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just-jordie-things · 1 year ago

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[part seven] to build a home - gojo satoru

word count: 3.3k warnings: !!manga spoilers!! swearing, jjk-verse style fighting series summary: when (y/n) (y/l/n) catches wind that the notorious sorcerer killer, toji fushiguro, has children, she makes it her personal mission to find them. the catch being she couldn't tell a soul about them- the risk of the zen'in clan learning about them was too great. keeping the secret isn't the hard part, it's lying to her friends, shoko ieiri, geto suguru, and of course gojo satoru, that she struggles with. especially when satoru has suddenly become so keen on keeping an eye on her lately.

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[part seven] : "Shikigami" ___

The next month, (y/n) thinks, is the best month of her life. She finally relaxes, even with everything on her plate, she seems to fall into a decent routine to balance it all. Somehow, everything seems to work out. And she enjoys her time of peace.

She’d thrown a small party for Tsumiki’s tenth birthday, complete with a homemade two-tower cake that might have been a little slumpy but she and Megumi enjoyed it nonetheless. (y/n) had spent most of her earnings from her tutoring on a smartphone, and when Tsumiki had shred the glittery pink wrapping paper from it, she’d screamed so loud that Megumi had clamped his hands over his ears.

It was expensive, but it was about time that they had an easier way to communicate with each other. Ever since, Tsumiki always made sure to keep her updated on what she and Megumi were up to, and she also sent plenty of pictures. (y/n) particularly enjoyed the ones with Megumi’s hands in front of his face- which were most of them.

She visited them more regularly, and always held herself to that schedule. Tuesday and Thursday evenings, and the weekends, were reserved for them, and then only. After a while of this being a normal occurrence, her friends seemed to stop wondering where she went. They never asked what she was doing, or where she was going. She did find this odd, but she decided to accept it as a sign of things working out.

“What’re you thinkin’ about?”

Gojo Satoru was sitting on the common room’s sofa beside her. The movie they’d been watching together long ignored as he propped his elbow on the back of the cushion, resting his head in his hand to better look at her.

(y/n) looked up from her phone, clicking it off as she met his gaze.

The lights were off, and with only the dim light of the television screen, Satoru had his sunglasses hooked into the collar of his shirt. It wasn’t often that he left them off. (y/n) felt a sense of honor, that he was comfortable enough to sit before her, exposed.

She had a feeling that if she reached out to touch him, she’d be able to.

“I guess nothing” She replied, the message she’d just received from Tsumiki still on her mind.

It wasn’t the usual picture of Megumi. In this one, there were two small puppies on either side of him. One white, and one black, with shikigami symbols on either of their heads.

[(y/n)]: i’m so proud! i can’t wait to come and see in person tomorrow. Be safe <3

Her response hadn’t been a lie, she was incredibly proud that Megumi was starting to get a grasp on his cursed energy. Summoning shikigami wasn’t an easy feat, and (y/n) had never really tried her own hand at it. So a part of her felt insecure in her ability to help young Megumi hone this skill.

But more than anything, she was overwhelmed at the realization that he was growing up, growing into his cursed energy. Soon she’d have to figure out a way to teach him how to use it. She’d have to teach him properly about curses, and about jujutsu sorcerers.

She gnawed on her lip.

“Really?” Satoru asked, quietly. “Cause it looks like somethin’s bothering you”

(y/n) dropped her gaze to her lap, at the black screen of her phone.

“No, I’m alright,” She feigned a smile. “Hey, you know much about shikigami?”

Satoru’s brows furrow, and there’s a slight smirk on his lips. What in the world did she need shikigami for?

“You want a pet, sweetheart?” He jokes. “You could just ask, I’ll get you something”

“No, I don’t want a pet” (y/n) laughs at his instant desire to buy her something.

“You sure?” Satoru checks. “Kitten? Turtle? Parrot?”

“No,” (y/n) repeats between her laughter. “When would I have the time to take care of a pet? I’m too busy taking care of you”

He gives her a toothy grin.

“Well then what’s with the shikigami?” He asked. “Not like you need ‘em”

“So you don’t know anything,” (y/n) sighs, defeated. “That’s fine, I’ll just ask Suguru or something-”

“No no no, no need, I’m your mentor, aren’t I?” He cuts her off, making her chuckle. Of course he’d jump at the opportunity to help if it meant she didn’t go to someone else.

“I wouldn’t say mentor-”

“Summoning shikigami is all about your own cursed energy,” He speaks over her. “Think of it like play-doh!” He adds, scooting closer to her on the cushion as his hands move in front of him, making a ball shape. “It’s all about having an image in mind, and using your cursed energy to make that image reality!”

(y/n) nods, twirling her phone around in her hand as she thinks about it.

Megumi didn’t just summon one dog. There were two.

“Why the sudden interest?” Satoru asks.

(y/n) shakes her head.

“Got a paper on it” She mumbles out the lie, the gears in her mind occupying all of her thoughts.

If Megumi were able to summon even more…

She doesn’t want to think about it.

Then the Zen’in Clan might start looking for him.

“Boring paper,” Satoru scoffs, leaning back on the couch. “You should write about something cooler. Like me,”

(y/n) chuckles, he’d effectively distracted her from her troubled thoughts.

“What?” He asks, offended. “I’m interesting! I’m the most interesting thing that’s happened to this dying community in decades! Maybe even centuries, (y/n/n)”

(y/n) rolls her eyes at him affectionately. He always had a way of condemning the jujutsu society, even though it was the very society that practically crowned him.

“Sure you are” She deadpans.

He gapes at her.

“You don’t think I’m interesting?” He asks, holding a hand over his chest in mock offense.

“Satoru-”

“I can’t believe this!” He cries out, throwing his head back.

“Satoru-”

“You’ve wounded me, (y/n)!” He gets louder each time she tries to make him shut up. “I can’t believe I trusted you- you’ve broken my heart!”

“Satoru!” (y/n) grabs him by his shoulders, and just as she suspected earlier, he’d let her touch him.

He’s cackling, laughing at his own jokes. It’s almost annoying, but he’s grinning ear to ear as he brings his head back up, meeting her gaze, and she can’t find it in herself to be irritated with him.

For once, his stupid mouth is shut. He’s just staring at her, intently, like he was waiting for something. (y/n) raised a brow, in silent question, but he still didn’t say anything.

“What?” She finally asked, eyes flickering between his.

Despite herself, she gets lost in the deep oceans of his irises. She knows that he knows they’re beautiful, but she wonders if he knows just how trapped in them she could get.

They were his greatest weapon, in more ways than one.

He still doesn’t answer, but his grin softens, and her heart flips over in her chest.

Was Gojo Satoru really reducing her to this?

She suddenly notices how close she is, with her hands frozen on his shoulders, and her face just inches away from his. If someone were to walk into the room right now, it would surely seem like a compromising position.

Was she losing her mind, or did he just look at her lips?

Sure, she’d had a few more than platonic thoughts about him in the past, and surely he’d known this too. Gojo Satoru lived to be a charmer, a flirt, a tease- he collected phone numbers (and probably other small trophies) left and right.

(y/n) had seen it first hand, and it used to frustrate her to no end that he would distract himself from an assignment just to throw out a cheap pickup line and a wink. It was more frustrating that it worked. But now she wonders if she was annoyed by this behavior for other reasons.

All at once, Satoru took her wrists, dropping her hands from his shoulders, and moving back to his spot on the couch to put distance between them.

It wasn’t right, he told himself, looking back at the television and pretending to suddenly be interested in the movie he’d barely watched. She was seeing someone.

Maybe he hadn’t proved it yet, she hadn’t given him any tangible evidence that it was a boyfriend she was visiting in Tokyo, but the odds of it being anything else were growing thin For the last month he’d been giving her the space to do as she pleased, and she had chosen to use that space to go into town more frequently, and on a regular schedule now, too. This led Satoru, and Shoko and Suguru as well, to believe it had to be a guy she was visiting.

There was a knot between (y/n’s) eyebrows, as she regarded Satoru’s sudden distance. She’s not sure why he’d recoiled away from her, as if she’d somehow done something venomous. She tried racking her brain to figure out what it could’ve been to make him do such a thing, but she didn’t dare ask why.

Instead, she gave him his space. They sat in complete silence until the movie ended, and as soon as it did, she stood and excused herself to her room. Satoru didn’t protest, he didn’t say anything. Just sat on the sofa while she walked away.

When she was gone, he dropped his head back against the cushion, letting out a groan of frustration. For some reason, his mind wandered to the little spat he’d had with Nanami, the day he’d punched a wall.

She doesn’t belong to anyone, the blonde man’s voice was dry as he’d spoken, but somehow it made his words all the more harsh.

The white haired sorcerer dragged a hand over his face, shutting his eyes and wishing he was able to distract himself from his own ridiculous angst.

She doesn’t belong to anyone.

Satoru wasn’t sure that was so true. ___

“It was just weird,” (y/n) shook her head, happily snatching the cigarette from Shoko’s hand as soon as she’d slid it from it’s carton. “I’ve never seen him be so quiet for so long. Honestly, I didn’t know he was capable of it”

The brunette chuckled, producing a lighter from the pocket of her white coat, and leaning over to light the cigarette that hung between (y/n’s) lips.

“You must have stunned him to silence” She mused.

“I don’t know,” (y/n) shrugged, taking a drag once the cig was lit. “I think he was just… upset”

Shoko hums.

It wasn’t smart to be smoking in the dorms, and surely if someone smelled the distinct scent of smoke, (y/n) was going to be in grave trouble for it. But it was a little chilly outside, and the pair didn’t feel like shivering in their usual spot on the roof.

(y/n) leans back on her bed, kicking her feet towards her pillow, and hanging her head off the edge of the mattress. Shoko sat opposite of her, with her back to the headboard, and her legs crossed at her ankles.

“You two have been spending more time together than usual,” The brunette comments, “Somethin’ I should know?”

(y/n) lets out a short chuckle, blindly passing the cig back. Shoko leans forward to pluck it from her fingers.

“Absolutely not”

“Hm,” Shoko hums around the cigarette between her lips. “Doth protest too much,” She says with a small giggle. “You used to despise one on one time with Satoru. Remember when we first met?”

(y/n) smiles fondly at the memory. A few more trickled into her mind. Their first year together at Jujutsu Tech had been a fun ride. Messy, but fun.

“Of course”

It’s quiet for a few beats, both girls lost in their own memories. (y/n’s) not sure if she thought so back then, but life was so, so much easier. It seems now she carries the weight of the world, of her choices, consequences, regrets, a heavy chain that binds her of every mistake she’s chosen, every wrong path she’d walked.

Back then, all she had to worry about was exorcizing curses, getting stronger, getting her homework done on time. Her eyes fall shut, and she lets out a sigh as she remembers the old days that were a mere few years ago.

“Shoko,”

Her voice is barely above a whisper. Her friend hums in response, and hands the cigarette back, feeling like (y/n) needed it more in that moment.

“You asked me once what I think I would do if I wasn’t a jujutsu sorcerer”

Shoko hums once more.

“You’ve finally thought about it?”

She wonders if (y/n) was finally about to admit to her rendezvous with her secret lover.

“Yeah,” (y/n) replies. “I think I’d like to be a mother”

Shoko doesn’t reply right away, a bit stunned. That wasn’t anything like she was expecting, and as she wrapped her mind around the thoughtful choice, she felt a pit in her stomach begin to grow.

“You could still be a mother” She informs.

(y/n) tilts her head up, peering at her friend from the end of the bed. There’s a smile on her face, but Shoko can see as plain as day that it was empty.

“I could never bring children into this world” She says. Her voice is solemn, final. As if the notion would be the cruelest thing she’s ever heard.

“Too selfish?” Shoko muses.

(y/n) drops her head again. Her hair hangs low, almost touching the ground.

“Something like that” (y/n) agrees in a mumble.

“What makes you think of that now?” Shoko asks, flicking the cigarette over the ashtray on (y/n’s) bedside table.

She’d had it for some time, a little ceramic dish with a pretty, flowery design. It was almost perfectly clean.

“I don’t know” She murmurs back.

Her eyes shut as she raises her arms over her head, letting them hang down towards the ground until her knuckles rest there. She knows fully well why she thinks of it.

“Liar,” Shoko purrs. “We’ve been friends a long time. Not once have you learned how to lie to me”

(y/n) chuckles, dragging her fingers over the rough carpet on her floor. There, she traces designs mindlessly.

“Not once have you been bothered when I lie to you” She whispers back.

Shoko lazily shrugs a shoulder, smiling to herself.

“I’m not one to need to know everyone’s business,” She says honestly. “I like a little mystery. Keeps things interesting”

“Guess you’re right” (y/n) mumbles. Her fingertip drags in a straight line, watching the short fibers of her carpet be spread apart.

“And I know if something was important, you’d tell me,” Shoko adds. She waits for a response, patiently. Asking (y/n) to open up was a difficult task, but if anyone was able to make her crack, it was Shoko.

(y/n’s) finger halts on the ground, and she stares at the spot for a moment.

“Right?” Shoko’s voice is smaller than before, almost uncertain.

(y/n) lays her palm flat against the ground, leaving it there for a second before sliding it over the line in the carpet she’d made. With her palm, the fibers stand straight together again, erasing any evidence that she’d separated them. “Of course,” She says, as confidently as she can. “You know I would”

Shoko nods, chuckling awkwardly to herself.

“I know,” She replies. “Just making sure, I guess”

You’re getting better at lying, Shoko thinks, looking at her friend who couldn’t even look her in the eye. But still not good enough for me to believe you.

“Shoko,” (y/n) whispers after a beat of silence. “What do you know about the Zen’in Clan?”

Finally, she lifts her head, propping her elbows on the bed to keep her body angled up just enough to properly look at her friend. Shoko looks utterly confused, her brows furrowed and her lips pressed into a line.

“Not much…” She trails off, her head tilting to the side as she regard (y/n) with clear and utter concern. “Why?”

(y/n) shakes her head, turning to stare at a spot on the wall so she wouldn’t have to lie to her face again.

“Just wondering”

“(y/n)...” Shoko leans forward a bit, just off the headboard, enough to bring her friend’s gaze back to hers. “What business do you have with the Zen’in Clan?”

(y/n) gulps as Shoko’s eyes prod into hers worriedly.

Only a child that’s rightfully theirs, she thinks.

“I thought it was more interesting to not know everything” (y/n) throws her words back at her, but there’s no tease in her tone. She’s quiet, hesitant.

The reversed cursed technique master chews on her lip, troubled.

Was she seeing someone from the Zen’in Clan? She wondered. Is that what all this was about? It would certainly explain the sneaking around, the sudden need for her to keep things private. If she was hooking up with a Zen’in, it was definitely wise of her to not have told Satoru.

But a question still remained in Shoko’s head.

Why?

“They’re a force to be reckoned with, (y/n),” Shoko cautions. “If you do have business with them…”

“Cut it off, right?” (y/n) lets out a bitter huff of a laugh. She drops her head to stare at her lap. She’d known that since day one.

“I was going to say, tread carefully,” Shoko says, and (y/n’s) eyes meet hers once more, surprised. She’d thought for certain that her friend would try to pry, to talk her out of what she was doing. “I don’t want you to get hurt”

“I won’t”

“When it comes to the Zen’ins, you probably will,” Shoko says, a bittersweet smile tugging on her lips. “They’re bad news, (y/n)”

“Trust me,” (y/n) sighs. “I know”

The subject was dropped after that, both girls curling up in (y/n’s) small bed as the night grew near. Shoko smoked one last cigarette, scrolling mindlessly through her phone. (y/n) laid with her back to her, staring at her wall as she processed what the next step for her had to be.

She’d known for a while that as he got older, it would be harder to hide him from the Zen’in Clan. The growth of his cursed energy was bound to happen. She’d just never thought it would happen so soon. And now she was backed into a rock and a hard place. Training him to properly hone his ability, while also concealing it, was going to be quite the chore. She wasn’t sure if she was the right sorcerer for the job, if she was strong enough to protect him alone.

Her hands gripped the edge of her blanket, pulled close to her chin.

Even if she wasn’t strong enough, she’d have to be. ___

Gojo Satoru glared at his reflection in the mirror, or more specifically, glared at the bags under his eyes. It wasn’t unlike him to have a bad night’s sleep, most nights he was lucky to get a couple hours, but the dark circles were not a welcome addition to his otherwise perfect face.

The knock on his door disturbed his thoughts, but it was welcomed. He needed a break from focusing on the only physical insecurity he’d had in a while.

When he swung the door open, Shoko stood there, and instantly invited herself in. She spoke before he could say anything, or react to her sudden visit at all.

The brunette plopped herself down in his desk chair, crossing her arms and staring at him with a serious look in her eye that Satoru didn’t often see.

“It’s time to talk about (y/n)” ___

xoxo ~ jordie

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writingquestionsanswered · 8 months ago

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I was wondering, why does it feel like I can't write good original fiction or original characters, but my fanfiction is great (imo anyway, which I never feel for my original fiction)? In some senses, I get it, like I feel I really know the characters in other people's fiction after seeing them through their story, but like....ugh. It's really frustrating. Do I just not understand how to develop an original character? Am I overcomplicating things?

Fan-Fiction: Struggling with Writing Original Fiction Characters

All of the above... ♥

So, yes, you're probably overcomplicating things a bit, but also it actually is hard for a lot of writers to make the switch between writing canon characters and developing their own original characters. In other words, what you're experiencing isn't unusual and it's absolutely surmountable. :)

One of the things I love about fan-fiction for newer writers is it allows you to focus fully on the mechanics of writing without having to divert effort toward things like world building and character development. The problem with that, though, is once you make the switch from writing fan-fiction to writing original fiction, you might find that your world building and character development skills are lagging behind. It sounds like this might be the situation in your case.

This is why I think it's a great idea to experiment with writing OCs, or in other words "original characters" as part of your fan-fiction. You don't even have to post these stories if you don't want to--write them for yourself, for practice. But, creating an original character to join your favorite canon characters is a great way to get practice in character creation and development while still within the comfy zone of your fan-fiction. Just by virtue of having to exist in the canon world, you have a little bit of a template to follow as far as who this character can be and what they can do. But, you have some freedom with things like back story, internal conflict, and character arc. Writing OCs in fan-fiction helps you hone those skills and learn to create characters you love without tossing yourself into the deep end.

And, if you need practice with setting development/world building, you can do that within fan-fiction, too. Try moving the canon characters into a new time, world, or situation. For example, what if the characters of The Hunger Games were survivors of a modern day shipwreck in the South Pacific? Or, what if the characters from ACOTAR lived in a Dune-like world, with different planets and starships and great houses? In this scenario, you can focus more on world building and plot without having to worry as much about character design and development.

So... no matter what, the reality is you'll just have to be patient with yourself. Whether you choose to hone your character development skills through writing fan-fiction OCs, or whether you keep at it with original fiction characters, it's going to take some time for you to develop those skills. It will be frustrating because you'll know that these characters aren't hitting the mark you want them to, but that's also good, because knowing they're falling short means you can try to figure out why and what you can do to fix it.

And, if you need additional help, you can always visit my Character Development master list of posts.

I hope that helps!

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I’ve been writing seriously for over 30 years and love to share what I’ve learned. Have a writing question? My inbox is always open!

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tobiasdrake · 7 months ago

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who do you think is the best teacher in Dragonball?

That's a tough question. But I'm leaning towards Mr. Popo.

Our journey through teachers begins, of course, with the Muten-Roshi. Goku's only with Roshi for about eight months so we don't get to see a lot of his teaching, even though other Kame-senryu students are with him for longer. In that time, he's able to instill a very important philosophy in Goku that will guide him through his life.

It's the Muten-Roshi who imparts Dragon Ball's central theme of never being satisfied with yourself and always striving for self-improvement. He went to great lengths to instill that in his pupils - lengths so great that even Roshi questions whether they were truly necessary.

And he does have other good things to teach. Most notably, he's the one who teaches Goku the value of mental discipline and rest.

This well-balanced approach to self-improvement is something Goku carries with him. Part of what makes him so exceptional as a martial artist is that he understands that training and technique honing is only part of the process.

One of the things that makes Goku a great martial artist is that he understands your body needs time to recover and grow after exertion. That is the turtle master way.

But for all his benefits as a mentor, what the Muten-Roshi sucks at is fucking teaching martial arts. In terms of philosophy, he has much to impart. But when they ask him, the Muten-Roshi, the Old Heavenly Master of Martial Arts, to teach them martial arts?

He just gives them bodybuilding instruction. Roshi tells them that this is all the Kame-senryu is: Extensive strength training to become so physically tough that you can knock out a foe with one punch. He is, however, full of shit.

Despite claiming that martial arts is just being really strong, his fight against Goku in the 21st Tenkaichi Budokai sees him pull out all kinds of esoteric techniques and skills to level the playing field against Goku's insurmountable might and analytical brilliance. The Muten-Roshi knows a ton of practical martial arts technique. He's just not sharing.

I'm half-convinced he held all this stuff back on purpose just so he'd have a few aces up his sleeve in the tournament proper. Which even Roshi isn't sure was actually necessary.

His next teacher is Karin, the God of Martial Arts. Karin has some useful wisdom to impart with regard to anticipation.

And he introduces one of the most important items in the Dragon Ball series.

Thank you Viz for the redundant translation of "Holy Hermit Bean Bean". I don't get enough migraines from the dub constantly calling them Senzu Beans. This is the Chai Tea of Dragon Ball.

Goku is with Karin for about three days, and it goes pretty well. Karin presents Goku with a challenging test to overcome, which he must do by getting lighter on his footwork and learning to anticipate Karin's moves.

But for the most part....

It's still just strength training. Tenshinhan's out there learning secret Tsuru-senryu techniques to levitate in the air and nobody's willing to do more for Goku but bulk up his muscles. Speaking of which.

This guy tried to murder his own students because they wouldn't do an assassination for him. Fuck this guy. He sucks. Get out of here!

When you get to the moon, tell Toninjinka that his mochi needs wo-- Oh, wait, the moon's gone. Uh. Have fun in space.

Goku's next teacher would be God. Or at least he would be if God ever bothered to teach him. Which he didn't. Goku has never studied under God.

He made Goku stay at his Temple for three years to prepare for his rematch with Piccolo. But he gave up on that after deciding Goku didn't have what it takes to do what he felt must be done: Kill Piccolo and let God die with him. Goku's soft heart wouldn't allow him to do it.

So he dumped Goku on Popo and went, "You deal with this, I'm busy," and then went off to pursue the Mafuba/Evil Containment Wave instead. Goku's training was a scrapped project for him.

Nonetheless, Goku grew substantially during his time in Heaven. (Look at him! He's so much taller-- No, I jest.) Popo is the first teacher to offer Goku something that isn't strength training.

It's almost like he's never had a master teach him spirit or skills before. It's almost like.

Mr. Popo doesn't offer Goku more strength training. Instead, for the first time, Goku has someone who wants to teach him technique.

This is some of the most game-changing instruction Goku ever receives in his career. Over the next three years, Popo sharpens Goku not just physically but spiritually.

He technically doesn't learn to sense ki here; He gained a rough comprehension of it from drinking rat poison earlier that day. But as Popo demonstrates here, there's a world of difference between "Oh cool I can sense your ki" and "I feel Yamcha's ki 700 km in that direction. He's sitting in his home eating breakfast Wheaties and scratching his butt. Puar's preparing to make eggs aaaaaand now he's a frying pan."

This is where Goku makes the transition from martial artist to Heavenly Martial Artist, and the difference is stark. When he shows up to the 23rd Tenkaichi Budokai, he's on a whole different playing field.

He no longer experiences reality the same way as everyone else. He's ascended to a higher plane of understanding. All because of Popo, since God abandoned this project and ran off to do his own thing instead. Goku is literally the "Dr. Gero's computer kept working and completed Cell anyways" of martial arts.

Great work, Popo. Gold star.

Kaio is next on Goku's list of mentors. He's working on a bit of a time crunch; Goku only has six months to spend with him. Kaio's training emphasizes two things. One is, of course, more strength training though this time there's an interesting twist to it.

Planet Vegeta's gravity is at least as strong as the gravity on Kaio's world. This is where Goku's introduced to the concept of gravity training for the first time - Something that, ironically, Vegeta would cling to more heavily than Goku. Goku's been doing weight training since Roshi, but the idea of increased gravity as a substitute for (or in addition to) weight is introduced by Kaio.

Goku himself would incorporate this gravity training into his later efforts to more fully master the Kaio-ken on his way to Namek. Speaking of which, that's the other thing Kaio imparts on him. From him, Goku learns the Genki-Dama and the Kaio-ken.

Kaio pretty much became Goku's forever teacher after this point, but we rarely see him do more than supervise. Which makes sense, since Goku officially became a Master himself as of the Namek arc. Though all of Goku's teachers will always be looking out for him, his art becomes truly his own from this point onward.

That brings us to Piccolo.

Piccolo comes from the "My Daddy beat me and I turned out fine" school of shaping young minds. It's to be expected; He was literally Evil Incarnate just eight years ago.

While Piccolo's journey of redemption is heartwarming to see and he does succeed in honing Gohan into a weapon, his skills as a mentor leave something to be desired. He fails to consider Gohan's psychological needs. He builds Gohan's strength and teaches him technique, but fails to grasp that this four-year-old child does not have a warrior instinct to get out there and throw hands with planet-killers.

He throws Gohan into the deep end and Gohan sinks like a stone. Failing to develop his bond with Gohan and offer the kid the encouragement he needs to get out there and do this is a fatal error in his training.

Piccolo pays for this mistake with his life.

Finally, that leaves Goku himself.

As a Master in his own right, Goku has so much to impart onto Gohan. At least, whatever Piccolo hasn't already. As a teacher, Goku is encouraging of Gohan and offers him clear and unmistakable guidance.

He talks things over with Gohan, explaining ahead of time what their goal is and how they're going to achieve it.

Like Popo, Goku's pretty great as a teacher. There's just. One. Small. Problem: He fails to consider Gohan's psychological needs. Yeah, that's right, Goku walks face-first into the same error that Piccolo died for, which is why Piccolo freaks out on him for it.

It helps that Piccolo not only has personal experience making this exact same mistake, but also the wisdom of God now.

Like. It's important to note that it's not that Goku misunderstands Gohan. He knows, intellectually, what kind of person Gohan is. He knows Gohan's passions lie elsewhere.

Nonetheless, Goku sees too much of himself in Gohan, overlooking the reality that Gohan was so gung-ho about training with Goku because he thought he was helping his dad. Despite clearly conveying the mechanisms and goals of their training, Goku never even thought to broach this topic with him because he just. Assumed.

Even though he knew Gohan longed for academia, he assumed Gohan also had the spirit of a martial artist in him. That Gohan was still driven by the same fire that he is, compelled to push his limits and test himself against mighty foes. He makes that fatal mistake that so many parents make, of projecting himself onto his child.

Goku pays for this mistake with his life.

Android 16 is able to salvage Goku's mistakes and make this work, much as Goku once salvaged Piccolo's. And to his credit, Goku learns and is able to offer Gohan the emotional support and direct coaching he needs to finish the job.

I particularly love "Show me the power that we made together" because it puts the emphasis on his and Gohan's bond, rather than Gohan's fighting. It demonstrates the expansion of his understanding of Gohan's motives.

Nonetheless, this was a pretty significant error too make as a teacher so I can't give Goku full marks.

With that in mind... I gotta give it to Popo. Popo took God's castoff dumpster-project, poured himself into it, and gave Goku some of the greatest instruction of his entire career. A+

#dragon ball #dragon ball z #muten roshi #master roshi #karin #korin #kami #god #mr popo #kaio #king kai #piccolo #son goku #son gohan

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yaut-jaknowit · 2 years ago

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It's All About Size

Pairings: Mai'tuiudh (Male Yautja) x Male Reader

Warnings: very suggestive themes, HEAVY size kink, sprinkles of praise, mlm, horny reader

Word Count: 1981

Summary: You're new to the realm of living out in space, stuck with only one other person on the ship. A large, blue Yautja, who trains on a regular basis. He easily dwarfs you. You're tall for a human but not for this Yautja. It's been brewing within your mind for a while now, ever since he picked you up from earth. Mia'tuiudh isn't as oblivious as you may hope he is. You won't be complaining in the end.

Author Note: I was scrolling through the Yautja tag when I stumbled upon an amazing idea. Yautja's and size kink. It's a main thing about them. Also, if you guys got ideas, don't be afraid to shove them into my inbox. It's currently open. I'm happy to write!

P.S. I'm still new to writing same-sex relationship's. If you guys can give me help, that would be amazing! Thank you

Dedicated to @kissmyaft. Thank you for this wonderful idea! You should check out my masterlist, wink-wink. Most of my stuff is gender neutral, just look at the pairings :)

Masterlist

Ao3

The calming noise of a blade sliding through a sharpener washed over you. It’s handle held firmly within your grasp. You weren’t no hunter, compared to the bulky beast honing his skills before you. That didn’t stop him from teaching the ways to be a hunter. If you were going to be on his ship, share his bed and food, you were going to learn. That’s what he told you on the first day.

Said alien danced before you, knocking a drone away from him. Another came up to zap at his glistening scales yet the Yautja was already in motion. Your eyes watched as he easily defended himself from these sparring drones.

Blood started to head south within your body. Even as tall as you are for a man, Mai’tuiudh towered over you. You haven’t met any others of his kind. It made you wonder if he average or not for his own height. Not that it bothered you. Not at all.

Red dusted your cheeks once you felt your pants tighten. Curses already formed within your head as you spun around. You faced the workbench in the back of the sparring room and focused on sharping the hunting knife in your hand.

Mai stopped what he was doing when an ambrosial scent washed over him. A drone was able to zap him on the back. Pain shocked through his system, but he didn’t even feel it. The smell drawing him in.

With a short click of his tusks, the drones stopped moving. They quietly returned back to their holes in the wall. His eyes shot over to the only other being on his ship. A minute smirk growing on his mandibles. Mai has had theories about the ooman. But this sealed his fate to Mai.

Long strides of powerful legs carried Mai easily over to oblivious ooman. Mai was a Yautja of action. He wasn’t about to dance around the ooman. But at the same time, why not tease you? Have some fun along the way. Oh, that thought made his chest rumble.

You tensed at the impossibly close noise, head snapping towards the origin. A gasp almost tore at your throat. There, in all his glory, stood Mai’tuiudh. His navy-blue chest rising and falling with each deep breath. Moisture stuck to his scales like a second skin; not sweat but humidity from the ship. Burnt orange eyes set on you. Your lips pressed together at the sight before you.

It took all of your willpower not to let your knees collapse underneath you. That didn’t stop them from shaking. “Hey-hey, uh, hey. Um, so. What’s up?” God, you were a mess. Just at the sight of him and you were acting like you were asking a girl out back in middle school.

Yet, the blue Yautja didn’t say anything. Mai just kept watching you with those striking eyes of his. His mandibles barely twitched.

Confused, maybe a little worked up too, you slowly turned back around to the work bench. It wasn’t unusual for the Yautja to be silent. He was a hunter after all. Yet, you were suspicious of his actions. But, these knives and whatnot won’t sharpen themselves. He’ll either get bored or finally speak when he wanted to.

Hands rested on your hips. Warmth washed over your back as a blazing body pressed up into you. A gasp finally scratched at your throat. Your hands slapped down on the metal bench and try to grasp it. Heat raced through your veins at the feeling of him. “Ma-Mai, what a-“ his claws start to press into your skin. You force yourself to bite your bottom lip to stop from moaning.

Your growing erection jumped at the feel of Mai. Said alien made it worse. Mai tugged you flushed with his moist scales and placed his jaw on top of your head. One of his arms slid around your torso and held you there. Shit, he’s so big.

He tasted the heavy air and let his chest rumbled. You smelled divine, right for the taking. Yet, he stayed there. “Aren’t you suppose to be sharpening my weapons?” he purred into your ear. Your entire body trembled, one that he relished in. Mai felt his own body behave in return at yours.

“It’s, it’s really ha-hard to focus… when you’re pres-sed up against me,” you stuttered, hands shakily reaching out to grasp the sharpener. Paya, if he knew you were going to react like this, he should’ve done this a long time ago. He’s had his suspicions for awhile now. It was many rotations after you joined him.

Mai ignored what you had told him. “Tell me, why are you behaving this way? If you do, I’ll let you go.” You didn’t want him to let go. On the other hand, to save yourself the growing embarrassment, you would be forced to tell him. If only the ground would open up and swallow you whole. Worst of all, it had to be the truth as well. Mai could smell when you lied.

A short purr rumbled from his chest. The vibrations rolled over your sensitive skin before hitting your hardening cock. Your eyes rolled back, throat closing before any sounds could escape. You bite your bottom lip so hard you tasted blood. Oh fuck, you were in some deep trouble now. You couldn’t trust your voice now, without making a noise that would embarrass you.

The Yautja made a soft noise and peered over your shoulder to look you in the eye. When you absolutely refused to do that, head turned away, he purred again. Same reaction from your body.

Fuck! You had to get him off of you. Now. He was far stronger than you, had the height advantage, and skills to put you face first into the ground. God, that made everything worse.

With reddened cheeks and no dignity left, you spilled what you hidden deep. “Size kink!” you shouted at first, voice two notches higher. “I have a-a size kink, alright?” Those words were said with such defeat. At the same time though, it felt like a huge weight was lifted off of your shoulders. Though, the embarrassment now would kill you.

Since you finally exposed yourself to the only other being on this spaceship, you believed he would release you. No, he didn’t. Mai tightened his grasp and placed his chin back on your head. “Hmm, you like the fact I’m bigger than you? Stronger than you? The fact I can easily dominate you?” He was loving every second of this. One of your hands grasped at the one on your stomach. His claws biting into your skin when you did. How did he know? Those words…

“Ever since I’ve been to earth, I’ve done my fair share of reading. A smart hunter researches before the hunt,” he mumbled. The hand on your stomach petting at the skin there. Your hormones were going haywire at this point.

That means he’s known almost this entire time.

Since that day, things have changed. You had spilled your hidden secret to him, one he’ll forever tease you about. You, a ooman, loving his size and strength. Though, nothing happened afterwards. You were nervous on the whole ordeal. That doesn’t stop him from randomly coming up behind you, hands skating over your skin. Purrs vibrating your skin. It makes you ache for him. But you never had the balls to ask or even suggest such a thing.

Water dripped down the toned body of Mai’tuiudh. The blue Yautja shook his head, droplets splashing about in the washroom. His dark tresses slapping against his hide. Your eyes refused to move away from his handsome frame; no matter how hard you tried. Everything about him screamed power.

His perfectly shaped ass was facing you as the Yautja bent over to pick his discarded loin cloth up. You would happily take a bite out of it. Your eyes widened at that thought. With a disappointing huff to yourself, you refocused on the tablet before you. Sometimes you could be unhinged.

The familiar musk Mai produced washed over you. You took in a deep breath at that and softly closed your eyes. It’s heavy and fills the room due to the humidity.

There was the soft pitter-patter of Mai’s wet feet as he moved around. Mai dropped his loin cloth somewhere to the side then headed towards you. You didn’t think much of it as you opened your eyes and continued screwing about on your tablet. A simple game pulled up for the fun of it. You have to keep yourself busy or else you’ll go made out here in space.

Two blue legs appeared in the edge of your vision. A brow was softly raised at this but you held strong. If you happened to look up, you might get caught looking. He would tease you all over again.

Mai just stood there, burning eyes set solely on you. His hands twitched at his sides. He wanted you to want him the same way he does. The ache that resonated deep within his bones. It made him want to touch you, tease your softer skin, lick it. Draw out those light noise you believe he doesn’t hear while you’re in the bathroom alone. He wanted to fill you, keep you close in his arms. Be his mate.

With two easy strides down further into the concave bed, he knelt down between your open legs. You kept your eyes glue to the device in hand. Your body tensed, hands grasping the tablet a little too hard. What in the world was he doing?!

Blue fingers wrapped around the top of the tablet and pushed it down. When you still refused to look him in the eye, he used that same hand to tilt your chin up at him. Your eyes locked onto his almost immediately, biting your bottom lip at the sight.

He continued to crawl forward, staying on the balls of his feet. As he did so, you were forced to lay back on the pelts around you. “Good boy,” he whispered and placed his free arm next to your head. At those words, your brain short circuited. All you could hear was him chuckling.

When a warm palm touched your thigh, you snapped back to reality, gazing up at the large Yautja. Mai snaked his hand up, pushing up the hem of your t-shirt. Claws skated over your sensitive stomach before stopping. His entire paw covered almost all of your belly, thumb gently stroking the skin there. He leaned down, creating a curtain with his tresses around the two of you. “Tell me to stop if you don’t want this. I’ll stop,” he clicked lowly, eyes boring into yours.

You took great notice of him. His bulky body hovering over yours, easily swallowing you in his shadow. Hand able to take up almost all of your stomach. If he wanted to, he could easily pin you down and fuck you with his size alone; plus his strength, you would never stand a chance against him. No, instead, he was asking.

One final look into his burnt orange eyes. You reached out, discarding the tablet to the side, and hooked your arm around the back of his neck. “Please don’t stop.”

#yautja #yautja x reader #yautja x #yautja x human #yautja x you #male reader #yautja x male reader #male predator #predator #male yautja

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honeybeezgobzzzzz · 1 month ago

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🎃 Kinktober 2024: Ruined

Ruined: You ask your long time family friend, Hob Gadling, in helping you find a suitable husband during your first season out as a debutant. It should have gone perfectly, you get a good husband, Hob doesn’t get hounded by eligible ladies… Naturally, it all falls apart.

Warnings: Explicit Language, Explicit Material, Regency Era.

To Note: Hob Gadling x AFAB!Reader

Prompt: First Time

Word Count: ~8.9k

You step into the grand ballroom, the hum of chatter and the rustle of gowns surrounding you like a warm embrace. Chandeliers drip with crystal, casting a soft glow over the crowd.

The Earl's ball is in full swing, debutantes and their chaperones fluttering about like colorful butterflies. You scan the room, searching for a suitable match. The pressure of finding a husband weighs heavily on your shoulders, but you straighten your back and lift your chin. Tonight could be the night.

A group of young ladies, all giggles and whispers, huddles near a marble column. Their eyes flicker over to you, assessing your gown—a pale silk that surprisingly complements your complexion. One of them breaks away from the group and approaches you.

"Lady Y/L/N, isn't it?" Her voice carries the lilting accent of nobility. "I'm Lady Emily Cartwright. We've heard much about you."

You smile politely. "All good things, I hope."

Emily chuckles, her eyes twinkling. "Indeed. Have you met many of the eligible bachelors yet?"

"Not yet," you admit, glancing around.

She leans in closer. "I must introduce you to Lord Henry Fitzwilliam. Quite a catch, if I may say so."

Before you can respond, she takes your arm and guides you through the throng. You pass clusters of guests—some dancing, others engaged in spirited conversation. The scent of roses and beeswax fills the air.

Lord Fitzwilliam stands near a grand piano, his dark hair swept back with precision. He laughs at something one of his companions says, his eyes crinkling at the corners. When he sees you approaching, he straightens and inclines his head.

"Lord Fitzwilliam," Emily says with a knowing smile, "this is Lady Y/L/N."

He takes your hand and bows slightly. "A pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is mine," you reply.

"Are you enjoying the ball?" he asks, releasing your hand but holding your gaze.

"It is quite splendid," you say. "The Earl has outdone himself."

He nods in agreement. "His gatherings are always impressive."

Emily excuses herself with a mischievous wink, leaving you alone with Lord Fitzwilliam.

"So," he says, stepping closer to be heard over the music, "what brings you to our fair city? If I am not mistaken your family usually remains away from the chatter of crowds."

"My family thought it was time I entered society," you reply honestly and with a gentle smile. "and I find myself wishing to start my own family before I grow to old to be desirable."

Lord Fitzwilliam's gaze sharpens, his eyes flicking over you with calculated interest. "Tell me, Lady Y/L/N," he begins, his voice smooth yet clinical, "what are your thoughts on the responsibilities of a wife in our society?"

You draw a breath, steadying yourself. "I believe a wife should support her husband, manage the household, and uphold the family's reputation," you say, choosing your words carefully.

He nods approvingly. "And your skills in running a household? Are they well-honed?"

"Yes," you reply. "I've been trained in all the necessary duties—overseeing servants, managing finances, and ensuring the smooth operation of a home."

"Excellent." He pauses, as if ticking off a mental checklist. "And what of children? How many do you envision having?"

You swallow your distaste for his directness. "I would be happy to have as many children as God grants us."

Lord Fitzwilliam arches an eyebrow. "A pious answer," he comments. "Do you have any particular views on their education?"

"Education is vital," you say firmly. "Both in academic subjects and in learning proper manners and conduct. Education, after all, does dictate society."

He nods again, seemingly satisfied with your answers so far. "And how do you feel about social engagements? Balls, dinners, gatherings of this nature?"

"I enjoy them," you lie smoothly. In truth, the endless rounds of social events often feel more like a chore than a pleasure. You'd rather be reading or spending time with Hob, something your father greatly disapproves of.

"Good," he says curtly. "A wife must be able to navigate society's currents with grace."

His relentless questioning grates on your nerves, but you maintain your composure. He is scrutinizing you as if assessing livestock at market—an insufferable approach to what should be an introduction.

"And your family," he continues without missing a beat, "are they supportive of your endeavors to marry?"

"Very much so," you answer.

"Your dowry?" His eyes narrow slightly.

"It is substantial enough to ensure my future husband's comfort," you respond, keeping your tone neutral.

Lord Fitzwilliam leans back slightly, studying you for a moment longer. The scrutiny makes your skin prickle. "Well," he says finally, "you seem to meet the necessary criteria."

You force a smile. "I'm pleased to hear that, my lord.”

"Indeed." His tone remains impersonal.

The orchestra strikes up a new waltz and Lord Fitzwilliam extends his hand to you with an air of expectation. "Shall we dance?" You bite your tongue as you force a smile and accept his hand.

You manage to slip away from Lord Fitzwilliam as the waltz ends, offering a polite curtsy before disappearing into the crowd. You weave through clusters of guests, keeping an eye out for potential matches while also plotting your escape. Finally, you spot a side door leading to the garden and make your way toward it, slipping outside into the cool night air.

The garden is a welcome reprieve from the stifling ballroom. Moonlight bathes the neatly trimmed hedges and flowerbeds in a silvery glow. You take a deep breath, savoring the scent of blooming roses mingled with the crisp night air.

"Escaping already?" Hob's voice breaks through the quiet.

You turn to find him leaning casually against a marble statue, his dark eyes glinting with amusement. Your heart aches in your chest from how handsome he is. You clear that thought as he pushes off and saunters over to you, his grin widening.

"You looked absolutely miserable on the dance floor," he remarks, folding his arms across his chest.

"Lord Fitzwilliam is entirely insufferable," you confess, letting out a weary sigh. "He interrogated me as if I were applying to be his wife. Or perhaps a sow?”

Hob chuckles, shaking his head. "I'm not surprised. The man has all the charm of a brick wall."

"He's already on my mental no list," you say firmly, leaning against the balustrade and gazing out at the garden.

"Good riddance," Hob replies, standing beside you. "You deserve better than someone who sees you as a checklist."

You smile at his words, grateful for his presence. Hob has always had a way of making you feel understood and valued—a stark contrast to the endless parade of suitors who only see your dowry and connections.

"I wish finding a husband didn't feel like such a chore," you admit quietly.

"It shouldn't be," Hob agrees, his tone gentle but resolute. "You should marry someone who appreciates you for who you are."

You turn to look at him, searching his face for any hint of jest. But Hob's expression is sincere, his eyes warm with empathy. It pains you to hear that from him of all people, but you force those emotions down and force a smile.

"Thank you," you say softly.

"Always," he replies with a wink. "Now, shall I endeavor to help you find a more suitable husband than Lord Brick?"

You laugh, the sound echoing softly in the garden. "I would be eternally grateful for your assistance, Hob."

"Of course," he replies, his tone shifting to one of mock seriousness. "But I must warn you, my matchmaking skills are untested."

"How reassuring," you tease, feeling lighter than you have all evening.

Hob steps closer, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Let's start with a simple question: what are you truly looking for in a husband?"

You ponder for a moment, considering your words carefully. "Someone who respects me and values my opinions. Someone who sees me as an equal partner, not just an ornament or a means to an end."

He nods thoughtfully. "A reasonable request. And what about love? Does that factor into your equation?"

"Love would be ideal," you admit, your voice softening. "But in our world, it often seems like a luxury rather than a necessity."

"Perhaps," Hob muses, "but it's not impossible." He looks at you with a knowing glint in his eyes.

You feel a pang of longing at his words but push it aside. "So, do you have anyone in mind?" you ask, trying to keep the conversation light.

Hob grins. "Well, there is one gentleman I think might be suitable."

Your curiosity piques. "And who might that be?"

He leans in closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Lord Marcus Fairfax. He's recently returned from abroad and has been making quite an impression."

"I've heard of him," you say, intrigued. "But I've yet to meet him."

Hob's grin widens. "Then it seems I have my first task as your matchmaker."

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Thank you, Hob. I appreciate your help more than you know."

"Anything for you," he says sincerely.

Before you can respond, the sound of approaching footsteps catches your attention. You turn to see Emily emerging from the shadows of the garden.

"There you are!" she exclaims with relief. "I've been looking everywhere for you."

You offer her a polite smile. "Just needed some fresh air."

Emily nods understandingly before her gaze shifts to Hob. "And who might this be?" she asks with a curious tilt of her head.

"This is Lord Robert Gadling," you introduce him smoothly. “A long time family friend of the Y/L/N’s.”

"A pleasure to officially meet you, Lady Cartwright," Hob says with a charming smile and a slight bow.

"The pleasure is mine," she replies with a gracious nod before turning back to you. "Lord Fitzwilliam was quite dismayed when he couldn't find you after the dance."

"I'm sure he was," you mutter under your breath.

Emily chuckles softly. "I wouldn't worry too much about him." She glances between you and Hob before adding, "I see you've found better company anyway."

You exchange a knowing look with Hob and smile warmly at Emily's observation.

"It seems so," you agree.

The three of you stand in comfortable silence for a moment before Emily speaks again.

"Shall we return to the ballroom? The next dance is about to begin."

As you consider whether to rejoin the throng inside, Hob smoothly interjects before Emily can lobby further for your return to the ballroom.

"Apologies, Lady Cartwright," he says with a disarming grin, "but I have already secured Lady Y/L/N for the next dance."

Emily's eyebrows arch in surprise, but she quickly recovers, offering a gracious smile. "Of course, Lord Gadling. I wouldn't dream of intruding upon your plans."

With a nod, she takes her leave, disappearing back through the French doors and into the swirl of silk and jewels within. You turn to Hob, eyes wide with a mixture of amusement and disbelief.

"What are you doing?" you whisper as he offers his arm. Your mother will disapprove of this! The corners of his mouth twitch with suppressed laughter.

"Part of the plan," he murmurs back, leading you toward the temporary dance floor set up on the stone terrace.

"Plan?" you echo, allowing yourself to be guided into the world of waltzing couples under the stars.

Hob pulls you a touch closer than strictly proper, his voice low and teasing. "Men always want what they can't have. If they think I'm trying to court you, it will only increase your desirability. Don’t you know that I’ve been the most eligible bachelor the last few years?”

You feel a flush creep across your cheeks at the thought, but there's a certain logic to his words. "So, this is a ruse?" you ask, trying to maintain a sense of decorum as you glide across the ground in sync with him.

"A ruse that serves us both," he confirms, his gaze locked on yours. "You become the sought-after belle, and I... well, I get to dance with the most intriguing woman at the ball. And one who's company I actually enjoy…"

You can't help but laugh, the warmth of his compliment mingling with the cool night air. "And what happens when they realize it's all a charade?"

Hob's smile doesn't waver. "By then, you'll have your pick of suitors, and I'll be off to my next adventure. Free from preying mama’s.”

The thought of Hob leaving for another adventure—as he often does—causes a pang deep within, but you push it aside. This was the dynamic between you two, a dance of friendship and shared secrets, a bond that transcended the societal expectations placed upon you both. A forbidden love you try so hard to bury deep in your heart.

As the music swells around you, you find yourself lost in the rhythm and the steady, comforting presence of your friend. For a moment, the pressure of finding a suitable husband fades into the background, replaced by the simple joy of the dance.

You lean into the charade, letting yourself revel in the attention and the whispers that begin to circulate among the onlookers. Hob was right; his attentions have cast you in an entirely new light. Yet you find yourself not as excited about your prospects as you hoped. You would rather have Hob as a husband than any man in the entire country!

Days turn into weeks, and Hob's charade of courtship continues. At every ball and social gathering, he's by your side, his attentions never wavering. The other suitors take notice, their interest piqued by the mysterious and wealthy Lord Gadling who seems so taken with you. You should be pleased by the increased attention, but it only makes your feelings for Hob more difficult to contain.

One evening, as the two of you walk through a moonlit garden after yet another ball, Hob turns to you with a teasing grin. "I must say, our little ruse is working better than I expected."

You force a smile, trying to match his lighthearted tone. "Yes, it seems to be."

He raises an eyebrow. "Only 'seems'? Have you not noticed the way every eligible bachelor in town is vying for your attention?"

"I have," you admit. "But..."

"But what?" His eyes search your face, genuine concern replacing the teasing glint.

You hesitate, struggling to find the right words without revealing too much. "It's just... it's all so overwhelming. And none of them... none of them feel right."

Hob stops walking and turns to face you fully. "What do you mean?"

You swallow hard, your heart pounding in your chest. "I mean... I don't feel anything for any of them."

His expression softens, and he takes a step closer. "Feelings can develop over time," he says gently. "Sometimes it takes a while for the heart to catch up."

You look away, unable to meet his eyes. "What if it never does?"

He reaches out and lifts your chin with a finger, forcing you to look at him. "Then they're not the right person for you."

The sincerity in his voice makes your heart ache even more. You want so badly to tell him how you feel, but the fear of ruining what you have holds you back.

"Thank you," you whisper instead.

He smiles softly and drops his hand back to his side. "Always here for you."

The night air grows cooler as the two of you continue walking in silence, each lost in your own thoughts. You wonder how long you can keep up this charade before your feelings become too much to bear.

Days later at another ball, Hob is once again at your side as suitors hover nearby, watching with envy as he spins you around the dance floor. His touch is familiar now—comforting yet bittersweet because it can never be more than this. Yet everyone who gazes at you believes that you and Hob are indeed in love.

During a brief break from dancing, he leads you to a secluded corner of the ballroom where he pulls out a flask and offers it to you with a conspiratorial wink.

"To surviving another evening of societal nonsense," he says with a chuckle.

You take a sip and laugh softly. "To surviving indeed."

As he takes a drink himself, he glances around at the other guests before leaning in closer to whisper in your ear. "If I didn't know any better," he says softly, "I'd think some of these gentlemen are plotting my demise just to get closer to you."

You can't help but smile at his playful tone despite the turmoil inside you. Being this close to him—feeling his breath on your skin—is both exhilarating and torturous.

"They wouldn't dare," you reply with a smirk. "Your flirting game is far superior."

He laughs quietly and pulls back slightly but remains close enough that your shoulders brush against each other. Then his laughter fades as he catches your gaze, his eyes lingering a moment longer than usual. You can almost see the internal struggle etched in the tight line of his jaw, the way his breath hitches just slightly when your shoulders brush. He’s trying so hard to maintain his composure, but you can sense the turmoil beneath the surface.

"You're thinking about it again, aren't you?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. You don't need to elaborate; he knows exactly what you mean.

Hob's eyes flicker with a mix of surprise and something else—something deeper and more vulnerable. "Thinking about what?"

"Finding me suitable match," you reply, your tone light but your words weighted with unspoken meaning.

He looks away for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. When he meets your gaze again, there's a flicker of pain in those dark eyes. "It's just... I worry that you'll end up with someone who doesn't see you for who you truly are. Or treat you as you deserve."

Your heart skips a beat at his admission. "And who does see me?" The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implications.

Hob hesitates, his fingers brushing against yours in an almost imperceptible touch. "You deserve someone who sees every part of you—the good and the bad—and loves you all the same."

You feel your breath catch in your throat. His words are so close to what you've been longing to hear from him, yet they remain just out of reach. "Do you really think such a person exists?"

He looks down at your intertwined fingers before meeting your gaze once more. "I do," he says softly, and for a moment, it feels like he's baring his soul to you.

The world around you seems to fade away as you hold each other's gaze. You can see the battle raging within him—the desire to pull you closer and the fear of crossing that invisible line between friendship and something more.

"Hob..." Your voice trembles slightly as you say his name, and he takes a step closer, his resolve wavering. If only you had the courage to tell him how you really feel…. but you don't, and you probably never will. "I'm going to get some lemonade," you spit out the excuse and the before Hob can even blink at your sudden change in conversation you are gliding away.

The ballroom hums with life, the air thick with laughter and the soft strums of violins. You stand amidst it all, feeling the weight of every gaze upon you. Your suitor, Lord Marcus Fairfax, has been at your side all evening, his attentions unwavering and his conversation genuinely engaging.

Hob lounges near the edge of the room, watching with a satisfied smile. He’s proud, and you know he expects tonight to be momentous. His eyes twinkle whenever you glance his way, a silent encouragement shining in them.

Marcus leads you into another dance, his touch light yet assured. The two of you move effortlessly together, and for once, you feel almost at ease. You catch sight of Hob in the corner of your eye��his approving nod and the slight raise of his glass a subtle cheer from the sidelines.

As the music swells to its final notes, Marcus guides you off the dance floor to a quieter part of the ballroom. Your heart pounds with a mix of anticipation and dread. He turns to face you, taking your hands in his.

"Lady Y/L/N," he begins, his voice steady but soft enough that only you can hear him amidst the crowd’s chatter. "These past weeks have been some of the most delightful I've ever known."

You offer a polite smile, feeling your pulse quicken. You know what's coming; everyone does.

Marcus sinks gracefully to one knee before you, his gaze never leaving yours. The ballroom falls silent around you as onlookers turn their attention to this unfolding spectacle.

"Will you do me the honor," he continues, pulling out a small velvet box and opening it to reveal a glittering ring, "of becoming my wife?"

Gasps ripple through the crowd. You can feel hundreds of eyes on you, including Hob's intense gaze from across the room. Marcus’s earnest expression makes it clear that he’s serious—this isn’t just another social formality; he truly wants to marry you.

The ring glitters up at you, but it feels like a weight around your heart. You can't breathe. Panic bubbles up inside, threatening to spill over.

"I... I need some air," you blurt out, pulling your hands free from Marcus’s grasp.

Without waiting for a response, you turn and rush out of the ballroom. The gasps and murmurs of the crowd follow you, but you don't look back. Your chest tightens with every step as you flee through the manor, your thoughts a whirlwind of confusion and regret.

You pass through corridors and doorways in a blur, your feet moving on instinct rather than conscious thought. The opulent decorations and flickering candlelight become nothing more than a backdrop to your racing pulse.

Finally, you stumble into an empty library, the quiet sanctuary offering a brief respite from the chaos you've left behind. You lean against the door, trying to catch your breath. Your eyes scan the room—rows upon rows of leather-bound books, the faint scent of aged paper and polished wood calming your frantic mind.

You move further into the room, seeking solace among the shelves. Your fingers trail along the spines of the books as you walk, their familiar texture slowly calming your racing heart. The silence here is almost tangible, a stark contrast to the overwhelming noise of the ballroom.

As you reach the center of the library, you pause and take a deep breath, letting the stillness wash over you. For a moment, you're alone with your thoughts—the confusion, the fear, and above all, the undeniable truth that this is not what your heart desires.

You whirl around at the sound of footsteps, your heart pounding. Hob stands in the doorway, his face a mixture of concern and frustration.

"Why did you run?" His voice is a quiet demand, cutting through the stillness of the library.

"I couldn't breathe in there," you reply, your voice trembling with a mix of emotions. "It was too much."

Hob steps closer, his eyes searching yours. "Lord Fairfax is a good man. He'll treat you well."

Your hands ball into fists at your sides. "Is that all you think I deserve? To be treated well?"

He frowns, clearly taken aback by the intensity in your voice. "What else matters? He's respectable, kind, and he adores you. I know he will take care of you."

You shake your head, feeling tears sting your eyes. "I don't want to marry someone just because they're respectable and kind! I want more than that."

Hob's expression hardens. "What more could you possibly want? Stability? Security? Those are luxuries many don't have."

"I want love!" The words burst out of you before you can stop them. Your chest heaves with the force of your emotion. "I want to marry someone I love, not just someone who checks all the right boxes!"

Hob's eyes flash with a mix of anger and something else—something deeper that he tries to mask. "Love isn't always practical. It doesn't always lead to happiness."

"And marrying someone I don't love will?" Your voice rises, echoing off the library walls. "Do you think I can be happy living a lie every day of my life?"

His silence speaks volumes, his jaw clenched tight as he struggles to find a response.

"You know nothing about what I want," you continue, the words spilling out in a rush. "You think you know what's best for me, but you don't understand how it feels to stand there and pretend!"

"Then enlighten me," Hob snaps back, his frustration boiling over. "Tell me what it is that makes you so different from everyone else who's ever had to make a practical choice!"

You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto his with fierce determination. "I love you."

The declaration hangs in the air between you like a charged storm cloud ready to burst. Hob's eyes widen in shock; for once, he’s speechless.

"I love you," you repeat, each word enunciated with raw emotion. The weight of your confession crashes down on both of you, leaving an electrified silence in its wake. "That's why I can't marry him."

The room seems to close in around you, the weight of your confession hanging heavily in the air. Hob's face remains a storm of conflicting emotions—surprise, frustration, and something softer that you can't quite decipher. You take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, but your heart races and a few tears slip from your eyes.

Hob steps forward instinctively, his hand reaching out as if to comfort you, then stopping short. His fingers curl into a fist before dropping back to his side.

"You love me?" His voice is hoarse, barely more than a whisper.

"Yes," you say, voice cracking with the weight of it all. "I want to marry the man who makes me look forward to waking up in the morning. The man who makes my heart skip a beat."

His eyes soften, and for a moment, it feels like he's about to pull you into his arms. The tension between you is palpable, an electric current that draws you closer together. He reaches out again, this time letting his fingers brush against your cheek, wiping away a tear.

"You deserve that," he murmurs, his thumb lingering on your skin. "You deserve someone who makes you feel alive."

You close your eyes at his touch, leaning into the warmth of his hand. "I thought... I hoped that person could be you."

Hob's breath catches in his throat. "Y/N..."

Your name on his lips sends shivers down your spine. You open your eyes to find him looking at you with an intensity that makes your heart ache.

"Say something," you plead softly. "Tell me what you're thinking."

His thumb traces a gentle line along your jaw before he drops his hand reluctantly. "I'm thinking... I'm thinking how much I've tried to deny this."

The words are almost a whisper, but they hit you like a thunderclap. He steps back slightly, putting just enough distance between you that the momentary warmth fades.

"You've always been more than just a friend," he admits, eyes filled with turmoil. "But I didn't want to ruin what we have by wanting more."

"Then don't ruin it," you implore him. "We can have more if we both want it."

Hob looks torn, struggling with emotions he's clearly kept buried for too long. His silence is agonizing as he weighs his next words carefully.

"I want to," he finally says, voice filled with raw honesty. "God help me, I want to."

You take a shaky breath, your heart pounding in your chest. "Then what's holding you back?"

Hob's gaze shifts, his eyes dark and stormy. He looks as if he's battling a tempest within himself, the struggle visible in every tense muscle. His fingers twitch at his sides, fists clenching and unclenching as if trying to find some anchor.

"It's... complicated," he finally manages, voice strained. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You wouldn't," you insist, stepping closer. "Hob, I need to know why you're fighting this so hard."

He closes his eyes briefly, as if summoning the strength to speak. When he opens them again, they're filled with a raw vulnerability you've rarely seen. "I'm scared," he admits. "Scared of losing you. Of losing what we have."

"You are pushing me away because of something that hasn't happened yet?" You exclaim in frustration. "Well I might as well just accept Lord Fairfax's proposal because at this rate I won't ever have a chance to marry the man that I love."

Your words hang in the air, a final declaration that slices through the tension like a knife. You turn to stride past Hob, the urge to escape this suffocating moment overwhelming. But just as you move, his hand shoots out, catching your gloved wrist.

You halt, breath hitching as you look back at him. His grip is firm but gentle, his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that makes your heart skip a beat. For a moment, everything else fades away—the opulent library, the distant murmur of the ballroom, even the turmoil inside you. All that exists is this moment, this connection.

"Hob," you whisper, your voice barely audible.

He doesn't respond with words. Instead, he steps closer, pulling you toward him with a tenderness that contrasts sharply with the storm raging in his eyes. Your bodies collide gently, and his arm wrapped around you, drawing you into his chest. The scent of him—warm and familiar—fills your senses.

Before you can process what's happening, his lips capture yours in a kiss that steals your breath away. It's passionate and urgent, yet somehow also soft and romantic. His lips move against yours with a fervor that speaks of years of unspoken longing and hidden desire.

Your hands find their way to his shoulders, gripping tightly as if anchoring yourself to this reality. The world tilts on its axis, and you lose yourself in the sensation—the warmth of his embrace, the taste of his kiss, the way he holds you as if you're something precious.

Hob’s kiss deepens, his lips moving with a fervent intensity that leaves you breathless. His hand, still holding your wrist, begins to tug at your glove. The fabric resists for a moment before yielding, slipping off and exposing your bare skin to the cool air of the library.

His fingers, warm and calloused, trace the outline of your palm. The touch sends shivers down your spine, a mix of tenderness and urgency in every movement. He interlaces his fingers with yours, skin to skin for the first time. The sensation is electric, a jolt that seems to connect directly to your heart.

Your other hand finds its way to the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as you pull him closer. His body presses against yours, the heat between you rising as the kiss becomes more insistent. It feels as if the world outside has ceased to exist, leaving only the two of you in this moment.

Hob's other hand slides up your back, pulling you tighter against him. His lips leave yours only to trail kisses along your jawline, each one igniting a spark that courses through you. You can feel his breath hot against your skin, his heartbeat matching the frantic rhythm of your own.

He pulls back just enough to look into your eyes, his own dark and filled with an emotion so intense it takes your breath away. "I've wanted this for so long," he murmurs against your lips before capturing them once more in a kiss that speaks volumes of his hidden desire.

Your heart pounds as Hob's kisses deepen, his lips moving with an urgency that matches the racing beat in your chest. You're swept up in a whirlwind of sensation, barely able to process anything beyond the way he makes you feel—alive, wanted, loved. His arms wrap around you, strong and sure, and before you know it, he's lifting you off the ground.

You gasp against his mouth as he picks you up effortlessly, his grip firm and secure. Your hands clutch at his shoulders for balance, but there's no fear—only a mix of excitement and desire. The room spins briefly as he carries you across the library, each step resonating with a sense of inevitability.

He sets you down on the edge of a sturdy wooden table, the polished surface cool against your skin even through the layers of your dress. The library's muted light casts soft shadows around you both, creating an intimate cocoon that feels separate from the rest of the world. Hob’s hands never leave your body, always maintaining that vital connection as if afraid to let go.

His lips find yours again, more insistent this time. His kiss is demanding yet tender, a contradiction that sends shivers down your spine. You lean into him, fingers threading through his hair as he presses closer, melding your bodies together. His hands begin to roam—one tangles in your hair while the other slides down to grasp the hem of your dress.

You can feel his fingers tugging at the fabric, hiking up the skirts with deliberate precision. Each bit he lifts exposes more of your legs to the cool air and his burning touch. The sensation is thrilling and unfamiliar, making your pulse race even faster. Your breath hitches in your throat as his hand moves higher, brushing against your thigh with a touch that's both gentle and electrifying.

Hob breaks the kiss just long enough to look into your eyes, his gaze dark with desire. "Is this what you want?" he murmurs, voice rough with emotion.

"Yes," you breathe out without hesitation. You don't fully understand what's happening or where this is leading, but you know one thing for certain—you want more of Hob and everything he makes you feel. "The only man I have ever truly wanted is you. Ruin me Robert Gadling."

Hob’s eyes darken at your words, a flash of something primal sparking in their depths. His grip on your legs tightens, and you can feel the heat of his skin through the thin fabric of your dress. The library around you fades into a blur, every sense attuned to the man before you.

“You don’t know what you’re asking,” he breathes against your lips, his voice a mixture of warning and desire.

“Then show me,” you whisper back, leaning into him, your heart pounding in your chest. "Please…"

"As you wish, my lady," Hob purrs, nipping at your lower lip while stroking his thumb along your soft inner thigh.

Your heart races as Hob's fingers continue their exploration, tracing the delicate skin of your inner thigh. There's a new warmth pooling in your belly, a yearning for something you can't quite articulate. Each touch, each caress is a revelation, unveiling sensations you never even knew existed.

You gasp softly as his fingertips graze over the soft fabric of your undergarments, the contact making your body arch involuntarily toward his hand. Your innocence is both a cloak and a currency in this moment; you're utterly inexperienced, yet your reactions are genuine and unguarded, beautiful in their purity.

"Hob," you whisper, your voice trembling with the intensity of the moment. You're not sure what you're asking for, only that you want more of this—more of his touch, more of this feeling of being alive and wanted.

He responds with a soft groan, his lips capturing yours in a fervent kiss that leaves you breathless. His hand moves with more confidence now, his fingers delving beneath the fabric to find the damp curls at the apex of your thighs. The contact is electric, and you can't help the moan that escapes you, the sound muffled by his kiss.

His fingers explore you with a tenderness that brings tears to your eyes. You cling to him, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he expertly teases and coaxes new sensations from your body. Waves of pleasure ripple through you, each one more intense than the last.

You're dimly aware of the world outside this secluded corner of the library—the murmur of voices in the distance, the soft crackle of the fire—but it all seems so insignificant compared to the tempest raging within you. Hob's touch is your entire universe, each movement a discovery that leaves you gasping for breath.

Your body moves instinctively, arching and bucking against his hand as he continues his sweet torment. You're lost in a sea of new emotions, each wave crashing over you with increasing force. You can feel a tightening in your body, a pressure that's building with every stroke of his fingers.

"Come for me," Hob murmurs against your lips, his voice a low growl that sends shivers down your spine. You don't fully understand his words, but you trust him implicitly. You surrender yourself to the rhythm of his touch, letting him guide you through this uncharted territory.

And then, with a finality that leaves you shaking, the pressure breaks. A rush of pleasure courses through you, so intense that it borders on pain. You cry out, your voice echoing off the library walls as your body convulses beneath his touch.

Your body trembles in the aftermath of the storm Hob has unleashed within you. His lips find yours again, soft and reassuring, as you come down from the heights of your first orgasm. The sensation is still rippling through you, a delicious warmth that leaves you feeling both languid and exhilarated.

You cling to him, your fingers tracing the firm lines of his shoulders through the fabric of his coat. The reality of what just happened—of what you just experienced—begins to sink in, and a flush of embarrassment colors your cheeks. You've heard whispers of such things among the other debutantes, but nothing could have prepared you for the reality.

Hob pulls back slightly, his eyes searching yours with a tenderness that makes your heart flutter. "There's so much more," he murmurs, his voice a low rumble that sends shivers down your spine.

Curiosity piqued, you gaze up at him, your eyes wide and trusting. "More?" you echo, the word barely more than a whisper.

He chuckles softly, the sound rich and warm in the quiet of the library. His fingers gently tuck a stray lock of hair behind your ear, his touch lingering on your skin. "Yes, my dear Y/N," he says, his eyes dark with unspoken promises. "So much more."

As he speaks, his hands move to the fall of his breeches, deftly undoing the buttons with practiced ease. You watch with a mixture of trepidation and fascination, your heart pounding in your chest. You know that what you're about to see—what you're about to experience—is another step into the unknown, a world that's as thrilling as it is terrifying.

His breeches fall away, revealing the hard length of him. You can't help but stare, your innocence leaving you unprepared for the sight. It's both intimidating and fascinating, a part of him you've never seen before. How was it so… erect?

"Hob..." you begin, your voice trailing off as you struggle to find the right words. You're filled with a thousand questions, a thousand uncertainties. But more than anything, you're filled with a deep, abiding trust in the man before you. Where did one put such a part of his body? "Where…?"

His fingers gentle against your cheek, coaxing you to look up at him. "Don't worry," Hob whispers, his voice a soothing balm against your racing thoughts. "I'll be gentle."

His words wrap around you like a comforting embrace, easing some of the tension from your body. You trust him, this man who has been your best friend and confidant for so long. With a nod, you give him silent permission to continue, your heart pounding with a mix of fear and excitement.

Hob's hand moves to the hem of your dress, slowly lifting it to expose your quivering legs. The cool air of the library brushes against your bare skin, making you shiver. His eyes never leave yours, a silent promise of care and tenderness that makes your heart flutter.

He positions himself between your thighs, the heat of his body a stark contrast to the chill that lingers in the air. You feel the blunt pressure of him against your most intimate place, a sensation that is both strange and compelling. That's were it goes?

Hob’s gaze locks onto yours, a silent promise of care and tenderness. "I'll be gentle," he murmurs, his voice a soothing balm against your racing thoughts.

With slow, deliberate movements, he begins to push inside you. The initial pressure is intense, and you can't help but tense up. A sharp pain follows, making you squirm involuntarily against him. Your body resists, unused to such an intrusion and a whimper slips from your lips.

"Hush," Hob whispers against your lips, his voice filled with reassurance. He kisses you softly, his lips trailing from your mouth to your jaw and then down to your neck. Each kiss is a promise, a silent vow that he will take care of you.

The pain doesn't fade immediately; it lingers as Hob continues his slow advance. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, fingers digging into the fabric of his coat as you try to ground yourself. The world narrows to the two of you—the heat of his body, the sound of your mingled breaths, the gentle caresses that follow every whisper.

He pauses frequently, allowing you time to adjust to each new sensation. His lips never leave your skin, planting kisses along your jawline and neck in an attempt to soothe you. "You're doing so well," he murmurs between kisses, his voice filled with an almost painful tenderness.

You cling to his words like a lifeline, focusing on the warmth of his breath against your skin and the gentle pressure of his lips. Slowly but surely, the pain begins to ebb away, replaced by a strange fullness that feels both foreign and intimate.

When Hob finally sheaths himself fully within you, he pauses again, giving you time to acclimate to the new sensation. His forehead rests against yours as he breathes deeply, sharing this moment of connection with you.

"Are you alright?" he asks softly, his voice filled with genuine concern.

You nod slightly, still adjusting but feeling more secure in his embrace. "Yes," you whisper back, trusting him completely.

Hob kisses you once more before beginning a slow rhythm that gradually builds in intensity. Each movement is deliberate and measured; he's attuned to every nuance of your body’s responses. And though it takes time for the pleasure to outweigh the initial discomfort, with every stroke and every kiss he brings you closer to understanding this new facet of intimacy between you.

You cling to him, your fingers clutching at his shoulders as he rocks against you. The table beneath you creaks softly with the movement, but you're beyond caring about the noise. The library, once a sanctuary of knowledge and decorum, has transformed into a cocoon of pleasure and discovery.

His lips find yours once more, kissing you deeply as his pace increases. You respond with a fervor that surprises you, your innocence giving way to a passion that matches his own. The sounds of your shared desire fill the room—soft moans, whispered words of encouragement, the rustle of clothing as it shifts and slips with each movement.

You feel a warmth spreading within you, a sensation that's both unfamiliar and utterly captivating. It's as if your very soul is reaching out to his, your bodies joined in the most intimate of dances. The tension inside you builds with each deliberate stroke, a crescendo that's both exhilarating and a little frightening.

Hob’s breath is ragged now, his movements becoming more erratic as he chases his own release. He grunts softly with each thrust, a raw and primal sound that sends shivers down your spine. His hand moves between your bodies, fingers deftly finding that sensitive spot that he teased earlier.

The contact is electric, sending shock waves of pleasure coursing through you. Your body arches off the table, a strangled cry escaping your lips as the sensations threaten to overwhelm you. You're teetering on the edge of something monumental, a precipice that both terrifies and excites you.

With a final, powerful thrust, Hob surges into you one last time. His body shudders against yours, a low groan echoing around the library as he finds his release. You sharply gasp, feeling a rush of warmth fill your body. The feeling of him pulsing inside you triggers your own climax, the walls of your sex convulsing around him as wave after wave of pleasure washes over you.

You cling to each other, bodies slick with sweat and shuddering with the aftershocks of your shared passion. The world outside the library ceases to exist; all that matters is the connection between you and Hob—a connection that has irrevocably altered the course of your life.

As your breathing slowly returns to normal, you become acutely aware of the reality of your situation. You're an unmarried debutante lying wantonly sprawled on a library table with your skirts hiked up and your body still thrumming from the most intimate of acts with Hob's pleasureslowly oozing from your joined bodies. The knowledge of what you've done—what you've allowed—sends a jolt of panic through you. Oh your father was going to kill you. Even if you had desired this!

Panic grips your heart as the reality of your situation crashes over you. You feel Hob shift slightly, his movements careful and measured. He seems to sense your turmoil and immediately cups your cheek, his touch gentle yet firm.

“Y/N, look at me,” Hob’s voice cuts through your spiraling thoughts, grounding you in the present moment. His eyes, warm and earnest, lock onto yours. “You have nothing to fear.”

“But… my father,” Your voice quivers with uncertainty and fear. The gravity of what just happened looms large in your mind. "He will—"

Hob leans closer, his forehead resting against yours. “Tomorrow morning, I’ll call upon you with a ring,” he promises, his tone unwavering. “I will propose to you.”

You blink at him, disbelieving. “A ring? You’ll propose?”

“There is no one more suited to become my marchioness than you,” he states firmly, his gaze never wavering from yours.

The sincerity in his eyes soothes some of your panic, though doubts still linger at the edges of your mind. “But what if—”

“No ‘what ifs,’” Hob interrupts gently but firmly. “You’re mine now, Y/N, and I intend to make it official.”

His words wrap around you like a comforting blanket, easing the tension from your body. You nod slowly, allowing yourself to believe him.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Hob murmurs, sliding himself gently from your body.

You gasp at the sudden emptiness and and slight sting within your body, you glance down instinctively. Your eyes widen in shock at the sight of blood smeared on both of you. Panic flares anew in your chest. "Oh…"

Hob glances up at your reaction and quickly reassures you. “It’s alright,” he says softly, brushing a soothing hand over your hair. “It’s normal for there to be some blood the first time.”

His calm demeanor helps steady you once more as he carefully helps you off the table. He retrieves a handkerchief from his pocket and begins to clean away the evidence of your shared passion with tender care.

You blink up at Hob, his face still inches from yours, and your breath catches in your throat. "Do you mean it?" Your voice trembles as you ask, your heart pounding in your chest.

His eyes soften, a tender smile playing on his lips. "With all my heart," he whispers, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "There’s no one else I want by my side."

His words sink in slowly, like honey pouring over a scone. You nod, the fear ebbing away under the warmth of his gaze. You cling to his reassurance as he helps you straighten your dress and tidy your hair. Every movement is careful, almost reverent, and it feels as though he's not just tending to your appearance but also to the fragile pieces of your heart.

The library is eerily silent now, the earlier intensity replaced by a hushed calm. The crackling fire casts a warm glow over the room, and you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

Hob’s hand remains gentle on your back as he leads you toward one of the high-backed chairs near the fireplace. He eases you into the seat, his touch never wavering in its tenderness. You watch him move about the room with practiced ease, retrieving a blanket and draping it over your shoulders.

"Remain here, I will not sacrifice your honor any further," Hob tells you, his eyes examining your face for discomfort and further. "You have simply found yourself overwhelmed and feeling poorly."

You nod, trusting him implicitly. The sound of footsteps in the hallway makes both of you tense. Someone is coming. Hob’s expression hardens with resolve. He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear.

“I’ll slip out and return to the ballroom,” he whispers, his voice barely audible. “You stay here. Someone will find you soon.”

Before you can respond, he presses a quick, reassuring kiss to your forehead and then moves towards the library door with swift, silent steps. You watch as he disappears into the shadows, leaving you alone in the dimly lit room.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you wrap the blanket tighter around yourself, trying to steady your breathing. It is a struggle to ignore the lingering sensations within your body, the dull yet stinging ache between your legs, the flush in your cheeks… the silence of the library feels oppressive now, each tick of the grandfather clock echoing loudly in the stillness.

Minutes stretch into what feels like hours. You strain to hear any sounds from outside the library—voices, footsteps, anything that might signal someone’s approach. Your mind races with a thousand thoughts and fears, but you cling to Hob’s promise like a lifeline.

The door creaks open slowly, and you quickly compose yourself, arranging the blanket around your shoulders to appear as though you've been resting. A familiar voice calls out your name softly.

“Lady Y/L/N?”

You look up to see one of the servants peering into the room with concern etched across their face. Relief floods through you as they step inside.

“My Lady,” they say, moving closer and noting your disheveled appearance with a frown. “Are you alright? We’ve been looking for you.”

You nod weakly, offering a small smile to reassure them. “I felt faint and needed a moment alone,” you explain softly, hoping your voice doesn’t betray the tumultuous emotions swirling within you. "This night has been terribly overwhelming."

The servant helps you to your feet, their touch gentle but firm. “Let’s get you back to the ballroom,” they say kindly. "Your father and Lord Fairfax are ever so worried, as are the other guests."

You take a deep breath, steadying yourself as you nod in agreement. Your legs feel weak, but you force yourself to stand tall. You can't let anyone suspect what just transpired. As you step into the hallway, the servant by your side, the grand opulence of the manor greets you once more. The sounds of laughter and music grow louder with each step.

You catch sight of Hob ahead, seamlessly blending into the crowd. He glances your way, and for a fleeting moment, his eyes meet yours. A silent promise lingers in that look before he turns back to engage in conversation with another guest.

“Y/N,” your father's voice booms as he spots you from across the room. He rushes over, his face a mix of relief and concern. “Where have you been? We’ve been looking everywhere for you.”

“I’m sorry, Father,” you reply, your voice steady despite the turmoil within. “I felt faint and needed a moment to collect myself.”

Lord Fairfax appears beside him, his brow furrowed with worry. “Are you alright now?” he asks, his tone gentler than usual.

You nod, offering them both a reassuring smile. “Yes, I’m feeling much better. It was all to overwhelming I do hope you forgive me.”

Your father’s expression softens as he places a hand on your shoulder. “I’m glad to hear that,” he says warmly. “Come, you look awfully flush with pallor my dear. I fear the excitement of this night has been too much for you."

If only he knew.

Date Published: 10/17/24

Last Edit: 10/17/24

Hob Gadling Masterlist

Kinktober 2024

#hob gadling x reader #hob gadling #the sandman x reader #the sandman netflix #the sandman au

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pandoa · 2 years ago

Text

rook hunt is ripped with muscles and here's why

because some of you guys don't give him enough credit and my brain is rotting; let me live

i'll get straight to the point, i've tried out archery to see what it's like in the past—learned the basics and such—and for those who have never held a bow in their life, let me tell you it gets extremely tiring after shooting for more than an hour or so. so imagine how strong you must be to be shooting bows and arrows since you were a child. that is Rook Hunt, who was practically born from the womb with an archery set in his hand /j

bows have different draw weights that affect the speed, force, and distance that is needed to shoot an arrow. typically, children use bows with a 10-pound draw weight, as young adults and adults use bows with 20 pounds or more. to put this into some sort of perspective, i remember my stamina with the 20-pound bow lasted me about half an hour until my arms began to weaken and shake with how out-of-shape i am but anyways 💀

i've heard that the typical draw weight for hunting is about 40 pounds. and assuming with how long Rook has been an archer, i can imagine that he is physically well-fit enough to exceed the 20-pound draw weight and move onto more efficient bows for hunting like the 40-pound.

think about how developed your muscles must be if you began shooting with 10-pound bows since you were just a kid, moving onto 20 pounds as you get older, and eventually using the 40-pound draw weight as you gain more strength and hunting skills. knowing with how much Rook uses his bows and arrows, it's safe to assume that he most likely hones these skills by practicing archery quite often (i can see him going out to practice at least once a day; don't quote me on that though, this is just a thought i have considering that other hobbies also require daily practice to maintain a person's skill).

there are so many muscles involved in a human body's shoulders, back, chest, and arms that you must use when drawing a bow. exercises focusing on the muscles needed for archery are often done to strengthen an archer. this is where Rook's very toned figure comes in lol.

with the numerous muscles needed to carry out his hobby on a constant basis, Rook would need a strong set of biceps and shoulder muscles to keep up with the bow's general weight and stamina for however long he goes out hunting for. bro has built up muscles, man. built up muscles.

in game, though, i will admit his body does look on the more slim and slender side. i can see why some people in the fandom don't see him as a character with buff arms, but i would like to respectfully disagree. Rook Hunt has scrumptious arm and back muscles i'd shamelessly stare at as his magic hands do whatever wonderous things they do with his bow OH AND GUYS HIS LEGS I MEAN-

ahem. anyways.

i know many in the fandom tend to bully this observant hunter—with his questionable haircut and uh huntsman habits of his—however, these targets for harmless memes cannot overshadow the fact that Rook Hunt is ripped. from head to toe, this man is most likely relatively high among the list of twst characters that are incredibly strong (with Jack trumping them all) and is probably covered in toned muscles, which he maintains with his hunting.

this isn't even me simping anymore; it's just simple logic if we all go by what we know about the Pomefiore vice housewarden. i'll defend this man with my life—and that includes writing a useless essay on why Rook is more muscular and buff than we may think lmao

so in conclusion, Rook has beefy arms that the world is not prepared to talk about just yet. the end.

#twisted wonderland #twst #rook hunt #twst rook #rook twst #rook twisted wonderland #disney twst #HELP ME MY FACE IS BLUSHING WHILE WRITING THIS HAFHAUKDHJNADA #DOWN BAD #i just want to defend my lil french he-man <3 #fr wrote a whole ass essay on why rook belongs on the beefy arms club #why am i such a nerd #how many of u will actually read this nonsense anyway?? no idea lmao #pando's braincell

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savage-rhi · 1 year ago

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Ffxv headcanons whatever type you want just share with the class

Noctis: When he was a kid, he used to lift up rocks to see what critters lived underneath them. He stopped around nine or ten when he accidentally pissed off a snake and got bit. It spooked him so bad that he didn't do anything like that again until he went on the frog side quest. Now that he's over his fear, Noctis is always flipping over rocks and ushering Prompto to come over and take photos of the animals and bugs he finds.

Gladio: There's a saying among the kingsguard that, "if you give Gladiolus a beer and a mic, you're gonna have a GREAT time!" He's quite good at karaoke, and despite the gruff voice, he can hit high notes. Singing was something Gladio and his sister did together while growing up. While Gladio didn't like her taste in music, being the big brother, he still sang her favs to and with her. He tried to keep this hobby a secret until he had one too many drinks with his comrades. He's since embraced his reputation over the years, and isn't as embarrassed about it.

Ignis: There are a few things in this world that can make this man mentally break, but Feng Shui nearly destroyed him. Ignis got into the practice initially in an attempt to get Noctis to have better organization in his apartment. Per usual, Noctis didn't appreciate the principles, but it rubbed off on Ignis to the point where he became obsessed with Feng Shui. He did it to all the rooms in the palace, much to King Regis's chagrin. It all backfired when Ignis attempted to Feng Shui his own residence. Nothing satisfied him, and after he didn't come out for almost 10 hrs rearranging furniture, Noctis had to give him an intervention. After that, he swore off the practice. Sometimes, he'll get irritated if he hears about it in passing.

Prompto: In his spare time when he's not with a camera, Prompto is on a computer learning to code. While he's not the best at it, Prompto enjoys the process cause it satisfies a mental itch (he gets that from his father...haha). It's his dream to one day make a game like Kings Knight. He has pages of concept sketches for apps, and other social media ideas he'd like to try creating one day. He seldom shares his passion with the boys, assuming they'll think it's too nerdy.

Lunafreya: It isn't considered "proper" by an means for someone of her status, but Luna enjoys watching duels on TV or in person. Ravus from a young age was always taught how to be a warrior, and she felt left out on numerous occasions when he'd be sent off to learn sparring lessons among other trainings. As a kid, she used to sneak away from her home in Tenebrae to watch people battle for fun. Observing others helped her hone in her own skills, and she's memorized different stances and techniques over the years. She also used to place bets on people who fought, and did get into trouble at one point because of it.

Ardyn: He's very aloof and no one knows what the hell he does in his spare time when not running a country. He has the craziest of rumors made up about him, and he ravishes in how it all scares and fascinates people. What people don't know is that he often sneaks around Niflheim and observes others for his sketchbook. When he was a healer, he had a book of medicinal plants that he'd catalog and sketch out himself. It's one of the few things that soothes his mind anymore with the daemons he has in his head. For a few hours, Ardyn can silence them by focusing on capturing the details from another person or thing in his work. It's also his only means of connecting with humans given how far he's gone. His style is kind of like Da Vinci's, very detailed with lots of notes here and there. When he's sketching its also the time where he'll snack on something sweet like candy from his pocket. In general he'll always have candy on his person, but he likes savoring it without an audience.

#headcanons #my headcanons #ffxv #final fantasy xv #noctis lucis caelum #gladiolus amicitia #ignis scientia #prompto argentum #lunafreya nox fleuret #ardyn izunia #ardyn lucis caelum #thanks nonny this was fun

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deadbydangit · 10 months ago

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Hi! Hello :D

First i want to say that I really love your writing ❤️

If you still take request can you do Leon, Wesker, chris and Jill reacting to a reader/survivor that is written like Yor Forger (Spy x Family; she's an assassin). Where they witnessed her strength and somehow knocked out a killer (like nemesis or pyramid head) with her kick with ease, or using her golden needles as a weapon against killers?

I've uh, never actually seen Spy x Family (I know, I know). So I'm going to tweak this a bit. I only do three characters per request, so I'm going to leave Jill out.

With a reader who is really strong.

Leon, Mastermind, Chris

Leon S Kenney

Leon knows for sure that he isn't the strongest around.

But he does know a strong person when he sees one.

Years of combat experience have taught him to spot people like that.

So when he saw you punch Michael in the face, he wasn't too surprised.

But he also was surprised.

I mean, it was Michael Myers.

You didn't knock them out, but still.

It's Micheal Myers!

And you punched him.

But he's also very impressed.

Not just with your strength.

But with your bravery and skill.

Brute strength is nice.

But you have to have a means to control it.

Otherwise it's all wasted.

Despite still having a high skill level, he's still going to help you train.

You can never stop learning how to be better.

How to be stronger and improve your skills.

His training sessions are intense, but not overly brutal.

He knows when to stop and when you've hit your limit.

He would never want to push you too far.

He just cares about you and wants to see the best out of you.

Mastermind

You were actually in a trial with him when he first noticed your skills.

You actually punched him.

Pretty hard too.

Instead of being angry, he was impressed.

Okay, he was a little angry.

But mostly impressed.

So much so that instead of hooking you, he wanted to learn more about you.

He'll approach you outside of a trial, making sure you know he's not trying to be hostile.

He simply wants to know more about you.

"Where did you learn that technique?"

"Who was it that taught you?"

He's not trying to be intrusive.

He is genuinely curious.

It's not everyday someone is strong enough to punch the great Albert Wesker (Chris Redfield being the only exception).

"Perhaps, we could train together sometime. It would be beneficial for both of us to hone our skills on different opponents."

AKA. He wants to make sure you're never able to punch him again.

But, he won't do it exclusively for his benefit.

Someone like you deserves to learn more combat skills.

You have a real talent for it, and he wants to watch you thrive.

Chris Redfield

It's going to take a lot to impress Chris.

This man punched a giant boulder and actually moved it.

So impressing him with strength is pretty damn hard.

But, if you do actually manage to catch his attention, that means you must be something else entirely.

Are you even human?

He doesn't mean that in a rude way, he really doesn't have much of a filter.

He's just in awe of your strength.

So much so, that he thinks he might be in love with you the first time he sees you punch somebody.

Especially if it's Wesker.

You have lots of raw talent.

And he isn't about to let all of that go to waste.

You'll be training with him whether you like it or not.

And his training sessions are intense.

They can last hours.

You'll have to remind him that not everyone is like him.

He'll ease up after that.

It's just his way of showing he cares about you.

Hey, give the guy a break, he's kind of a blockhead.

But he's a blockhead who loves you.

#dbd imagines #dbd ask blog #dbd x reader #dbd killer #dbd survivor #dbd mastermind #dbd chris #dbd leon s kennedy

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puckpocketed · 2 months ago

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Many people are saying yak made the sens roster and if that is true I’m very happy and proud of him :)

hello!! scuttling out to check... here are the recent camp cuts. way way way more thoughts under the cut :3

there are many in the qrts saying these camp cuts mean he'll be there opening night!! the buzz is: unless we see him get sent down by. tuesday?? then he'll get his 9 games (or less, who knows!). for the rest of the season.... there's this guy from tsn who thinks he'll ultimately get sent back to juniors. i think the going sentiment is he'll go back after his "cup of coffee". but. BUT. who knows right? :)

i know it's super rare that d-men make it to the nhl right after being drafted. the point has and will be made over and over again: even the league's best dmen in q.hughes and c.makar both had a stint in college after their drafts. for whatever reason, it is generally understood that d-men take a little longer to cook <3 so i think we should be happy whatever happens. if he gets sent down tomorrow, after 1 game, after 9 games, we should be super excited he made it so far!! like, lets not forget, he literally JUST got here after playing against teenagers in juniors.

i was heartened to hear Travis Green in this availability (timestamped, my transcript below):

Q: Carter Yakemchuk playing alongside Jake Sanderson tonight; what did you like about that pairing? TG: Yeah i thought Carter looked, at the beginning of the game, like it was a little quick for him, but by the end he looked like he adjusted and he was fine. And, you know he's kind of - that's kind of been the story of his training camp so far. He's, you know, his first time on the ice, he kind of isn't up to speed - and rightfully so - but he's a quick learner, and he did it again tonight. He looked a little behind to start and then all of a sudden he looked like he figured out the pace is a little higher and it'll take another jump as we get into regular season, too.

this was from uhhh 3? 4 days ago?? anyway. um. i was trying not to read too too much into this interview snippet and that text i emphasised but <3 i was hoping to see this !! very excited for him !! and honestly it's awesome to hear how well he's keeping up and adapting to things as they come. so. lets see if he can kick it the whole season. crazy things could happen !! im not optimistic but i WILL be happy if he does stick around beyond his 9 games!!

Most important here is thinking about what's best for his development. for fun, lets say he does do super well, to the point that the Sens have to consider keeping him beyond his 9 games. two arguments i've seen laid out by other people regarding other players + Yak himself, plus a side of some of my own thoughts:

(1) How much more can he do in juniors?

If he's getting top minutes in the WHL but absolutely smoking children, what is he learning? "juniors habits" are the most damning things you'll hear about a player - implying their game lacks a level of pace, maturity, whatever - an absolutely dreaded insult to hear about your favourite guys. the idea is we don't want him picking up "juniors habits" such as trying to do too much with the puck (a bit too late for this one!! he loves to dangle!!!), poor/lazy defense, relying too much on a size/speed/strength advantage which you might have in juniors due to age and body development but NOT in the NHL.

you have the "iron sharpens iron" philosophy, there's the argument that if he can handle NHL competition at all and can work his way up to more trust from his coaches, why not keep him where he can hone his skills against people that challenge him?

(2) What does it do to have him in the NHL?

So on the other hand, if he's getting bottom pair minutes in the NHL with limited responsibility, which he likely will given he's 18, what is he learning? What does the Senators blue line look like right now? Who is he replacing? Who can he supplant in the depth chart?? He could otherwise be playing in the WHL and getting high minutes, lots of puck touches to grow his confidence, space to experiment and grow his game in terms of defensive details, skating, vision, etc.

Additionally, the Calgary Hitmen may be pushing for a playoffs spot this season. They have a fair amount of returnees who are "veterans" (<- DERANGED thing to call 18-year-olds but . WHATEVER!!! shaking my fist at juniors hockey) (including Sharks prospect Carson Wetsch who was just given the C!!!!!), and several players who could potentially have monster years after performing well last season. The roster is looking strong on paper and will only get stronger with Yak back in the lineup. Given all of this, why not have him in juniors getting some of that oh so valued "playoffs experience" rather than playing like 10-12 mins a night on the Sens.

(3) secret third thing

per this article, the NCAA is about to vote on something huge!! a proposal that would implement emergency legislation to allow major juniors players to play college hockey. the vote is speculated to be in order to "head off legal challenges" - there've been antitrust accusations and class action lawsuits brewing for a hot minute now between major junior players and the NCAA!

what does this mean for Yak? well. that's a pipe dream of an option for players who are sorta stuck between juniors and the NHL - too good for one, but not quite getting what they need from the other - and they can't go to the AHL due to that stupid as FUCK agreement stating that CHL draftees can't play for an AHL team until they've got 4 seasons of junior hockey OR they turn 20 by some cut off date...!

College hockey levels of competition keep getting better - like we are seeing so many high draft picks go play a year or two of college - and the challenge would be higher just by sheer fact of grown men playing in the NCAA (18-25 year olds). We don't know how quickly the rule changes would be implemented IF they even agree to do it. but. you know. secret third option is to see if Yak can go play college hockey <- I have to stress that this is the one i think is Least likely, and more of a crackpot theory on my part. honestly i just wanted an excuse to shit on the CHL agreement and the NCAA for gatekeeping college hockey from major juniors players (GET THEIR ASSES!!!)

FORGOT TO PASTE MY CONCLUSION:

IN CONCLUSION LETS BE HAPPY NO MATTER WHAT BECAUSE HE BLASTED ALL HIS HATERS THIS PRESEASON MWAH MWAH TY FOR VISITING CC <33

#hii!! thank u for dropping by take my FIN we are dancing in a circle <33 YAK ATTACK !!!#asks #user kevinskorchinski #carter yakemchuk #ottawa senators #<- sorry to main tag these. these are organisational tags for my blog too asldkaskj please ignore at your leisure comrades <3

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umbraastaff · 2 years ago

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Occasionally, the Starblaster lands in a place that's actually receptive to their dire warnings. On one such world, with their society being accelerated by the Light of Creation, they even began making plans for how to combat the Hunger.

Barry goes to visit a convene a few months into the year, and finds them developing and honing skills they'll need to detect the Hunger - and to fight it when it arrives. To keep its destruction at bay until it follows the ship to the next planar system.

The skills they train are unlike anything he's seen before. Their healing appears as divine as any cleric's, but without the aid of gods - so cutting off the Celestial Plane won't stop their magic. And they fight, too, infusing that same magic into their weapons, powered by the force of their belief. They call themselves Watchers.

Barry trains with them, just the basics. They teach him how to draw power from the force of belief. From the memory of the Hunger consuming his world, and the promise that he'll do anything to stop it consuming others.

Anything.

Lup would do anything. He's sure. They're all incredibly fortunate to have someone like her onboard - someone who wouldn't ever let them destroy a world just to make this easier (and oh, he wasn't there, but he knows he would have been on Davenport's side about destroying the crystal).

He doesn't take the oath. He can see the way it codifies their belief into reality - the way it powers them, makes their souls divine. He wants to be that person, but he isn't. He doesn't put this foreign world above himself.

(But still, the magic takes to him. His senses sharpen to the Hunger's influence, letting him catch sight of the scouts without Blink. He can raise friends from unconscious mid-fight with just enough healing magic. He's dedicated, he believes, even if he won't commit and tie his soul to it.)

For a time, he leaves it there. There's so, so much to do and learn and see on this journey. He stays a level one rogue while Magnus trains up more dexterity and stealth, and he stays a level one paladin too, for now.

On Faerûn, Barry commits hard to an imperfect plan. And when he falls, already dead, from the ship, he already knows - on top of finding her - that he's going to have to defend it.

He's trapped in a cave for months at a time. The thing about plans is it doesn't really take three months to concoct one, no matter how granular he gets (and really, he needs to stop himself getting too detailed - it's hard enough getting his living self to follow basic instructions exactly how he wants). So he takes up other studies in the meantime.

He can't use weapons as a ghost, but he can practice the movements, ingrain the knowledge into pockets of 'muscle' memory. He's no cleric, but he can study their magic, see the ways their spells overlap with that training he underwent all that time ago.

He won't risk asking any god on Faerûn for help with the Raven Queen after him - he's not close with one like Merle is - but he already knows he can pull similar magic from inside himself. And some of the most basic spells look really useful, when he's only ever had wizard spells before.

Even when he doesn't remember, when he's just some guy who couldn't cast a spell to save his life, he feels it: the promise, the belief that drives him. He doesn't remember where he learned to fight, but he knows how to move a weapon like it's a part of his body. He knows when he's really, truly desperate, when his adventuring party of the week is on its last legs, his weapon glows with that fury and hits harder than it ever should otherwise.

He appears in his workshop feeling sick and furious, lightning lashing off him. All he can hear is their voices, so casually dismissing the dead guy they'd found the umbrastaff on.

Lucretia knows too. She must know, and she hasn't done anything about it -- still leaves Taako without the knowledge of just how fucking important that thing should be to him.

He drags himself back to some semblance of composure, ignoring the new burns and cracks he's put in the walls. Lup is out there somewhere. Lup still exists in this world, along with Merle's children and Magnus'... well, extended in-laws, and--

And she wouldn't let them flee this world, not with their families rooted here, and she wouldn't let Lucretia destroy this world.

And neither will he.

He's going to find her. He's going to bring them all together. He just needs their trust, and he's sure some echo of that century will get them to listen to him. He can bring everyone together, and once he does that, they'll find some way through this. They always do.

The bonds that tether his soul pull taut, burning now with divinity in the heart of an unholy abomination. He knows now how to change the shape of his soul, how to let its form twist around newfound power.

On the discipline of a decade's routine, on sleepless vigilance, on undying loyalty, he swears his oath.

This world will not be consumed.

#lv 1: lay on hands & divine sense / lv 2: fighting style & smite & spellcasting / lv 3: oath [vigilance discipline loyalty]#taz balance #barry bluejeans #the adventure zone #mine #writes

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fangsandfeels · 10 months ago

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It's probably a very unpopular opinion, but initially, I liked Wulbren when I encountered him in the game. And how couldn't I? The lad greets us with an escape plan up his sleeve and that plan includes breaking the tieflings out! A true blessing for any Tav who never intended to cooperate with the Absolute and got a headache from thinking how they would get out all of the prisoners. What Wulbren did was badass and spoke a lot about his principles and priorities.

Now, a less-then-lukewarm reunion with Barcus was something I expected because nothing could be that easy, and from what we've seen, Philomena too abandoned her girlfriend for The Idea without even bothering to break up with her. So, at that point, I had a reason to suspect that either Wulbren was a dick or he tried to keep Barcus away from whatever he was brewing so he won't get caught in the fallout (he has a propensity for getting himself in trouble, after all).

But come Act 3...

...and Wulbren is presented as an irrational, vengeful prick who refuses to look deeper into the matter. We can follow his vision and blow up the Steel Foundry without looking into it, inadvertently causing more destruction, or going against him.

However, after what I learned thanks to @y-rhywbeth2 here (hope you don't mind me tagging you) is that the reason for Wulbren's innate distaste for Gondians may lie even deeper than "they worked with the tyrant, they must pay".

Wulbren's clan follows Gaerdal Ironhand, the lawful good gnome deity. His followers are militaristic and devoted, committed to protecting the gnome community and dealing with internal and external threats.

The best defense is unswerving vigilance. Serve Gaerdal with absolute dedication and devotion. Defend and protect gnome communities against all invaders both obvious and hidden. Never cease to hone the skills of war, and take the opportunity of relative peace to pass such talents on to gnomes at large.

While Gond isn't mentioned as Gaerdal's adversary, their dogmas contradict each other. Despite being a patron of inventors and craftsmen, Gond is so dedicated to creating inventions ("wonders") and spreading them that he has no concern for safety or consequence. Gond also welcomes all alignments and approves of his followers forcing their way into power, subtly controlling leaders and destroying any opposition, so they could promote their inventions and creations. Accumulation of power and personal wealth is smiled upon.

So, Gaerdal Ironhand is all about caring for the community and taking any measures necessary to protect it - even if such threat comes from fellow gnomes, Gaedral's followers are supposed to undertake the grim duty of being the judges and doing what's necessary. If Wulbren is a dedicated follower of Gaedral, it's understandable why he has so much contempt for the Gondians: they are careless, irresponsible, so obsessed with the "can it be done?" they forget about "should it be done?" - and look at where it got them. Play stupid games, and win stupid prizes.

Of course, he would take any accusations of being too harsh as an insult - especially given that he literally lost his fellow clanspeople to protect the city.

Given all that, I wish there could have been a more complex resolution. Showing Wulbren the door minimizes the fact that he wasn't just obsessed with killing the Gondians, but also was ready to die for his people (he didn't expect anyone to save him and he was planning on saving himself and others). He organized a guerilla movement that was effective enough for Gortash to put him on the Wanted list. If Gondians started working with Gortash of their own volition (I didn't explore the game enough to find any tangible proof or content that debunks this theory), but then found themselves shackled and enslaved, that would add to his bitterness. Being treated as a local madman for fighting the threat everybody else is idiotically blind to tooth and nail affects you. Heavily. Bitterness and spite become part and parcel of your struggle and when someone tries to tell you you're being unreasonable or not kind, you snap at them - what do they know?

Of course, that doesn't necessarily mean that Wulbren and Barcus should kiss and make up.

But having the option to point out to Wulbren that Barcus has been actually upholding Ironhand's ideals all this time and went to great lengths to do the right thing; make him finally acknowledge and respect his friend would have been nice.

Also, by admitting that Barcus was right, Wulbren could have seen where he was wrong or unable to see things differently - which would have prompted him to put his trust in Barcus even if he still instinctually wants to oppose and cuss him out for being so naively tolerant.

Because, I think Barcus deserves some recognition from Wulbren - even if they don't remain friends, going simply to colleagues (mostly because Barcus decides he did enough and it's time for him to stop running after Wulbren, especially now that he is safe). And also, because the entire Ironhand clan story needs more polishing, given that its premise in Act 1-2 was so interesting.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #wulbren bongle #bg3 wulbren #barcus wroot #bg3 barcus #wulbren is still a huge prick but hear me out

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shavynel · 1 year ago

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Writing comments for fanfic

tl;dr -- Write one thing you liked about the fic (a phrase or moment) and how you reacted or made you feel! Also, keep it fun! Make no demands of fic authors who write out of love and Owe Us Nothing.

It took me a while to figure out how to write comments. I went through an evolution. There's lots of stuff on how to write stories, probably even giving crit and feedback, but commenting? Not nearly as much. So here's my not so short ramble on writing comments for fic. Includes my Ways of commenting and Tenets of commenting.

Examples here will be T-rated (by AO3 standards) and most are taken from or newly written with specific fics in mind. They are, ahem, almost all Genshin Impact.

Commenting is, I believe, a personal thing. I've been told I have a bit of an enthusiastic presence, so what feels true to you may vary. I also like to write words (can you tell?). And smash keyboards.

Leaving comments is, in fact, effort! But it's also a skill that can be learned and honed. And honestly, I think my fic experience is improved by it. I don't always leave a comment. But, I don't know... that random internet person authored a Whole Thing. For Free (likely). And I just get to read it?? Yeah, I'm going to leave a little appreciation. Just a little snack in return for this fulfilling meal you have fed me.

I also find writing a comment is also a way for me to just bask in a fic a little bit longer, linger in that feeling of oh, wow, this was so good, and I don't want to leave yet. (And then sometimes there's a response, and then I get a bonus dose of nostalgia!)

Ways of commenting

These are roughly ordered by amount of effort required. I would say the comments I leave are a mash up of these, really. There aren't actual hard lines between them.

1. An extra kudos.

Kudos are nice. Knowing the kudos button isn't enough is one layer deeper! Comments like

"Thanks for writing!" "<3" "i mash kudos button but no more kudos come out what's wronnnnggg????" "yay an update!" "this is so good"

Level of effort: slightly more than a kudos.

Honestly, copy-pasteable. Personally, I would always write these out. Somehow, to me, as a commenter, feels more real if I tippy tappy the letters myself even if Author can't tell. It's a nice way to let an author know you're coming back chapter after chapter when we can only kudos once on a fic. I like to leave a little something more, but I still often start or end with this.

2. Fic reaction.

Sometimes a fic just leaves me a certain way. Invoked a particular mood or visceral reaction. So, I let the author know!

"Awww, my heart is warm!" "Jaw on ground. WTF!" "Literal chills." "My eyes are wet. How did that happen?" "This fic is pure comfort." "AHHHHHHHHHHH!" "Heart on floor, smashed." "WHOLESOME!" "This has left me completely feral and ready to punch something."

Level of effort: you need some emotional intelligence or other awareness of you reactions.

As a starting point, was the fic -- wholesome, sweet, chaotic (in a good way), funny, heartwrenching, sad, delightful, shocking, calm, peaceful, I just want a hug now, terrifying, creepy, comedic?

How do you then turn this into a comment? "This was so ___!!"

Honestly, my crutch here is to just keyboard smash. What does it mean? Your guess as good as mine. I'm speechless, and I cannot words properly, but please participate in these Feels I'm having.

3. One detail I like. (My default comment style)

This one covers a lot of scope. If I read to the end of the fic, there's probably something I liked. Maybe

a turn of phrase. "Diluc drinking grape juice like a man chained to an interrogation table. sfjfskkdz" "Bedsheets twisted up like cooked spinach is SO accurate." "Itto-to is such a cute mashup name!" "We have years ahead of us. That was just one day in the past. The feeeeeelllssss" ":) as punctuation" "Barbatos and Nobles as a bookstore. Sdjjsfjdw I love it"

a particular character moment, action, interaction, or dialogue. quote or paraphrase it! "Diluc kicking Childe into the water was hilarious." "Childe is such an adrenaline junkie. I can't believe he would lean out the window while he was driving." "I'm so proud of Zhongli for actually admitting his feelings!"

some specific moment you emotionally reacted to. I've only recently trained myself out of stoic facing through fic. I mean, it's a useful skill, don't get me wrong (especially in public), but it's less useful when it's just me by myself. I now laugh at 3am reading fic, and my life is brighter for it. Comedy fic writers, you are my fave. "Can't get over when Diluc walks in on Kaeya and Childe. AHHHHH!" "Qiqi drying Childe's hair was so sweet!"

Level of effort: you have to actually remember something you liked or reacted to.

The number of movies I watch and number of times someone asks how's my week, and I just stare blankly because I know it was good but don't know anything else? High. So yeah, this isn't trivial.

I've gotten to the point where usually while reading I notice a moment of "wow I love this!" I don't go looking for them (because I want to stay in fic headspace not comment material hunting headspace), and I don't spend much effort trying to remember. If I forget, that's fine. Not like I'm not writing a book review for a grade or anything.

Just, what's a moment you just got to call out? (And bonus, what's your reaction?) Authors out there seem to like to make us feel things. Show them we're just dangling from their puppet strings!

I usually leave comments like this. Just popcorn style, as many things as I remember, whatever comes up as I recall it. I'm aware that sometimes I end up basically quoting a fic back to its author completely out of order interspersed with commentary or keyboard smashes. I'm occasionally embarrassed by how much I'm smashing into their comments, but the reception seems overall positive.

4. Between the lines and spin off thoughts.

Sometimes fic make me think. I mean, canon makes me think, and then people go and make fanworks off of that, so of course I'm bound to run into fic that makes me think. Sometimes the things I notice or think about aren't directly in the text, but implied or spin out thoughts. An interpretation, a mini analysis, or a reflection. Like,

a new thought or take on a character. "Aro-ace Venti! I like this take!" "Please don't break Klee. She's just trying her best to hold all the adults together. Oh no. You've already broken Klee. T_T" "I bet Jean is the only person who could have kicked Diluc's ass, and he really needed it." "Kaeya what are you doooinggg?? Why is he like this???" (An extra note, it's cool to disagree with a character, but not the author. Character did that makes you want to scream? Go for it. Author wrote the character in a way you disagree with? Don't comment. Leave the fic if it bothers you that much.)

noticing foreshadowing or a detail that isn't fully explained / only alluded to. "Is that Scara working at Scarabucks???" "Wait, something about what Venti said makes me think this isn't just a modern day AU ..." "Did that count as a geo construct for the purposes of the contract?"

some sentence or moment somewhere that just hits you in the brain. This one I don't actually know if author's like. On the one hand, I can imagine it being flattering. On the other, maybe it's too personal? I'll usually center these on the characters, kind of like character analysis. "Diluc sharing his anxiety with Kaeya, and that being what made Kaeya look at his own anxiety... really hits. Like, I don't even think Diluc could have said something sooner without Kaeya running, which says so much about how Diluc loves Kaeya. And the fact Kaeya can see this as a mirror of what he's doing and learns something from it. Just. Oof. Wow." "The conversation between Zhongli and Childe is just so real. Like Zhongli is trying so hard but his ass just can't understand Childe just wants him to tell them things and his not telling things is Not Helping even though he just wants to protect the boy!"

Level of effort: some amount of analytical thinking, reflection, or willingness to share when you get sucker punched by words.

This one I absolutely never go looking for, so I don't leave many such comments. When it does come up, it usually smacks me in the face, and I let it (roll with the hit and into the comments). On occasion I am wailing in the comment box when the revelation (like having broken Klee) just dawns on me. Am I Feelings Processing in comment boxes? Uuuhhhhhh, no comment. (Don't mind the lack of delivery on the pun.)

I'd like to think authors appreciate when we reflect back to them we get their interpretation, but I can also imagine it might be a little too much for authors if we get too personal. In which case, sorry. Your work is great! Please take it as my intention to flatter you since you've touched my heart or brain or soul with your words.

5. Craft appreciation.

This one, *head scratches* yeah, I don't often end up here. But sometimes it's not one moment, but something about all the moments, something underlying, or something in the way it was all put together. If I do end up here and write a general statement, I like to point to specific bits that made me think that (which is where I lean back on One Detail I Like). Actually, yeah, usually I use this as flavor to One Detail I Like, but I think it's sufficiently different to pull out separately. It's a writerly meta layer. What falls here?

dialogue. "Your dialogue is so good. I can hear it in in the VA's voice." "I love the contrast between how Zhongli talks and Childe talks."

imagery. "Can't get over the imagery of Childe releasing dandelion scenes. Such a kid!" "Childe sleeping with Tranquil Statlight is just so peaceful."

characterization. "The little nuggets you give characters like Rosaria doing community service at the church for Crimes just gives me life." "I love the way you write Childe. He's so aggressive!"

setting, world building (more for AUs but wow there are some authors good at expanding on canon lore). "Your world building is so cool. Like the abyssal graffiti on the walls?? HNNG!"

writing style. "Your style is very dreamy. <3" "This is genuinely so heartwarming, and yet at the same time what is this underlying feeling of something is wrong????" "I feel like people appreciate the art of comedic one liners but you've got angst one liners. AND THEY SLAY."

pacing, timing. "This fic reads like a high speed express train. It just never stops or slows down!!" "What is this cRaFT! Like. Para 1, comedic. Para 2, thoughtful. Para 3, WHY DO MY HEARTSTRINGS HURT."

use of language. "Using he for POV character and they for the other is LINGUISTICALLY MIND BLOWING." (Please, I want this to catch on more. I do absolutely respect people's pronouns. These fictional characters (and people who have pronoun flexibility)? She and they instead of she and she?? THE CLARITY WE COULD HAVE??!? I'm incredibly greedy for it.)

premise. "Pierro Dad gives me so much life." "The Bachelor but it's Diluc?? Let's go!!"

plot twist, or cliff hanger. "The reveal!!! *screaming*" "I can't believe you would do me like this." (No, I can't in good conscience leave a specific example and give a fic away. Yes, I am thinking of specific fics still.)

Level of effort: be able to map details you like to writer's craft.

Let's not pretend we're here to do crit. Even if we're using writerly words, we are not here to do crit. Well, I am not because I don't believe the comments box is the right time or place for it, but I am happy to lay on the praise and point out the things that worked for me.

Usually, I think it's harder to look across a fic and be like, yeah, the dialogue hit, or this writing style or pacing really does it for me. It's more nebulous. And sometimes it kicks you out of fic reading headspace and into a writerly meta land to notice, so I don't, and I just let the fic wash over me. And if something here strikes me, I will offer my praises. Again, I think it helps to think of this more as an additional kind of One Detail I Like.

Tenets of commenting (and a little of reading)

Okay, so those were some do's, but I also have don't's. These are my boundaries that I keep. Maybe yours are different. I suspect most of these stem from the place, Author did this for free and Owes Me Nothing, so that's the one real tenet. I keep these in mind so that I can keep fic a nice, fun, safe place for me (and hopefully the authors too).

1. I will never ask for updates. I never expect a next chapter.

I've seen enough content creators stressed out and burnt out about putting something out over and over again. I feel for them. That sucks. They probably just started doing it for fun, and now ... The demand and expectation they continue to perform for free? Yeah, it's not going to come from me.

Once upon a time, because of this and a desire to have complete stories, I wouldn't read incomplete fics. I now am The Biggest Fan of incomplete fics. Yes, hang me off the side of a cliff. I will scream at you. And if you don't haul me back up? Well, fine. I'll live. Some other author's got my back. Probably. There's still so much to love between world building, characterization, good moments, jokes -- and you sometimes get the experience of seeing familiar faces screaming at the fic with you update after update. It's precious. It's fleeting. I could go on, but maybe a different day. Back to commenting!

Flip side, as an author, I will say the desire for more is, in one case, why I plan to continue a fic from years ago. I was very firm at the time I would not be extending the one shot, but I guess time changes things, and the fact people were like, I would read more story contributes to that.

So this one is very much a personal tenet. There's some line between I love this so much I want it to continue, and expecting there to be more. Where is it? I don't know. So I just stay away. Surely Author will get I want more if I just say how much I love everything and have commented on their latest chapter. Rather than leave snacks that taste like burn out to some authors, I will focus on other flavors of comments!

2. I will not say what I dislike.

Not my ship? I probably won't read. Not my preferred ship dynamic? Tropes I don't like? Characterization not hitting it for me? Paragraph formatting not doing it for me? I just x out of there, find something I do like. People be writing things for free! Let them have their fun!

If I did read it, snd I stayed, something else must have grabbed my attention. I'll focus on that. Writing style not quite doing it for me but I love the details added to the world? "Wow, the world you flesh out is so complex." No mention about how much of a drag it is to read, because hey, I still read it, and I had reason to not put it down!

3. I will not give corrections.

Authors (and maybe a beta) have put in tremendous effort and time, and to be like, "you missed a typo" or "actually, the canon lore says X" often detracts from the beauty of the shared fic experience. I interpret random grammar and misspeaks and typos in daily conversation and texts all the time. Surely I know enough to employ this skill. And if I figured it out, other readers probably will figure it out too. If I can't, I usually assume the author was too big brain for me and skip merrily along to the next sentence. (And if it's too much for me to handle, I click out.)

Yeah I get it! I get the urge to want to be helpful and contribute to other people's experience! I know that feel! Because, well, I learned this one from experience. I tried once. Watched an author wilt a little when what I wanted was to be helpful. Yeeeaaah, not doing that again.

So, I suspect this often comes off as a little entitled that just by that bit of you say something and kinda underlyingly expect the author to do something about it, and again, Author Owes Me Nothing! Even if the author is asking for a beta, I'd reach out first and make sure they are now in a headspace to be expecting beta thoughts from me.

Wrapping it up

I love fic, the world is rich with it, and I am full of love for authors and their craft. It fills my heart with joy to know I can return a little smile to someone who has let me hop on their ride for free.

It does take effort. Writing comments, turns out, is writing. Writing is a skill, therefore writing comments is a skill. And writing takes practice to improve, so, guess what, writing comments takes practice to improve. Who would've thunk. (Not me, I assure you.)

I've wanted to write this for me for a while, capture what I've learned because I noticed my ability to write comments change over time. Then recently, I was rec'd a fic and told to definitely leave a comment because the author deserves it and I write good comments. Dispatched because I write good comments! Now my commenter feathers are fluffed up, and so I have actually written this. But I definitely didn't start out the comment writer I am today, so I wanted to share that, surprisingly there is a progression path! (Maybe this is only surprising to me.)

I do find commenting adds to my fic reading experience. And I love reading other people's comments. Sometimes other people notice things I didn't or have very cool interpretations, and that is an extra wow right there. (And look at all these other people who like the thing I like!)

And if I leave a comment, sometimes I get a reply! Author noticed my little comment! Extra dose of happy for everyone!

And sometimes, sometimes, (and again I would never expect it, but it is a gift much like fic itself is) an author will write back full of their notes and what they were thinking about writing those moments, and I treasure that so, so much. It's both a delight because of the usual Author saw my effort commenting and I get an extra behind the scenes! The craft behind the craft! (Now how do authors leave good replies? That is still a mystery to me.)

Sometimes I write a lot and then it goes into a black hole, and that's sad. Hmm. I'm pretty sure this is what authors feel when we don't leave comments. Hmm. Guess it's time to write more comments! (Sometimes, like fic updates, replies show up months later, and that's honestly <3)

So, let's go leave some comments and show those authors love and tell them how much they delighted us! Or ... how they smashed our hearts into the ground with angst/no comfort because sometimes that's just what one wants to read.

#fanfiction #ao3 #fic commenting #fandom #fandom meta #a few too many genshin references #shavynel scribbles

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