seems more focused on solving the problems right in front of himself than he is on leaving the camp out of guilt. I caught myself admiring him just a little bit before shaking my head. "Take your necklace already. I don't think Withers would appreciate it if you endangered yourself after just reviving me."

"Of course." He closed his fist around the necklace and a radiant light beamed from between his fingers. He winced and grasped his chest with his other hand. There was a flare of purple as the magic within him devoured the softer light of the necklace. The strain on his face didn’t lessen like it had the first time I watched him absorb a magical item. Even when the necklace crumbled to nothing his expression did not relax. "Something's not right," he muttered almost to himself before looking up at me. "Usually absorbing the weave of an enchanted item acts like a torrential downpour over a forest fire, soothing the discomfort. This is more like a gentle rain." He winced again. "This does not soothe."

I reached a hand to try and comfort him, but stopped short, unsure of how I could even help. "Was the necklace not potent enough?"

"I'm not sure, but I might need another item sooner rather than later."

I nodded my head. "Just let me know. I might have another one ready for the chopping block."

He chuckled despite himself, discomfort still clear on his face, that glimmer of guilt back in his eyes. With hesitance I reached my hand back out to him, and tentatively rested it on his shoulder. He closed his eyes to breathe and slowly, with each breath, his expression relaxed and softened. After a little while, he opened his eyes again.

"Better?" I asked, gently removing my hand from his shoulder.

"For now." He gave a curt nod.

I smiled wryly at him. "At least the vampire just needs a bit of blood every now and then, huh?"

He just shook his head and looked back at me. He looked like he was going to say something.

"Gale, I swear, if you thank me again I will vomit."

"I said nothing."

"You were thinking. Very loudly. It was deafening."

He held his hands up in a mock surrender. "Guilty as charged. Shall we at least return to camp before we lose what little daylight is left?"

I opened my mouth to tease him again, but paused in thought. He waited so patiently for me. “Actually. If you don’t mind, I’d like to sit out here for just a moment longer.”

“Whatever you need. Shall I leave you to your solitude or..?”

I felt his unspoken question and I found myself relieved by it. A feeling that admittedly caught me off guard. “I think I’d quite like a little company honestly. If you aren’t busy?”

“Ah, well, I’ve got a parasite nibbling away at my brain, a bottomless magic pit in my chest… But I might be able to squeeze you into my busy schedule.” Our back and forth made me laugh. It made me feel normal.

“Speaking of busy schedules,” he began to add. “I saw a glimpse of your work, connecting Jergal and Withers. Not even in this world a tenday and you have more notes than we have coin. It’s impressive to say the least.”

“Thanks. It started as homework to blend in, not give myself away as not being local. But then something I read kept nagging at my thoughts. I can’t even remember what it was anymore, yet I kept trying to put something together. I don’t think I really learned anything more than when I first woke up here, but I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that there's a bigger picture we're missing.”

“You think this Absolute cult is related.”

It wasn’t a question. “I can’t prove anything. But I learned a long time ago that if something seems convenient there’s usually a reason. In a world where gods are real? You’d have an easier time convincing me that I really did die and this entire world is in my head.”

“Admittedly, seeing everything we’ve come across written down, I find it difficult to argue coincidence. The only thing I would ask is, what is the correlation between the Absolute and Jergal?”

“That’s a puzzle piece I’m firmly missing.” I shook my head in temporary defeat. “Withers has motivation to keep me alive and fighting. The only people we’re actively fighting right now is a goblin hoard who have forsaken their god for the Absolute. That’s as far as I could get before this mess with the gnolls and the druids.”

“I had been so preoccupied with our infection, my affliction… Somehow I’ve missed everything you’ve been putting together all this time.”

“There was no reason to believe they were related. Besides, no conspiracy I might come up with is worth anything if we die from our immediate problems.”

“Let me help you put the rest of these pieces together. Please. You’ve shown yourself to be more than competent, but I would appreciate the honor of lending my own expertise.”

I gave the wizard a gentle smile. “Alright. I look forward to your help. It’ll be nice not having to keep track of everything in my head going forward.”

“Excellent. When would you like to start?”

“Perhaps we should head back to camp first? I feel ready now.”

“That’s probably for the best. You gave Shadowheart a fright when she couldn’t find you in your tent.”

“How did you know where to look for me then?”

“You always face water when you're lost in thought.”

It was so matter-of-fact that I was caught off-guard. Did I always look at the water while thinking? With a blink, I realized that I was in fact looking at the water now. Thinking. I shook my head to clear it while Gale got to his feet.

I gathered up my flowers and finished crowns. I was so preoccupied that I almost didn't see the hand extended out to me. I blinked and looked up at Gale who was already standing. "Thanks." I carefully accepted his hand and he helped me up.

"The absolute least I could do." 

I could feel the looming and overwhelming feeling of awkwardness growing inside of me. I took a relaxing breath. "I was thinking of stopping by the grove tomorrow. I thought some of the girls might like these. Maybe make them feel normal again. I also have a few tools I think will make Dammon feel like a smith again."

"Yes, he was quite floored to be working with wooden tools. The right woods themselves can be as hard as steel, but I'm not too certain that that is the kind of wood the druids have access to in this area."

"I'm also keen on invading some of Kahga's privacy this time around." I could feel his confused gaze boring a hole into my skull as I continued. "She's acting with a little more purpose than just ‘protecting’ the grove. It smells.” 

"Well, druids are known to want to be particularly close to nature..."

"No, different smell. She smells physically different than the others. Nettie, and the woman we spoke to outside. They smell like leaves and rain. Kahga smells more like... Cut mushrooms and prairie swamps."

"You don't trust her because she smells different than the other druids?"

“It's probably nothing, but I'd rather be wrong than proven right. She was willing to kill a scared little girl. She would have too."

"Fair point. I suppose it wouldn't hurt to at least look into the matter. Even I must admit that she is rather... Intense for a druid."

"I'm thinking Astarion will be the best to snoop around while we talk to the other druids in the cove. Shadowheart will have to stay outside of course... But that admittedly works in our favor. Wyll is absolutely against showing his face around anyone from the grove since Mizora's visit and Lae'zel continues to pick fights with anyone who moves. Just letting her speak to that one tiefling I thought he'd die of fright."

"And you called my thinking deafening."

The warming glow of the campfire welcomed us once we made it back to camp. "It isn't my fault everyone has gone along with the random shit I've suggested. Honestly,  I'm surprised any of you considered the things I would say. Now moreso."

"You have the most unbiased opinions here out of all of us. If anything we might be more inclined to heed your thoughts now than when we thought you were from a different region." Gale mused.

"It explains why she's so damn weird compared to the rest of our eclectic group." Astorion chimed in from behind us. "What's this I heard about me snooping around? You know I'm not just some common thief in the night."

I spun to meet his gaze. I didn't even pretend that I heard his approach. "No, you're just some common night stalker." I sing-songed.

His hand moved to his chest dramatically. "Words wound you know."

I rolled my eyes. "As if you're upset about stealing from the druids."

"Oh, I'm not. I just can't believe you'd call me, of all people, common."

"Mm, he's got a point there." Gale acquiesced. "Calling Astarion common is offensive to all the other perfectly normal vampire spawn."

"Now you're just being rude."

"Happy to help." Gale grinned at the elf.

"Alright, boys. Play nice. Astarion, we already know you're fabulous."

"Thank you. It's just nice to be recognized." He snubbed Gale, who just rolled his eyes in response.

I sighed, already feeling my exhaustion returning. "Look... I'm going to eat something and go to bed. We can talk details in the morning."

"A fine idea. You should be focused on your recovery after your resurrection after all."

I smiled softly at Gale. Was that an eye roll from Astarion? I looked at the two of them warily. "Don't make me get Karlach..."

They both took half a step back. I nodded to myself and started to walk away from them, calling Scratch to give him pets. I couldn't help but overhear their bickering.

"Suck up." Said Astarion.

"Charlatan." Gale retorted.

I just smooshed Scratch's face and rubbed his ears while speaking quietly to him. "I think these guys are going to be why I go crazy. You're the only truly reliable one around here." I cooed while he leaned into my hands with a happy groan. I smiled warmly, wondering if the 'speak with animals' potion I tried brewing myself actually worked. I was too busy brooding to talk to any animals.

I paused my pets for Scratch and he gave a mighty shake. "Of course I'm the most reliable one here. I thought that was obvious."

I laughed. "Yes. Yes you are Scratch. I will never doubt you." I kissed his soft little head. "Let's get something to eat."

With a bark of enthusiasm he led the way to the pot of stew that was waiting. If the broth I had earlier was any indication of what was to come, I was more than excited. Wyll handed me a bowl and gave Scratch an affectionate pat. I sat with both Wyll and Karlach, even Lae'zel joined us. When she thought no one was watching, I watched miss grumpy Gith herself sneak Scratch a piece of beef, whispering to him how he has to be strong to protect the weaklings around them. Shadowheart wandered over, complaining about how Scratch was eating with us like he was some kind of person. Lae'zel was about to retort when Karlach spoke up first about how she'll keep him over by her side. Shadowheart huffed taking a seat beside me, accepting her own bowl. Astarion wandered by, with a goblet of what I assumed was actually blood and not wine, complaining about how noisy we were all being. Gale remarked how it wasn't like we were hiding from anything and that some liveliness was a good thing. I hadn't seen when he joined us around the fire. Wyll started to talk about a time when he was adventuring alone and did have to hide from some horrible monster. I heard a few groans. But I smiled, taking a bite of my stew. That's when I realized something for the first time since waking up on that awful ship. This could be home.

[orchid1923]

Orchid designs

BLOG

SMALL TOWN DREAMS TO BIG TIME SUCCESS: BUILDING A BUSINESS WITH HEART

June 11, 2024

Welcome back to the boutique chat podcast! Today’s conversation promises to be an enlightening one as we delve into the journey of Safna Sahir, a successful boutique owner hailing from small-town Trivandrum. Join us and uncover the insights and strategies that have fueled fashion boutique business growth and positioned her as a standout entrepreneur in her community.

 With fashion businesses recognizing the benefits that blogging can bring to their websites, it’s understandable that many are rushing to create their own blogs.There is no shortage of potential blog post topics to select from,and a fashion blog is not only cheaper than traditional advertising, but i can have greater reach as well.

Fashion is an ever changing subject that can give rise to new trends overnight,so fashion aficionados will be looking for blogs with daily updates of expert insights,creative guides, and general news regarding what is currently stylish.

The spark of inspiration 

The idea to open her boutique was sparked by a chance encounter while shopping with her family. Prompted by her salon owner’s suggestion , Safna Sahir took the leap and turned her dream into reality. With a background in fashion and a determination to succeed,She embarked on the journey of entrepreneurship with enthusiasm and dedication.

These are some useful fashion blog topics can write about:

Outfit of the Day.

Fashion blogs should focus on topics that readers will find immediately useful,and that means blog posts that give creative ideas on what to wear for any given day will be popular among readers.

Expensive look & A budget.

Give tips to your readers on how to get the most out of their money so that they can look good without breaking the bank. Be sure to also mention the drawbacks that can occur when choosing to buy clothes from un reputable sources when looking for something cheap.

Wardrobe items that see the most use.

Going over items that are particularly versatile and therefore worn more often can be a fun read for readers. This can be done in a list format to simplify the blog post.

Wardrobe items that see the least use.

Talk about fashion items that may not see a lot of use for any particular factor. You can add a creative idea on how to use that item so that it sees more use.

Wardrobe tour.

Fashion can be very personal,so showing your readers an individual’s wardrobe can be very interesting to your readers.

How to style outfits yourself.

 As the amount of clothing available to people increases,more people are looking for ways to style the clothes they already own into proper outfits. Explain how to style clothes and what to look out for when matching items.

How to dress for a wedding.  

Weddings are very important events, and nobody wants to be the one that wore something inappropriate,so readers will find a blog post that explains the rules for wedding attire useful.

How to dress for formal events.

While normally not as important as a wedding, formal events can leave people unsure if they are following social etiquette with their attire. A post going over the minute details of these guidelines will be informative.

How styles have evolved. 

Talking about current styles that have transformed since their inception can be interesting for readers that are unaware of the history behind their favourite outfits.

Finding your personal style.

Some people are looking for the style that suits them the most rather than a style they already know, a post that explains the things that they should be looking out for would be popular among readers. Explain how colours, body type, and personal likes can impact a person's style.

How to style jeans.

Jeans are arguably the most versatile article of clothing and so there are countless ways to style them. This type of post should go over how to make denim stand out in an outfit.

How to style specific trends.

Creative guides that help people navigate new trends will always be welcome and instil readers with the need to check back on your blog regularly to stay up to date on these tips.

Recreate celebrity looks.

Posts that serve as a guide to recreate a famous look that was seen on a celebrity or in a movie will be well- received and a fun read for fans.

Fashion fails.

Talk about well-known fashion fails that are somewhat humorous and act as a lesson for readers. You can also talk about fashion fails that people unwittingly commit. visit our website http://orchid.rf.gd/

[jirnkirks]

No, it's basic kindness? Like, mainstream etiquette?

1. Not all fanfic is meant to be an art piece meant to be critiqued and appreciated. When someone doodles as an adult or takes photographs for their Instagram story to show their friends, are these meant to be critiqued as art? When a friend shows you a recent drawing they do in their downtime do they do it asking for concrit and analysis? Not all photos and not all creations are offered for analysis and if you saw it in real life, its just basic social awareness.

2. A very common reason for why artists don't want this because in actual, real life settings you control direct critique you get to get it from those who actually can critique. Like, comments on AO3 is direct to the writer ths same way asking someone for their thoughts is. But in real life, artists do these workshops amongst peers (other artists, viewers who are the target audience) because artists know they are more likely to be qualified to analyze and are also able to factor in the context of analysis. Important on the axis of very local or representative works but also on genre and interest. There is no way to filter that for public posts. It is, frankly, not uncommon for random dude who obviously doesn't know shit to offer their criticism like its helpful and needs to be addressed.

Yes movies and books get criticism from people but they generally do not do this direct (eg via email or face to face) to the artist. Which brings me to my next point-

3. Comments are the most obvious place to not fuckijg do this but online public spaces is also rude because instead of general criticism not being something the author sees, its now in their comments and in the spaces they frequent. If you are any kind of artist or fan of artist, it is really really really fucking normal to not want to see the opinion of every Tom, Dick and Harry. It is an ungodly amount of thoughts, not useful and suffers from the fact that well! Not everyone is your target audience, everything can have divided opinions and its just not productive. You can do it via DMs and closed circles still, no ones stopping you.

But also

4. At the end of the day— fandom having bad opinions don't come from fanfic culture. I really, really doubt it. Fic writers remain a passionate but small minority, and even fic readers are not a majority of any fandom. Hardcore fic writing has existed for ages but rarely has fics been very mainstream to actually read, relative to all the viewers and readers of the original media. In addition, critical analysis and understanding have always seemed more tied in to the make up of fans. Like, I've found generally weaker fics and thoughts in fandoms where there are actually less long time artists and fans. Aka people who are generally not versed in critical reading coming into fandom.

And also like. If you are in any fandom thats like that. I genuinely don't know what youre doing because pointing out things you like/dislike seems.. Pretty normal. I see textposts of people going 🥺🥺🥺 over lines regularly. Comics and Star Trek do have a regular stream of people picking and choosing episodes/issues that are bad or not Correct and a number of those are widely debated.

Also in a communal space dedicated to anyone who likes a piece of media for any reason- yeah not everyone will act how you like or dislike/engage with media for the same reasons as you. Have you ever considered finding smaller communities or friends where you can get what you want? Like genuinely.

The fan fiction culture of "no criticism allowed ever ever ever!" has seeped into fandom culture in general, to the point that anyone who analyzes media is dismissed as pretentious and annoying and I'd just like to say: it sucks

[dissocialed]

What is a Dissocial Spectrum Disorder?

Well, in my view, that encompasses individuals with flat-effect, shallow-affect, schizoid traits, or primary psychopathy; sometimes low-empathy autism.

That is, cases where affective empathy is nescient, but fails to produce debilitating antisocial behaviours or misconduct. Few traits could still be present, but in mundane doses that do not take main concern. Meaning a dissocial could also have ASPD, but not intrinsically.

The main issues in DSSD portend to interpersonal deficits that inhibit social behaviour, yet does not cause outgoing hostility or sadism, but an indifference to others that can present with callous-unemotional traits or a flatly "serious" countenance, though not always. Some dissocials can be engaging, charming, socially polite by utilizing cognitive empathy to read others and filter behaviours accordingly to compensate in social contexts thus, appear quite "normal" (also refered to as 'masking') if only a bit difficult to really know.

This distance can cause dejection, suspicion. Indifference may be read sometimes as hostile, as it can advertently or inadvertently cause negligence to an emotional need one may not realize someone has.

Dissocials are self-interested, not necessarily in a way that is narcissistic or intends to use others to gain, but in that we are goal-oriented, resilient, and self-reliant which can create a tunnel vision. Stereotypically, we can be "workaholics." We don't really think about others as a rule; not in a cruel way, in an absent-minded way that we don't pay attention unless they are in the way or have made themselves prominent. Hurt is the byproduct of a lack of attention in many cases, not the focus or intent.

Though quite possible, dissocials are not necessarily people shy; in my experience, due to a lessened amount of psychological fear or anxiety I can be a rather graceful communicator if need be but will always prefer "introverted" activities that can be done alone, as our need for people is greatly diminished due to impaired limbic activity (often due to early prolonged traumas) that make it so we do not experience the same fulfilling resonation and connection other people might around eachother. It often produces little to no serotonin at all. That means any activity involving others is mostly extraneous and for social etiquette reasons.

Scientific study shows people begin to lose it without human contact for a stretch of time and will naturally seek the presence of others. Someone with a DSSD won't experience this same compulsion so strongly, if not at all.

Primary psychopathy, characterized by an absence of guilt, lessened anxiety, callousness, shallow affect, extreme self-preservation/self-motivated behaviour, and near complete detachment with fine emotional control, is a condition on the far or "severe" end of this spectrum.

[robininthelabyrinth]

Curse-breaker (Chapter 4/4)

- ao3 -

“You know him, right?” Jiang Cheng asked Lan Xichen. He was trying not to appear as nervous as he felt in asking, but he was pretty sure he was failing. “Nie-gongzi?”

Lan Xichen smiled. “I do. And thank you for calling him that, he prefers it.”

There were those that had started calling him Curse-breaker, as if it were a proper title; Jiang Cheng had heard it said a few times, and while he didn’t personally disagree with the moniker, which seemed appropriate, he also knew better than to just drop it into a conversation.

Luckily. He was trying to make a good impression here.

“What’s he like?” Jiang Cheng blurted out, then immediately wanted to kick himself. “I mean – it’s just – I didn’t see him much when he visited the Lotus Pier –”

He was making it worse.

It was only that he’d never quite met anyone with so much presence as Nie Mingjue: taller even than Jiang Cheng’s father, with that strange eye that seemed to see everything and anything. His features were generally set in a neutral expression that made him seem almost unworldly, like some god untouched by human concerns, but which sometimes softened a little when he approved of something – or someone.

Jiang Cheng could feel his cheeks going red, and tried to suppress it.

“Mingjue-xiong liked you,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng lost the battle at once, his whole face heating up until it felt unbearably hot. This was worse than the time that Nie Mingjue had come to the Lotus Pier and told his parents to value Jiang Cheng more or else, and then his father had come in with a smirk and a snarl and somehow made them do it. “He said so.”

“He did?”

“Oh, yes. He said you were talented and faithful, with a good heart, and that we’d see great things from you.”

Jiang Cheng was going to die.

“That’s nice,” he said, with an effort. “I thought very highly of him, too. He’s…great.”

Wow. ‘Great’. Was that really the best he could do?

Lan Xichen studied him for a moment, then nodded. “He really is,” he said, and sighed. “I had the same reaction, you know. He’s…a lot.”

Jiang Cheng felt seen. “I know,” he said effusively. “He’s just – you know?”

“I do,” Lan Xichen said. “Just –”

He waved his hand in the air. Not even making some sort of gesture, just a meaningless sort of wave, but for some reason Jiang Cheng understood him completely.

There really just weren’t words sometimes, when you wanted to describe things or people that inspired feelings that went beyond the merely describable. Nie Mingjue was one of those – Jiang Cheng had known that Lan Xichen would understand, and sure enough, he did.

And to think that Wei Wuxian liked Lan Wangji better!

Really, his shixiong might be more talented than Jiang Cheng in many ways, ways that were often a matter of jealousy, but Jiang Cheng clearly had better taste.

“Oh, there you are,” a voice said, and Jiang Cheng tensed and turned to look – but it was only Wen Qing, so that was fine. “Lan-gongzi, Jiang-gongzi, I was sent to spend some time with you.”

She probably meant that she was sent away so that the adults would have time to talk about issues they thought were too sensitive to involve the younger generation, or else they just wanted to start drinking earlier in the afternoon than usual and didn’t want her judging them from a medical standpoint. Either might be true – Wen Qing was widely acclaimed as one of the most talented in their generation, as terrifying with her needles as other people might be with their sword, from more or less the first moment she’d finally been allowed to join the rest of them on equal grounds.

They greeted her, trying to stand up to be polite, but she waved them down irritably and took a seat instead. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nie Mingjue,” Lan Xichen said, and Jiang Cheng nodded. “We were just commenting on his many admirable qualities.”

Jiang Cheng nodded a second time, even more emphatically.

Wen Qing looked at them both with that critical eye of hers for a long moment.

Then she sighed in a huff. “He’s really all that and more, isn’t he?” she said.

“He is,” Lan Xichen said.

“He’s just –” Jiang Cheng tried the same gesture as Lan Xichen earlier, and was gratified when Wen Qing started nodding herself in total agreement. “Right?”

“Right.”

-

Nie Mingjue was aware that many people liked to stare at them, but they had assumed it was because of how unusual they were – even putting aside the eye, which was their most obviously not-normal feature, their behavior was not always in line with regular people’s. They didn’t show their emotions on their face as easily, being more naturally inclined towards sternness, and their manner was both sharp and incisive, straightforward and blunt; they had missed critical years of social development while lost in what amounted to seclusion, too busy solidifying their sense of self, consolidating their we into an I.

(They were still trying to figure out gender, a process complicated by the fact that it hadn’t made much sense to either of them to begin with. They were starting to suspect it would be better to just give up on it entirely.)

It turned out, according to Nie Huaisang, that that was not why all those people were staring.

“When you say they like me…”

“Sexually or romantically attracted, usually both,” Nie Huaisang said. “You have a lot of would-be suitors. Lan Xichen, Jiang Cheng, Wen Qing, Wen Ning, Jiang Yanli –”

“I don’t think you’re supposed to use their names directly like that,” Nie Mingjue said, though they weren’t sure about that. They’d forgotten more etiquette than they’d ever learned. “Also, isn’t Jiang Yanli getting married to Jin Zixuan?”

“He’s another of your admirers. As is Meng Yao…no, sorry, Jin Ziyao. You know he secretly thinks that you killed Jin Guangshan for him, right?”

They’d killed Jin Guangshan because he was rotten through and through, and he didn’t even have a qi deviation or a tormenting heart demon to blame for it. He just thought of people as things, even the ones he supposedly liked, and acted accordingly…they hadn’t really thought through the consequences of killing him when they’d done it, having long ago forgotten the concept of political considerations, but it was really amazing what could be covered up or excused if multiple sect leaders put their minds to it while the rest just breathed a sigh of relief that Jin Guangshan was gone.

“That seems like too many people,” they said. “They can’t all be my…admirers.”

“You think that’s it? I haven’t even gotten to Lan Wangji, Wei Wuxian – both at once, if that’s your preferred flavor – and even that feral child Jin Ziyao found in Kuizhou…you know just the other week, he loudly declared that you were better than sweets and the entire room sighed all at once in agreement?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not. There are even rumors that say that Sect Leader Wen might be interested…”

They shrugged.

Nie Huaisang squinted at them. “Da-ge. Did you know about that one?”

“Sect Leader Wen is not subtle,” they said dryly. “But if it makes you feel better, his interest is purely a matter of cultivation, and also our father has already hit him for even making the suggestion.”

Nie Huaisang didn’t look impressed. “Are you sure it’s purely a matter of cultivation? Would you be able to tell if it wasn’t?”

Nie Mingjue considered how little they’d recognized any of the other people who were purportedly interested in them. “No,” they admitted.

“Hmm. What about Teacher Lan?”

“What about Teacher Lan?” they asked, suspicious.

“Nothing, nothing. Just something I read somewhere…”

Probably one of those spring books that he was always sneaking around, they concluded.

“Though…you have been going out of your way to meet up with Teacher Lan more often recently…”

“He’s helping me figure out some of the bureaucratic intricacies of changing succession,” they said. “He’s had the most experience, having to do it twice – once to get his brother out of the line of succession, and another to get him back in. He’s a good teacher.”

He was, too. For all of Nie Huaisang’s tall tales about Lan Qiren’s strictness and overly-rigid insistence on orthodoxy, the man himself had a very calming presence, still and tranquil. It made them think of a musical instrument and, using the Nie cultivation method as a base, start to think strange thoughts…

Though not the sorts of thoughts Nie Huaisang had in mind.

“I mean, I guess. Even I learned eventually, and – wait. Why do you need to know about how to change succession? You’re already the heir.”

“That’s the problem,” Nie Mingjue said. “I need to figure out how to abdicate my position in your favor.”

Nie Huaisang gaped at him.

“No, I’m not joking,” they said, because they knew their little brother. “I’m not suited for politics. I don’t think I ever was, and after everything that happened, I’m even less suited.”

They really weren’t. Too blunt, too sharp, too concerned with justice, too inhuman – they were good at fighting, in the sense that they knew how to be a saber as well as a human and could wield sharpness in the same way, a slash from their fingers being enough to cleave a man in half, but that wasn’t what being a sect leader was about.

No, Nie Huaisang would be much better at it.

“Da-ge, you can’t do this to me!” Nie Huaisang wailed. “Do you know how much work it’d be? Anyway, you can’t – our father’s already promised all of Qinghe Nie to your future spouse! So there!”

“Then I just won’t ever get married.”

“What?!” Nie Huaisang waved his hands wildly. “You can’t do that! You – you – do you know how many hearts you’d be breaking?!”

“So you’ve informed me,” Nie Mingjue said dryly. “It’s all right, Huaisang. I rather like the life Teacher Lan has made for himself, traveling all around and coming back every few seasons to teach something. I want to fight evil, and there’s a lot more evil out there than there is in here.”

Or, at minimum, there was more evil of the sort they were allowed to just stab. That was apparently frowned upon, in politics – there was a reason they said they weren’t suited for it.

“You’re not suited for fighting evil with a blade,” they added while Nie Huaisang was still spluttering. “But you can do wonders with people, if you’re given enough time to plan it. Being sect leader will put you in the position that will let you fight evil best, in your own way.”

“Not everything is about fighting evil, da-ge!”

“Isn’t it?”

Nie Huaisang didn’t seem to have a good answer to that.

After a while, he finally said, “…you really think I’d be good at it?”

Nie Mingjue pulled their younger brother in for a hug.

“You’ll be magnificent,” they promised.

-

They liked travel, just as they’d suspected they would.

People always recognized them – the eye was very distinctive, and they were also very tall – and immediately rushed over to share all their problems. They were very happy to help. Some of them they could fix personally, generally the ones that were stabbable, while they had a wide enough set of acquaintances to deal with many of the others: those who needed healing to go to the Lan sect or Wen sect, depending on whether problem was mental or physical; those that needed advancement to the Jin sect or Jiang sect; mysteries to be solved to the newly established Wei sect over in Yiling; and anyone with anything more abstruse than that over to Nie Huaisang personally to sort of.

Their little brother liked a good puzzle.

As for Nie Mingjue’s part, they liked fighting evil, and they liked helping people, too, if they could manage it, so it all worked out quite well. The road could be a little lonely at times, all alone with no one around, but it wasn’t really that bad. They were welcome at just about every cultivation sect and most of the other places they’d passed by, so it wasn’t like they were lacking for company if they wanted it.

It was only sometimes that they wished that there was someone else who might want to share this type of life with them.

It was a difficult life, always roving and never satisfied, intent on fighting evil for an eternity and prizing the doing of it over normal things, everyday things; they knew that they couldn’t ask someone else to take on a mission so absurd as stamping out all evil in the world, and so they didn’t. Who would be so foolish as that? Not everyone could leave behind all their responsibilities and ties to the world the way they did, passing instead through their beloved one’s lives by chance like a leaf tossed in the wind – nor should they, if those ties gave them joy.

Take their current mission, for example. One of Nie Mingjue’s earlier trips had taken them from Yiling to the Baixue Temple, with the highly unorthodox Wei sect’s equally unorthodox head disciple, Xue Yang, tagging along with them so that they could – in Wei Wuxian’s words – beat some sense into his head, and it had been on that trip that they had met Song Lan, who was thoroughly charmed by the idea of a sect established on principles of brotherhood rather than blood.

He'd also been rather charmed, they thought, by Xue Yang himself, and the interest had been mutual.

(They were getting better at recognizing that sort of thing.)

So Song Lan had gone off with them, with Nie Mingjue dropping both him and Xue Yang back in Yiling, and when he’d gone back again another time they had seemed very happy. But Song Lan had been thinking about his master and martial brothers back at home, and he’d asked if Nie Mingjue would be willing to carry along some letters that he didn’t dare trust to the post.

Nie Mingjue, suspecting a request regarding marriage was involved, had readily agreed. Sure enough, once they’d dropped it off, the entire Baixue Temple had all but exploded in excitement – they’d barely managed to make it out of there in time to avoid being dragged into all the fuss.

And now they were wandering around nearby, shaking their head in amusement at all the noise they’d left behind, looking for something more interesting to do. Some evil to fight, or something like that.

They found both.

“Well, that was exhilarating,” they commended to the cultivator in white that had worked together with them to defeat a rather astounding number of evil creatures in an effort to save some rogue cultivators who’d gotten in over their heads. Nie Mingjue’s reputation was already ridiculous, and was only going to get worse, they knew, but really this was a lot even for them. They wouldn’t have been able to manage it without help.

“It was,” the cultivator said, and smiled at them. “My name is Xiao Xingchen, disciple of Baoshan Sanren. Who are you?”

“Nie Mingjue,” they said. They thought they’d heard of Baoshan Sanren before, but they weren’t entirely sure – they had a tendency to forget things that weren’t that important to them. They thought it might be something to do with Wei Wuxian’s mother –something to do with the immortal mountain, and a doom that fell on those who descended from it…?

“If you don’t mind me asking, why did those rogue cultivators call you Curse-breaker?” Xiao Xingchen asked.

They thought about it for a moment, then shrugged.

Xiao Xingchen laughed.

It was a warm sound.

“Where are you going?” Nie Mingjue asked. “I can escort you, if you like.”

“Don’t you have things of your own to be doing?”

“Not really,” Nie Mingjue said. “I want to eradicate all evil in this world, a task that’ll take me a lifetime – and evil can be found anywhere. Why not with you?”

Xiao Xingchen ducked his head. “I don’t have a destination either,” he admitted. “I came down from the mountain because I wanted to help save all the people in the world.”

Nie Mingjue blinked. That was nearly as stupidly idealistic a goal as theirs.

“Well, then,” they said, and smiled. “In that case, why don’t we go together?”

It would be nice to have company, unrestrained by any obligations tied to the mortal world, and in return they could show Xiao Xingchen everything there was to see – introduce him to all the people, eat all the food, fight all the battles. And if in the end it turned out that that doom people talked about in regards to the mountain really was a thing…

Well, they’d see about that.

After all, Nie Mingjue had a bit of experience with curses like that.

[spokelseskladden]

#it's about the intricate laws around social etiquette which basically boils down to corruption and nepotism#it's integral for rome to ever exist at all i tell you#and i knooow it's not that deep but agh. it's about contexts#<- prev that’s why it Never made sense to me why Richard was like ‘yeah we don’t care about your godly parent’ & gave jason the—#rags-to-riches praetor story#like undoubtedly jason could have & Did work for his position considering his whole…hand to hand combat with a tian in the war 🧍#but also he was 100% a nepo baby primed since a toddler for the position idk why Richard would pretend otherwise yk

Rose I can't be normal about Rome, I'm so sorry for this essay I made but I needed to get this out of my head.

It would actually be great if he just leaned into the toddler priming thing, because that's the one thing that screams Roman culture. A child from an affluent family (in this case, the son of fucking Jupiter innit) would absolutely be groomed to become Praetor, but it's the corruption and nepotism which makes the Romans so interesting!

The way their corruption and nepotism works is absolutely systemized, it's an integral part of the administration. If we go by the Roman Republics system, which I'd argue is the only one we can use for Camp Jupiter and New Rome considering it's a bit difficult to use an administrative system that only exists in the context of rapid expansion and imperialism without said rapid expansion and imperialism, Jason would still have to work hard for his position. It would be easier for him compared to someone with a lower standing, but he'd still have to play all kinds of political games to get it.

You had to climb a career ladder, and win the people over to get elected to a higher magistrate. To win people over you'd have to drain your funds (and take out some loans) to invest in the public and make yourself recognizable, and of course it would help you a lot to have ancestors who were also successful magistrates. If you did have these successful magistrates in your family tree, it wasn't unusual to use their death masks part of your election campaign, like this guy did:

It's all about honour and prestige for the Romans, and powerful ancestors is a part of that. So basically, Jason would be a shoe-in for Consul (fuck richard, why did you call them Praetors, that's a different magistrate😭)

ANYWAY, if you wanted to get to the top you'd still need to go through the cursus honorum(ladder of offices), and start as a Quaestor, then go on to Aedil, then Praetor, and finally Consul. After Augustus they'd elect 20 Quaestors every year, (I think it was 16 before that but I'm not sure, I wrote a question mark in my notes lol) and only 2 of those could end up as Consul in the end, and considering these people put themselves into insane amounts of debt to get to Consul you can imagine the competition was intense. The way you earned back your money was through conquest and war trophies, which you could do by being praetor. So basically use everything you had and didn't have as Quaestor and Aedil, and earn it all back in the last stages. Following Julius Caesars political path will give you a pretty good idea of what a very successful run through the cursus honorum would look like.

Of course this system can't be the exact same in a fantasy book series for kids, I mean it's pretty unrealistic for a 16-yearold to get through all of those steps(you had to be like 30 to even START on the cursus honorum in real rome), and this is just the abridged version of how these things worked so I understand why we can't have an exact replica of the roman republic but I'd like for there to be something more than a few titles (THAT ARE WRONG)and a vague "we're more militant and strict than the greeks" because it would be cool world building, explain New Rome a bit more, and appeal to me personally lol.

I need to not think too deeply about how camp jupiter/new rome could function at all based on the roman republic/roman empire because by all accounts. It shouldn't function at all

[canonlucidia]

How about Barbatos + threshold? 😳

[ For the Character + Word Ask meme found here ] 

Barbatos is a demon of many talents, chiefly known among them are his skills in the kitchen, and his nigh unfathomable well of patience.

If asked, he’d simply maintain that those are the very least of the qualities one could expect in a Royal Butler such as himself. He’d demure that, of course he ought to be able to make a soufflé as light as air if his Liege should mention his interest in such a thing, just as well as he could withstand the mindless and predictably violent politicking that occurs in the Demon King’s court.

Tonight, the threshold of even Barbatos’ famed patience is being tested. As it almost inevitably is, whenever the Seven Deadly Sins are involved.

He watches, with a numb sort of horror that just barely touches the edges of his politely smiling facade, as Mammon attempts to pocket the gilded silverware off the table, as Beelzebub crunches his way through yet another plate of the castle’s finer china in a rather off putting and somewhat desperate bid to shovel Barbatos’ cooking into his horrifying maw... As Leviathan physically climbs under the table to escape the polite conversation Barbatos has been trying to lure him into. As Belphegor, nearly pointedly, faceplants into his dinner plate and starts loudly snoring into his spiced leg of beast. As Asmodeus ignores all conceivable social convention to take pictures of the food, of himself in front of the food, taking entire trays of food off the table to pose with them in the different lighting in other areas of the dining hall, even going so far as to take his shirt off at one point while posed in front of an open window with a flute of champagne, which while Barbatos is opposed to on the grounds that it’s an atrocious display of dinner etiquette, he has to admit it makes a relatively tasteful scene when compared to what Asmodeus did with an eclair earlier.

Satan and Lucifer at least are seated normally at the table, eating and making appropriately complimentary conversation towards the food and their host. But Satan keeps reaching into his coat pocket even few moments with a barely hidden expression of malevolent glee, which can’t portend for anything that will go well for Lucifer, certainly...

And Lucifer.

Truly the cherry atop the cake, as it were. Normally Barbatos can at least count on the eldest sin to display an acceptable amount of decorum and manners, if not an overly stiff and arrogant form of them, but tonight.

Tonight.

Diavolo, Barbatos’ Lord, curse his stupid, infuriating, awful sense of humor, made the most mild and offhand suggestion that Lucifer’s alcohol tolerance seems to have been waning as of late. As compared to what he could put away during the war, of course, which was really an incredibly worrisome amount in Barbatos’ opinion. Not that anyone asked. Because it’s rare that anyone thinks to, but also because most people know better than to ask stupid questions of him when he’s a) busy, b) disinterested in divulging personal information, and c) busy.

But all that aside, of course Lucifer started to engage in some (not particularly subtle) form of drinking contest with Diavolo, which is not something he could ever hope to win, because Diavolo, twice damn him, cheats.

So this has left Barbatos, seated at Diavolo’s left at his Lord’s insistence he eat with them, with an increasingly drunk and boastful Lucifer, now unable to corral his preposterously annoying siblings.

And Flirting. Smugly. With the Prince.

Barbatos turns his mask of a pleasant mien towards his Lord, who is of course entirely pleased with himself, because he’s currently winning the foolish game he likes to play called ‘let’s see how far I can push Barbatos before he snaps and stops treating me like a Prince and more like the Brat that I Am’, with the side bonus of a drunk and somewhat more pleasant (and admittedly, far more amusing) Lucifer attempting to hit on him.

Diavolo must sense the eyes on him, as he graces Barbatos’ fixed look with a flicker of his attention: a brief half smile and something that almost, almost looks like an apologetic wince. Probably because of the cloth-tearing sound that heralds the part of the night where Beelzebub starts trying to eat the table cloth to get at any food stains left on it.

Barbatos sighs, minimally, and smiles at his Prince with a look that promises future punishment, standing up and giving a perfunctory half bow, hand over his heart.

“If you’ll excuse me, My Lord, I believe that is my cue to end the dinner service.”