#and for the most part it really truly does

[yieldtotemptation]

ALWAYS ft. Hanni

hanni x male reader smut

9k words

This used to be your least favourite part of the day.

Waking up alone, to nothing but an alarm that’s far too loud, a bed that’s way too firm, a dorm room that mocks your financial instability with its harsh coldness. 

And that somehow, was the best-case scenario.

Beating getting kicked out of a library after passing out face first in a textbook, or booted off your best friend’s mouldy couch when his girlfriend wanted some alone time.

Or even, in your worst moment, getting yelled at by some stranger when you’re discovered on their bathroom floor in a pool of what you prayed to God was your own vomit.

All things of the past, since her.

Since Hanni—waking up was everything.

-

It starts, like it always does, in a tangle of limbs.

Most mornings, with Hanni’s face buried in your chest, cradled in your embrace, small puffs of breath tickling your neck. Others, with her back to you; pulling your arms around her, using the heat of your body like her coziest blanket.

One time on top of you; an exhausted smile plastered on her face, still basking in the afterglow of the night before.

She wrapped herself around you, refused to let go. Like there was a possibility that if she held you tight enough, she could bring you into her dreams.

That was the first day you truly saw her.

You talked about your pasts, your futures, shared your deepest vulnerabilities, made a million quiet confessions.

And when Hanni whispered: “I never want to go back.”

You pulled her closer, kissed her, and answered: “You’ll never have to.”

Since then, every morning always started with you holding her. Feeling her softness, her warmth, the calm rise and fall of her chest, as her exhales became your inhales and your breaths mixed together and synchronised.

This is how it had to be—how you both needed it to be.

So—now:

Nights and mornings since that promise; the sound of a guitar slipping into your ears.

It’s a recording she made for you, setting it as your alarm to make waking up a little more pleasant, to make sure the first thing you thought of when you opened your eyes was her.

Unnecessary, ultimately, seeing as the first thing you see when you wake up is her. Or, to be precise, her arm poking out from under the blankets, flailing about blindly.

“Off,” Hanni mumbles, fumbling around the bed, the nightstand, your face, seeking the offending device.

You stretch over her, a blanket on top of her blanket, and hunt down the invisible enemy that dared to interrupt your girlfriend’s peaceful slumber.

A muffled “thanks”, and she takes the opportunity to snuggle even closer.

There’s the smile quirking at the corner of her lips. Her nose, nuzzling closer into your chest, searching for your heartbeat. That pleased hum she’s making, letting you know there’s no place she’d rather be, like she’s completely content to stay all cozied up and warm for as long as you’ll let her (forever, if possible, please).

It’s hardly a tough sell—face the cold shower, the crowded buses and trains, the boring lectures that the rest of the day holds.

Or, stay wrapped up in the sanctuary of your (Hanni’s) bed. In fitted silk sheets, weighted duvets, plush pillows. Wrapped up in Hanni; in her very soft, very warm, very naked body.

It’s a no-brainer, really.

The rest of you, the more honest part of you that’s resting somewhere between her belly button and her thighs, seems to agree. It’s got a mind of its own, stirring to life, responding to the heat of her skin and the gentle pressure of her body; the familiar lines of her curves and the lavender scent of her hair.

She notices, of course.

It’s hard not to feel it, nudging against her, steadily growing with each passing beat, saying, ‘Hey, remember me?’

A kiss over your heart, a giggle into your sternum, and she’s up—sort of. She rolls onto her side, still in your embrace, but enough so that you can see the wry smile gracing her face, her sleepy eyes fluttering open to meet yours.

Chalk it up to whatever you want—relationship goggles, the honeymoon phase, or just the sheer joy of finding someone who actually cares about you—but when Hanni's looking like this, it's hard to believe you’re not dreaming.

The morning light kissing her rosy cheeks. The gentle pink of her full lips. Midnight silk hair curtaining her face. Her eyes.

A sweet, completely innocent question: “Having a good morning?”

She shifts, slightly.

An oh-so-incidental move that has the blanket sliding off her shoulder, down to her waist. It’s an invitation that you take, a proper wake-up call, from her collarbone to the curve of her hip. Softness and warmth, a stark contrast to the cold that whispers from the edges of the bed.

Hanni—your Hanni—leaving you with the implication: ‘Can I make it better?’

“Classes,” is all you say, because you have to at least acknowledge the responsibility, play the farce that you would actually abandon your (again—very warm, very naked) girlfriend for the sake of academia.

“It’s cold outside,” is her astute observation.

“Mhm.”

“It’s warm in here.”

“Right,” you nod.

“So,” she starts, bringing her hand up to your cheek, walking you through the incredibly simple, blatantly obvious logic. “Do you need any other reason?”

“Are you offering me one?”

Lips purse then pouts in that endearingly cute, Hanni way. “Does it help that I’m naked?”

“One would think that more clothes would be appropriate, considering the weather,” you posit, like you weren't already convinced long before she even opened her mouth. But, it’s still fun to pretend that her persistence doesn’t melt you every time. 

“One would be wrong.” Hanni edges closer, her bare skin gliding over yours, so you can properly assess the merits of her argument. The tip of her nose brushing against your own, the softness of her breasts passing along your chest, and her hand at your cheek, then your neck, your stomach, and moving lower, and lower. “Body heat, you know?”

Her hand gets lower still. You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Like when it’s freezing and people get lost in a snowstorm.” She finds you, reaches into the waistband of your sweatpants, wraps her fingers around you, wakes you up.

“Or when girlfriends are trying to convince their boyfriends to stay in bed all day long,” you groan out. “Again.”

“Exactly,” Hanni says, a breezy air of finality, proud of herself for making you see reason—or rather, feel it.

You kiss her forehead, conceding the victory to her, and she scrunches her nose; preens. It’s a subtle movement, the kind that you’ve come to recognise as her victory dance. She squeezes your body closer to hers, her cheek squishing into your chest, her other hand wrapping around your neck, her legs curling up around your calves. It’s like she’s absorbing your affection, turning it into warmth she’ll keep with her for the rest of the day.

Her hand winds up and down, these long, lazy motions. Smooth and tender, stroking the length of you, her thumb tracing the vein that pulses along the side. She’s not in a hurry; not anymore anyway. Just, enjoying the moment, enjoying being with you, enjoying how obvious you are with your sighs and shivers.

“‘sides,” Hanni adds, taking a break to kiss around your jawline, your neck, your shoulder. “You deserve it. A perfect day of nothing.” She sounds so hopeful, so earnest, and there’s a warmth spreading through you that has nothing to do with the friction of her hand on your skin. “We can order junk food, watch awful horror movies, and…”

“Just us.” A finger under her chin to tilt her head up, to capture those half-moon eyes with yours, to kiss her sweetly, deeply, remind her that she’s all you need to make a perfect day. “I wonder what I’ve done to earn this.”

“Not what you’ve done,” Hanni says in the breaths between your kisses. “What you’re going to do.” 

With that, she uses all her weight to push you, rolling you onto your back, climbing over you with a grace that leaves you breathless.

She straddles you, legs draped over your hips, small breasts bouncing just a little with the motion. There’s mischief lighting up her eyes, that playful glint that precedes all good things. The blankets fall completely off her with a dramatic flourish, leaving her bare and exposed for your eyes to drink in.

A pause to appreciate her—to really look at her. From her flushed cheeks to the tips of her toes. Every curve, every darkened freckle, every soft, sweet inch of her—yours to adore, to touch, to explore.

And then, she winks.

You can’t help but laugh.

Hanni joins you, giggling in uncontrollable fits.

It’s the ridiculousness of it all, of Hanni—the girl who blushes when you hold her hand in public—straddling you with a wink and a promise of a day of pure carnal indulgence.

You both laugh until your cheeks hurt, until the tension breaks and you’re just two people in the cozy bubble of her bed, sharing a stupid, silly moment.

It takes a beat, but you both somehow recover, gasping for air between giggles. She settles herself, placing her hands on either side of your face, looking down at you with all the adoration in the world. Her touch grounds you, brings you back to the present.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” You ask, when you’re finally able to speak. “This is what you really want to do all day?”

“Well…” Hanni muses, sinking down to your waist, running her fingers over your t-shirt, stopping when she has the hem in her clutches. “A bit of this.”

She starts rolling your shirt up, sliding the cotton over your stomach. The cold air of the room kisses your skin before the warmth of her mouth replaces it. Her soft, plump lips meet your body, the small indent of your belly button.

Simple, innocent, playful. Hanni.

“A bit of that,” she continues, her hands keep moving, lifting the shirt higher, tugging it up and up, exposing your chest to her eyes, her lips.

She finds her target, a tongue over your nipple, paying you back for what you’re no doubt going to be doing to her later; flicking over your chest to make you hiss.

“A bit of me,” she adds, words vibrating against your chest, leaving goosebumps as she rises higher.

You lift your arms, allowing her to pull your shirt off your body, trapping you for a moment so she can suck at your neck, mark you as hers, and hers only. As if you didn’t already wear it on your face whenever she’s around.

“Doing a lot of you.”

Her eyes rake over you—your chest, your stomach, your abs. Lingering a touch too long, making her cheeks warm; colouring them with a soft blush that spreads from her neck up to her ears, hinting at the thoughts racing through her mind.

And then you're kissing her.

It’s gentle (your kisses always are) but that doesn’t make it any less passionate, any less intense.

She kisses you back, lips sliding over yours, the softness of her tongue tracing the line of your teeth, moaning your name in short stutters into your mouth.

It feels so right, so natural. The way she fits against you, feels on top of you, the perfect puzzle piece you’ve been desperate to find in a world full of mismatches.

It’s far too early to say it, but you know it—have known it.

You love her. Love how she lives in the moment; how even when you’re worried about the future, about deadlines and tomorrows, she can bring you back to the present and make things simple. In the least selfish way possible, she makes it about her.

(And that’s all you need).

It builds and builds; these slow, dragging kisses, these admissions of things that you’re not quite ready to say. Until you’re both well and truly needy for a touch more heat, as much of each other as you can possibly get.

You can’t hold it anymore, so you don’t bother trying.

With a firm grasp, you take Hanni’s hips in your hands, your thumbs pressing into vanilla skin as you pull her upward. It’s strategic, pull the best parts of her (which could be any part, really) closer, prove her earlier guess right by introducing her breast to your lips, her nipple to your tongue.

A million times you’ve repeated it and it won’t be enough—she’s so soft. Melting at your touch already, so responsive, letting you know she’s feeling it with every hushed gasp and shiver of her tight body.

One hand is filled by her other breast, a supple handful, spilling between your fingers, carelessly massaging as your mouth latches onto its twin. Her heart races, hammers against your palm, quickening with every passing flick, with each chaste suck between your lips.

Your other hand snakes lower, caressing the smooth plane of her stomach. You drag your fingertips over the ridges and valleys of her abs, down towards the juncture of her thighs.

She squirms.

Moans a little louder.

Scrapes the back of your scalp and pulls you in.

You’re insistent, your touch feather light as it grazes over the whispers of hair; trailing all the way down, down, where you ghost over her mound, tease her clit to make her gasp.

“Like that,” Hanni moans her approval, answers you with hips rocking against your hand. “So, so… nice.”

Your hand dips down further, parting her folds, sliding through her slick, greeted with the warmth and wetness of her opening. Soaking your hand, inviting you to delve deeper.

“Hanni,” you mouth around her nipple, “you’re so wet.”

“O-of course,” she manages, shuddering as you dare to ease a finger inside, pushing into her and pushing out a cry that fills the room. “It’s you.”

“It definitely is,” you confirm, stroking her walls with slow, deliberate care, feeling her tense around you with each movement. “And I’m just getting started.”

Her body arches, curves into you, tilting her head back and feeding you more of her; her breast into your mouth, her pussy on your fingers. You look up at her, feel her, memorise every little noise she makes, every twitch of her body as you touch her. Her breath skips as you start to move your finger in and out, a quiet pace to make her hips dance.

“This is a good idea.“ You’re pushing in deeper, adding a second digit to the mix, stretching her just so. She’s tight around you, always so tight, enveloping you in her heat, and there’s the urge to go even slower, to savour every moment. “Staying in all day. Making you feel good.”

Her legs tense, toned thighs flex as you curl your fingers up, pulling towards you just right to hit that spot that makes her mouth hang open, that makes her whine. There’s a plea in there, a silent request for more, for everything.

And you give it to her, because it’s what she deserves, because it’s what she’s asking for, because she’s yours.

She’s getting tighter around you, walls squeezing in. A prelude to something beautiful, something only you know how to give her, a skill you’ve picked up in this very same bed.

“God,” Hanni’s breaths are turning into short gasps, she’s so needy for it, for you. A slight tug of your hair, pulling you off her breast, forcing her nipple to ‘pop’ from your lips. She sinks down, further down onto your hand, her breasts dragging against your chest, her skin sticking to yours. “You’re such a tease.”

Her lips hang in front of yours, pillowy cushions begging for its partner—needing you to kiss her, now. You claim her mouth, let her be as loud as she wants on your lips; these delightful sounds when your hand moves faster, more insistent.

Arms hold you, wrap around your back, hugging you tighter, needing you to be as close as humanly possible. Hands everywhere—massaging your back, gripping in your shoulders, tangled in your hair, grabbing at your biceps—no matter how much of you she has, it’s just not enough.

Pliant is the other word to describe Hanni; so easy in your hands, like clay waiting for your touch. Waiting for you to mould her into whatever you want, even though you prefer her as she just is—all her perfect imperfections, beautifully flawed, wonderfully Hanni.

Another finger pushes into her; three now, moving in a steady rhythm, that slow, cautious manoeuvre that’s become so familiar. Sure, you could do it with your eyes closed, bring her to the brink and back with touch alone, but you’d miss the way she looks at you—the tears at the corners of her eyes, the tremble in her lips; like you’re her saviour, her everything.

“Hanni, you’re so—” you can’t put it into exact words—gorgeous, pretty, lovely—you test them out, but they all fall short, leaving you hanging until—

“Yours,” Hanni finishes, and that’s all you need, all you need to hear to make a vow to do everything in your power to keep her happy, to keep her here, to keep her—“always yours.”

She’s rocking on your fingers now, taking charge of her own pleasure, setting the pace that you so willingly match. It’s a give and take, and you take the chance to kiss at her neck, to nibble on the shell of her ear, to whisper to her all the things that create these little tremors in her thighs, that make her grip you tighter and tighter with each stroke.

She feels so good, so warm, so wet. Your hand is soaked, knuckles coated in her, making these noises. The muffled pop of skin on skin; the soft, sticky sound of wetness being parted; that satisfying squelch as you go in deep.

Hanni’s so close. So, so close.

Unwinding, melting in your palm; and that look. The way she smiles when she’s on that edge, because she’s so happy to be there, so happy that it's you that has her to be feeling this good.

But then—it’s the suddenness that gets you—she goes rigid, stops moving, begs, “Wait, wait, wait.”

It’s so unexpected, but you still do stop, fingers lodged inside her, pulsating with the urgency of her orgasm that’s just a heartbeat away.

She needs to hang onto you, to hold onto something as the world starts to spin again. Her pupils are blown wide, her cheeks a rosy pink that makes her look like she’s been running a marathon, sweat glistening over her, bathing her in this glow.

You look up at her, a soothing kiss on her cheek. “Problem?”

“No,” Hanni manages a gasp, reassuring you with a shaky smile, still doing her best to catch her breath. “I mean yes. I mean… It feels too good.”

You tilt your head. You smirk. “That’s a problem?”

“You always do this, you know?” Hanni chooses her words carefully, trying to break out of the haze of having almost been there, so she can properly articulate. “Make it about me when it’s supposed to be about you.”

You stifle your laughter against her neck, letting it vibrate through her skin. It’s her earnestness, really, that gets you sometimes; her concern for you, even now is too much, almost comical.

“I’m serious!” Hanni protests, though she’s betrayed by the wobble in her voice, that part of her begging to just let you do your thing and push her past the precipice. Her eyes flutter shut as she breathes in deep, trying to compose herself. “I want to make you feel as good as you always make me feel.”

Logic that you can’t argue with, not when it’s wrapped up in that sweet, sweet smile. You still attempt, though, “Hanni, making you feel good—”

“Makes me feel good—yeah, I know how it goes,” she finishes the line for you. “But, just. We have all day, so—"

There’s a point that’s finished by her kiss, specific in its tenderness, stealing whatever witty reply you had ready from your mouth.

“Let me start by taking care of you.”

It’s like you said—Hanni Pham, making it all about her, in the least selfish way possible.

You relent, bowing out to her whims.

“So, what do you want me to do?”

“Nothing,” Hanni nods, satisfied with your compliance. She takes your wrists into her hands, guides them away from her body to keep them at your sides. “Just relax.”

It’s a strange feeling, letting go, letting her be the one to dictate the pace, the rhythm of your morning. You watch her, watch the way her eyes wander over you. She’s fascinated, like she can’t make up her mind of where to start.

But she does, eventually.

Her gaze settles on your arousal, standing proud and waiting underneath your sweatpants.

“How about I start—” a light kiss on your lips, and she’s slinking down to your waist, tugging at the string of your pants, “right here?”

A kiss on your stomach, just above your navel, her fingers slipping between your waistband and your skin. They pull at the fabric, dragging it down with care until it’s pooled around your thighs. Your cock springs free, and there’s this gasp she makes—like she hasn’t seen it a hundred times before.

“You’re so big.” Hanni’s in awe, her voice hushed, reverent almost. It’s always been something she says, something that makes you blush—swells the ego that you like to pretend you don’t have. “I still have no idea how this fits inside me.”

“It fits perfectly, remember?”

“Mm, I know, but—" she can’t find the words, so she settles for the next best thing, “damn.”

She’s smiling—always smiling—and you can feel her breath on you, light and sugary, these little pulses of anticipation tingling through your skin.

You hold your breath, waiting for her touch, waiting for her lips, waiting for her to finally take you in.

But she doesn’t. She’s just looking.

“Hanni,” you say, giving your cock a teasing flex, brushing it against her cheek. It’s a light prod to break the spell, to remind her of the task at hand.

“Oh!”

It’s getting unbearable, your cock just inches from her mouth, straining to reach her lips. “You’re driving me crazy.”

“Good.“ She presses another kiss to your skin, a little nibble to your inner thigh that makes you jolt. Her hands skim over your legs, pushing your sweatpants down further and further, down your thighs, over your knees right until it’s stuck at your ankles, thwarting her attempted sensual seduction.

She makes this frustrated 'argh!’ at the minor struggle. Very cute. Also a little ridiculous.

"Help, please?” She looks up at you, expectantly.

You acquiesce.

“Aha!” Hanni cheers, slightly louder than she may have intended, having won her battle against your pants. She catches herself, blushing, flashing a cheeky smile.

God, you’re going to fall in love with her all over again.

“Oh right. I mean, are you ready?”

So casual in how she says it, covering for her fumble. It makes you want to laugh—except you can’t, because before you can even open your mouth, she’s already leaned in, pressing her plush lips against the tip of your cock.

Lightly, so light it makes your hairs stand on end. A calculated tease, right hand around your cock, stroking your length. Her left reaches up, laces her fingers with yours. A squeeze, a preview of what’s to come.

You can’t help but twitch under her.

It's her lips, mapping a trail of kisses down your shaft, leaving a warm, sticky mess of pre-cum that she’s quick to lick away. It’s how she’s looking at you—so focused, like she’s been learning, been studying you, creating a personal database of everything that makes you tick.

But above all else it’s just the simple fact that she’s doing this for you, because she cares about you. Because she wants to make you feel good.

It’s all of it and it’s working.

“This is much nicer, isn’t it?” She asks, not really expecting an answer, because she knows it’ll be a resounding yes.

She’s playing with you, not giving you exactly what you want, but just enough. Her hand wrapped around the base of your cock, stroking you from root to tip, thumb circling your head with enough pressure to drive you insane.

It’s pain and pleasure wrapped up into one perfect package, and you’re not sure which one you prefer.

You let her know as such: “Actually quite torturous, to be honest.”

“But it’s the good kind of torture, right?”

“There’s a good kind?”

“We’ve got all day to find out,” Hanni teases, taking a fistful of her own hair in her hand, looping it into a tight, messy bun; preparing herself—giving you a final chance to do the same.

Hanni takes you into her mouth.

It’s not a sudden plunge, not a surprise attack bringing you straight to the back of her throat—it’s a slow, slow descent that has you gritting your teeth and biting back a groan.

It’s hot. Wet. Heavenly. You can feel every inch of your cock being coated in her saliva, her tongue dancing around your shaft, her cheeks hollowing out, her lips creating the most exquisite suction.

When she reaches as far as she can go, fills her mouth with as much of you as she can take, she starts to move back up. Slowly, so you can feel every little bump of her tongue, every little drag of her teeth.

Her hand joins in, moving in tandem with her mouth, stroking the parts of you she can’t reach. She’s trying to find the perfect balance, trying to find that sweet spot between too much and not enough.

Hanni’s no pro at this, her technique is in no way perfect—but she’s so willing, so keen to please. She takes her time, getting used to the feel of you in her mouth, her eyes peeking up at you every so often to gauge your reaction; studying your face for any sign that she’s doing it right, that she’s doing it well.

It’s adorable, really.

And oh, so hot.

You give it to her again, reassure her, “So good, baby,” because it is—your hips buck involuntarily, pushing deeper into her mouth.

It takes her off guard, but she does her best to adapt; she’s trying not to gag, trying to take it all in. She’s a fast learner, your Hanni.

Your compliment serves its purpose—she’s getting more confident now, her tongue gliding along the underside of your cock, tentative, exploratory. It’s clumsy, yes, but it’s cute, and most importantly—it feels good.

She’s concentrating, her attention entirely on your cock; her lips sealed tight. Each time her head bobs down, she takes you in deeper, millimetres, but still, deeper and deeper.

And it’s the sound of her sucking you in, getting sloppier, filling the room with those noises, the soundtrack to your morning. She’s getting bolder, finding her rhythm, building her pace. It’s not precise in any way, shape or form—sometimes she’s a little too rough, sometimes she misses the beat—but the effort.

A harsh suck has your cock popping out of Hanni’s lips, strings of her saliva still connecting her mouth to you. She looks up at you, wanting to check in, still needing that hit of validation, “Is this—is this good?"

You stroke her hair, let her lean into your touch. "Unbelievably. You’re doing great.”

“But I can make it even better, can’t I?” She asks, the determination setting in her features, and she’s staring straight into your eyes, hopeful, “Tell me. Tell me how you want it.”

It’s not a demand—it’s a question, a plea for guidance; she’ll do whatever it takes (whatever you want) to get you there. And it’s the sight of her, straddling your thighs, kneeling before you; those full lips hovering just about your cock, her hand lazily pumping away, keeping you there.

Somehow, you manage to get the words out, a rough whisper, “Take me deep, Hanni. As far as you can go. Take me all in. Show me how much you want it.”

It’s the instruction she’s been waiting for; she’s nodding before you’ve finished, so willing to oblige. It’s that part of her that you’ve discovered, the part she might not even know herself. But it explains so much.

(Hanni: the teacher’s pet, always needing to excel. Competitive, desperate for the highest grades in school, the top evaluations in training; desperate for you to tell her that it’s her and only her.

That’s what makes her successful. That’s what makes her eager.

And now that you’ve put the challenge before her, she can’t wait to prove herself.)

She takes a deep breath, swirls her tongue around the tip of your cock, dipping her toe into the water before she dives right in. It’s like she’s playing it out in her head, memorising the taste of you, the smell of you, the feel of you; mapping out the best way to take you all the way in right before she breaks you.

“Ready?”

“Always.”

And she goes for it.

Her mouth opens wide, eyes locked on yours, and she takes you in again.

Deeper, throat tighter.

Her eyes water a little, and she coughs, retreating. But she’s unfazed—still smiling, still eager.

“Sorry, sorry, it’s okay.”

You stroke her cheek, act like it’s not already far more than you can handle. “Take your time, baby. No need to rush.”

A deep inhale, and she's trying again.

It’s a process, her getting used to you, your size, your taste, the way you make her throat bulge. She’s slow, tentative, but with every stroke, with every gulp, she’s getting closer. Her cheeks hollow out more, her eyes water a little less, and she moans.

You can feel the anticipation building in your chest, your balls, the sweet ache of your orgasm just around the corner. And she can feel it too, your body tensing under hers, your breaths turning shorter, sharper.

The fifth time, she hits the back of her throat, and she stops—holds herself there, panting. It’s a moment of victory, a declaration that she’s got it right, that she can take all of you, just like you asked. Your cock is nestled at the back of her throat, there’s more tears now, but she’s smiling with her eyes, looking up at you through her lashes.

It’s so intense. You groan. Your hips jerk. “Good, baby, so good—don’t move.”

The look on her face, the satisfaction, the pride.  

She swallows around you, working the muscles in her throat, pressing her tongue flat against the underside of your cock; it’s too much.

“Ha-Hanni—keep doing that—keep swallowing—it’s perfect—so perfect—”

It’s a struggle, but she does it, takes it all in, holds it there—just for you.

Her hands are at your thighs, grasping—not enough to hurt, but enough to let you know she’s there, that she’s with you. She coughs, gags, sputters bits of drool down your cock, but she keeps going.

And then, she pulls herself up, needing the air, pulling back with a long gasp; leaving a mess. Your cock slides out of her mouth, springing from her lips; her cheeks a vivid shade of red, glistening with lines of tears—beautiful, just indescribably beautiful.

“Was I good?” She’s asking out of courtesy, really. You’re sure whatever dumb look you’re wearing on your face is more than enough to confirm it.

But you nod and choke a ’Yes’ anyway, because you’re a gentleman, and words of affirmation are just as sweet as the act itself.

“I can do better.”

And before your mind can even catch up to what she’s saying, she’s sucking you back into her mouth. Now that she’s proven herself, she just has to push it even further, show you just what she’s capable of.

This time, she’s more assured, more confident. Her hands are at your hips now, holding you still, like she’s worried you’ll get away.

You won’t, of course. You couldn’t even if you tried.

Hanni’s bobbing her head; these long, deep sucks that have your fingers tangling in her hair, have you urging your hips to meet her mouth. Her eyes are watering more, she’s gagging more often than not, but she doesn’t stop, she just keeps moaning around you, keeps going and going.

She takes her hands off your hips, sliding one down to the base of your cock, holding it steady as she works you over and over. The other finds your balls, balancing them on her fingertips, rolling them around her palm. She’s figuring it out, figuring you out far too quickly, and it nearly has you coming undone.

And through it all, she’s grinning.

It’s a twisted, slightly pained grin, but it’s a grin nonetheless. She’s found her new favourite hobby, and she’s determined to show you just how much she enjoys it.

“I love this,” Hanni slurs against your cock, not really to you, not really to herself, just saying it out loud because it’s true. “I love being able to do this to you, making you feel so good.”

She’s saying these things, these simple words like they’re not dangerous at all, like whispering them against your cock is so harmless, like they don’t have the power to completely destroy your resolve.

“I love that it’s me,” Hanni keeps going, even when her tongue is occupied with licking you, lapping up your balls, the underside of your shaft. “I love that I’m the one who makes you feel this way.”

Gone is the shyness—she’s so smug now, so proud of herself, so in love with the fact that she has you exactly where she wants you: in her mouth, at her mercy.

It’s in the way she’s sucking you, her eyes closing, her hums of pleasure every time she takes you in—as deep as she can. She’s getting hotter on top of you, just from having you in her mouth, from taking you into her lips again and again.

Grinding herself into the mattress, needing a bit of friction, needing more. And that’s when she pulls away, panting for breath.

“Hanni?” You ask, finding your voice, letting go of a breath you hadn’t realised you were holding.

“It’s too much,” she admits, breathless, her hand still wrapped around your cock, stroking you gently, almost apologetically. “I’m sorry, it’s just—it’s too much.”

There’s a shift in the air—in Hanni. Usually, typically, soft. Now wild, desperate.

She’s climbing up you, back on your hips, her wetness smearing onto your skin, her thighs trembling on either side of yours.

"I need it, I can’t wait anymore. I just can’t.”

The suddenness, the urgency in her voice (in her body). Hanni, flushed, practically shaking with need.

“I need you—now.”

It’s so tempting—you could give in easily. And yet, there’s something in how she’s asking you, how she’s using innuendo in place of propriety, dancing around saying what she really wants in plain, explicit terms.

It’s not enough.

She’s already got you on the edge, so close you can almost taste it. But you need to hear it from her. Your sweet, adorable girlfriend, saying something so dirty it’ll make your knees buckle.

So, you sit up, shifting slightly so she’s still straddling you, face to face. Cradling her cheek with one hand, brushing a strand of hair out of her eyes; so you can look at her—take in all the tiny beautiful inflections that make her your Hanni.

“What do you need?”

Always with the blushes, but she holds your gaze, not breaking it even when you run your hand back down south, reaching to slip a finger through her folds, finding her still so wet and swollen. She gasps, but she doesn’t look away.

“Tell me, Hanni,” you coax, your finger moving in gentle circles, watching her face, watching the way her pupils dilate, the way her breath catches.

Hanni stutters, “You—I want you—need you—". But you just chuckle, slow down the pace of your finger, giving her a taste of the frustration she’s unintentionally been dishing out.

“Not quite specific enough. What part of me do you want?”

She’s biting her lip, squirming under your touch—she’s not used to this. Not used to anything outside of the usual playfulness, the sweetness; the gentle strokes and soft whispers. But something has you feeling different today.

Maybe it’s the excitement of trying something new. Maybe it’s how unusually forward she’s being. Or maybe, just maybe, part of you has always wanted to hear her beg.

She blurts it out: “Your—your cock!”

“And what do you want me to do with it?” You press, stroking her clit now; her chest heaving, these tiny whines escaping her, and the way she’s looking at you. Like she’s getting ready to pounce.

“Please—just—please, I need—”

“Need me to slide it in slow?” You suggest, kissing her neck, her perfect, porcelain skin. “Give it to you nice and deep?“

Hanni’s rolling her hips on you, grinding herself against your hand, trying to get through to your cock, trying to will it to enter her.

“Go ahead, be honest.”

She’s bothered. Annoyed—almost angry, if that’s even possible for her. Like how could you? How could her kind, loving boyfriend go out of his way to put her in such agony.

“Tell me, baby. What does Hanni want?”

“I—I need your cock inside me—I want you to—” Hanni swallows takes a deep breath.

A final push: “Say it.”

“Fuck me, hold me and fuck me. Deep, hard, slow—however you want just fuck me now.”

The words come out in a rush, spilling out of her lips. Even she’s surprised as she’s saying them, in disbelief that she’s even capable of saying something so filthy out loud.

But she’s not taking it back, she’s not apologising.

No, she’s taking hold of your hand, moving it out from between her legs, and replacing it with your cock, daring you to stop her.

Like you could ever.

You push in, inch by delicious inch, watching her face contort, features twist, feeling her stretch around you.

It’s the same every time—it feels like the first time all over again.

Her eyes squeeze shut, mouth parted in a wordless plea, and you’re moving so slow. So slow that she’s whimpering, begging, hips trying to push you deeper. But you keep it steady, setting the tempo, let her get used to the feeling of being made whole by you again.

“Oh, oh, oh—” Hanni pants, trying to keep her voice down, but it’s pointless. She’s failing already, loosening a strained 'fuck' when you bottom out, when your cock is finally, completely inside her.

You hold her like that; your arms around her, hugging her tight, her breasts squished against your chest. She’s so small in your arms, so soft, so warm; her pulse racing against your own, lapping it twice over.

“You okay?” You ask, placing a kiss on her shoulder.

“More than okay,” she sighs, holding onto you, moulding her body onto yours. “More than okay—just need a minute to adjust. Don’t worry about me—you can—you can make me feel good.”

So, you do.

Lifting her body off you, unsheathing your cock from her warm embrace, until only the tip is trapped in her wetness. Then: guiding her back down, a touch quicker, harder, deeper. And there’s that gasp as she takes you back in, as you fill her.

You’re moving with purpose now, her walls tight and wet and hot around you, clenching and releasing in time with your slow, deliberate thrusts.

Hanni’s breasts bounce in front of you, up and down with every pump, small peaks begging for attention. You’re kissing them again, sucking one into your mouth, suckling on the pink tips.

“So beautiful,” you’re repeating it, speaking it into her skin, because it’s all that’s on your mind as she takes you in. “You’re so beautiful, baby.”

And she looks it too, even though she’s not even trying; with her hair falling out of her bun, sticking to her face with sweat and saliva, her mouth hanging open, swollen and red from your kisses, her body writhing and jerking with every thrust.

Yet she remains focused, eyes glued to yours, like she’s afraid if she looks away she’ll miss something. Like if she doesn’t keep watching, she’ll wake up and find out it’s all been a dream.

But it’s not.

It’s you and her, in this bed, the sun peeking through the curtains, her naked body riding yours, hotter and hotter with each pass.

It’s you and her, together, wrapped up in each other making love like the world outside doesn’t exist.

It’s you and her, and it’s—

“So perfect—you feel so perfect,” Hanni finishes your thought for you, finishes each of your thrusts with her own hips; opening her body up to you, welcoming you in deeper with each stroke. “I think I’m gonna cry it feels so good.”

Her legs lock around your back, heels digging into your spine, until you’re fully seated inside her; so deep it feels like you’re a part of her. With a whine that’s half pleasure, half need, Hanni braces herself on you, rolling her hips on your cock, grinding down, taking as much of you as she can.

You grip her tight, one hand around her back, the other under her ass, fingers squeezing into the soft, tender flesh. Bouncing her up and down, watching her face as she takes you, as she keeps repeating ‘so perfect’.

And you know, you know she’s not just talking about the physical—that’s definitely there. It’s how you’re making her feel, it’s the connection. The way you’re looking at her, the way you’re holding her, the way you’re loving her that has her floating.

“I-I think I’m ready,” Hanni whimpers, “I can take it—you don’t need to—don’t hold back anymore.”

With a grunt, a nod, and a choked ‘Hanni’, you’re sweeping her up, keeping your cock buried deep inside her as you lift her. Your hand cushions the back of her head as you lay her down on the bed beneath you, her legs spreading wide on their own to accept you.

A moment to steady herself, to prepare.

A smile. A kiss on her forehead.

And then you’re in, all the way, again. Completing her pussy with your cock; one swift motion that knocks the wind out of her in the sound of your name.

“God—Hanni—”

It shouldn’t be like this—it should be impossible to be this much hotter, this much wetter, this tight.

But she is.

She’s squeezing herself around you, muscles, thighs flexing. Eyes shut, mouth wide open because there’s no way to stop from crying out; and her body, her lovely, perfect body, arching up to meet your every thrust.

You give it to her.

You’re building up speed, stretching her wide, hips moving in that perfect rhythm you’ve discovered together—the one that makes your name echo off the bedroom walls.

Hanni’s whimpering, mewling, whining, “Tell me—tell me how good it feels.”

You tell her everything—how tight, how wet, how perfect she is. You praise her, shower her with very compliment that comes to mind. She eats them up; her lips leaving marks on your neck, your shoulder, her fingers on your back, her hips swallowing you whole.

But Hanni still needs more, needs to hear more. Not just that she’s good, not even that she’s perfect. She needs to hear that she’s only yours.

“Like heaven, Hanni,” you manage, your voice hoarse, strained. “So perfect for me. Only me.”

“Really?” Hopeful. Ecstatic. So turned on.

“Always,” you repeat, the truth echoing in your voice and across her skin. “Always so perfect.”

“Mmm,” Hanni moans, nodding along, soaking in every word that flows freely from your lips.

“You’re so beautiful, Hanni. Your pussy is so perfect.” You kiss her again, a little harder this time, a little more possessive. “I love how you fit around me.”

Her breath catches in her throat, there’s that spark in her eyes, and she’s taking you deeper, urging you on. “Oh-oh. Keep talking—please—keep talking.”

“Made for me, aren’t you Hanni?” You continue, the steady stream of praise and admiration, caressing her as surely as your cock in her pussy. You can’t get enough, can’t get over how perfect she feels, how right it is to be inside her. “Like a perfect glove around me.”

Her eyes meet yours, her smile shy as she whispers your name. Whispers it like it’s a prayer, like it’s the only word she knows (like it’s the only thing that can give her peace).

She’s so close, getting there, it’s in how she’s pulling you closer; with her arms and her pussy. How she’s saying please, with a little quiver in her voice, alternating it with your name when you hit that spot just right.

“This feels so good, but-but-I think—” Hanni’s voice cracks, even now, still so shy, so adorable. She’s gasping, out of breath, trying her best to string the words together. “C-can I? Can I please cum?”

It’s all you need to hear. You kiss her, hard and deep, push into her. “Of course, baby,” you say, “Do it. Do it for me. I want you to cum for me.”

The effect it has on her—how it ripples across her face. She’s so thankful. So, so thankful for your permission, for what you’re doing to her. “Then please—please don’t stop.”

Harder, faster, deeper now—making her unravel beneath you. Hands holding her in place, feeling her, feeling her tense, quake around you.

Keep going, because she’s almost there, because she’s repeating it, that desperate ‘please’, over and over again.

‘Please-please-please’—with every thrust, saying it without saying it, with every clench of her walls, with every little gasp she lets slip.

Because that’s what she is—who she is—at her most honest, her most vulnerable. Pleases and thank yous on her lips, a constant stream of gratitude for you, for being here with her, for making her feel so much.

“Thank you,” Hanni manages, words almost a moan. “Thank you for making me feel like this, for making me feel so—”

But she can’t finish the sentence, can’t find the words to explain the storm that’s building inside her. So she just says it again, rising in pitch each time as the pressure builds. ‘Thank you, thank you, thank you—’

Her nails dig into your shoulders, the first time she’s ever inflicted anything close to pain on you; begging you to stay in place, to not move, to not pull out. You feel her need, feel it in your bones, feel it from the heat of her pussy.

“Feels so—” Hanni’s crying, sobbing now, trembling uncontrollably. You’re holding onto her, deep inside her, giving all the time she needs to let it out. “—so good, so deep, so, so much—”

She gasps. She tightens. She screams.

Hanni’s voice breaks off into a keening wail as it all comes crashing over her; and you don’t stop, can’t stop, can’t do anything but keep her tethered to you as she loses herself to her climax.

“Please—don’t pull out—please—don’t stop—please—please—please—”

She shudders, clenches around you, pussy tightening in the sweetest way possible. It’s that look on her face, saying everything she can’t manage to say, everything she can’t put into words—how much she loves you, how much you complete her, how much she needs this.

It’s a wave, pulling you under, and you let it take you, let it sweep you away until you’re drowning in the feeling of her coming apart around you, under the heat of her eyes and the grip of her body.

Her juices all over your cock, her pussy spasming around you, that blissful agony on her face. Hanni’s so sweet when she cums, so damn gorgeous, it just takes your breath away. She’s perfect, so perfect it hurts.

And as she comes down, as she rides out her orgasm and kisses your name into your lips, she begs of you, once last time: “Your turn.”

With strength you didn’t know she still had, her legs pull you in, anchoring you to her. Her walls pulse, her body begs for you to follow.

And you do.

“Give it to me, please, cum for me, love—”

You let go. Let the tension in your body melt away as you thrust into her one, two, three more times. Until you’re releasing, until you’re cumming, until everything’s white-hot pleasure and Hanni on your tongue.

Load after load inside her, a hot, deep stream that leaves you groaning, that leaves her sighing, panting, joyful. Filling her up until she’s complete, until she’s overflowing.

You cum hard and fast, and Hanni tries her best to keep up, tries to take it all, and she’s smiling—laughing even, the joy of making you feel this good lighting up her features.

“H-Hanni—” you try, your cock twitching inside her, your cum spilling out of her and onto the bed, onto your thighs.

She’s kissing you, kissing your neck, letting you make your mess; your glorious mess of cum and sweat and saliva and her.

It feels so good, everything feels so good about her, everything she’s doing. She’s holding you so tight, so greedily, shivering with every throb of your cock inside her, savouring every moment of your release.

There’s a moment of silence, where you just lay there, bodies entangled, hearts racing, breaths mingling. Just looking at each other, basking in the thickness of sex and satisfaction.

And Hanni smiles, so wide it could split her face in two, a smile that says she’s never been happier.

Then, with a sigh, she relaxes, her legs loosening, ankles unlocking behind you. You roll onto your side, pulling her with you, keeping her close. She’s still with you, still keeping your cock inside her, and you can’t help but feel like this is it.

This is home.

“Best. Morning. Ever.”

She laughs. “I don’t want to get up. Don’t ever want to leave this bed.”

“I don’t think I can get up,” you admit somewhere into her hair.

And then it hits you. Something in the air, something in the light hitting her naked body, something in that blissful expression on her face.

It spills out of you before you can stop it: “I think I’m in love with you.”

Her eyes widen a fraction, and she pulls back just enough to look at you, to read your face. “Careful, we’ve got all day for that kind of talk.”

But she doesn’t protest as you hold her tighter, feel the warmth of her body, the smell of the skin, the way she nests into your side. Fitting perfectly—like she’s always been there.

So yeah, you may have said it too early, but whatever.

Today’s the day for breaking normal rules and codes of conduct.

For breaking routines. For her.

For the promise of a long day filled with nothing but lazy kisses, whispered secrets, the sweet taste of her skin.

For staying in bed, wrapped in each other’s arms, forgetting the outside world.

For more of this. Of Hanni. Of this perfect, perfect feeling.

So, you stay there. Not moving, not speaking. Just holding onto the moment, as the sun rises higher and higher in the sky.

And as your eyes start to drift close, as you sink into the comfort of the mattress, with her in your arms and on your mind, and you’re thinking this day couldn’t get any better, Hanni whispers:

“Idiot. I’ve always been in love with you.”

[ghouldtime]

Neighbor! König Part 2

Part One

Part Three

After you expressed interest in his miniature collection, he actually actively OFFICIALLY invited you over one evening (and inside!)

It may not sound like much to most to be invited into someone's house but for him, it's the ultimate trust. His house is his private space, his sanctuary, where he goes to be without other people

He doesn't ever invite anyone inside unless necessary or they've truly gained his trust and being invited INTO his house, and actually into a shared space of one of the hobbies that matter the most to him?? Yeah, that's how he says he likes you

He's been working on his models and dioramas for so so long he's incredibly proud and can't help but to want to actually show them off to someone who wants to see

Usually most people don't care :( or think it's weird

But you've embraced it! You're so excited and he's over the moon, he's having the best day ever, if you do research and bring him gifts or show him some new ideas

He has exquisite attention to detail and INSISTS on everything being exactly the way he envisions it. And you notice! You actually notice. Which means you care about his hobbies, the work he puts in, and therefore him

It might be a bit early to say the L word but he's feeling certain ways

He may be a big dude but that doesn't mean he lacks fine motor skills. He's laying those tiny pieces of moss onto the cobble stones like a PRO

Miniatures allow him control over the environment, even if it's on a smaller scale, and offer a way to keep his hands and mind busy so he often throws himself into it

It also helps him relive happier memories. He's afraid of forgetting them and when he's stressing, it's his happy place because he can look at them and simply remember the things in life that matter

He'll ask you about a story you like or a favorite show or book or movie. That's his next miniature planned (in secret. Can't ruin the surprise, he needs to have it all perfect. He will either read the book, watch the movie, will study EVERY detail)

He will start to invite you over when he's having a painting night or is working on them. You don't have to follow his rules or do what he wants! He's just happy you're there and appreciating it

He will always have your favorite snacks and drinks in stock too. Need to make it fun and can't have you going hungry

If you want, he'll put on background noise! He's happy to make it immersive and to light a candle or put something in a diffuser to really set the scene you're going for. But he's perfectly happy to hangout with you as is

You'll finally get to hear him laugh and hear his really, really bad jokes. He has a dry sense of humor and most of what he says isn't even close to funny, he's awkward like that

But if you laugh? That's it, he's sold.

Time flies so fast when you're over, you don't even realize it's 3am

You don't need to go home! I know it's right across the street but he has a guest room and it saves you the trip in the morning. You have a whole nother round of characters to paint :)

Okay maybe it was an excuse so you could see the curtains he'd made and the pillows and he decorated the guest room with! Like actually tried decorating. They're made with love, that's what counts right?

Did he spray the pillows with his cologne before you came over? Maybe, but he won't ever admit to it

You can't complain. Not when he insists it's no trouble at all, you should stay over, and he does everything he can to make you comfortable.

And you're certainly not complaining when you wake up to breakfast in bed

He's so happy to finally have someone to share his life with, even if it's nothing official. He might not say it because words are hard, but he'll always show it in every way that he can 💚

If you look closely at the replica he made of his childhood home, you'll notice two figures in the kitchen who just so happen to look like you and him

Proud believer of König being just a guy! A guy with hobbies! A guy with a calm domestic life! Just because he's a private military contractor doesn't mean he's a constantly violent dude or a guy who lacks an immense amount of respect for boundaries. Sure, he gets really into his job when he does it, but that's his realm! That's his zone. That's why he's confident and having fun, he knows he's good

Outside of work, he's just a guy with a troubled childhood making the best of life and trying to find his own sense of belonging, happiness, and peace

Justice for König, he's not an insane perv or some freakytron or some stalker :(

[gatorbites-imagines]

In that case… Could I please request Killer Croc/Waylon Jones with a supringly really attractive boyfriend (like a male version Jessica Rabbit level hot, like it dosen’t even make sense for someone to be that hot) who no one understand how Waylon pulled. Waylon’s boyfriend is very sultry and alluring.

And Waylon roughly breeds his boyfriend doggy style 😇.

Thank u :)

Waylon Jones x Male reader

Headcanons

Guten Abend squad, how is everyone doing? Classes are still running at a max level, and I’m starting to think this is just how it goes. So, time to chillax with some Waylon.

Not as smutty as I would have wanted, but this honestly just built a life of its own and started running.

We see in the comics, or at least in one run, that Waylon does have game and knows how to pull somebody very attractive, so its not too surprising so could pull you. That’s what you think at least, since he’s a great guy, to you.

I imagine you two met after he left the circus, maybe you guys even left together. With Waylon being the circus’s “freakshow” and you only being there as eye candy to sell tickets. With you both being reduced to nothing but your looks, you two find solidarity with each other, and fall in love.

No one ever really took your love seriously back then, just thinking you were using Waylon for protection, since someone as pretty as you couldn’t be safe anywhere.

Insert the “seriously, what do you see in that guy?” “he makes me laugh” scene.

If we go with the verse where Waylon was in Halys circus, then the only ones that seemed to have some version of acceptance of your love was the Grayson’s. it was one of the reasons you two left the circus, having a strong feeling of what had truly happened to them and who caused it.

After leaving the circus, you couldn’t live in the sewers like Waylon. This meant you got an apartment, in the beginning in crime alley since it was cheapest.

You may have been so beautiful it would drive people mad, but you also had a head on your shoulders. So, in the end you set up a legitimate business, maybe you even become something akin to a designer. Mainly because your lover is so big, there’s no other way to get him clothes.

And maybe during your time in crime alley, you stumble upon a scrawny kid who, though he may act tough, still has a light in him. And maybe that kid ends up being batman’s second robin, who remembers how kind you were to him and everyone around you, so he doesn’t go as hard against Waylon.

The past you have with the Grayson’s also means that Dick takes it easier on Waylon, and they even settle down and talk at times. You’ll regularly find the two former robins hanging around your art studio, even years later when they aren’t robin anymore.

Your lover goes to Arkham, a lot. But you never hate him or even argue with him. You’ll just pull up to Arkham in your most beautiful outfit during visitors’ hours and hold Waylon’s hand as you two act like a new married couple, even if it’s been twenty at this point.

And it may have been twenty years, but you just seem to have become more handsome with age, aging like fine expensive wine. You don’t become shrewd or corrupted by the world around you, instead you stay kind and patient. You’re still in Gotham though, so you’ll turn violent if you have too.

No one really believes that Waylon purrs, until you show up and he becomes as meek as a kitten, ready to roll in your manicured hand.

Its no secret that you, one of the most famous designers around, and Killer Croc, are together. But its just such a normal part of everyday life now, that no one really questions it. your works never been dirty, you help those around you, and lift up poor and struggling artists whenever you can. So, what if your husband is tearing up the road trying to bite Batman to bits.

Theres a viral video in Gotham of you stepping out during one of Waylon’s rampages, and just scolding him, wagging a finger in his face and still looking so unbelievably gorgeous as you do so.

And yes, of course your design trademark is crocodile scales, or anything along those lines. You’ll never use real crocodile skin, but you do use the print or shape.

After all this time, people don’t fear Waylon as much as they probably should, all thanks to you. Its kinda hard to fear a guy when you know his boyfriend is unofficially titled the most beautiful man in Gotham, who’s also as giving and kind as the Waynes, whilst being more involved in the nitty gritty, since you still live in Crime Alley.

Someone has threatened Waylon with telling on him to you at least once too, which doesn’t stop him, but it does cause him to freeze and get an “oh shit” expression, long enough for people to run to safety.

Being one of the most skilled fashionistas around also means you have met the Waynes on multiple occasions.

The shared past with Dick and the circus, and Jason, though you don’t remember him as vividly, means you get called on more than most.

As you measure them out and start making designs, conversations flow, and Damian most likely ends up bluntly just asking you why in the world you decided to pair up with Killer Croc of all people.

You correct him in your answer, referring to your husband as Waylon, and then you just start waxing the poetics. Of your shared past, of the deep unshakable love you both share, and how under all his struggles, Waylon truly is an amazing man.

You’ve never confirmed that Dick was Robin, even though it was very obvious. Its not your place to judge how he, or his family, deal with their trauma or whatever they have going on. Your lover swims through the sewers, you can’t really say anything.

A few passing comments are made though, obviously. You tell the Waynes to “take it easy next time they see Waylon, wont you?” with one of your heart shaking winks before you saunter out, ready to start putting together your latest design.

Its kind of an accepted, not really a secret, secret. Its never put into words, and they know that you know, and you know that they know you know. Nothing ends up happening with it though, outside of you making some jokes and judging their hero outfits.

With age you’ve become less sultry and alluring, at least in the way the public can point out as obviously as before. You have simply mastered your field, and know just how to play people around you if you need too.

Though, you didn’t really learn to master it for the public. It’s mainly just for Waylon, so you like to see how his nostrils flare, and when he starts chuffing in the back of his throat when you saunter around in nothing but a silk robe.

The bats know that the first place Waylon goes when he gets out of Arkham is to you. But…they also all know to wait at least a day or two before they come for him. To allow you to spend some time together, but also because most of them have caught of glimpse of you… reunions…

Bruce wont admit it, but he’s at least impressed with you being able to take two of them at the same time, even after all these years. He might note down your many skills somewhere… just in case.

Reunions with Waylon are typically a hot and steamy affair. Or well, as hot and steamy as a guy whose as cold as a reptile can get. There are days where either of you may not be up for it, and then its just cuddles and having some nice domestic time together before he’s taken back to Arkham again.

But when it does get hot, then you are very happy you own the entire building. Waylon can get quite loud, but never as loud as he still makes you even after all these years.

Sure, you’ve learned to handle it more after all this time, but it still makes you squeal when Waylon fits both his shafts inside you at the same time, lifting and moving you around like a doll.

Where Waylon may be rough and violent in every other part of his life, Waylon is slower and much more careful in the bedroom. He doesn’t want to lose his senses and hurt you on accident. You have some very faded bite and claw scars on your body, back from when you first got together, and Waylon likes to remind himself of that.

Sometimes you do want him to be rougher about it, so you pull all the skills you’ve gained over the years. And Waylon is but a man, even with the scales and all, so he can’t resist you for very long. It always ends up with you writhing, face in the pillow that’s stained with your tears and drool or pleasure, as Waylon growls and snarls behind you, his big, clawed hands moving you back and forth with ease.

He always feels a bit guilty about it afterwards, especially seeing how much you leak all over the sheets. Expect to find yourself being pampered and loved on for the next couple of days. Even the bats seem to leave you to it, most likely having heard your cries. You get a feeling the people in the next building heard them too. But you honestly don’t care anymore.

You may have Waylon, and many others, wrapped around your finger, but so does Waylon with you. And neither of you really seem to mind anymore.

[queenoftheimps]

Artistic Expression as a Form of Love: aka Some Meta About Interview with the Vampire

hey guess who spent all of today putting off a really boring work task

So I'm just suddenly just having a lot of feelings about how love is tied to creation in Interview with the Vampire.

Specifically, each character's artistic impulses and what they say about their relationships, and how they use their creative output as a sort of love language.

From the very first episode, we see hints of this. Miss Lilly asks about Lestat's music box, which plays a song he wrote for Nicholas once upon a time, evidence of his love for someone who's been dead for over a century.

He later writes his own song for Louis, 'Come to Me', and Claudia makes the connection explicit while deliberately poking at him -- he wrote a song for each of his true loves, but does one signal love more strongly than the other?

She's being facetious to prod at him, but the show seems to genuinely make the point that we can track each characters' relationships through the art we see them create.

After all, we see it with Claudia herself later -- even before there's any discussion of becoming companions, we can feel Madeleine's compatibility with Claudia in the way she makes dresses for her.

Madeleine dresses Claudia as the grown woman she wants to be seen as, as she really is, even before she fully understands the circumstances of Claudia's age. It's telling that in Madeleine's dying vision, the one that convinces Louis of her love for Claudia, that Claudia is wearing a dress that Madeleine made for her.

By contrast, we see how Claudia is incompatible with the coven in the role that they have quite literally written for her. If Madeleine shows her love by treating Claudia as an adult, the coven shows their lack of caring by creating artwork where Claudia is forced into playing a part that diminishes her.

In turn, we can see Claudia's enthusiasm for the coven tied into her willingness to perform -- she starts off trying to smile her way through the situation, before quickly growing tired of the performance (and, relatedly, the coven itself).

But then again, how does the coven show its real loyalties? Well, with a painting.

We don't know who painted Lestat (Armand, possibly?), but having artwork of him in a place of prominence is pretty telling. But then again, the theater's creation is itself a reflection of art as a signifier of love & bonding -- Lestat suggests a theater to a lonely Armand as a way to regain a family/coven structure, after the last one fell apart.

Which makes particular sense for Armand, the character who most explicitly equates artistic expression with love and understanding. We see him underline it in his own telling of his backstory -- "No one has painted me in over 400 years." He associates painting with being seen and cared for by his maker --

-- and yet we, the audience, can plainly see what a warped, toxic relationship it was from the painting itself : a whitewashed version of Armand's face that doesn't truly look like him.

Hell, we even see Armand's betrayal of Louis in the form of creative expression -- to quote Daniel, "He directed the play!"

His treason isn't just that he sold Louis & Claudia out, it's that he participated in a creation that would condemn them. Artistic expression shows us love and loyalty in this world, yes, but it can also be used as a tool of abuse or betrayal.

Which brings us to Louis, he who has the eye for art but maybe not the skill for it, who never said 'I love you' to Lestat and wouldn't call Armand his companion, who ultimately gives up on creation in favor of becoming a collector.

It's especially interesting that his abandonment of photography is also explicitly tied to the end of his visions of Dreamstat. Even the one photo he takes that garners praise is one he tries taking of Armand & Dreamstat at the same time -- as if the closest he can get to expressing love through creation is something that blurs the lines between both men he has complicated feelings for. (Note that the scene where he develops the photo is directly after the "Show me the only way you know how to love" sequence of Louis bashing some guy's head into a wall.)

Hell, if we want to take it even further, we can even see some of this pretense in the inclusion of the Fred Stein photos (assuming Armand actually did sneak them in). On one level, we can see it as Armand trying to build up Louis' happiness, but on the other, it's him trying to build up the image of their romance.

After all, if artistic creation is a sign of love -- especially to Armand! -- what does it mean if Louis is openly disparaging his own abilities to make anything at all?

Taking it further, what does it say that he and Armand have a collection of photos of various boys over the years and expensive artwork hanging on every wall, but Louis doesn't seem to have taken any pictures of Armand in almost eighty years?

And hey, speaking of fascinating boys: what does it mean when Louis hasn't made anything creative of Armand since the 1940s, but he has no problem writing a book for ten hours with some guy he picked up at the bar?

Hell, writing a book where Louis spends ten hours talking about his life and hasn't even gotten up to the part with Armand yet? The supposed love of his life doesn't even garner a mention, to the point where Daniel didn't even know he existed when he arrives fifty years later.

And what does it mean when that book you never wrote is a giant hanging thread in your life, enough to create a connection strong enough that you remember that guy fifty years later and go back to that writing it? Even over the objections of the love of your life?

Especially when find out that Daniel's entire writing career is sparked in part by inspirational words given to him by Louis -- a sign of their bond withstanding the test of time, enough to make them friends after a fifty year absence.

That said, if we're working with the idea of artistic expression as proof of connection -- especially when it comes to Armand -- then it also makes perfect sense why Armand would insert himself into the interview once he's been revealed.

Then it's no longer about Louis & Daniel, or Louis & Lestat, it's about Louis & Armand and artistic proof of their connection! They're both now creating a story, a book that will include their entire romance! It's the first time that Armand has had the possibility of being an artistic subject in decades, so no wonder he's quick to latch onto it.

Even then, though: I think it's interesting that when Armand is talking to Daniel alone, the first story he thinks to tell him about is his relationship with Lestat. Make of that what you will.

(Also, I've said this before, but I am very curious what Armand's feelings towards Daniel will be after having an entire book written in which he plays a starring role.)

I think that this is all very rich with subtext and possible further progression, especially since we are about to enter a season where a new book is being written by Daniel and there's going to be an entire tour's worth of music being performed, all of it ripe with potential for further relationship nuance.

And while I don't want to wander too far into book spoiler territory, I think this might even neatly factor into a potential Season 4 -- especially since book fans will know that a specific musical performance is the catalyst for a lot of what happens in The Queen of the Damned.

[rabioa]

First Cut

Alastor x Nurse!Reader - Fluff - Gender Neutral

Alastor has never cared much for the residents of the hotel, but with you, he couldn't help but grow curious. You were so attentive to everyone's health so would you care about him as much? He knows you're scared of him just like everyone else, but maybe your generosity outweighs your logic? Oh, that would be so delightful. You had a bleeding heart so aren't you a helpful little doll! You ought to be rewarded for your boldness, truly

TW: Alastor gets a cut on purpose for your attention, any Hazbin Hotel warnings

My first short fanfic about Alastor!! I love him so much omg :3 i intend to make a part 2 where Alastor returns the favor. I hope you enjoy this and as always, any feedback would be super appreciated!!! Remember to hydrate and remember that you are loved!!!! <333

Imagine you were a nurse while you were alive, and for whatever reason you ended up in Hell. Despite your sins, you still wanted to help others. It's that desire to heal others that led you to the Hazbin Hotel. You had been staying there for a few weeks now, getting used to the new dynamics of everything.

Alastor definitely took notice of you; you weren't quite an employee, yet you somehow became the resident nurse. You fretted over everyone: constantly providing hangover cures for Husk, painkillers for Angel Dust after a filming session, band aids for Niffty, and other medical attention as needed for everyone.

Although you were initially shy around Lucifer, you eventually got comfortable enough to take care of him too. You ensured he got food in his system and some fresh air, even after he locked himself in his room all day.

Much to Alastor's amusement, you wormed yourself into everybody's heart besides his. He noticed how formal and stiff you were around him, growing meek in his presence. You were intimidated by him. It didn't stop you from being polite and sweet though, you just tried your best to slip out of the room whenever he appeared. He was trouble, and you knew that.

Imagine one day though, you're both in the kitchen. He was cooking something for the hotel, a luxury he blessed the hotel with often. You were restocking some ice packs (because a certain spider demon wouldn't return them to their place after each use!). You kept your distance, quiet as a mouse as you placed the melted packs into the freezer. 

Alastor observed you, the way you nervously worked. Your hands would fumble in their rush to be done. He had to give you credit though, you looked composed compared to most other demons.

He continued to chop some vegetables. He was skilled with a knife, moving with lethal efficiency. It was something you noted with apprehension. Still, you focused on your task, not wanting to interact with the terrifying Radio Demon.

Unfortunately for you, he found you amusing. You were bold enough to demand the king of Hell himself eat three square meals a day, yet you were a shivering mouse under his gaze. He briefly wondered though, despite your fear, does your kindness extend to him? 

He decided on an experiment. He was no coward to pain; he had been cut by a blade many times in his life. To become both a skilled chef and killer took trial and error with knives. That was why when he sliced his hand, he didn't even flinch. It was a meager gash on the back of his hand. He let the knife clatter against the counter loud enough to draw your attention. 

“Hmmm,” he let out a disapproving hum at the injury, not so subtly forcing you to see his wound. A performance of sorts. 

“You're injured!” you noted with surprise. Your first reflex was to step closer to him, the ice packs now forgotten. Then you looked at his face staring intently at yours. Oh, this was Alastor. Did you really want to risk angering him by fretting over him? But then again, he was hurt, and you were never one to turn a blind eye to someone in pain. 

Alastor's grin widened when he watched your eyes bouncing back and forth between his hand and his face. He could almost hear the gears in your head turning, trying to figure out if your fear would overcome your morals. He knew human nature well; you might put on a brave front, but just like all the others, you're a meek little ant in the face of his power. 

“It appears so, dear. Would you care to do something about it?” He prompted you, glee in his voice. 

The joy in his voice was undoubtedly a red flag in your book, but you gave in. You let out a huff, a sound you often made when dealing with troublesome patients, before finding the kitchen medical kit. You moved with familiarity, placing the kit on the counter and gently guiding his hand towards you.

Although he expected the kit, he didn't expect you to gently grab his hand and bring it towards you. On instinct, his hand twitched closed around yours for a moment, his claws warning you of how easily he could tear you apart. Your breath had hitched, but your plan remained.

“We need to disinfect the wound first. That knife could've been contaminated,” you muttered. It was mainly to fill up the silence lingering in the air like an insistent plague. His hand relaxed, appeased by your explanation. 

You grabbed an alcoholic wipe and carefully cleaned the wound, the wipe turning red. Your face was still, focused. 

Alastor watched in small surprise, not expecting you to be so attentive towards him. He was so used to other demons being too scared to think straight, yet here you were, touching him so casually. Your touch didn't even feel too incredibly invasive. Instead, it felt professional, but not cold.

You were glad the sting didn't make him react too much, disinfecting the wound going well. You then pulled out a strip of bandage. “The cut isn't too big, so it just needs to be covered as it heals, but I know you wear gloves, so it needs to be extra secured so the glove doesn't mess with it,” you explained. You carefully wrapped it up, and finally finished with your work. You looked up at him, gauging his reaction. 

He tested the treatment, clenching his hand a few times. That seemed to satisfy him. He looked at you and you couldn't help but fidget, averting your eyes. He was still unnerving as fuck, but at least he didn't try to eat you alive?

You began to put your supplies away, but his voice demanded your attention once more. You shifted your gaze over to him when he began to speak.

“Well, aren't you a helpful little doll! You ought to be rewarded for your boldness, truly,” he mused. He picked up the knife with his good hand. You stumbled back a little, bumping into the counter. He twirled the knife as you watched with wide eyes, oh God, maybe he was going to kill you now? Or torture you? You really were bold, oh God. 

He twirled the knife in his hands, the metal glinting menacingly at you. Then he angled it away from the both of you as if holding up a finger. “I'll make you some Gumbo!” He grinned merrily at you. Your paled expression during his teasing had him absolutely delighted. He couldn't help but poke some fun at you, scaring you to your wit's end. 

“O-Oh, thank you… sir,” you let out the breath you were holding, relief flooding your system. 

“Now why don't you go rest up and I'll call you when supper is ready?” He ordered you, waving you off with his bandaged hand.

“Ah, sure, after I finish my-” you trailed off as you looked towards the freezer. Black inky tentacles glowing green were doing your job, placing the ice packs in neatly. “Thank you,” you muttered in surprise. That was one job finished.

“You are quite the diligent little mouse! You should take a break and take care of yourself,” he hummed, leaning against the counter as he watched you. 

Shivers went up your spine, the hairs on your neck prickling. You sighed, forcing the tension in your body to disperse. “Thanks. I suppose I do need to take a break,” you agreed. You didn't have the best sleep schedule, and you could go for a nap after staying up a bit late tending to Husk and then getting the scare of your death. You shuffled out of the kitchen.

Now that Alastor was alone, he began to reflect. You weren't boring, that was for sure. He would definitely have to tease you more. You looked so adorable when focused, why he could just eat you up! He looked back down at his hand, looking at the carefully bound bandages. You remembered he wore gloves. You even took it into consideration. How awfully kind of you. Well, he took it upon himself to reward your kindness with relentless teasing from him.

After all, you were like a shiny new toy for him to bat around. He would see how long it would take to get you around his finger. He clenched his fist, ignoring the pain erupting from the cut. He readied his knife and grabbed his half-cut vegetable to continue his work.

He was getting ahead of himself, getting so excited over his future plans. First, he needed to make some Gumbo.

[lady-phasma]

Armand N$FW Alphabet

I’m trying not to make these what I want to do to/with him but they are headcanon. Note: I headcanon him as omnisexual so the below works with all genders.

Warnings: I don't really think I need to put this given the title but MDNI. Mentions of sex, implied trauma, just graphic in general.

A = Aftercare (what they're like after sex)

Armand is kind and soft afterward. No matter the scenario he will check on his partner’s emotional state and offer them comfort if needed. As for himself, he won’t ask for it but sometimes he needs it (especially after anything D/s related). Although he’s usually pretty chill and relaxed afterward, at times he can be energetic and chatty. The more intense, the more chill he will be.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner's)

This is heartbreaking, but I don’t think Armand would have a favorite of his own. He’s not vain in that way and is really insecure. He does like to show off his tiddies though. As for his partner: eyes. I think he would be enamored with the eyes of all his partners.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

A lot. I’ll throw in some weird TVC headcanon I’ve had for over 20 years: vampire cum is pale pink. It’s a blood thing, like their tears. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this stuff. Armand cums a lot. I mean a lot. (More detail under S below.) He’s indifferent to it with his partners as long as they climax, he doesn’t have a cum kink but it’s turned off by it either.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

All of them! But seriously, maybe that he enjoys being a switch. I think Armand is much more Dominant with women, but not always. He’s very into whatever his partner is into and adjusts easily. It’s a secret because he wants to be whatever his partner needs, but he also truly enjoys the fluidity and flexibility of being a switch within the context of D/s.

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

Very experienced and very talented. No matter what parts his partner is rocking Armand has experience. He’s very open-minded about sex and, although maybe not particularly laid back, he has learned a lot in his time. He doesn’t like everything, but he has probably done it at least once.

F = Favorite position

As with most things, this will depend on Armand’s partner. However, he really enjoys being on the bottom and watching his partner if at all possible. Even when he feels Dominant with his partner he enjoys being underneath them. I don’t know that he has an absolute favorite, but he wants to be able to see his partner.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Armand is very serious most of the time, but not uptight during sexy times. Silly things happen during sex and he’s probably experienced it all anyway. There’s no point in making his partner nervous or embarrassed. He’s not going to be giggling during the act, but he will certainly laugh when appropriate.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

He is so well groomed! Series canon shows us that he cares about his appearance. He is nothing if not fastidious. His pubic hair would never be neglected and it definitely matches the drapes and his glorious chest hair.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment?)

Armand enjoys intimacy to a degree and depending on the circumstances. He needs it more than most. It doesn’t have to be deep, but it has to be present. He is highly attuned to his partner’s emotions at any given moment so he requires that connection. Unfortunately, he doesn’t require the same attention in return. He is deeply invested in his partners and their mental/emotional state during sex.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

This act is all about efficiency and need for Armand. It’s not a self-love situation. It’s also not perfunctory exactly. He enjoys it and needs to do it. But he doesn’t light candles or watch porn. If he feels the need it’s possibly because his partner isn’t available or in the mood. It’s not a harsh affair, but it’s not going to take very long. I want to watch this so badly!

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

I’m going to skip the general D/s stuff because I have a couple posts about his D/s interests here and here. He’s definitely into degradation for himself (but would find it difficult to do to a partner) and he’s very into praise (for both himself and his partners). Probably his biggest kink is hands, touching and being touched (see W for more info about this). Vampires have naturally perfect manicures so their hands are generally pretty sexy, but the act of touching communicates a lot for Armand. Suck on his fingers, scratch your nails down his back, let him reciprocate, or just a soft graze of the back of your fingers against his cheek, hands might be his biggest turn on.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

In his own home or domicile, for sure. He needs to feel safe to let his guard down completely. He doesn’t care where, but he will be most present and relaxed in his own space (or that of his partners). He does enjoy a little public action and isn’t above public displays of affection. However, he can be himself most comfortably in a safe, familiar place.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

I interpreted this two ways: Armand gets excited by seeing his partner get excited and that he gets turned on by words as much as physical touch. Praise him, tell him how beautiful he is, how much you want to do to him and what (or what you want him to do to you), tell him how much you truly desire him and he’s ready to go. But watching his partner react to his words/touch makes him horny in a different way entirely. He can’t get enough of watching their eyelids flutter or them bite their lower lips involuntarily.

N = No (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

Hard limits would be “dirty,” human bodily functions. He’s too old, too fastidious, too him to be into any of that. He doesn’t enjoy being restrained or tied up. If his partner holds him down a safe word can trigger immediate release, but the time to untie knots, etc would take too long and he’d have to use his strength to break them. That doesn’t interest him. Pin him down because he lets you overpower him? That’s sexier anyway.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Armand loves giving oral! He is enthusiastic and talented. Not only does he get completely engrossed in the act, he likes to use it to overstim his partners if they really enjoy oral. He likes receiving as well, but is usually less focused on his on enjoyment than that of his partner. In light of that, if his partner is submissive or just enjoys giving, he will happily receive.

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Like most things, this depends on the mood/vibe of the situation, but Armand is typically slow and sensual if he’s in charge. However, slow and sensual doesn’t exclude rough this alphabet is from a template so I wanted to point that out. Whether he’s in charge or not, fast and hard can be a lot of fun for him, but maybe likes that best when he’s submissive.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

Armand loves spontaneity in his sex life. Anywhere, anytime. But if the quickie turns into something more, that’s fine by him. He likes to flirt and imply, goading his partner into initiating the quickie even if he won’t initiate himself. He especially enjoys quickies as a surprise. He doesn’t mind if it’s in public or private, quickies are fun and add interest to his sex life.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

So many. He likes trying new things with people. He enjoys pushing his boundaries and helping others push theirs (with consent). If he doesn’t enjoy it he won’t do it again. He definitely enjoys acts that are taboo or unconventional because he’s beyond such human notions at this point. Excitement is difficult to experience after 500 years. He’s not a thrill-seeker in general, but he does like novel and experimental sexual exploits.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Forever. I headcanon vampires as having a short refractory period and Armand is no exception. If he is turned on by his partner he is turned on and insatiable. He’s rarely pushy (though he can seem needy), but he will always be ready when they are. He is motivated by his partner’s pleasure so if he finishes first he will bound back quickly to satisfy them. It’s not a stretch to imagine him going all night with very little downtime if he paces himself. Can his partner handle it though?

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Armand doesn’t own that many, but he enjoys using them when his partner does. He would happily use them on his partners if they wished, delighting in pleasing them. There is a shyness about him that might make him reluctant to have toys used on himself by a partner since that requires an amount of attention that can make him uncomfortable. He quickly relaxes and gets past this with the right partner/circumstance and can enjoy the occasional toy.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

He isn’t a fan of physical teasing (like edging), but loves to flirt. Drawing out the pleasure for his partner or himself is fun for him, but rarely to the point of it being uncomfortable. All of his flirting is used to heighten what will happen later on, so teasing once that has begun doesn’t serve him. He wants his partner to feel good.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Armand is very quiet. Sighs, moans, small groans are his love language. Whispering a command/consent or encouragement or his partner’s name in his silky voice is enough for him. He doesn’t need to be loud or overly vocal to let his partner know how he feels, but he can’t help but moan and praise. He’s not going to scream your name, but he will let you know when you’re being good for him or taking him so well.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He is obsessed with touch/physical affection as validation. He needs to be perceived as desirable and having his partners touch him in any affectionate way is crucial to him. (Even if that affection comes from D/s or CNC.) He needs affirmation that he's beautiful and wanted.

X = X-ray (let's see what's going on under those clothes)

See gif above. Also, he’s uncircumcised. He has a very proper and polite cock.* It’s as beautiful as he is. It’s not terribly long (maybe 6-6.5 inches/15-16.5 cm) but has a nice girth. Did I mention it’s beautiful? Fairly even in tone with a head the color of his fingertips. Let’s not neglect his balls, though. They are small-ish and tight, accentuating his overall length. Very prim and polite as well.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

This completely depends on his partner and their moods. He can be insatiable to the point of neediness if he’s enamored with his partner. If they aren’t upset with him, his libido is genuine and turned up to 11. If they show the slightest bit of disapproval he has a tendency to use sex to manipulate them and gain their approval/affection.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

As I mentioned in A, he will be energetic after if it was a fun, quick, light-hearted event. But if it was an intense scene or emotionally heavy, Armand will be drowsy and relaxed after providing/receiving the appropriate aftercare. Unless it was very close to dawn he probably wouldn’t get incredibly sleepy, but he would definitely be chill and calm after.

Note: yes, some of these headcanons/traits are a result of his trauma, if you feel compelled to point that out, go for it, but please don’t assume I wasn’t aware of which are poor coping mechanisms and maladaptive as I wrote them. I didn’t invent him, I’m just obsessed.

*Thank you Stephen King for that term. Polite, college boy cock is one of my favorite descriptions.

This is the alphabet template I used.

[stagkingswife]

This may sound a bit silly, and I apologize if you've gotten this kind of ask before (please feel free to tell me to look for it or link posts if you want; no need for any answer even, there's no pressure), but I think unrecorded deities have been reaching out to me. I'm a bit nervous to reach back because I'm not sure how to verify who they are effectively. I also typically ask the deities I worship for protection, but I feel like that wouldn't be very respectful if the unrecorded deities truly are reaching out, you know? I want to be considerate of the fact that they, themselves, are also deities. Do you have any advice on what I can do to verify them? Do you know of ways to protect myself that wouldn't be seen as disrespectful? If you're unsure, it's totally ok. I appreciate any and all advice you may have, as I've never really encountered this before.

Regardless if you choose to answer, thank you for being here! I love your blog, and whenever I see your posts on my dash, it brings me a smile. Thank you, and take care! c:

Vetting unrecorded entities is very different from vetting recorded ones in my experience, but you can still do it! I've found it to be a much slower, longer process, that you really have to be patient and dedicated for. It's much more about getting to know the entity for who they are as an individual than it is about checking them against known facts. So be prepared to be in for the long haul!

I've written about my methods of vetting entities, both unrecorded and recorded in a couple of places. I have sort of an intro to my process of vetting an unrecorded entity here, it lays out the idea of checking the entity against themselves and looking for internal consistency. I combine this method of getting to know you questions with my note taking methods: Part 1 and Part 2 respectively. By having good notes I can establish that consistency and look for contradictions. Does the entity say something in one visit, and then contradict it the next time I encounter them? To me that's not a reason to cut off contact, but it is something to ask them about. Maybe it's a complicated thing for that entity, maybe there's a story, maybe they're reveling truths bit by bit as they come to trust me. There's a chance they may have lied to me, and I can ask them why. I'm very willing to hear explanations when I'm getting to know a new spirit, and for things to change as I get to know them. Sometimes they are remembering things about themselves as they are telling it to me. This doesn't apply to an unrecorded entity who is a regular spirit who has just never been written down, like a local nature spirit, or an individual one of the Fair Folk, but I've found that working with the really truly ancient spirits that maybe haven't interacted with a human in very long time can be a bit like talking to someone with dementia. I was started working on returning the Forgotten Ones in the same year that I lost my Pop-Pop to Parkinsons, and communicating to them in the begin was a lot like talking to him at the end. They knew who they were, loosely, but the details were foggy and vague, and would sometimes change a bit from visit to visit, like my Pop-Pop remembering my Nona was the most beautiful girl in the world, but not what her name was.

As for asking for protection I'm going to ask you this. Do you think it's disrespectful to ask the recorded entities and deities that you have relationships with for protection? If asking for blessings and protection is part of your normal way of interacting with a recorded deity I think it would be more disrespectful to an unrecorded one if you treated them differently. I don't really have too much to do with recorded deities anymore, but when I did I always made a point to treat them and the Forgotten Ones the same. It was important to me to show both the Forgotten Ones and the recorded deities that they were equal to me, and that the Forgotten Ones weren't different, lesser, or other in any way because of their unrecorded-ness. They were all just spirits in silly hats.

Personally, to be perfectly frank, I don't like relying on outside forces for protection. I've never been one to ask a deity or spirit for protection, it's too reliant on the benevolence of an external being, which could be revoked if a relationship ever soured. So while I think you could ask an unrecorded deity for it, I wouldn't personally recommend it. I would instead recommend coming up with a self reliant method of protection. I prefer wards on my living space and personal shields built into enchanted jewelry for when I leave my warded space, but there are other methods of protection spells out there. You could probably tweak my "Retreat Into Your Shell" Spell to be more general protection, it's sort of geared at emotional protection as designed, if you wanted to! Would just need to swap the herbs and then design your sigil/symbol for what you want.

[mayapapaya33]

I'm rewatching Exu: Calamity and I think they made a mistake with the name. The real title should be Exu: Actually, Vasselheim has good reasons for how it operates, even if they're dicks about it sometimes. Maybe it was too long, so they went with the snappier CALAMITY! Instead lol.

The end of the Calamity was only 840 something years ago. With Elves and dragons running around, some of them are definitely old enough where, if they didn't live during the Age of Arcanum themselves, their parents or grandparents would have and they would have been told a thousand stories of the fuck heads in flying cities who destroyed the world and were super annoying and dangerous long before they did that. Many more would be born during the latter part of the Calamity or raised by people who survived the Calamity who passes on those stories. Depending on the race we are talking anywhere from direct witnesses (Like the Bright Queen and Ludinus) to like 2-5 generations removed. Even humans with our short lifespans, it's really not THAT long, especially if you've got a bunch of old ass elves around teaching history class from a first person pov for like 500 years lol.

Intellectually people know that Critical Role, the world of Exandria is a post apocalypse story. Exandria is a scarred landscape that is just beginning to bounce back from the brink. But because it is recovering, it's easy to forget sometimes that it IS POST APOCALYPTIC. So people looking at Vasselheim in the modern day are like, 'bro, you really need to chill, everything's fine.' And Vasselheim is like... 'Chill? I do not understand the meaning of this word. And everything is fine... for now. We will be a bastion of civilization when the end times come once more. Fare thee well traveler.'

Then everyone rolls their eyes and moves on with their day. But if you really think about Vasselheim's isolationism and strength and distain for arcane magic in historical context, you can't really blame them. Are they over the top about their dislike of arcane magic? Sure. Is it quite possibly the most understandable over reaction in the history of over reactions? Also yes! They haven't made it illegal, they are just going to keep an eye on you, so you don't pull a Vespin Chloras and doom the planet to another few centuries of choked skies and sundered landscapes, that's all. Vespin was IN Vasselheim! Of COURSE they have strong feelings about it. The (Almost) End of the World began in Vasselheim due to arcane magic. If they had been stricter, maybe it wouldn't have happened at all!

And it really does paint their actions in Campaign 1 in a different light as well. Their isolationism can come across as shortsighted and selfish, until you view it from their point of view. Which is that they are constantly under threat, they know for a fact that Asmodeus wants their city destroyed, they are a bastion for the Prime Deities in a world filled with many heathens (lol that's where the dickishness comes in) and the Betrayer Gods would take any sign of weakness in their defenses and attack with glee. Hearing it in C1 it sounds like an excuse not to help against the Chroma Conclave, but it is literally just the truth from what I can tell. In BOTH Calamity and Downfall they have mentioned destroying Vasselheim being on the Betrayer God's to do list lol. If I was on a Betrayer God's to do list specifically, by name, I too would be somewhat paranoid and would not really want to disarm any portion of the city to go do something else. No matter how important the something else might be.

Vasselheim was basically like; Look, I'm very sorry to hear about your Dragon problem, that sucks, truly, but if we go out all willy nilly and leave this city undefended, it'll be fucked when we get back. When you have a real plan, come back and get us and we'll join you for the big fight. Until then, it's up to you, here you can have Kima as well, she's been desperate to get out of here anyway, and here's some supplies. We have larger concerns than one continent being attacked by four ancient Dragons. We are the seed bank for civilization for when shit inevitably hits the fan. We are the doomsday bunker for the Apocalypse, four Ancient Dragons are terrible, but they are not the Apocalypse. And they are right. Looking at it all in context, The Chroma Conclave are small potatoes. Horrific, monstrous, life destroying, but compared to the threat Vasselheim is preparing for, nothing.

They are the doomsday preppers of Exandria, except the threat is real and they are only letting their collective trauma and ptsd inform their decisions a little bit. They are actually fairly rational all things considered. This city withstood the entire Calamity. The stewards of the city must feel an enormous weight and responsibility to keep it safe going into the future. Imagine the pressure. Are you going to be the one to fuck it all up, after thousands of years? Sounds like a nightmare to me. The level of devotion and conviction required to keep something like that going is incredible.

[mochinomnoms]

Hey Hi Hello

I'm not sure how the situation about mushroom picking looks in the other parts of the world, but in Poland it's a very popular activity for many many people. What I mean by that is that if it was raining, and it's spring or autumn - going for a walk to a forest with a reactive dog is nearly impossible, because the condensation of mushroom pickers is astonishing. (sometimes summer too, I know people who are going EVERY SINGLE DAY (my grandma) from April/May to November). By astonishing I mean every 3-4 meters is someone looking for shrooms. The roads leading through the woods are suddenly turning into a single lane because of the rows of cars standing on the sides of it. The culture around picking mushrooms is very strong in general - it reminds me of a sect somehow lol. Generally it's one huge gatekeeping when it comes to precise locations - especially with older people. Besides the fact that there are truly thousands active fb groups around picking mushrooms - almost every single one of them has one most important rule - sharing the precise location publicly is FORBIDDEN. If you do that then it's off with your head for you.

I remember going mushroom picking with my grandma when I was little and she would LOSE ME ON PURPOSE so that I wouldn't know where does she find the most 🤣. From what I've heard from friends , it's not that uncommon apparently.

It's a sport truly, people are not going for a nice walk here, it's a competition, it's a ride or die - if you don't bring back home at least 2-3 kg of shrooms then were you TRULY mushroom picking ??? (It's a hyperbole, however seeing people coming out of the forest with literal buckets full of shrooms is not an unusual sight lol).

Living in Poland equals living with mushrooms - after some time you develop like a sixth sense of what shroom is edible and which one is not (however it's important to check either way, also these fb groups are super nice for that, these people are always ready to help you out to identify the shroom). The knowledge about shrooms is on a high level - there's a big chance that if you would come up to a random person and show them a picture they would be able to identify the shroom almost instantly.

If you're going for a normal walk and see a shroom? YOU MUST PICK IT, IT'S A TREASURE. Then you send a picture of it to a family group chat and everyone is proud (and a little bit jelly but shh). At this point I (and many people I know lol) carry a special material bag in my pouch I use for walks with my dogs - in case I come across a shroom I'm ready, and I don't have to deal with the guilt of leaving one behind because I'm physically incapable of taking any more with me haha.

Truly a mushroom kingdom.

In conclusion - imagine Jades reaction to that information 🤣

Hope you're having a fungistic day 🍄

~ 🦭

That's super fascinating to me because I live in a desert, so mushroom picking isn't a thing out here as much as just hiking in the valley. Here, it's a thing in the summer for tourists to ignore the caution signs and heat advisory and die on the desert trails. Most of the time they vastly underestimate how intense the trails are along with the 110+ degree weather and don't bring enough water.

I think Jade would like our trails out here, though, a different kind of challenge compared to the ones he's become familiar with on Sage Island. I do wonder the type of biome the island takes place on, I'm assuming the island and environment in gen is western euro inspired. Plus, foraging in the desert is a whole different type of deal!

For your mushroom picking though, I think Jade would really love it, not only is the (presumably) plentiful mushrooms a dream, but being surrounded by other people that also are as enthusiastic to go mushroom picking is phenomenal! A new vacation spot for him, for sure.

[accirax]

Danganronpa: Despair Time Chapter 2 Episode 15 Dissection

FINALLY, I have a Friday night with few enough plans that I can watch and give my initial thoughts on the episode on the day that it aired >:D

... why am I celebrating being all alone on a Friday night? (/j)

Dissection time! This will be a Part 1 because I finally actually ran out of images. Please check the reblogs to see my further thoughts on the episode!

SPOILERS for Danganronpa: Despair Time Chapter 2 Episode 14. Brief mentions of eating disorders and suicide.

Of course, it's also the first week where I probably won't have as much to say, not because there isn't stuff to comment on about the episode, but because the main thing that ate up my time/word count was assessing all of the evidence to talk about who the killer might be. Now that the killer has seemingly been revealed, there isn't really any "Chapter 2 murder" left to theorize about... that's insane.

Starting the episode off with Teruko saying that accusing Ace was her "judgment" was wild. She made it very clear that it wasn't just that she was humoring Eden or haphazardly starting with Ace first, but that she thought it over and decided that Ace was the more-likely-to-be-guilty party because of seeing Eden break down like that. She paid attention to Eden's emotions and let Eden into her heart! That's awesome!!!

(Not to say that you couldn't pay attention to Eden's emotions and still think that she was the culprit-- I'd be a pretty big hypocrite if I tried to argue that. And I just don't think that it's true.)

This is a really random point to bring up, but I remember from drawing my J-to-Xander secret santa exchange that one of J's main complaints about Xander was also that he was loud. I guess J just really hates loud people.

... David, put down the megaphone--

Now this surprised me. It really made sense to me that Arturo would be the one stalking Eden, given that we first heard about the stalking on the day that Arturo and Eden had their chat!

Although, it also makes sense that it wasn't, given that the Arturo/Eden conversation probably happened after the event where J pulled Teruko into that closet (just based on Arturo's vibes). That event was the last thing that Teruko did before the nighttime announcement rang. Thus, Eden talking to Arturo probably happened pretty late in the afternoon, not giving Arturo much time to have been following Eden. To be fair, I deemed that it could still very well be Arturo anyways, because it's not like Eden said anything such as "you've been following me all day" that truly indicated a time period. But it does make sense.

Seems like everyone who thought that the culprit could have been tailing Eden was correct! A round of applause for everyone who put those pieces together 👏 (/gen)

Now, this one, I don't believe I saw ANYONE speculate. Therefore, as an idea I'd never even heard tossed around, this really took me out. It makes sense, though: Eden is small and semi-canonically the weakest character in the killing game. Therefore, if you're looking for someone who you can near-guaranteed overpower, it makes sense if you were to target her.

On one hand, thinking down this line of logic makes me worried for Eden's survival prospects beyond Chapter 2. On the other, now that this has been directly addressed in canon, I find it less likely that someone will use that again down the line. The best place to do so would be at the next Class Trial, so that the logic can be "well, looks like someone tried to execute on Ace's original plan" when it's at its most relevant because Ace's crime would be at its most recent. However, I don't really think that Eden will be a victim at the next Class Trial, so I'm leaning towards saying that she wouldn't become a victim for that reason.

(It feels so unnatural to write out "Ace's crime" and be, like 95% certain that it's canon. This case is just one of the unsolved mysteries of history, the fuck??? (/j))

This was ALSO insane to me. I know that thebadjoe cited Ace claiming to have been in the Gym the day after he nearly died in there as a reason why Ace might have been lying about what day he overheard Arei and David on (the logic is probably somewhere in here), but I think I and many others just figured that he didn't want everyone to think he was a coward, or that his eating disorder would compel him to go back to the Gym anyways.

However, going back to the Gym to sus out how exactly Nico's contraption works makes perfect sense! J was right, if Ace was suffering through being killed when he awoke, he shouldn't have had the presence of mind to figure out the crime then and there. However, if he could combine the flashes he got of what happened while he was swinging from the fan, whatever he was able to make out when he ran out of the room to chase Nico, and being able to inspect the Gym after the fact, I think it's totally reasonable that he could have figured out what happened with enough clarity that he could replicate its essential elements elsewhere.

As it turns out, despite my crack at trying to figure out what happened, the Gym murder method wasn't actually all that complex.

Teruko: One. Given that you were stalking Eden before the Nico incident, you were already planning a murder beforehand. You entered the Gym with the pre-existing intent to take the tape for some different, unspecified murder plan, and changed your mind on the details later. Two. You were pretending to be unconscious for longer than we thought. And three. You took the tape for first aid.

Dammit, fellow "but it wouldn't have made sense for Ace to take the tape right after the attempt" truthers... I think she may have cooked us. (/j)

But hey, we love to see Teruko representing the "let me explain out various theoretical options by listing and discussing them numerically" crowd! It's always great to see yourself represented in media ;P Even if I never came up with any of these theoretical options.

My guess is probably that, of the options, the first is the most likely. I also think that Teruko probably agrees with that, given that it was what she went to first and it had the longest explanation. It's not really important, though, and I don't think there's any way to truly know, so I don't have much else to say about it.

Teruko noooooooooo :(

Whit FINALLY gets a new sprite and THIS is the expression and context?????? I love him.

Speaking of, I think that, thus far, the characters to have received new sprites in Chapter 2 Part 2 are Teruko, Ace, Arei, Hu, David, Veronika, Whit, and Nico? I'm not certain about whether Eden, Levi, or Rose had any, but I don't think they did. If true, I can't believe that Eden got through such a major role in the story without picking up any new sprites. It's probably because she already had a bunch to begin with, but, still.

Oh hey, he got one too. Protag/antag/support/chapter killer, boom.

Teruko: That's why Arei's wrists were bound-- because you didn't want her to wake up mid-murder to claw at her neck.

Definitely not what I was expecting from this piece of evidence, but I guess it tracks? My only question is why it would have been a problem if Arei had scratched at her neck. Like, it's not like both of them having neck scratches would have implicated Ace as the killer, right?

I guess maybe he was afraid that Arei would be able to escape his murder contraption much like he broke Nico's, even though the rope is probably much more sturdy than the wire. Or, maybe he was worried that it would work against the idea to stage it as a suicide? Either way, it's also convenient for just restraining Arei in general, so it's not like the evidence doesn't make any sense at all.

Nico, in audio: (Sorry.)

SO creative to contrast the voice lines and the spoken dialogue to really imply that Nico is saying it under their breath, or so quietly that nobody can hear.

However, let's not forget about the actual content of what Nico says whilst focusing on the cool media-specific presentation. Nico actually apologized to Ace after traumatizing him! Nico is very much characterized as a straight-shooter (or at least, when they're not trying to avoid conflict by saying whatever they think will help accomplish that), so I believe that when they said that they wouldn't say sorry to Ace because they didn't feel sorry for Ace, they meant it. However, that means that at some point between when Nico said that and now, something changed that made Nico feel genuine remorse towards Ace.

I think it's probably just seeing how much of an effect attempting to kill Ace truly had on his psyche and decisions. I don't know at what point Nico started fully believing that Ace was the one to kill Arei, but it's possible that it was around here. Obviously, at least at one point, Nico had no qualms with the idea of Ace dying, so it's not like seeing that their actions will actually manage to kill Ace would probably be that missing piece.

However, making Ace into a blackened is different than Ace just straight up dying as a victim, a difference which Ace acknowledges later in the episode. If Ace had died as the victim, Veronika wouldn't be toying around with him right now and making him humiliate himself. Nico might see that Ace is being bullied, and therefore, have more of a reason to feel sorry for him. Furthermore, Nico was forced to truly grapple with the reality of how hard it must be for the blackened to survive the Class Trial earlier in the chapter. Knowing now that they essentially passed the mantle on to Ace might make them feel bad.

Basically, I think that, for the first time, Nico might actually see a bit of themself in Ace, and that made it easier for Nico to sympathize with his plight.

Speaking of seeing yourself in Ace, Miss Near-Victim-to-Accused-of-Killing Pipeline...

KING

Okay, I do kinda take issue with this line of reasoning, not because Ace isn't strong-- or at least stronger than Eden-- because he absolutely is, but because Arei is also one of the nation's top performing athletes in her sport of choice? I mean, jockeying feels like more of a full-body sport than bowling, so it probably requires more strength training, but looping her in with Eden and Nico feels unfair. Justice for Arei... 's muscles. Anyways, carry on.

I THOUGHT SOMETHING LIKE THIS MIGHT BE POSSIBLE!!! I just never said it because, given that Arturo said that it seemed like there wasn't any other damage to the body, it didn't feel like it was supported by the facts. (Although, obviously, this Trial has proven that Arturo's autopsies are not infallible.)

I've researched before that punching someone in the jaw seems to be the most trustworthy way to knock someone out and have a low chance of killing them then and there. However, that would likely leave a bruise, so I didn't think it would happen. Strangling someone to the point of unconsciousness, however, is possible (it just might be harder/more likely to be lethal), so this totally makes sense!

Yup, unless Eden was trying to frame Ace by "framing" Nico, it really makes much more sense that Ace would have the incentive to copy Nico's crime down so closely.

I mean... this certainly makes it sound like Nico wouldn't attempt to be a blackened ever again...

It's always good to have a frame plan set for your frame plan. Nico wouldn't just do it without thinking about anyone else to blame, so you can't just blame Nico without establishing who Nico would have blamed!

Then again, this plan does require people to think that Nico didn't think about the rules enough to realize that they could easily rule out suicide as a bait. Then again x2, they already said that they didn't think too much about the reality of going to a Class Trial when they initially tried to kill Ace, so it's not so much of a reach as it would have been for other people.

I can't tell if this is somehow suspicious or just an indication that Eden is nice and thinks about others over herself. Ugh, now I have to decide whether I'm being suspicious of Eden as a mastermind candidate or not, and people are going to get mad at me for continuing to suspect her of foul play...! (/lh)

Shoutout to SomniaVA here for doing an excellent job of voicing Veronika. The line read on "too weak, too stupid, and too incompetent" especially was phenomenal. We stan Veronika in this household.

Man, I feel so bad for Ace in this part. Also shoutout to Seth Raffield for voicing Ace this entire time; if you ever read this, you 100% made Ace who he is and overall have some of my favorite voice acting in DRDT. Not being to hear any more voice lines from Ace will honestly be one of the parts of his upcoming death that'll make me the saddest. We haven't heard the very end of it yet, but thanks for all your hard work :)

(Dude I am NOT going to cry before the execution even happens--)

Charles, internally: (FUCK i made Whit sad BACKTRACK BACKTRACK BACKTRACK--)

I love them :,)

Levi: Charles is right. It really is no simple task to control a horse going over 40 miles per hour on a regular basis. It requires physical strength and endurance. Intense training 6 days a week is standard. And the physical tests that jockeys have to go through are grueling, to say the least.

How the fuck do you two know this

Charles: Not what it's called.

Thanks to Charles' comment, I was easily able to determine that this was a reference to the Dunning-Kruger Effect, which Wikipedia describes as "a cognitive bias in which people with limited competence in a particular domain overestimate their abilities." Or, in simpler terms, believing that something is easier than it is either because you don't know enough about the field to know about its intricacies, or because you don't know enough about being talented to realize that there's an entire world of skill above your personal ceiling (ouch).

Sorry if others already explained it or if people just knew this already, but I didn't, so I thought I'd share!

Also, Whit definitely has an interest in science/psychology or something. Or he just gets really, really bored.

Notably, we now know that this is something that DRDTdev will take into account when planning a murder going forward. Therefore, unless the culprit is one of our more athletic folks (of which there are a dwindling number-- mostly just Levi at this point), crimes in the future likely won't require any impressive feats of strength to accomplish. Much to think about.

See, the tragic thing here is that I don't actually think that Levi was trying to say anything ill of Ace by pointing out that he was the more likely of him and Eden to commit murder. After all, he doesn't give a damn about any of the murders he's committed. The worst Ace is probably getting is now being considered as a "bad person" on Levi's list (because "good people" don't kill people), but I don't think that this is the declaration of malice that Ace is taking it as.

Acevi doomed yaoi :,(

DRDTdev never fails to get silly with it and I appreciate that so much.

Just in case anyone is confused about what Teruko's talking about, I actually learned more about clothing starch since I started theorizing about the Chapter 2 murder case, because I worked at a dry cleaner for, like, a week. Suffice it to say, that now makes me an expert B) (/j)

Starch can be added to laundry when it's being washed to make it stiffer and less likely to wrinkle when it comes out to dry. It also makes them easier to iron, and easier to remove stains from. It's often used on dress clothes, just because those are the ones that people more often care about whether they're wrinkled or not. Seemingly, it can come in solid, pre-made liquid, or spray forms. All that is to say, this is absolutely something that could reasonably have been stored in the Dress-Up Room.

And this "evidence" was alluded to ahead of time-- not super far ahead of time, but when Teruko first touches the ball, she says something like, "is that starch?" I think DRDTdev probably included that line so that we wouldn't have to theorize about what could have possibly kept the ball together, but since apparently none of us theorizing last summer (or at least no one I remember talking to) dressed fancily enough to know what clothing starch was, it didn't help out much. As Arturo would say, "how disgusting." (/j)

... DAMMIT!!!

I thought about including the fitness band as a piece of evidence on my A Piece of Evidence That Lines Up With Them Only section, I really did. I just thought that including a minor detail from early in the Daily Life that would clearly only apply if the killer was Ace would be unfair territory, much like if I said, "well, we know that Eden is good at sneaking around because of how she snuck up on Teruko; that could be a killing blow so point to Eden." However, given that the killer is only Ace, it was totally within fair grounds for it to be used as the final piece. Mannnnnn :,(

Fun that he's literally riding a dark horse though. I know he was certainly a dark horse candidate for many of us.

Oh no. 30 images. I'll be back to finish my thoughts in a reblog either later tonight (in my timezone) or tomorrow. Hopefully later tonight. Until then!

[acourtofthought]

“And if the cost of it truly is you, then we’ll pay it together. As one soul in two bodies.”

A quote written by SJM regarding mates.

As long as Elain ignores Lucien, she is ignoring part of her soul.

That's not to say Elain and Lucien have to have a romantic relationship but the conviction that Elain ignoring Lucien means she has no interest in him is a pretty shallow way of thinking for a series created by an author who feels very strongly about mates. Elain is not ignoring Lucien because she doesn't like him, finds him unappealing, etc. Elain is ignoring Lucien because he now represents the fae soul within her. He is her equal, her match in every way. Again, that doesn't mean they have to be together but they are reflections of one another and in order to accept that she is well and truly fae, to let go of her humanity and to stop holding on so tightly to that which once made her human it means she has to open herself up to Lucien. Elain has "adjusted" to living in Velaris but her actions are still very much the actions of who she was in the human lands. Gardening, primness (as Nesta mentioned), her continued desire to wear gowns. But Lucien? He is her mirror and she's afraid to look because what she'll see when she does is very different from everything she was raised to be. It is easier to ignore than face the things that we're afraid of. She's not afraid of Lucien, she's afraid of herself. Could Elain get to know Lucien in her book then decide not to be with him? Sure! But in order for her to fall in love with Az, she would first need to discover who she is because she can't know what she wants until she knows who she is and she can only discover who that is by first opening herself up to Lucien (one soul - two bodies). I don't really see that happening within a book (and we know each spin-off is meant to feature a new pairing with a HEA at the end of each book). If Sarah wanted us to believe that Elucien was not going to be right for one another there was really no reason for them not to begin exploring their connection prior to an Elain book so that when Elain's book rolls around she'll be ready to reject their bond for the right reasons and instead focus on her real love interest. We don't need a POV for two characters who were never meant to work out just like we didn't really need a Mor and Az POV to see why they could never end up together. Instead, Sarah has spent books showing us that Elain has been afraid to confront that which is both symbolic and literal of the most fae thing about being turned fae. A mating bond taps into the most primal parts of the creatures they are. A mating bond forces you to look your mate in the eye and realize that you are forged from the same soul, that your strengths and weaknesses and everything in between are staring back at you as you stare into their eyes.

And usually, a FMC that starts her book afraid of something is usually the exact thing that she ends up embracing by the end.

[thats-rough-buddy04]

After almost five years I decided to rewatch Voltron.

1. Because it’s getting booted off of Netflix

2. I wanted to do more of critical analysis of it now that it’s been so long since I watched it . Does it hold up? Do I view the characters the same as I used to? Trying to separate that fanon from canon.

3.I also wanted to see how plausible was Klance and was I being delulu all those years ago? Like I know of the art done by story board artist and stuff but just by the show itself, do them being together romantically make sense?

This is my season 1 analysis because doing it by season makes the most sense.

So season 1 was still pretty solid. The pacing was very quick and it was hard to digest what was going on cause it just was rapid shot of information. I think the biggest offender of this was the first episode which just everything was moving so quick. I feel that could have been a longer episode and it would have helped the flow of the first season a lot. Like they are on Earth for like 15 mins, and within that 15 minutes we are introduced to most of the main cast, already introduced to the first piece of Voltron, then boom space. Bring back 24 episode seasons especially if most episodes are 20 mins.

The main cast quickly got over being in space and you know having to pilot a huge mech pretty quickly which like if that was me I would be freaking out for awhile. Like it was maybe a minute and then everything was chill. Again everything was just quick pacing wise.

I still really like the fight scenes both with the mech and on foot. The animation pops off and it’s a fun watch. The humor for the most part was fine, like I didn’t think it was outstanding but I’m also not in the target demographic anymore. Like the simple joke about the sounds of a blaster was funny and it made me laugh. But there is jokes where I’m just like oh….. but they quickly move on from it so it doesn’t bother me as much. For Lance being the supposed comedic character I thought Hunk was funnier because Lance is not funny he’s mean.

With that Lance is just plain mean to Keith, when Keith has done jack shit to him. Keith will only retaliate after Lance says something to him. There was about one time Keith started it but who can blame him when Lance is constantly being a bitch. Which meanness comes with insecurity and it’s obvious he struggles with insecurity even if they haven’t really touched on that yet. Lance also almost dies multiple times this season which i don’t have much to comment on just that he almost gets sucked out of an air lock and Keith has to save him.

The Main Cast:

Shiro: His character arc hasn’t happened yet but the crumbs have been laid. I like him alot. I think how quickly he becomes dedicated to Voltron is believable because of how much he suffered in the Galran prison. Like he doesn’t want what happened to him to happen to anyone else. He’s the most serious out of the bunch but it makes sense since he’s seen what the Galra can do.

Pidge: I don’t much to say about her. When I was I younger I didn’t have much to say about her and I don’t have much to say about her now. Doesn’t mean she’s bad, I don’t really have much a a connection with her. I do really like the story line about finding her family though and I’m excited to rewatch that payoff.

Hunk: Like with Pidge I didn’t have a feeling either way for Hunk when I was younger but where that differs is that I appreciate him alot more now. That mini arc he goes through where he discovers how bad the Galra truly are, was pretty good. Him being the most scared to take risks then being the one urging the rest of the team to save the planet was a change of character but the was obviously the point. Also his relationship with Shay is super cute.

Allura: I adore her. She is serious like Shiro but again she had her whole race wiped out by the Galra, she knows that what they are doing is important. Yeah so she is bit tough on the paladins but she does it with the hopes they’ll be ready to save the universe. She is just a girl and I love that for her. The scene where she has to let go of her father for the final time is really sad because she is not just losing her dad but what seems like the last remnants of her home planet. I also just love her design, the pink is such a pretty color and suits her so well.

Coran: He’s funny, he’s silly. Still adore him, nothing can change that.

Keith: I adore this man. But season one Keith really doesn’t have much going on. Like he’s reckless and stubborn but that’s kinda all we know about him. His name is Keith, he was living in a shack, he’s good a flying and fighting, and he has a close relationship with Shiro but even that is shown for like a second in the first episode. I do know their dynamic is explored more later or which I hope so it’s been so long I don’t remember. I remember him being the more mean one but he’s not, he’s a guy and I love him for that. I also remember him being the super serious one but in reality he’s silly and goofy when he wants to be. He only gets serious when it’s mission time as he should be. I am excited to watch his full character arc but I can’t remember my opinions on it but I remember other people not liking it, so hopefully I do.

Lance: Lance is one of my most favorite characters ever. There comes a time in every man’s life where they must critique the things they love and now it’s mine. There isn’t much going on with him. He is there to be the funny guy which doesn’t work cause I don’t find him very funny. When his thing is to be funny it comes off as being mean makes it very hard to like him. I grimaced a couple times for what came out of that man’s mouth. I know he has a character arc but omg it’s so hard to like him at all season 1 for a character that’s supposed to be likable. That doesn’t mean there wasn’t moments where I saw the man I used to know but season 1 Lance very unbearable for the most part. I think I gasped audibly when he was like I miss Varadero Beach, cause I didn’t remember if the show itself said he was Cuba, I just assumed it was someone who worked on the show did. So I was like oh I’m dumb, it’s literally in the show.

Klance: For two characters that don’t have much going on this season, their dynamic is so odd. Like half their screen time is bickering, that Lance starts. They’re not rivals because Keith doesn’t view Lance as a rival, so it’s one sided rivalry. Then you think oh they just hate each other, but again Keith doesn’t hate Lance, it’s just Lance being a hater. But with that I can still see why people started to ship them. There were moments I was like wait…like when Lance asks Keith to save him after he gets chained to a tree. Keith response is a bit flirty to me and I was oh..wow. I see why people shipped them but I don’t see how they were thought as endgame, from just watching season 1.

I’m looking forward to season 2 but nervous for the rest of the series because I know the farther you get into the show the worst it gets. I don’t want to watch s7 and s8, there is no need to relive that. We will see when I get there though.

Also the fact it’s getting taken off Netflix is crazy. Like where is it going? Like I know it’s because of the contract with Netflix but I also theorize it might have something to do with the life action. If anyone wants to know where to watch after it does I can link it, cause trust I wanted to make sure I had a way to watch before it was gone for good.

[morphean42]

Rewatching Falsettos, as one does, and I noticed in Four Jews Marvin and Jason have Shepards staffs, while Whizzer and Mendel have straight sticks.

Marvin is trying to keep his Tight Knit Family together, he’s attempting to “shepard” them according to his will. He most certainly views himself as the leader of the TKF, though the religious part is questionable. His stick is a Shepards Crook, large enough to fit around the neck of a sheep and move them where he thinks they should go. Interestingly, Moses is depicted as having a Shepards Staff often, so this may connect to Marvin’s sort of “I’m the leader” mentality as well. However, when we see the Red Sea split in the song, Mendel is the one in the front. This could sort of show how Marvin views Mendel (Moses receives the Ten Commandments in the Torah) as the person to look to for guidance through life— he is his psychiatrist after all— but still desires the control the role of Moses would give him.

Jason, having the same type of staff, reflects how similar they are. We see throughout the show Jason’s fears of becoming his dad, as he already shares so many similarities with him. He has the potential to turn into Marvin, to try and control those around him as if they were sheep, but he is still young. His staff is smaller— he can’t fully force anyone around yet. One might say his stick is what’s called a Leg Cleek, intended on hooking only the back legs of sheep. Jason doesn’t have the ability to steer, but he can still grab onto those around him. Often, Moses is depicted as having the same sort of curved staff, and something interesting to me is this connection between Jason and Moses. Moses, according to the Torah, dies within sight of the promised land— Jason also seems to have everything he could want within his grasp (a father who loves him, a family that doesn’t fight so much anymore, Whizzer back in his life) before losing it with the death of Whizzer Brown.

Whizzer and Mendel don’t have these curved staffs, instead having simple walking sticks. This shows how they are sort of outsiders in the show— Marvin and Jason are father and son, while Whizzer and Mendel are the additions, the “step-fathers” one might say. They don’t fit quite into the group, but the sticks are still important.

In the Torah, after a plague, Moses’s brother Aaron has a rod that sprouts ripe almonds to prove the tribe of Levi’s right to priesthood. Obviously the story is a little more complicated than that, and while I can’t claim his rod was specifically not a Shepards Staff but rather a straight one, most art depicts it without a curve. Whizzer and Mendel represent this sort of ‘miracle’ almost, they save Marvin and Trina respectively. They both allow their lovers to be happy, the opportunity to be themselves outside of the marriage that was ruining them.

Ironically, almonds can represent faithfulness. Marvin was not faithful to his wife, obviously, but in a way through Whizzer became faithful to himself. He leaves Trina to be who he truly is— a gay man. Whizzer and Mendel baring this type of stick proves how they bring a faith into the lives of these two broken people, restoring their happiness.

So anyway, Four Jews in a Room Bitching is a dope ass song and even the fucking sticks mean something in Falsettos— I’m going insane.

I apologise if I’ve completely misrepresented the religious stuff, I wasn’t really raised with religion at all and am just now starting to connect with it.

[bubbipond]

To date, my favorite 4 Minute replay we see is Korn's at the end. I think his 4 minutes was the best because it doesn't focus on one major event. He doesn't focus on saving Kla's brother, being better to Great, or turning away from his family and the business. He in retrospect chooses them all in his 4 minutes. Going back to that moment with Kla would rewrite everything because he and Tonkla would be in totally different situations. Maybe he would not go so far into his father's business, maybe he would have the ability to not hold slight hostility towards Great, maybe he could live normally and without massive guilt. He went far back enough to a place where they were all ignorant to what would eventually be a massive blow to their respective lives. 4 Minutes at its core is about choices and how they affect us. The choices we make are markers in our lives that can shift our perceptions and personalities. These are choices we have to live with, regret, overthink, and move on from. The question is, can the couples?

The show answered that too. Great and Tyme were good people who learned to be apathetic to the world and others. But they never truly made choices that they couldn't eventually live with. Korn and Tonkla were doomed from the beginning of their awkwardly balanced relationship. They were the only two main characters that could not live with their choices. Tonkla would never truly be happy even if Korn finally came out and declared him his boyfriend because he already lost the one most important thing to him. Korn didn't even like his job, was constantly exhausted, and bitter about choices that were made for him. If he truly loved Kla, his way of showing it was terrible, and watching his rewrite of their time together made it more heartbreaking. Which was why it was so easy for Kla to find someone else to alter that dynamic. The love and affection he received from Korn felt wrong in comparison to what he was to Korn, a sugar baby. Asking for raw sex is something you (typically) do with someone you trust and are faithful to. But Korn couldn't give him that because he was not faithful and they'd never truly be together in this life.

The Korn we see in the present does not realize just how much of a bad guy he is. He's stepped too far into his father's world and can't get out. From the jump, he liked the power imbalance but when Kla finally broke it, their worlds unraveled. Great was eventually willing to give up the comfort of the money and life he lived with. While Korn was never going to and when he finally realized that his place with his father really was nothing, it was too late to turn around. It was too late to say I am going to be a better person. Both he and Kla were cursed with the oldest sibling trope, the kids who have to fall into a specific role whether they like it or not. The biggest tragedy in my opinion isn't that they died, it's that 4 minutes Korn sees. The person he and Tonkla could have been if he had made a different choice. It's the realization a part of him really did love Tonkla but he was never strong enough to choose him and that played a part in their demise.

[danthropologie]

I was also someone who never experienced a Daniel win or podium in real time. And that truly hurts more than anything I can express 😭

It also hurts me to know I’ll be losing people in this fandom, but I understand if it’s too painful to stay. I want you to know how much I’ve valued your blog over the last year and how much I loved reading your posts. Your constant positivity and hope was on par with Daniel’s smile for me at times

Sending you all the love 💖

don't eulogize me, i'm not dead yet!!! no but seriously this is very sweet :(((((

the win/podium thing really does suck so fucking hard for so many of us tho. i remember being on tumblr in an adjacent fandom when monza happened and how much fucking joy was on my dash that day. it was genuinely infectious even tho i barely had a clue what was going on. so for years now, i've hoped and wished and dreamed that i'd be able to experience that for myself one day that i DO care and i DO know what's going on.

and honestly i think the most devastating part of all is that it's not for lack of skill? i truly with all my heart believe if you put him in that fucking car tomorrow he'd be right back up there next to max. it's literally just down to shitty ass circumstance ONCE AGAIN biting him (and therefore us) in the ass 😔

[unsurebazookacore]

Can i just say theres just something so genuinely beautiful and relatable about Will and the show helping Noah realize his sexual identity and coming to terms with being gay? Like as someone who essentially grew up alongside the show, i think its less the characters and more the effect they have on you that just makes them inherently relatable, you know? Like not all of us are up and coming journalists, single moms and police chiefs, best friends with our teachers, part of a dnd club, on the basketball team etc, and I highly doubt any of us are fighting off supernatural creatures controlled by a burned blond man (if you are call me up i want in), but there's almost like a companionship between the viewer and the show where the characters are so fleshed out and well-developed they feel like real people entirely separate from you, yet at the same time every single one of them has a mirror reflecting parts of yourself back onto you. I know personality-wise Will and I have absolutely nothing in common, we're nearly polar opposites, but theres a reason I cried so hard my eyes burned and my chest hurt during his monologue, because being in the closet to everyone you know and love is hard. For Mike, feeling unwanted and unimportant is something a lot of people can relate to, and its hard. Even for characters like Barb, Bob and Alexei, all supposedly secondary characters, theres still something that's fundamentally human about them, something that makes us develop such a strong attachment to their characters despite them only existing for a couple episodes. Like theres something about the show that makes people find themselves inside the screen, whether its something they knew or something they're discovering for the first time. And I think Shawn Levy put it best: "that may be one of the most beautiful outcome of 'Stranger Things' that I've ever heard"