#anyway. thinking of it this way makes it make a lot more sense to me why loop can't get magicked back to their old timeline

[froggiewrites]

give me any more crumbs of vampire law and I'll start a revolution in your name. and if you do something for vampire sanji.......... then I'll just have to give you my first newborn

Anon, this request has been turning over in my head since you sent it. The reason it took me so long is genuinely because I got so excited I had too many ideas! There's so many different ways someone can react to undeath, and all of them are so fun to explore. I hope you enjoy this, I had an absolute blast writing it.

A Human's Touch

Pairing: Vampire!Sanji x Hunter!Reader

NSFW

Summary: You've never hesitated in your path before, but your latest quarry attracts you far more than you want to admit. Warnings: AFAB!Reader (gender neutral pronouns used), Mild Angst, Blood Drinking, Biting, Oral (Reader Receiving), Vaginal Sex Word Count: 4.8k

Your quarry tonight appears to be in his early twenties. He’s handsome. Most of them are, really, but there’s something different about him. He’s not just attractive in the way most monsters are, in that dangerous and sharp way that pulls you in. When he smiles, eyes crinkling at the edges, he’s almost…cute. Approachable.

It almost makes him look alive.

You clench your teeth, reminding yourself again and again that he isn’t human. It’s the ones that can pass as normal that are the most dangerous. The ones you feel sorry for, the ones some naive part of you wants to save. There is no saving these monsters. What you do is the closest thing they’ll get to absolution, to peace. It’s not natural for the dead to walk among the living.

You make your way to the bar next to him, flagging down the bartender. You know very well how to play the part of an easy victim: the vacant eyes, the wide smile. This time you act as if you’re already a few drinks in, having taken a quick swig of whiskey from your flask in the parking lot to ensure you smell right. Vampires have an excellent sense of it, you’ve learned, and you don’t want to risk tipping him off.

You feel a tap on your shoulder, and you know you’ve got him.

His smile is like the sun. “I’ve never seen you around here before, angel. What’s your name?”

You open your mouth to tell him the one that matches the fake ID you just flashed at the bartender, the one your car is registered to, the one you’ve been living under recently, but instead you make possibly the biggest misstep you’ve ever made on a hunt. You tell him your real name.

His eyes soften a bit at the sound of your voice, something in them growing fond. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think the creature fell in love with you at first sight. How sad that would be. “It’s a beautiful name. It fits you.” You’ve heard that same empty compliment a thousand times from things like him, wearing the faces of beautiful men and women who thought they could reel you in. It shouldn’t move you. But your heart, the wretched traitor, it skips a beat anyway. It believes he means it.

“Thank you,” you murmur, cheeks warming despite yourself. “Do I get to know yours?”

“Sanji. It’s a pleasure.” He reaches for your hand, bringing your fingers to his lips. The brush of them against your skin is so gentle you can almost forget the sharp canines behind them. “Do you have company tonight?”

You lean forward a little, purposefully flashing a bit of skin to draw his eyes to your neck and chest. It works flawlessly. “I don’t know, Sanji. Do I?”

He grins. “You can have anything you want from me, sweetheart.”

He’s going to regret that.

It’s a quick ride back to his place. You generally prefer not to follow vampires back to their lairs (it’s bad for one’s health, generally, to fight a monster on their own turf), but the carpet in your motel room is white, and you don’t want to have to spend hours scrubbing your own blood out of it. You’re hoping that he’ll feel more comfortable in his own home, relaxed enough to make mistakes, to underestimate you as they usually do. You rely on it. Even the strongest human is nothing compared to the weakest monster.

“Make yourself at home,” he offers, after holding the door open for you. A small measure of politeness you aren’t used to. Usually they don’t show that kind of grace to their prey.

“Thank you.” You give him what you’re sure is a heart-stopping smile, one that’s well practiced. He reacts accordingly, smiling back widely, a bit of red coming to his cheeks. You stop short for a moment, entranced by the sight. You didn’t know they could blush. You don’t know a lot about them other than how to kill them. Before you know it, you’re leaning forward slightly, hand reaching for his cheek, desperate to know if they’ll be warm beneath your fingertips. You come to your senses about halfway, hand hanging limply in the air as you both stare at it. It’s your turn to blush as you wretch it back to you. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s alright.” This smile is gentler, kinder. “I’m not one to deny the warm touch of another, or the connection it brings. You don’t have to hold back with me, dear.” You don’t miss the depth of sadness in his eyes, the longing. He wants what he can’t have, what his kind can never provide him. There’s no such connection amongst the dead, amongst predators like them. They aren’t family, aren’t friends. They can’t even really be allies. They’re competition. The most a vampire can be to another is an intrusion on the other’s hunting grounds.

For some reason, you take his hand in yours, leading him back with you. His eyelashes flutter for a moment when you make contact, as though he’s savoring the feeling. His hands are ice, but instead of the normal revulsion the feeling brings you, you feel sorry for him. How awful it must be, cursed to an eternity without the warmth you once took for granted. A foolish thought, but you’re having many of those tonight. The greatest mercy you can give him doesn’t require the pity that’s clouding your mind, or the warmth that spreads in your belly at the sight of him unbuttoning his shirt.

He’s sculpted perfectly, of course. As if you needed another reason to be distracted. You take a deep breath, focusing as best you can. You slide the stake out of your boot (thank god he didn’t ask you to take them off earlier) and pounce as quickly as you can, praying your aim is true. Before you feel the wood plunging into his chest, you feel a hand on your wrist, grip firm but not bruising. Your back is against the bed, your stake is somewhere out of your reach, and there is a vampire on top of you, tying your hands to the headboard with his tie.

When he looks down at you, he has the gall to look genuinely hurt. “I was hoping you would give up on that.”

You can’t help but laugh in his face. “What? You expected me to let you go around preying on the innocent because…why exactly? Because you’re handsome and kind of sad? That’s par for the course, Sanji.” You ignore the fact that you’re still calling him his name now that you’ve dropped your innocent act, that you’re still acknowledging him as a man instead of a monster. It’s better for your pride not to think too much about that.

“Because there’s a connection here, but I guess I should have known you wouldn’t admit it. Prideful things, hunters. Some of you are worse than things like me.” He finishes his knot, taking a moment to admire his handiwork, before he looks down at you. His eyes linger on your neck for just a moment, and you know he’s thinking of how you’ll taste, of the feeling of the life draining out of you. For some reason, he pulls away, standing up and brushing himself off. He picks up your stake with two fingers, holding it away from him and looking at it with a crinkled nose (which is adorable, though you’d die before admitting it). “Did you carve this yourself? It’s nice craftsmanship, though it’s sad to think of such beautiful hands doing such rough work.”

“Worse than thinking about them being used to kill?”

He hums. “No, I guess not.” He drops your stake into the trashcan near the door. You hear the quiet thunk of it hitting the bottom, and you know there’s no way in hell you’re ever getting that back. A bummer. You’d spent weeks carving that. “It’s still a shame, though.”

“What, that I wasn’t an easy kill?” You tilt your head to the side, exposing more of your neck, taunting him. He doesn’t fall for the bait, instead turning away from you with a sigh.

“That the world’s made you into a killer.” He walks toward the window for a moment, closing his eyes to bask in the moonlight. “It shouldn’t be your job to keep monsters in check.”

You tell yourself this is a ploy, that he’s just saying what you want to hear, but something about him seems so horribly genuine. He sounds truly disappointed with the world for taking away your freedom, for placing this burden on you. No one’s ever empathized with your plight like this before. “Well, a lot of things that shouldn’t be are. The world’s not a great place. Someone has to try to make it better.”

His lips quirk up into a soft smile at that. “It’s admirable that you want to do that. You remind me of someone.” For a moment he’s lost in a memory, one that might be centuries old. To the man he used to be, to the people who used to love him. Then it’s gone, grief weighing down his shoulders once again. “But I still think the world is worse off when good people sacrifice themselves and their happiness to try to offset the evils they fight.”

“Well, I won’t have to sacrifice my happiness forever. Maybe I’ll retire.” It’s a lie, of course. The only retirement you’ll get is a set of fangs to the throat, a quick end to the misery.

He chuckles. “You’re a bad liar, too. You really are like him.” He shakes his head, dismissing the nostalgia, instead focusing on the task at hand. “How can I convince you to let me live?”

You purse your lips. “You aren’t living. That’s a large part of the problem.”

He sighs. “How can I convince you to let me keep existing?”

None of them have ever asked you before. “If I say no, will you kill me?”

He looks horrified at the thought. “What? No!”

You blink. “What?”

“Why would I kill you?”

“You’re a vampire, and I’m trying to slay you. This always ends with one of us dead. What, are you new to this?”

“No, I–God. If I can’t convince you to let me go, I’ll just…leave. Go somewhere you can’t find me. And then call someone to come and let you out in a few hours.”

“Call who?”

“I don’t know, the cops?”

“And they find me with several fake IDs and a shotgun in the back of my car? I’ll get arrested.”

He closes his eyes in thought. “Do you have any friends?”

No, but he doesn’t need to know that. “I’m not giving a vampire my friends’ numbers.”

“Do you have your phone on you?” He slides a hand into your pocket, pulling out your phone as you weakly try to wiggle away. He turns it toward you as you try to look away. You aren’t fast enough, and you can hear the telltale sound of it unlocking. Fuck.

He goes through it for a moment, a frown settling on his handsome face. “You…don’t have any contacts?”

“That’s not true!”

“I don’t know who Guns (Legal) and Guns (Less Legal) are, but I imagine they’re not exactly close friends. You really have given up your life for this, haven’t you?” The look in his eyes isn’t pity. It’s far worse. It’s mourning, plain and simple. Grieving the life you could have lived, and the fact that you’ve chosen not to live it of your own free will.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say weakly. “I chose this.”

“I know.”

You maintain eye contact a moment before he looks away, standing and walking away from you. “I could untie you now.”

“I’d kill you.” You don’t know if that’s true anymore.

“Maybe I’d let you.” He places your phone on the dresser before opening the bathroom to look for something. You can see shards of glass on the floor, hear the crunch of them beneath his dress shoes. “But maybe you won’t. Maybe we can just have a conversation, two people who know things no one should have to.”

You bite your tongue at his referral to himself as a person. He’s far more human than any other vampire you’ve met. Maybe even more than some of the humans, if you’re being honest. You’re not particularly prone to honesty these days. “A conversation, huh?”

“Just a peaceful little talk.” He looms over you, reaching towards your wrists. You can see what he grabbed in the bathroom: a bottle of lotion, just in case you had chafed your wrists struggling against the restraint. A small, thoughtful thing. You think he must have been kind in life. “I’ll answer any question you have, and hopefully you’ll be open to answering some of mine.”

You could use this as a way to get information, but you don’t want him to think you’re going to turn it against him. You should, but something in you stops you from leaping off the bed and rushing for your weapon, instead allowing him to gently apply the lotion to your skin. You give him a wry grin. “Alright then. How do you style your hair so perfectly if you can’t see yourself in the mirror?”

He sighs humorlessly, eyes focused on his task. "That's a myth, my dear. As many things people like you think you know are."

"If it's a myth, why do you try to avoid them so badly?" You look pointedly to the mirror above the dresser he's covered with a blanket, not to mention the broken shards that remain of the ones in the bathroom. He looks you in the eye now, and your breath is taken away by a self loathing deeper and more violent than any hate you've ever known. For a moment, the gentle and mild mannered man is gone, replaced with something far closer to the tortured soul you’ve come to expect on your hunts.

"When I was alive, I hated monsters. I was made by one, and I was convinced I would become one someday." He laughs, a soft, empty sound. "I made a friend promise me...promise me if he ever saw me start to walk that path, he'd kill me."

He stands up, beginning to pace in a path he has clearly worn into the carpet beneath his feet. "When I woke up after the change, I knew right away what I was. What I could do. Who I could hurt. And do you want to know what I did?" He stops in front of you, eyes wide and frantic. "I ran. I ran as far as my feet could take me, then a little further than that. All of my talk, my spirit, everything I promised...it was all nothing. Empty words. Because in the end, I was just too scared to die."

You pity him. God, you’re weak. None of your quarries have ever broken down by this, admitted to fear. You thought they were incapable of that sort of animal weakness. Your voice is soft when you speak next, gentle. “It’s only natural to be afraid. It’s only–” You cut yourself off, voice catching.

“Only human?” He finishes for you, his words dripping with bitterness. “I tried telling myself that, but I think I can finally be honest. I’m just a coward.”

“I don’t think a coward would untie one of the only people in the world that could kill him, Sanji. I don’t think a coward would spare me when killing me would be so much easier.”

He cringes. “I don’t–Killing people isn’t easy. And it shouldn’t be.”

You pause. “You–you don’t kill people?” A vampire pacifist. Now you’ve really seen everything.

“I don’t murder. I’ve defended myself, sure, but I try not to hurt anyone.” He shifts uncomfortably. “Maybe it’s just something else I’m scared of.”

“I don’t think that’s it. I think a lot more things like you kill out of fear than spare people for it. Maybe you’re just…a good guy.” An insane thing to say, and an even more insane thing to believe. But you do, really. When you look into his eyes they aren’t the empty black pits you’ve seen in so many other bloodsuckers. When you look into his eyes, you truly think you see his soul. You have no idea how he kept it after the horrible, gruesome fate he’s been forced into, but it’s there. You half expect there to be a beating heart beneath his chest.

He looks up at you, shock evident. “Do you really mean that?”

“Somehow, yes.” You shift forward a bit, leaning toward him, taking the sight of him in. The shining blue eyes, his blond hair reflecting the moonlight from the window and the shitty too-bright fluorescents of his apartment, the pallor of his skin. He almost looks like an angel, cast out from heaven. Forced to wade among the muck and grime of humanity, a world he was never meant for.

“I want to be,” he mutters.

“Good?”

“A guy. Human. Not...” He can’t even bring himself to say it, gritting his teeth when he tries to force out the word before giving up. “You know.”

You can feel your eyes soften as you look at him. “I really wish I could help you with that.” And you mean it, really. You wish you could save him.

“Maybe you could.”

“Hm?” Your eyes flick up, and you see something shining in his eyes that you don’t quite recognize.

“You could help me feel alive again, even if only for a while.” He approaches you slowly, no threat in his stance. “Make me feel like my heart’s beating again.”

“And how would I do that, exactly?” This is the strangest way you’ve ever been hit on.

“Just…feel something. Touch me, please. Treat me like anything other than a monster.” He’s in front of you now, kneeling, his eyes pleading.

“What?”

“I’d prefer you love me, but I’ll take anything. Hate, fear, whatever you’ll offer. Please, I just need something.” He’s on his hands and knees in front of you, eyes wet and glossy. “I can’t be alone anymore. I can’t take this.”

There are tears streaking down his face. You've never seen a monster cry before. Something inside you, something soft and weak that you thought you had buried, whispers that you still haven't. That the thing on his knees in front of you, begging for you, is only a man, bearing his tender parts to you and begging for you to be gentle with them. You don’t know if you’re capable of being gentle anymore.

Your hands move on their own, resting on his cheeks, your thumbs brushing at the tear tracks making their way down his face. He sniffles quietly, as though he still needs to breathe. You almost laugh at the absurdity at it all. You’ve killed dozens of monsters, saw yourself as a hero, a defender of humanity, and all it took to take you down is one pathetic man on his knees. You won’t be angry with him later when his teeth brush your throat, when they tear through your skin and take everything you have. You’re letting it happen, here and now, and you can’t be angry with him for acting within his nature. “I…I can help you. Just for a little bit.”

He looks at you like you’re his salvation. “Thank you, angel. You have no idea what this means to something like me.”

“Someone,” you correct softly, instinctively. You can’t take the word back once you say it, not when you see the look on his face. His hand rises to cover yours, cradling you closer, savoring the feeling.

He inhales, taking in the scent of you, before diving in. His lips brush against yours, softer than they have any right to be. They’re a bit cold, as you’re sure all of him must be, but you can’t bring yourself to mind. He’s slow as he rises, overtaking you and pinning you down. Giving you ample opportunity to run, to come to your senses. You don’t.

The first thrust of his hips makes you gasp, which allows him to slide his tongue into your mouth. He savors the taste of you, exploring every inch as he ruts into you, the friction from the fabric between you making your movements sloppier as you get distracted. Your hands are everywhere: in his hair, running down his chest, grabbing at his ass. Every inch of him is perfect, almost frustratingly so. Some part of you is hoping to find some flaw, something to break the illusion that he’s just a lonely man, but you find nothing. Even the brush of his fangs against your lips doesn’t do anything to stop the lust clouding your mind. Instead of revulsion, the feeling of him nicking your bottom lip to suck on is disturbingly hot. You can’t even tell if you’re actually bleeding; even just the idea of him taking something from you, savoring you, makes you clench around nothing.

You grow so lightheaded your vision almost blacks out before he pulls back. “Sorry,” he pants. “Forgot you need air.”

That traitorous part of you thinks that would have been a nice way to go, all things considered. Your chest is rising and falling rapidly, and he’s not at all trying to hide how he stares at your tits under your shirt. “Is it a little hot in here?” You coyly reach your hands down to the hem of your shirt, lifting it slowly, watching his eyes follow your movements. You can see his pupils grow wider, his gaze grow hungrier, with every single inch.

He tries to speak, you think, but the only sound that leaves him is a ravenous growl. His hands reach for your waistband, removing your pants and underwear in a single smooth motion. You tense, preparing yourself for him to plunge in instantly, but instead you feel his nose brush against your skin, his beautiful clear eyes staring up at you in permission. You close yours, overwhelmed by it all. His teeth graze against your thigh. You can feel him smile when you make a small squeak of surprise, can feel his cold breath quicken. His voice is thick with excitement when he speaks. “Will you give in to me?”

You should say no. You should run from here as fast as your legs can carry you. But he looks so pathetic, so desperate, and really, he needs this, doesn’t he? Why shouldn’t you help him? “Yes,” you murmur, breathy and strained. “Yes, take me, Sanji.”

And so he does. You expect the bite first, but Sanji is determined to give you your pleasure before he takes his. His tongue is against you before you’re ready, and you can feel him shiver with excitement when your thighs close in surprise around his head. His nose brushes your clit, causing you to squeeze harder, and this time he openly moans against you. His tongue explores you eagerly, ceaselessly, and you can feel him respond to every little twitch and quiver you make. He listens for every little moan, every hitch of your breath, every single noise leading him closer to finding exactly how to make you climax. His fingers grab at your ass, pulling you closer, practically drowning himself in you.

As he continues, his fingers find your clit, working in tandem with his tongue to bring you over the edge. The pressure keeps building, every muscle in your body growing tense, your thighs threatening to crush his skull, before finally the dam bursts, and you let out a screaming moan that you’re sure the neighbors can hear. He works you through it, tongue continuing to lap greedily at you, savoring every taste. Only once your thighs have relaxed and your back has once again hit the bed does he pull away, gathering your remaining slick with his fingers and popping them into his mouth. His eyes practically roll into the back of his head as he deeply inhales, overwhelmed by the pure essence of you.

“Darling,” he whispers, voice thick with want, “You’re the most delicious meal I’ve ever had.” With that, his teeth plunge into your thigh, the act as gentle as such violence can be. You only feel the sting for a moment before you’re overtaken by a rush of euphoria. The post-orgasmic bliss is nothing compared to this. Every part of you relaxes, even parts you didn’t think could. It feels as though your muscles are unwinding themselves, as though the fibers that make you up are unraveling and falling to pieces in Sanji’s hands. Your body isn’t you anymore, but you can’t bring yourself to be upset over it. This is the kind of peace you’ve been searching for for years, the kind your purpose and drive never gave you. This is the kind of joy that makes you unafraid to die.

You whimper when his teeth leave you, your hands reaching for him, trying to pull him back to you. Surely he needs to drink a little more, even if just for a second. Just another moment of bliss is all you need.

He doesn’t follow your guidance, instead rising to kiss you softly. There’s less heat now, the flames having calmed to a gentle and loving warmth that envelops you from the inside out. “Thank you, angel,” he murmurs. “Let me give you your final reward.”

He nuzzles into your neck, his teeth not grazing you for even a moment. You don’t know when he shed his pants and shirt, but you come back to yourself for just long enough to admire his fully naked and vulnerable form as he’s lining himself up with your entrance. He’s beautiful, every inch of him, with a few inches in particular catching your current attention. You don’t even have time to imagine how lovely the stretch will feel before he slowly and carefully pushes forward, inserting just the tip before stopping.

You immediately whine, clawing at his shoulders, begging wordlessly for him to keep moving. He tuts softly, kissing your cheeks, and you realize you’ve been crying. “Patience, love.”

You have none, uttering a sound that’s close enough to a childish no! for him to get the message. He chuckles, clearly endeared by your vulnerable state, before slowly sliding the rest of the way in, inch by delicious inch. When he’s fully sheathed, he takes a shuddering breath, pressing himself deeper into your neck and taking a long inhale. His hands wander before settling against your back, pulling you toward him possessively. “This is what I need,” he whispers against your skin. “You. You make me feel alive. You make me feel human. You make me feel connected.”

He snaps his hips far faster than you were expecting, stealing your breath away. He quickly corrects himself, setting a slow and steady pace, but you’ve already seen how his self control is slipping.

“Need you,” he murmurs. “Not just now. Not just tonight. Please, stay. Please.”

You don’t know what to say, so instead of answering you simply pull him closer, moaning into his ear as he steadily brings you both to the edge. You lose yourself in the feeling, in him. The slapping of skin echoes through the room, along with his quiet grunts and your increasing cries. As the tension in your body grows almost unbearable, you can feel his hips starting to stutter, his pace starting to falter. With one final, beautiful push, you both come undone as he collapses on top of you, the feeling of you clenching around him proving to be too much. He pulls you impossibly closer, even though there’s no real distance to be crossed. Every bit of your skin is touching his, and you can feel his weight pressing you into the mattress. You aren’t going anywhere. You couldn’t, even if you wanted to.

“Please,” he quietly pleads again, voice breaking. “Please stay.”

“I will,” you whisper back. His arms tighten around you again, as if you’ll slip through his fingertips if he loses his grip for a moment. Maybe you will. Maybe you’ll grab your stake from his trash and drive off into the sunset, accepting your one and only failed mission, running back to the life that lets you run away. But maybe tonight you’ll stay in the first gentle embrace you’ve felt in years, lured in by the irrational feeling of safety it brings you. The gentle circles he rubs on your back and the feeling of his ear pressed against your chest, listening to your heart, almost make you feel alive.

Tag List: @pandora-writes-one-piece @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99 @tochillwithamockingjay

[threelittlerooks]

This kind of posts have been popping up to me a lot and like, I'd like to add, as your latina demisexual kinky auntie that spent too much time thinking about the Dellamortes:

Everytime someone makes Lucanis tall Spite loses his wings. DO YOU WANT A WINGLESS SPITE??? NO, SO STOP IT. Also, like, if this is your case, please think a little as to why you think men should be taller than women, maybe? "It's a personal preference!', IS IT THOUGH???

"He ain't gonna be your dom daddy mafia boss in bed, sorry." - In the beginning, I agree, but there's room to learn!! Add this to your fics, if you wish, Rook and him learning together what he likes and what he doesn't like. While I don't read Lucanis as this type (for me he's service top, and he would be the bestest of boys and just fold at the first praise, ANYWAY), it would be interesting to see this development and how it would mirror his personal development (like, getting control of his life and beginning to make his own choices and discovering what is him and what is his training/grandmother influence?).

I don't know if it's because I'm a latina (born and raised and living in a latin american country) but like, usually people think latinos are suave flirts just because we smile too much. I swear to God I have made gringos blush just by being my NORMAL self. So, maybe Lucanis is a suave flirt for Vints, I don't know, just because he's funny as fuck and this is read as flirting. He sure is attractive, this is stated in the game. Like. Play with this!! Play with the trope within world! People perceive him as something he's not just because of his culture. Maybe antivans have this fame because they're more open than other countries? I don't know. But there's a lot of room to have a lot of FUN with this. Desconstruct that trope!!!

And, like, please? Like, leave Illario alone? Please???? Whenever someone says LUCANIS IS NOT THE LATINO LOVER TROPE someone always pops up and says AND ILLARIO IS RIGHT THERE. Illario is NOT the Latino Lover trope too, he's a classic Telenovela Villain! He's Felix throwing his own baby niece in the trash so his mom won't prefer his sister to him in the succession, he's Nazaré pushing Cláudia down the stairs, he's Olavo saying "you're the dumbest bitch in this street because you're the only one that can't realize I love you". He's Paola Bracho, he's Soraya Montenegro. He's the Raquel to Lucanis' Ruth (but in this case, the one who is presumed dead and comes back is Ruth, not Raquel). He's charismatic, he's tragic, his actions are unexcusable, we understand why he did all he did and probably in his place, would've done worse. His ambition is his downfall. We all love to hate him, we all love him. He uses seduction as one of his weapons and a means to get what he wants, which is classic Telenovela Villain. You can ascribe the Latin Lover trope to him with the same caution you ascribe to Lucanis. Will Illario woo someone because he's a playboy? No, he'll woo them because he wants something out of it. It's a transaction. He can use the trope and expectations to his favour, and it can give really interesting nuance to this exploration!

None of these men are heterosexual. They can be with women, but they are still queer, don't forget this. it's not a switch, oops, now I'm gay! Now I'm heterosexual! Bi/Pan people are bi/pan despite their current relationships.

Anyway!! Just some additions and ideas to help fic writers!! And if you have a fic that is Lucanis learning what he likes (in all senses!!), sent it my way ASAP.

important things to remember about Lucanis

the man is a short king, between 5'5"-5'7"

He is panromantic demisexual. Which means when he feels sexual attraction, he probably panics and wonders if he's dying for a second. (that's a joke.)

He in a canonical virgin. He ain't gonna be your dom daddy mafia boss in bed, sorry. And it does make sense with the Crows and if you read the Wigmaker job. It's hinted at that it's mainly elven assassins who are trained in seduction, not human. (now, if you wanna write him as having experience, that's your welcomed interpretation. But he does mention Rook being his first and only relationship. You can take that how you will.)

He is not your latino lover trope. Just because he's brown, doesn't mean he's sexual promiscuous and a suave flirty dreamboat get that out of your head. He is a fucking nerd who likes to cook, knit, and is obsessed with wyverns. He's got too much anxiety and feelings of needing to be good enough to be suave before confirming a relationship. Not to mention the shit ton of stuff he's dealing with.

[ruffboijuliaburnsides]

who wants a bit more of false angel grian au? As always, thank you to @greenekangaroo for their fantastic worldbuilding that I am very much cribbing from.

-

It wasn't that there weren't strange happenings on the regular, on Hermitcraft. It was just that the strange happenings usually originated from the Hermits themselves, as they had a whitelist and a very strong (unnaturally strong, some might say) firewall. So the full-server shiver that went through every one of them as the firewall was breached, the green crack in the night sky and the shooting star that fell from it into the shopping district, that was something a bit beyond their usual shenanigans.

Bdubs, naturally, didn't notice, as he was sound asleep. A few of them woke briefly, but settled back down before they could notice anything was wrong.

Everyone else was messaging Xisuma, or Hypno, or Cub, trying to figure out what, precisely, had just happened, and if they should be worried about it.

Just stay where you are for now, we're looking into it, Xisuma said to everyone who messaged him.

We should grab Imp and Skizz, Cub messaged the admin group chat as they tried to organize any kind of response. They're good in a pinch and they're probably the most likely to know what our visitor is.

Get em, Hypno responded immediately. I'm too far out to be any good.

Me, Cub, Impulse, and Skizzleman will be the welcoming committee, Xisuma told them. It looks like whatever it was crashed behind Scar's sand shop. We'll meet at the shopping district portal and go from there.

Sure thing, see you there, Cub responded, then fell silent as he focused on corralling Imp and Skizz.

-

The four of them were convened a lot quicker than Xisuma had expected, though the worried looks on Impulse and Skizz's faces (and the armor they'd clearly donned before coming) were an easy enough explanation for their promptness.

"Do we know what happened yet?" Impulse asked immediately upon getting in range of Xisuma.

"Just that something broke through our firewall and landed by Scar's sand shop," Xisuma said, pointedly not wringing his hands anxiously about it.

"Which means it's something powerful," Cub added. "And probably something old."

"Something like us," Skizz clarified. Cub nodded. "Right, guess that means we're up, Dippledop."

"Just what I was hoping for in the middle of the night this week," Impulse mumbled grumpily, clearly having been woken up to deal with this. "Full demon mode, you think?"

"Maybe at first, anyway," Xisuma replied. "Just in case."

"I hear you, X." Impulse's form stretched and grew - not too much in height or width, precisely, but in bulk, his horns lengthening and his skin yellowing. He rolled his shoulders and settled into the form he took so rarely these days, before grinning viciously. "Right. Let's do this."

-

They had honestly been expecting a fight. Not even a fight to protect the server, but at the very least a fight of panicked self-defense from their intruder. What they got instead was a rather small man dwarfed by the three pair of wings that curled weakly around his battered form. Xisuma started to relax, before noticing Impulse and Skizz were both on high alert, staring at the small still body in the crater below them.

"That's an angel," Impulse growled immediately. "Skizz."

"No he's not, Dip," Skizz replied immediately, frowning. His wings were still mantled, his sword still held at the ready, but he seemed confused rather than anything that would make more sense to the people around him. "He looks like one, even feels like one a little, but it's... off, somehow. I can't feel him the way I'd be able to if he were actually an angel."

"I mean, does it really matter?" Cub asks. "Same possible danger levels, if it could break through the firewall, and you both still peg it as mostly an angel."

"Technically I have no idea what his power level's like," Skizz clarifies. Impulse growls, low in his chest, anxious and protective. "But probably he's not quite at angelic power levels, actually. If he pings as almost an angel, he's probably what's left of someone's attempt to make angels for themselves. And I've never heard of any of those projects being successful."

"Successful enough one of them crash landed on Hermitcraft," Impulse points out.

"I hate to say it, buddy, but that's not necessarily that big of a deal, depending on what happened," Skizz retorted. "Like, the firewall's great against intentional intrusions, but I knew a bunch of other third circles who could've done this if they were in panic mode."

"Well that's not disconcerting at all," Cub commented casually. Impulse snorted.

"I mean, there really aren't any more third circles to try, to be fair," Skizz pointed out.

"We should probably at least check and see he's still alive?" Xisuma suggested.

"Right, we'll get down there," Impulse said, jumping down into the crater with Skizz close on his heels. Once they were both down there, he did let Skizz take point, if reluctantly, as their guest was clearly closer to an angel than anything else they were familiar with. Skizz took a long moment, assessing the state of their guest's wings, trying to connect properly as angels should be able to.

"It's like we're speaking different languages, but on the same radio frequency," he murmured to Impulse. "I got no idea where he's from, but he's out like a light. We should probably get him in a bed."

Impulse looked over the very wide wingspan of all three pair of wings, and sighed wearily. "You get him, I'll get the wings," he said.

-

They carry him to Cleo's Kitty Cafe, and hope that when he wakes, he won't try to destroy them all.

[iveneverbeenmorestressedinmylife]

10+ hours of tom scott approved europop for your listening pleasure. bonus commentary under the cut.

everything above "shelter me from the rain" (the hyperpop beardyman song they made for that colab video) is songs he mentioned on europlop with tim. they range from songs and artists he LOVES (mika, aqua, petras' turn off the light etc etc etc) to songs he liked, enjoyed or was at least a bit positive towards. a lot of songs are there because he brought them up just to compare them with the song of the day (usually to say that they were better. examples include marinas savages & primadonna, radioheads creep, gwen stefannis what you waiting for and more). everything AFTER shelter me from the rain is songs he mentioned once on random videos, his newsletter, on a random podcast episode he appeared in, park bench episodes etc etc etc. at first i wanted to write a complete analysis on all of those songs, cite my sources, everything, but im afraid i cant really be bothered. sorry. still u can ask me if u want a source for a specific one? theres about a 70% chance that i will remember where it got mentioned.

nonetheless, here are some honourable mentions and final conclusions:

i believe in a thing called love was apparently quote "his university anthem" end quote.

awkward by jens he specifically mentioned hating the start and he is 100% right. i dont like it either. but he seemed more positive about the rest of the song and i like it too so i put it in the playlist. because at the end of the day i made this playlist for me.

he likes a lot of what i can only describe as girlypop. common tom scott w.

the man loves intentionally cheesy german schlager. clearly, theres no saving him.

also a lot of eurovision because of course.

yes, the last song in the playlist is the infamous rickroll, beause of course it is. so in a sense this playlist can also work as a pretty low stakes game of russian roullete if you are listening on shuffle.

david bowies space oddity is there because 1) i love it and i cant listen to it withouth thinking about him, 2) i had already put it in the playlist but then i remembered that one instagram post of his where he used one of its lyrics as the caption. i probably would have left it in the playlist anyway, because again i made this playlist so i can listen to it, even if he hadnt mentioned it anywhere publicly but this made me very happy :]

we have old man river. we have william shatners common people. we have vengaboys. ymca. chappel roans good luck babe. we have everything.

at the time of posting this ive gone through 60/140 pages on europlop. the playlist will keep getting updated as i make my way through the earlier years.

thats all.

[butchjess]

Ok, so you said (maybe a couple weeks ago? I don't know how Time works) "nobody wants to talk about OCD Rory," but I want you to know that I have literally been thinking about that ever since you said it. So... PLEASE tell me about OCD Rory! I want to talk about it! Well, specifically I want YOU to talk about it, but I want to listen!

Okok.... me and @youhavethesun have been talking about ocd rory quite a bit and i've fleshed a lot of it out in my mind because of it. I think it can helpfully inform a lot of rory's worldview and the sense that she is pretty much holding a gun to her own head the entire show. from a meta standpoint the role of good girl is put upon rory only rly after the pilot episode. And to tie it to an in-universe explanation, i think viewing the show through an OCD rory lens makes it a lot more enjoyable to contend with the good girl archetype placed upon her bc it becomes a product of rory's beliefs and the undeniable fact (in her mind) that she was a "mistake" and that is this the reason that her entire family is basically broken. Even though emily tells her that it wasn't her fault in s1, I think that first conflict w/ christopher's parents rly cements this idea in her mind, when before she wasn't necessarily aware of this responsibility that she now has to fix her family, to keep them together, and to prove that her own existence outweighs (or at least balances out) all the negatives that resulted from it.

This framework allows for three main OCD struggles i think rory has. which is moral obsessiveness, self punishment, and a fixation on responsibility/guilt (there are other more official/psychiatric terms for these concepts but i'm treating this like a philosophy paper so i'm making my own terms. and also sometimes i despise psychiatry anyway). Her main rituals I'd say usually center around the idea of what she is "supposed" to do. and she has many habits to help her figure this nebulous idea out (pro/con lists, warping events to fit molds that are easier to understand, planned schedules of her day mainly wrt studying etc).

now, rory does some things that can be viewed as morally reprehensible (sleeping with a married man(even though he told her he broke up w lindsay but i digress), crashing the yacht, kissing jess), she only really does them if they make some kind of sense to her, or if she has just like given up on everything altogether as a way to punish herself for failure, or if it is a purely impulsive action driven solely by instinct and feeling (rare). She sleeps with dean because dean was supposed to be "hers" anyway, and it's her own fault that she let him down and fell in love with jess. she feels like she owes him a lot of things, because he was the perfect guy and she was just defective and couldn't make herself love him. which of course isn't even true, dean was pretty shitty and a source of a lot of her insecurities/irrational fears around relationships. The point is that rory believes dean was a great guy, partly because lorelai kept telling her that he was, but lorelai never saw the worst of their arguments anyway and also assumes dean is just a good guy. she never has any evidence to think otherwise (and she doesn't have a Failed Mirror Test Aggression reaction to him like she does with jess. and logan of course just comes across as an asshole at first glance anyway even to rory). and so this kinda warps a lot of rory's expectations around what a relationship is "supposed" to look like, and what you owe to the people that you're in a relationship with. I'd also like to note that dean makes fun of rory's pro/con lists when she doesn't say i love you back to him in s1. which is ofc unnecessarily cruel but it makes sense that he would take her hesitation as indecisiveness or something, and would link this to her lists that she uses specifically to help herself make the most logical decisions possible.

this extreme responsibility/irrational sense of guilt extends all the way to logan. she throws herself into taking care of him after his accident because he nearly got himself killed and she thinks it was her fault. if she didnt feel the way she did about him cheating on her (because rory did still fully think he cheated on her) and was more about to break up with him, then he wouldn't have gotten hurt. and if he had DIED, it would be even more her fault, and she would never forgive herself. Rory invalidates/tries to destroy her own genuine feelings of hurt, because she was in the wrong to feel that way at all. in her perception. again she warps her feelings/memories to fit this responsibility. so the moral obsessiveness ties directly into her responsibility for others. similarly when rory feels she's been wronged, or that other people have not done what they're supposed to, she feels free to be upset and angry about it. Like only after chris makes a promise to lorelai and rory that he fails to keep yet again, does rory decide he's pretty much a lost cause in her life. especially after luke and lorelai get together.

Of course the biggest and most comprehensible example of rory's self-punishment is after she misses her mom's graduation, and the panic rambling self loathing that results from it.

I don't think most people would respond with this feverish anxious neurotic amount of regret and self hatred and confusion and begging to be hurt to be punished and beaten and killed and blown up with a thousand grenades just to make it up to her mom. for doing the worst thing she could ever possibly do which is to let her down. She's not in love with jess because she can't be, she isn't supposed to be, she would never do something like that who is that girl. who is that FREAK. and she's only calmed down when lorelai turns it around on her and gets her to eat something with her by framing it as the best thing she could do for lorelai. for doing the worst thing in the world (skipping school to see the guy she's in love with and missing her mom's graduation), it has to be evened out. it has to be. everything will go back to the way it's supposed to be. We'll go anywhere you want, my treat, and I won't enjoy it.

[leezlelatch]

Ollie sits cross-legged on her bed, carefully studying the text of the old book the Cardinal lent her. Il Velo e l’Ombra. The Veil and the Shadow. "It's dense," he had said, and that was an understatement. The pages feel stiff, crinkling whenever she turns the page. Dark yellow edges gradually transition to bone white closer to the spine. Each page contains heavy type-set in columns that slightly angle down like the printing press wasn't calibrated the day this book was printed. It smells like old paper and something faintly herbal, and she imagines it new, sitting on the desk of an old occultist, brewing a concoction nearby.

But it doesn't have any spells or craft in it. She thinks.

She taps her pen against her notebook, frowning at the Latin passage in the next paragraph, and then frowning at her phone. It didn't make sense. Trusting Google Translate is never recommended, but...

Ollie glances at the clock. It's only a little after 8, and the Cardinal said it was okay to contact him, right? She hesitates. Now that she's actually thinking about contacting him, she feels a little nervous. He was kind during class, smarter than she thought the other students gave him credit for, but the way that white eye landed on her. The slice of black through his iris that served as a pupil. It made her shiver.

After a few more moments of hesitation, she inhales sharply and grabs her phone.

Ollie: Hello, Cardinal! I'm so sorry to bother you, but I was going through the book you recommended, and there's a Latin passage that isn't making much sense. Could you help me? I understand completely if you would prefer I wait until next class!

Her finger hovers over the send button, and she closes her eyes tight. Do it, do it, just do it. She presses her thumb down, and the message is off with a whoosh.

She watches with growing anxiety as the text bubble appears, then disappears, than reappears. And finally, her phone buzzes.

Copia: You are not a bother, signorina. Show me the passage?

The breath she was holding escapes in a sudden gush, and her shoulders relax. Okay, he's not mad. Good progress. She snaps a picture of the passage and sends it through.

Ollie: This part, especially the second half. It's not making much sense, and yes, I'm using Google Translate. 🫢

His response takes a little longer this time, and she imagines him flipping through his own books to make sure. Does he keep a Latin dictionary? Latin for Satanists, tucked into his bedside table.

Copia: Perhaps I will make you stay after class to write lines, eh? Ma sì, Google does not know the difference between ecclesiastical Latin and classical.

Copia: Spit, can I call you? The typing is too much.

Copia: I meant spit.

Copia: Spit.

Ollie's phone starts ringing. She went from blushing to laughing in the span of a second, and she picks up with a giggle still on her lips.

"Hello, Cardinal!" She says, her voice warm, whatever nerves she had gone after his typo disaster.

"I meant shit," he says, a growl in his voice. It makes the hairs on the back of her neck stand up. "Telefono di merda..."

"I could tell," she says, her voice softening. Ollie pulls her bottom lip between her teeth. Italian is gorgeous.

The Cardinal clears his throat, and she can hear a rustle as he shifts. "Anyway! Mi dispiace, signorina. You are finding that the book is just as I said? I hope it is not too dry."

"No, no. I'm enjoying it! I have a lot of notes that I may ask you about later. It's just the Latin."

"Ahh, sì, I see. What you have sent me...ehh...," he pauses, growing quiet for a moment. "I wrote it down, uh, I cannot get the texting back when we are talking. Quod in umbra latet, lumen revelabit. What lies in shadow will be revealed by the light."

"Ohh," Ollie says slowly, a snicker in her voice. "Oh god, I thought it said 'the shadow will hide the lamp.'"

Copia chuckles low in his throat, and her belly flutters. She holds the phone just a little tighter. "You have a good mind for this, I think," he says softly, and she may be imagining it, but his accent sounds thicker. "I look forward to seeing your notes."

Her voice is caught in her throat for a moment, and she's glad he can't see her face. She can't stop smiling. "Thank you so much, Cardinal. I'm excited for next class. I'll let you get back to your night."

"Mm, sì. But do not hesitate to ask if you get stuck again, eh? It is...nice. To be asked." He's quiet, thoughtful. Maybe a little sad, but...that could just be her imagination again.

"I will. Of course. Goodnight, Cardinal."

Copia stares at his phone for a long moment when the call ends, exhaling a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

[witchywithwhiskey]

Dear Molly! For your sweethearts game. Can I please request

Lloyd Hansen- Bite Me! 😍

taste so sweet

pairing: brother's best friend!lloyd hansen x female reader

summary: you've been staying with your brother's best friend while you look for a new apartment, and when he gets on your last nerve, the dynamic in your relationship takes a sudden, sharp turn toward the filthy.

warnings: 18+ content (minors dni!!!), smut, oral sex (f and m receiving), vaginal and anal fingering, anal play, spanking, light pain play, light sadism/masochism, biting, bdsm dynamics established on the fly (including safe words and check-ins), very brief daddy kink, sir kink, praise kink, light degradation, pet names (a bunch), aftercare, sweet ending, kinda roommates to lovers

word count: 5.0k

a/n: i think i can safely say "bite me" was the most popular prompt y'all chose for this game since this is the third one i've written with it 🤭 i've had a lot of fun coming up with different scenarios that it makes sense in, and with Lloyd...well of course he's going to actually bite you 😏 anyway thank you for playing my sweethearts game, i hope you enjoy ♡♡

sweethearts game masterlist

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?”

The dulcet murmuring of the yoga instructor on the TV was rudely interrupted by Lloyd Hansen, whose voice was equal parts eager curiosity, impolite teasing and vulgar innuendo. 

You couldn’t see your brother’s best friend-slash-temporary roommate’s face from where you were positioned on your yoga mat. You were facing the TV in the living room of his apartment, while the front door was at your back. 

Somehow, though, you could still see the smug grin on Lloyd’s face, framed perfectly by his stupid mustache.

Lloyd wasn’t supposed to be home so soon! You thought you were safe to do your morning yoga routine in the living room instead of the cramped guest bedroom without commentary from the man who couldn’t seem to resist annoying the shit out of you—which had only gotten worse since you’d moved in.

After the lease on your last apartment had ended and you hadn’t been able to find a new place in your price range, you’d had to take your brother up on his offer to stay with Lloyd for a bit while you continued your search. You’d never liked Lloyd—he was an undeniable douchebag and, again, always seemed hellbent on annoying you—but you hadn’t had much of a choice. 

It was just your luck that Lloyd was the only person in the city who had the luxury of a spare bedroom. Your friends were all crammed into tiny places with roommates or significant others, and your brother lived too far outside the city to be a reasonable commute in for work. So you’d sucked it up and moved in with Lloyd. 

For the most part, things had been fine. Mostly because you’d been avoiding your brother’s best friend as much as possible, especially since the first week. You’d accidentally caught a glimpse of Lloyd wearing only a towel as he’d ducked from the bathroom into his bedroom while you’d been eating breakfast. 

You’d nearly dropped your spoon and spilled oats and yoghurt everywhere. The sight of Lloyd’s muscled chest, bare and glistening with droplets of water, was such a shock to your system, you’d stared after him for a long time, your brain unable to process the undeniable truth of what you’d witnessed. 

Your brother’s best friend was hot. 

Ever since then, you’d been unable to stop noticing things about Lloyd, like the softness of his pink mouth beneath the bristles of his mustache, and the spark of humor that seemed to be ever-present in his bright, blue eyes. He actually had a handsome face—though, in your opinion, he would be hotter if he’d shave off that ridiculous mustache. 

But even the mustache was growing on you. Which told you that you were getting in way too deep.

And to make matters worse, Lloyd seemed to have noticed that his lewd and flirty comments flustered and annoyed you the most, so he’d started making them more and more. You knew he didn’t mean anything by them, that he was just pestering you because you were your brother’s little sister, but you’d started to enjoy it far more than you should.

It was the main reason you avoided doing yoga in the living room. The positions the yoga instructor led you through had you bent over on your hands and knees, ass sticking up in the air, and you could just imagine the things Lloyd would say—and the way your body would warm, as if welcoming him to follow through on his empty threats—and you didn’t want to deal with it.

But now you had to. 

“I didn’t take you for the yoga type, cupcake,” Lloyd drawled when you didn’t immediately respond to his question. He set something down on the table beside the door, toed out of his shoes and padded further into the apartment, coming to a stop at the foot of your mat. “I never thought you’d paint such a pretty picture, pumpkin, with your head down and ass up…”

Lloyd’s voice trailed off, his tone thick with suggestion, and it took every ounce of self-control in your body not to tremble. You wanted to lower your shoulders, press your cheek to the mat, and present your ass to Lloyd, but your pride would never allow it. So instead, you spit out two words designed to make him leave you alone.

“Bite me.”

You’d turned your head to look at Lloyd while you said it, so you knew he wasn’t even looking at your face. He was just staring at your ass. 

But at your words, his eyes flicked to yours, humor and hunger sparkling in their blue depths, and he grinned widely. Something low in your belly clenched tight with anticipation, but you forced yourself to roll your eyes at him and turn back to your video. 

The yoga instructor on the TV was using her melodious voice to encourage you to inhale into cow pose before exhaling into cat pose. The movements meant you had to arch your spine toward the mat and then round it toward the ceiling, all while Lloyd watched.

Your body warmed when you dropped your belly and looked up, assuming cow pose, the position practically offering your ass up on a platter for Lloyd. 

Despite this, you couldn’t help but keep your breath in your lungs, holding the position longer than normal as you wondered what Lloyd was going to do or say. Thankfully, you didn’t have to wait long to find out. 

“Don’t mind if I do,” Lloyd muttered, his voice low and gruff in a way you’d never heard it before. 

You only had a second to puzzle over the meaning of his words before he was falling to his knees behind you, his hands grabbing hold of your hips. A second later, you felt his teeth sinking into the soft flesh of your ass through your leggings. 

If you’d been asked, before that moment, what your reaction to someone biting your ass would’ve been, you would’ve answered confidently that you wouldn’t have enjoyed it. You’d assume you would shriek in surprise or kick backward to dislodge the person biting you. But your actual reaction was very different.

A low, obscenely filthy moan slipped from your lips, and your arms gave out. Your upper body sank down to your elbows on the mat, just like you’d imagined, and you pushed your ass right into Lloyd’s face. 

It just felt so good—the slight sting of pain simmering into a burning heat of pleasure that had heat gathering quickly between your thighs. 

It was only when you realized your response was just as inappropriate as Lloyd biting you that you reached an arm back and pushed against his shoulder. 

“What are you doing?” you asked, ignoring the breathlessness in your voice and the way it sounded like you were panting for more, not begging him to stop. 

Lloyd lifted his head from your ass enough to catch your eye over your shoulder. “You told me to bite you, so I did,” he said simply, an unrepentant grin on his stupidly handsome face.

You huffed an annoyed sound, turning around and burying your face in your arms, refusing to let him see how turned on you were. But then Lloyd pulled one of his hands from your hips and slapped your ass hard. 

Your body rocked forward from the force of the spank, and you bit so hard into your arm, you thought you might draw blood with the effort to hold in your moan. But you couldn’t stop your hips from pushing back instinctively, as if asking for more.

The brazen movement only made Lloyd chuckle, the sound low and devious and far hotter than it had any right to be.

“And it looks like you liked it—do you like a little bit of pain, princess?” Lloyd teased, an undercurrent of knowing in his smug, patronizing tone. 

“That’s none of your business,” you spit out, forehead pressed to your forearms. You were unable to look at him, lest your brother’s best friend read it all over your face that you very much did like the little bit of pain he was giving you, that it heightened the pleasure, and you desperately wanted more.

Lloyd paused, and for one brief devastating moment, you thought he might pull away, that things might end there and you almost rushed to tell him not to stop. But before you could, he spoke, his voice calmer and more even.

“If I ask you ‘red, yellow or green’, do you know what that means, sunshine?” he asked in a serious tone. His hand was lighter and more soothing as his palm skimmed over your lower back, no longer touching you anywhere that was inappropriate. 

“Yes, I understand,” you rushed to say, arching your spine and pushing your ass back into Lloyd’s lap, sucking in a gasp when you brushed against a thick bulge. “Green—green, Lloyd, please.” 

It was easier to beg him this way, with a vague statement of consent, so you didn’t have to put into words everything you wanted. That you wanted him to push your head into the mat and spank you hard enough you’d be feeling it for days, to pull down your leggings and shove his cock into you, pounding against your smarting ass until he made you come undone.

Lloyd chuckled, the sound so self-satisfied and condescending, it made your slit grow wetter, your arousal dripping into your panties. But then his hands grabbed you roughly again, his strong fingers kneading your ass mercilessly through your leggings. 

“You’re wrong about it not being my business, cupcake,” Lloyd rumbled, his voice warm even as it was patronizing. “As long as you’re living under my roof, everything about you is my business.”

The possessiveness in his words did something to your body, your belly swooping and your heart flipping in your chest, none of which you were ready to admit to Lloyd. 

So you huffed a noise that you hoped sounded annoyed and sarcastically muttered, “Sure, dad.”

Your intention had been to mock Lloyd, who’d sounded like an overbearing father unable to give their child the freedom they deserved. But your words only seemed to heat the air between you and Lloyd, your brattiness bringing out something blazingly hot and deliciously volatile. 

The quiet of the apartment, save for the yoga video still playing softly on the TV, was broken by the sharp crack of Lloyd’s hand coming down on your ass. You could feel your soft flesh jiggle, and it added a wonderful contrast to the light, stinging pain of the slap, which sounded worse than it had felt. 

A low moan slipped from your body and you lowered your upper body further to the mat beneath you, arching your spine and presenting your ass just a little bit more for Lloyd, almost as if asking for more without words. But you should’ve known your brother’s best friend better.

“Is that what you’re into, filthy girl?” Lloyd asked, his big hands kneading your ass roughly through your leggings, making you wish he’d pull the fabric down and touch you for real. “Do you like to call the guys you fuck ‘dad’ and ‘daddy’—or am I special?”

Lloyd’s hands must be magic, it was the only explanation you could come up with for how good they were making you feel. But you weren’t distracted enough to not mouth off at your brother’s best friend.

“Who says I’m going to fuck you?” you shot back haughtily, turning your head and catching Lloyd’s gaze. You quirked your eyebrow at him in what could only be described as an insolent look.  

Lloyd’s eyes darkened at the challenge in your tone. In a swift movement, he dropped his head to your ass, sinking his teeth deep into your soft flesh. 

Even through your leggings and panties, you felt the sharp sting of his bite, and your eyelashes fluttered while another moan spilled from your lips unbidden. 

The pain was at once reprimanding and playful, and your mind spun with the headiness of it. You could hardly believe Lloyd had bit you the first time, but a second time… Your heart was racing in your chest and your pussy was throbbing between your thighs and you needed something. 

“You are,” Lloyd growled, dragging your attention back to the conversation you’d been having. His voice was smug even as it was thick with lust, and it took you a long moment to process his words. 

Lloyd gave you a short reprieve, one of his hands sliding up your spine to wrap around the back of your neck. With his grip firm on your head, he lifted you up enough to make sure you maintained eye contact while he spoke. 

“I’d prefer if you called me ‘sir’ instead of ‘daddy’ or anything like that,” he said, his tone as serious as it had been when he’d asked you for a color. His gaze held yours, and you knew he expected a response, but for a moment all you could do was look back at him. 

There was something weighty about the moment that stole your breath. Lloyd wasn’t just messing around with you, he wanted you to know his preferences, he wanted to make sure you felt safe with him. He’d made sure you had a way of telling him to stop while you kept playing your game and now he was telling you what he liked. 

It was freeing and terrifying at the same moment, so you responded the only way you knew how—like a brat. 

“Noted,” you said in the same serious tone as Lloyd had used. Then you tossed your head and murmured blithely, “But I’m not gonna fuck you, sir.” The honorific was spit from your lips with as much impertinence as you could muster, and you were gratified by the way Lloyd’s expression darkened.

“You’re right, sunshine, I’m the one that’s gonna be fucking you,” Lloyd countered, giving you little time to process his words before he was ducking down behind you. 

A second later, you felt his hot tongue press to the curve where your ass met your thigh and drag upward, licking you so close to where your slit was dripping into your panties, but not touching you there. It was such a tease that another obscene moan fell from your lips. 

“Oh god,” you groaned, canting your hips and pushing your pussy closer to his face, but Lloyd just repeated the motion on the other side of your pussy, ignoring your slit entirely. “Lloyd.” His name was a frustrated huff as he licked closer to your cunt.

“You sure you don’t want me to fuck you, pumpkin?” Lloyd asked teasingly, using his big hands to spread your ass so he could drag his tongue closer to your pussy. “I could fuck you real good with my mouth and make you cum on my tongue—ya just gotta ask nicely.”

You wanted to keep being a brat, you wanted to see how far you could push Lloyd before he’d snap, but the more he tortured and teased you with his tongue through your clothes, the wilder it drove you. 

You were so worked up, you thought Lloyd might be able to make you cum without even taking off your leggings and panties, but that thought left you cold and bereft. 

When you didn’t say anything, Lloyd chuckled at your stubbornness. His hot breath ghosted over the wet spots he’d left on your leggings, making you tremble violently, your thighs quivering as they struggled to keep holding you up.

“C’mon, don’t you wanna be a filthy girl for me, princess?” Lloyd coaxed, his voice low and smooth and so entreating you wanted to give in already. “Don’t you wanna cum all over my face, sunshine, make a mess of my mustache?” 

He dragged his face back and forth against your ass, making you feel the coarse bristles of his mustache, and you nearly howled with need. Desire was blazing through your body, your need for his tongue was throbbing in your pussy to the same beat as your racing heart. You could feel your resolve crumbling. 

“Just ask me nicely, cupcake, and I’ll make you feel so good.”

“Please,” you cried, the word half sob and half prayer, wrenched from the depths of your soul. “Please fuck me with your tongue, sir, please make me cum—please!”

“Atta girl,” Lloyd crooned, yanking your leggings and panties down in one harsh move, and burying his face in your cunt from behind. He groaned loudly into your damp flesh, sweeping his tongue from your clit to your ass, tasting every inch of you. “Fuck, you taste so sweet, pumpkin.”

Your thighs were trapped together by your clothes, which Lloyd had only pulled down far enough to get to your pussy, but that didn’t stop you from pushing your hips back into his face. One of your hands reached back blindly, sinking into his soft brown hair, slick with just a little bit of gel, and twisted in the strands, holding him close.

“Lloyd,” you cried out, your body trembling as he licked deep into your slit, his mustache brushing against your heated, oversensitive skin. It made you sob with pleasure at the contrast of his hot tongue and the rough rasp of his coarse hair. “Lloyd, oh god, oh god, yes!”

Without pulling his face from your cunt, which he kept eating voraciously, Lloyd brought a hand down sharply on your ass. It surprised you enough that you let out a little shriek, your body shuddering and your pussy dripping even more onto Lloyd’s tongue.

“What did I tell you to call me, princess,” he rumbled into your soft, wet cunt. “If you want me to keep eating this pretty pussy, you call me ‘sir’ and you use your words to tell me exactly what you want.”

“I want to cum,” you whimpered, your pleasure already twisting overwhelmingly in your core. You were so close, so close, so close. “I want to cum all over your face, sir—please make me cum, sir!”

Lloyd chuckled, nipping playfully at your folds. His hands kneaded your ass, holding you right where he wanted you while he feasted on your pussy.

“I’m gonna make you cum, pretty girl, don’t you worry,” he purred, pausing only to nuzzle his mustache over the tender flesh of your soaked cunt, laughing huskily when you trembled and whined for him. “Gonna make your cunt cream all over my mustache.”

“Oh god, yes, sir, want it,” you moaned, your fingers twisting tighter in Lloyd’s hair and pulling his face into your body. At the same time, you pushed your hips back, until his groans were muffled as he ate you out. 

His fingers worked your soft curves, groping you roughly and delivering sharp spanks whenever you reverted to calling him Lloyd, making you gasp and moan in equal measure. He gorged himself on your pussy, licking deep into your hole, sucking on your clit and nipping at your sensitive flesh until you were a writhing, moaning mess.

When he had you squirming and begging beneath him, Lloyd’s thumb trailed down the seam of your ass, brushing against your little rosebud. You squealed when he pressed lightly against the tight ring of muscle, your body shaking violently under the strength of your pleasure. 

Lloyd paused only long enough to ask for your color and when you gasped an enthusiastic, “Green!” he dipped his thumb into your pussy, coated it in your slick arousal, and pushed it into your ass. 

All the while, he used his soothing voice to coax you into relaxing for him, to letting him in, and when you did, you moaned loudly at the feel of him inside you. It was so depraved and delicious and you loved it.

“You’re so fucking perfect, cupcake,” Lloyd growled against your pussy, shoving his tongue deep inside you to feel the way you fluttered for him. “Now cum on my tongue, princess,” he ordered, his voice rough and demanding, “Wanna taste your cum, give it to me—cum for me, filthy girl.”

Lloyd’s growled command and the way his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking mercilessly on the bundle of nerves while his thumb was buried in your ass, had you shattering apart with a scream you tried to muffle in your yoga mat. It was a desperate, aching cry as your pussy convulsed and gushed with your release.

Behind you, Lloyd rumbled an appreciative sound, drinking down your juices greedily, tongue lapping up every drop until you were shivering from the overstimulation. Even then, he brushed his mustache over your clit, the delicious rasp wringing one last devastating aftershock from your body as you whimpered pathetically.

When you were done, Lloyd carefully slipped his thumb from your ass, pulled up your leggings and panties, then wrapped his arms around your upper body, easing you up from your bent over position. He sat back and tugged you into his lap, holding you close in the cage of his arms while you caught your breath.

“Did that feel good, sunshine?” he asked in a voice gentler than any you’d heard him use before. There was a level of care in his tone that made your heart thump harder in your chest, even as your body otherwise settled and cooled.

“Yeah,” you said on a delicate exhale, snuggling into Lloyd’s chest and breathing in the spicy scent of his cologne. He made you feel so safe and comfortable, you gave in to the urge to add, “Thank you, sir.”

Lloyd chuckled a little, cupping your cheek in his big hand and lifting your head so he could look you in the eye. “Thank you, pretty girl, for trusting me to make you feel good.”

There was so much genuine affection in Lloyd’s crystal blue gaze that it stole the breath from your lungs. Your eyes dropped to his mouth, traces of your release still glistening on his lips and in his mustache. The urge to kiss him, to taste yourself on Lloyd’s tongue, was nearly overwhelming. 

As if reading your mind, Lloyd leaned in, pausing a hair’s breadth away from your lips. But you didn’t want him to hesitate, you wanted him to kiss you—so you closed the distance and kissed your brother’s best friend for the first time.

Your first kiss with Lloyd Hansen was filthy and messy, and yet also somehow sweet and gentle. His mouth was soft, and firm as he explored yours, licking along your lips and deepening the kiss quickly when you immediately opened for him. 

Though he tasted of your release, reminding you of all the dirty things he’d already done to your body, he was tender as he slipped his tongue between your lips. And he was methodical in learning what made you gasp and moan for him. 

Against your thigh, you could feel Lloyd’s cock twitching, and a renewed heat began to stir in your core, making you yearn to keep going with whatever had begun between the two of you. 

Breaking from the kiss, you took a moment to appreciate the dark heat in Lloyd’s eyes, the slight, smug curl of his mouth. Before that morning, that look might’ve annoyed you, but now it just filled you with heat and excitement.

“Would you like me to take care of you now, sir?” you asked sweetly, dragging your fingers down Lloyd’s chest, delighting in the way his muscles jumped and danced beneath your touch. 

Before you could touch him where he was twitching and throbbing in his pants, though, Lloyd caught your wrist and snatched your hand away. Despite the way Lloyd’s fingers tangled in yours, disappointment crashed over you and you frowned up at him.

“Why don’t you finish your yoga, and then we can talk a bit, figure out exactly what we both want this to be,” Lloyd said in that softer tone of his. It made you feel safe, sweeping away the disappointment you’d felt only a moment ago. “I brought you coffee and a treat.”

Lloyd tipped his head toward the table next to the front door of the apartment, and you looked to see a cardboard tray with two to-go cups. Next to it sat a paper bag with the logo of your favorite bakery stamped on it. 

“You got me coffee?” you asked, tilting your head to the side with confusion. Lloyd never did nice things for you like that. You were just his best friend’s annoying little sister who was crashing with him while she looked for apartments, not someone he’d get a special treat for.

Looking back at Lloyd, you could see a slight pink in his cheeks, and he wouldn’t meet your eye. 

“And a pastry thing with red frosting,” he said, answering your question. When you sat in silence for a beat too long, he finally dragged his gaze to yours, noting your confusion. “Do you not know what day it is?”

You lifted your shoulders in a careless shrug and shook your head. “February…something?” 

Lloyd huffed a laugh. “It’s Valentine’s Day, princess.” His tone was somehow both patronizing and warm, and he rolled his eyes at you for good measure. 

But you were already rolling your eyes right back at him, shoving playfully at his chest. “How was I supposed to know, it’s not like I have anyone—wait!” Your defensive explanation for why you’d forgotten the holiday cut off abruptly as something occurred to you.

Your eyes widened and you looked at Lloyd, studying your brother’s best friend closely. His cheeks were still a little pink with the faint trace of a blush, and the corners of his mouth were flickering like he was trying to hold back a smile.

But it was Lloyd’s eyes that really gave him away. His sparkling blue eyes were glimmering with so much warmth and affection, it made you gasp all over again.

“You got me a Valentine’s Day treat!” 

At your pronouncement, Lloyd tossed his head back and laughed. Your eyes snagged on the long line of his throat, staring greedily and wondering if Lloyd would mind if you paid him back for all his teasing by licking along the corded muscle there. 

When Lloyd finally lowered his head and caught your eye again, there was humor and desire shimmering in the depth of his gaze. 

“I thought it was time we finally do something about all the sizzling chemistry between us,” Lloyd explained, giving you a playful wink. It was on the tip of your tongue to protest—your mouth even opened to deny it—but Lloyd just gave you a hard look. “I’ve seen the way you look at me, cupcake, don’t deny it.”

The memory of Lloyd ducking out of the bathroom in only a towel and striding to his room popped into your head unbidden. Since then, you had been looking at him with much more heat and desire than you ever thought you’d feel for your brother’s best friend, but you’d thought you’d kept it under wraps. 

Apparently not, since Lloyd was giving you such a knowing look. All you could do was scoff and roll your eyes. 

“Fine,” you said, crossing your arms while you huffed and puffed and pouted up at him. “Can I have my treat now?”

“Not until you finish your yoga,” Lloyd said sternly, patting your ass as he helped you slide off his lap. You shot him a bratty glare, which only made his eyes darken; his hand slapped your ass a little harder. “Finish your yoga and then you get your treat—and you can play with my cock.”

“Oooh, okay!” you said more eagerly, quickly stretching yourself out on your mat and pulling up the video that had long since finished. You found the spot where Lloyd had distracted you and got back into position before you hit play.

Lloyd gathered the cardboard tray and pastry bag from the table, then sat down on the couch, sipping his coffee while he watched you move through your yoga positions. You knew he watched you the whole time, because you could feel his eyes undressing you, no doubt thinking of other fun ways to interrupt your morning yoga in the future. 

Once you were blessedly done with the yoga routine, you bounced up from the mat and went to Lloyd, who pulled you into his lap before you could sit beside him on the couch. He handed you your coffee and the bag with the pastry. 

While you ate and drank, the two of you discussed what you wanted from a relationship, both inside and out of the bedroom, and whether you’d tell your brother before or after you moved out of Lloyd’s apartment. 

Lloyd promised to help you find your own place, revealing he’d been doing some digging already and had a couple prospects for you to look at. 

After you were done with your coffee and pastry, you slid off Lloyd’s lap, kneeling between his parted legs and begged him to let you have your other treat. Lloyd helped you get his pants down enough for you to pull out his cock. 

You licked him from base to crown, swirling your tongue around the hot, leaking tip and humming in delight when you tasted his salty precum. Looking up at Lloyd from under your lashes, you smiled at him. 

“You taste so sweet, sir,” you purred, before lavishing his cock with all the attention of your warm, devoted tongue. 

Lloyd groaned, mumbling something about how perfect you and your mouth were while you worshipped his cock, teasing him just as much as he’d teased you. When he finally came, it was with a nearly feral growl, his hands pushing your head roughly down on his cock as you swallowed his cum greedily. 

The rest of your Valentine’s Day was spent curled up with Lloyd Hansen, looking up apartment listings in between talking and getting to know each other better. He may have been your brother’s best friend when you’d moved in, but you were both determined that he’d be your boyfriend by the time you moved out. 

sweethearts game masterlist

[arcaneconfessions]

An interpretation I see a lot is that Vi in that final scene thinks that Jinx is definitely dead, and Cait - who suspects that she isn't - is choosing to keep that information from Vi so that she can move on and like... I'm sorry, but none of that makes any sense to me on literally any level. Firstly, if Vi thought Jinx was dead and specifically that she died because of Vi, it would Eat Her Alive. There is no way in HELL that that would be in any way a positive ending for her or allow her to "move on". The one thing, the ONE THING that has motivated her and kept her going for most of her life was protecting her little sister. An ending where she thinks she's failed at that because she broke down at the wrong moment? Horrible. Just about the cruelest thing they possibly could've pulled. She wouldn't be sat there casually swirling whiskey in a glass, she would be blackout drunk in a ditch trying to passively kill herself. Secondly, the fact that Cait in this scenario would know about Jinx's survival and choose not to tell Vi so that she won't go running after her just, like, completely undoes a pretty major part of her character development, which was her understanding that letting Vi free Jinx might very well result in Vi ditching her to run off with her sister, and then fully choosing to put that choice in Vi's hands anyway. Her then going on to purposefully keep crucial information from Vi to prevent Vi from "choosing wrong" - because she suddenly thinks she knows what the right choice for Vi is better than Vi does? - would be a huuuuuge step back, both in terms of Cait's characterization and in terms of their relationship. Thankfully, I really don't think that's actually what's happening??? Like, at all??? Vi absolutely would've gone to search for her sister's body and not found it, so there's no way she doesn't suspect that Jinx escaped too. More than likely, she's the one who asked Cait to look into it in the first place. And Cait's making no effort to hide what she's doing from Vi, given that Vi's literally in the same room the whole time. Looking at it this way, the ending becomes a lot more hopeful (both for Vi individually and for her and Cait's relationship, since Vi doesn't have the death of another family member on her already overburdened conscience, and Cait isn't going behind Vi's back and trying to control her choices), and also shows how Vi has grown. In that final scene she's still clearly Going Through It, but she's not desperate to run after Jinx anymore. She's accepted Jinx's decision to make a clean break and chosen to let her go. She understands that Jinx doesn't need her to protect her anymore like she used to, and maybe that's okay - maybe she can do what Jinx told her to and choose her own happiness instead. Boom, immediately a way better ending in every way, and there's really no reason to assume this wasn't the intention. The only reason they don't show Vi and Cait explicitly discussing Jinx's survival is because it's supposed to be kind of subtle that she survived, not because you're meant to infer that Vi is being deliberately kept in the dark for some reason.

.

[withersun-fanblog]

thinking about the parallel life heathers au and i've rewatched the original movie twice in the last few days so i wanted to yap about all of my reasonings in one post for my ideas for who would be who when i first brought it up to robin!!

ghost/jason dean - it honestly just MAKES SENSE i fear. ghost and his constant murder spree after he turned red??? jd and the immediate "oh yeah lets kill these guys" after the first death (chandler) in heathers??? same person right there. but what really sealed the deal on this was when ghost mentioned that if it was him and tibby in the end he was gonna blow himself up. sound familiar? yeah.

tibby/veronica sawyer - partner in crime!! whisps as the two main characters is fire duhh!! the main point i was gonna make here ended up getting put in e's section of this post instead oops but either way it just makes sense with ghost as jd :3 i can go into more depth on this sometime in the future... (i paused and came back to write tibby's bullet point last and yapped too much to where i forgot my points for this one. oops...)

charlie/martha dunnstock - in the musical, martha is veronica's best friend - this isn't so much represented in the movie, but i wanted to include it anyway. while tibby and charlie didnt talk much until the last two episodes, they were still soulbound. its kind of like how veronica rarely spoke to martha after being indoctrinated into the heathers' group.

e/heather chandler - ngl. im so biased on making e chandler. or at least i was when i started this... then it started actually making so much sense! someone correct me if im wrong, but i remember someone mentioning tibby wanting to be the one to take e out of the series in parallel life, which in this case it matches up pretty well, what with veronica and jd killing heather c via drain cleaning fluid. but also, e is just a bad bitch in general like??? they have that aura y'know?? (/pos) this also all started lining up pretty well once i started thinking about the other heathers which i'll explain in their sections instead

crow/heather mcnamara - DUDE!! CROW IS JUST MCNAMARA. LIKE PERIOD. okay but seriously like what with e taking in crow after ghost killed her the second time in ep 3, and crow basically becoming e's, for lack of better words, lackey (via lovebombing oh god the toxic yuri gulp) it just makes sense. and honestly?? lifeboat from the musical?? it REALLY gives off crow vibes in ep 3 when she's still trying to be with ghostfoam, and then again when ghost tells her she's part of the deal with e in ep 4. like?? "if i say the wrong thing or i wear the wrong outfit, they'll throw me right over the side" (lifeboat) honestly feels like it fits SO WELL with how ghost treated her like she was expendable?? like in ep 4 he says things along the lines of being able to kill crow at any moment SO MANY TIMES

mar/heather duke - i already went into a lot more detail on mar being duke in this ask, but my basis for it is from how ghost treated them the whole season. being neglected for someone else the whole time (chandler absolutely neglecting duke in the movie AND musical, even heavier in the movie) and then when given the chance trying to act like someone else to be above things and be liked. another thing i wanna add that i didnt say in the original ask about mar is when e basically took mar in for just a bit for the "broken hearts club" after picking up tibby and crow off the side of the road (post-whisp "breakup") which basically adds on to that heathers trio being a trio yknow??

pickle + emerald/kurt kelly + ram sweeney - lowkey?? originally i had no clue who to put as kurt/ram. but i also assigned this when i'd only watched ep 1 of pickle's pov, BUT i finally watched his pov last night! (its so good omfg) and honestly? kinda fits. like okay these guys got murdered when they werent even like doing anything via someone else's influence (lava trap influenced by the ghosts... ich lüge bullets... yeah!) i know pickle's final ep isnt out but yk using context clues from e's pov and all of that since e set the trap! obv most of the heathers narrative for kurt/ram doesnt work too well with anyone in parallel life but hey these guys had a whole bee birth scene in their house. close enough bro...

IM THINK IM YAPPING A BIT TOO MUCH OTHERWISE I'D BE MORE DESCRIPTIVE BUT UM SEND ME ASKS ABOUT THIS IM SO NORMAL ABOUT THIS AU… also if anything on here is wrong let me know!!

we still have to find a way to work everyone else in but it'll happen eventually promise

[amethystina]

Sorry everything has been hard lately! You're going through a lot. Do you feel comfortable sharing about your wife, like how you met and got married? I didn't know you were married.

Yeah, sure! It's not exactly a secret and, tbh, is a bit of a funny (if long) story. We've been married since July 2017, so closing in on ten years soon!

A good thing to know before we start is that it's not a marriage in the more conventional sense. We're both on the ace spectrum, so we're platonic life partners, not a romantic couple. Which I think is important to have in mind in regards to some of the events, because it adds a slightly different perspective.

But, with that said: buckle up, my friends — it's going to be a long one.

Also, feel free to count the fanfic tropes. It's both hilarious and embarrassing.

So. I met my future wife, Sara, during orientation day at university where we were both enrolled to study Library and Information Science (i.e. aiming to become librarians).

And the first thing I did was threaten to kill her.

As you do.

To make a long story short, we were being herded around, being shown the school etc., and I ended up behind her as we were walking through a doorway. But she slowed down unexpectedly just as she'd stepped outside and I wasn't expecting that, so I accidentally stepped on the back of her shoe. Unsurprisingly, that made her stumble but, fortunately, she didn't fall. But there was a case of some dropped belongings etc. etc. And yes, I know — incredibly meet-cute.

Or at least it would have been if not for the fact that when she — jokingly — accused me of being mean for tripping her up, my immediate and very deadpan response was:

"It could have been worse — I could have pushed you out in front of a car."

(I will forever maintain that the fact that she agreed to marry me even after that lovely first impression says more about her than it does about me)

ANYHOW. First words I said to my future wife.

I am such a romantic.

None of this was helped by the fact that I'm fairly tall (176 cm), have a resting bitchface, and am from the wilderness of the north of Sweden. My classmates were convinced I wrestled bears in my free time. I had also been living on my own for four years already at that point (I moved out at 15 to go to school in a different city) so I was confident, independent, and grounded in a way the majority of my classmates weren't.

I was, according to witnesses, incredibly intimidating.

Despite the dramatic beginnings, Sara and I ended up becoming friends pretty quickly because we had shared interests and ended up in a group of geeky, like-minded students. We liked the same books, video games, music, animes etc. etc.

Sidenote: Years later I found out that Sara, the little shit, lied to me about the music. Or bent the truth, I should say. In that we both listened to a lot of metal and when I named my favourite band (Sonata Arctica) Sara lied and said she loved them too, when she only barely knew who they were. She confessed that she did so because she thought I was so goddamn cool and wanted us to have more things in common. Which meant she had to hurry home that very same day and actually start listening to the band in question to not end up in an even worse pickle than she'd already put herself in. A+ for dedication to the bit.

(She was already embracing the fanfic tropes at that point, clearly)

Anyway, back to the story. We were a pretty big friend group but Sara and I clicked in a way that set us apart from the others. We didn't actually spend the majority of our time together there at the start, but it slowly evolved to that, especially once she moved into the same building as me during our second year, on the floor below mine. It was a dorm-ish situation where there were small apartments with a communal kitchen on each floor. With this new proximity, we ended up running back and forth to each other a lot and just spending a lot of time together.

(So, if you're keeping track, we've now moved from a University AU to a sort-of Roommate AU)

We continued to grow closer and had a couple of adventures, like the time the fire alarm went off early one morning and everyone had to evacuate. I think you can picture what it was like: a bunch of university students huddling on the sidewalk in various states of undress and wakefulness, trying to figure out what the fuck was going on and how long we'd have to wait before we could go back to bed.

Unfortunately for me, this was during a time when I still had pretty frequent panic attacks and being woken up by the fire alarm left me shaky and disoriented. So Sara, who didn't like how out of it I looked, took me back to her place and fed me tea and toast. It's a very fond memory of mine, despite the discomfort of the near-panic attack.

Anyhow. We remained good friends and once our three years at university were nearing their end, we figured we'd keep in touch but end up on different ends of the country. I had decided that I wanted to take a year and study art before I started working, just for the heck of it, and Sara thought that sounded fun but she'd go for writing instead (since she can't draw for shit 😆)

And you can imagine our confusion when I let her know the art school I had been accepted to and her response was:

"What? You too?"

So, without even talking to each other, we had somehow managed to apply and get accepted to the same school that just happened to offer courses on both art and writing, amongst other things. It wasn't even close to where we were living at the time. It just... happened?

And so, apparently, we were going to spend another year at the same school.

(At this point, we could probably call this Star-Crossed Lovers, yeah?)

So we get to this new school and it's in the middle of nowhere on the lush Swedish countryside, sharing grounds with a castle from the 1100's (I know, I know — just roll with it). It was incredibly beautiful and I absolutely loved it.

One downside, however, was that while the school supplied food during the week, we had to feed ourselves during the weekends. Fortunately, Sara had a car so she would usually pack it full with students (for a small fee) and drive to one of the nearby grocery stores so those who needed it could buy food.

Now, it was a fairly small school and the majority of us lived there, so you spent a lot of time with students who weren't in your class. And everyone soon realised that Sara and I knew each other from before because of the way we behaved with each other. But even I thought it was a little weird when other students came to me to ask if there was any room left in Sara's car for the coming grocery run. And, eventually, I asked why they did that and the answer I got was:

"You mean it's not your shared car? We figured you owned it together since you're a couple."

Turns out the entire school had decided that Sara and I were dating and just never told us.

Or, well, I guess they wouldn't tell us that, would they? Since they would assume that Sara and I would already be aware of our being a couple 🤣

Except, of course, we weren't.

(Add a tick for "Everyone Knew They Were Dating Before They Did")

We found this pretty hilarious, anyway, and everyone was hella confused when we explained that we were, in fact, not together. But, in hindsight, I guess they were right — just a little early.

Sidenote: Sara and I went to Venice during our year at the art school and, somehow, we accidentally stumbled in at the tail end of the Carnival. Like, we didn't realise it was happening until we were literally walking the streets and saw all the confetti and posters. We picked the date because it was spring break at school and ended up with a wonderful, unexpected surprise. 10/10, do recommend.

So! Anyway! We spent a lovely year at art school, then we both started working as librarians. We ended up relatively close (about two and a half hours away by bus) and so we kept spending weekends together.

Another couple of years passed.

(If you haven't figured it out yet, this is also a Slow Burn)

Unfortunately, Sara ended up in a city with very limited housing opportunities and after two and a half years without getting her own place, she decided to move back south again. That would leave us too far apart to visit each other more than, perhaps, twice a year.

And me, being the brilliant genius that I am, decided that, hey, this is the perfect time to propose!

I did have my reasons, one of them being that my relatives were bugging me about finding a partner (though, to their credit, they didn't specify a gender) and I just wasn't interested? But I could see myself spending a lot of time with Sara. The second was that, even the few times I had met someone I could consider dating, my first thought was: "But how am I going to make them understand Sara's importance in my life? And the fact that she might often come before them?" And so, more often than not, I just chose not to pursue it because I couldn't be bothered to go through that hassle.

Turns out she'd been doing the same for years 😂

(I'm not even sure what this trope is called but you know the one)

So, a couple of days before she was set to leave, we decided to splurge on a hotel weekend as a sort of send-off. And, on the second morning, just after we had woken up (before breakfast — which Sara has never let me live down) I explained my reasoning to her and asked if we should get married.

It took her about fifteen minutes to a) understand what I was suggesting, b) realise I was serious, and c) try to figure out what she thought of the bombshell I'd just dropped on her.

(Again: Early morning, no breakfast)

But, eventually, she got with the program and accepted. It was only afterwards that I realised my mistake which was that, apparently, it was fucking Valentine's Day. I shit you not.

So, whenever I say that our engagement date is Valentine's Day, everyone thinks I'm such a goddamn romantic. When, in actuality, I was presenting a marriage of convenience with the tone of a business proposal. I even had a mental list of arguments.

(In hindsight, I should maybe have made a PowerPoint too — it might have helped Sara get on board faster. But alas)

(Add "Last-Minute Proposal" to the list)

So we got engaged, Sara moved to the other end of the country, and two and a half years later, we got married. But it took another six months after that before we actually ended up working close enough that we could live together.

Which, in hindsight, wasn't the right choice for us. We're used to living close to each other, but not in the same apartment/house. We're just too different, so that's what we're going to correct now by selling the house and moving into separate apartments. Or going back to our roots, one might say?

And, as mentioned, remain married. Considering everything we've gone through, it would feel like such a waste to get a divorce now 😆

So yeah! That's how we met, got engaged, and eventually married. It took many, many years and a lot of hijinks, but we got there in the end! And we're still figuring out the details. But hey, that's what relationships are like, yeah?

Thank you so much for the well-wishes and I hope you enjoyed the storytime! 😄

[twopoppies]

Sorry Gina I’ve been off so I may cover a lot

I’ll just use “The anons who said” for the beginning of all

That antis are using a pic of him looking at Oli so he and Harry were “just friends and Larries ruined it”

He knew Harry for 25 minutes he’s known Oli for 25 years looking at someone you’ve known a few months the same way as someone you’ve known for most of your life tells me it’s more than friendship with Harry (also it still wasn’t the same look he gave Harry) Larries didn’t ruin their “friendship” seeing as antis think H was sleeping with every woman he breathed on and Louis had a long time gf why would a “rumor” bother them

That pic of Harry in Italy is old from last year

Louis wanting to move has nothing to do with Harry they talked about his public house anyway, not in the heart of London and maybe Harry’s renovations are actually almost done or he wants to move to the city or maybe Italy and about F why would he move to be near him when he said himself when he retired he wants to move to the English countryside over 3000 miles away from “the most important person in me life”

Let alone the fact he was in the country of that most important person for 3 months and saw him how many times? While the child would’ve been on school vacation. Yes he was on tour but it’s called Nannies and security

People come down on Larries but antis make no sense like the one who said he gives him 15K a month in support, it’s 5K first and second child support does not equal love but don’t try to use reason on them they’ll throw a hissy fit

Finally about the interview, the second they brought up his height and wearing concealer people should know there was a tone to it not meant to make him look good, lowkey questioning his sincerity and implying he drinks a lot (the two bottles of vodka just for him)

And that’s that on that. 😅 Thanks, love.

[nobibiname]

Dear Elriels & Nessian lovers,

I wrote a thing. This is my first story I'm sharing with the fandom, and I'd love for you to read it (and tell me what you think).

It's a Nessian fluff One Shot with strong hints of Elriel.

I got this idea a while back, and I loved writing it. 3.4k words took me a month to edit, so if I don't post now, I think I'll spend another month editing.

So I can't promise all of it makes sense, but if you read it I will be forever grateful (not on Ao3 yet) Story continues below the Cut.

Every Waterfall in Prythian

Summary: One evening Cassian's Point of View opens up to a world of infinite possibilities.

Word count: 3385 Warnings: somewhat graphic violence (just at the beginning)

With a spear piercing his throat, Cassian's defiance extinguished into a wisp of air. His head fell limp to the side, with a banality unworthy of the final act of the greatest general in all of Prythian. The pink hue of dawn brushed the horizon and for a fleeting moment the chaos of the battlefield shrunk to nothing but Feyre's piercing scream as the light left his once bright, hazel eyes.

"WHAT?!?!" "Oh no baby, they killed you in this one", Nesta reached behind her and lovingly tapped Cassian's cheek. "I probably would have killed you later," she said offhand. Nesta always chewed on her thumb when engrossed in thought, a persistent habit, that her mother was unable to squash. "YOU… WHAT?"

"I mean, If I was was writing this, I'd really want to drag out the despair, you know? At this point both you and Az are still alive. Which leaves a lot of hope for a final victory. You want to slowly erode that hope for maximal drama. So I would have killed you a few chapters later, and Az towards the end. It nails down the heroic climax for Feyre to bring down Hybern. This pacing is off, what are they even doing?"

Nesta and Cassian have carved out an intimate, domestic habit for themselves. They read the same book together, while she nestled in his lap. When she finished a page, she lightly scratched his arm, and when he did, he'd leave the lightest peck on her temple. It wordlessly let the other know, to turn the page. They never agreed on it, it simply emerged as their sweet, yet practical quirk. It was a silly thing to keep secret, but she cherished it so much she never shared it with her friends or sisters. Nesta had now been scratching at his arm for at least a few minutes.

"You would… what.? Nes, they got so many details of the war wrong… and what kind of historical record is this anyway? I am alive and… and why does Azriel get to live longer?" "This isn't historical Cassian, it's fanficton" she said, clearly not fully invested in the conversation. "Fan.. fiction? what kinds of fans of mine would KILL me? "

"Oh it's all the rage in Day. I guess those nerds in Day Court blow off steam from writing, reading and research, by doing more … writing, reading, and well, research. Though, I have to admit, they are still some of the best writers out there" She said and returned her focus to the text. Feyre was just so good in this one, but the rest?

"So, you're saying, Day Court wants me dead?" His serious tone rattled her out of her head and back into their bedroom. Nesta was unsure if she had heard him correctly, they didn't typically discuss politics in bed … wait, didn't he mean Summer? "Oh no, Cassian baby, it's fanfiction." She gently turned around and give him a soft look. The confusion etched on his face was unmistakable and somewhat adorable. Was this really the first time they've read fanfiction together?

"They write speculative stories about famous fae and events in Prythian, with alternate endings, or even diverge from the facts entirely. And usually with completely made up romances, which is frankly half the point." she sized him up carefully, and decided more explanation was needed. "And nobody actually wants you dead, baby. This is just a common device from the Nestelion stans. They need to get you out of the way for the plot, so it's usually some version of you traveling to faraway lands in search of adventure, or sometimes just killing you" She was casually gesturing while talking, this was no big deal, but when she glanced at him, his gorgeous hazel eyes were as wide as saucers "…but you usually die in an honorable way… majestically…. in battle."

"I prefer to be majestic and alive." Cassian mumbled miserably. "So, what are they making room for anyway?" "Nestalion, Nesta and Helion? It's an imaginary, completely made up ship, baby" "Ha! Dream on! Fat chance! I'd like to see that pompous rake give it a real good shot" The redundant phrasing, the overblown swagger… Nesta knew that Cassian was still confused, but now mostly annoyed.

"So… do we ever get together in these stories? Do they write stories about a 'Cassta'?" he awkwardly used his fingers for quotations. "It's 'Nessian' baby, and yes, though usually as a start to Nestalion stories, or sometimes in a thruple with Az or Thesan. I can't say I encourage this, but people rarely ship anyone already in a relationship. This is just a specialty of those Dawn freaks, they really love a good poly story". Nesta threw her hands up defensively, though if she were a bit more honest, she had read a lot of works from the talented "Dawn freaks" and didn't exactly hate them.

"Where do they get these ideas? And Helion and you make absolutely no sense. Who even wants to read that?" He was looking quite a bit puffed up now. She glanced briefly at the manuscript. She really wanted to finish it this evening, but it was time for some damage control.

He looked so delicious, even when puffed out like a tropical bird. Though, his wings were fanning out further than she knew was comfortable for him while lying on the bed. Nesta could definitely help him relax, and she didn't mind this kind of reading break. Lying on his chest now, she tenderly traced her fingers on his jaw while peppering his neck with little kisses.

"Baby, it's Day!" she said as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. "They have been writing fanfiction of Helion for centuries in Day Court, it's nothing new. The only thing they love more than their High Lord is worshipping him in writing. They ship him with practically anything with a pulse. They are total, pathetic simps. There's even stories shipping him with the Suriel! The man is insatiable, everybody knows it, and that's how they like him. Do you know how many works of fiction begin, or end with the sentence 'Daddy's home' ? They could dedicate another library to that!" "A small, local library?" every word was punctuated with annoyance. No. "Sure."

Nesta locked into his eyes with a wicked smirk. She saw his lip twitch for a split second. So, he was going to keep pouting for a bit longer. That was fine with her, she could play this game blindfolded. As a matter of fact, she sometimes did.

"It's nothing to worry about baby," She kissed his cheek. "Ever since the war, me and Elain have been the newest hot fae in town" She kissed his jaw, humming with delight for good measure. "Of course we show up in freaky fanfics all the time." She sucked on the delicate spot right under his ear. "Besides, the whole Nestalion vs. Ellion shipwar will end the moment the next hot young babe arrives. An actress, a singer, a young princess coming of age. Tale as old as time." She traced her nose down his neck with a tiny bite and a long kiss at his base of his neck . "Wait, Elain?? Our sweet Elain? "

Really? Now? "There are Elain and Helion stories? Well, what the hells happens in them?" She looked up at him again, a little surprised at all this interest in fanfiction. Generally speaking, Nesta got a kick out of reading any type of story about herself, but she had absolutely no patience for badly written Elain stories. She might have sent anonymous, but strongly worded letters to the editors of the prythian fanfiction archive expressing her displeasure at the truly rotten ones. They might have guessed the identity of the disgruntled reader.

"Well, some version of a magical long forgotten spell frees her from her mating bond, or sometimes Helion finds it in a scroll in a secret room in a library, then he and Elain fall in love. Usually because by accident they both go swimming in the moonlight in the same waterfall, or river, lake, lily pond. People love a lily pond in romance." As did she.

"That's utterly ridiculous. There's no such magic!" Correct, that was the ridiculous bit "Ok, so what about these Nestalion stories? Does he sweep you off your feet at some fancy ball? " he pursed his lips as he pointedly looked at her. "Oh no no, there's no balls. Usually we go on a secret quest to find a scroll or some eldritch magical artifact, and then it rains one night, and we have to stop at an inn. Of course the last remaining room has only one bed. And well… "

"ONLY. ONE. BED!" For a brief moment, Nesta panicked at her shortage of tact. Though, before she could even protest, Cassian burst out laughing. "So you're telling me, the only reason big Daddy Helion has a chance with even a fictional you, is that through a complicated series of events, you accidentally end up in the same bed?" "Well… yeah" She couldn't decide if she was more amused or relieved at this turn of events. Was Cassian actually enjoying this? She felt his roaring laughter through her entire chest, and it would have been comforting if he wasn't shaking the bed. Though she warmed up to the idea of shaking the bed more. Fingers slowly sliding down towards the buttons on his tunic, she kissed the top of his chest.

"So, Elain and waterfalls, huh" She passed her tongue along the swirl of an inky black tattoo, as she fiddled with the first button. "Oh yes, that one is very poplular. Elain and Helion have made love under every waterfall in Prythian." The second button relented. "What? Even in Winter?" Cassian scoffed dramatically. "Especially Winter." she sucked lightly on the skin of his chest. She was leaving blooming marks tonight. "Ok, how do you make love in a frozen waterfall?" Cassian lifted his right arm behind his head and got that adorable quizzical look on his face. She could take a moment to explain that, afterall she secretely loved the waterfall trick.

"You see, Helion has this spell, to allow the frozen water to pass around them, in these crystalline blue ice flowers and she's completely enchanted by their beauty. Also Elain nearly freezes to death, but is rescued by the warmth of his body and he's actually surprisingly romantic with her" Satisfied that the matter had finally been put to rest, Nesta resumed her exploration and hummed into his chest as she traced a hand along the muscles of his arm.

"Ok, but how did she get there?" "Cassian!!" I'm trying something here It was her turn to be annoyed, as she looked up to face him. "You said, they arrive and swim at the lake, or waterfall, separately, and accidentally at the same time. So, before the meeting, how was Elain hoping to swim under a frozen waterfall?" Was it her imagination or was she being… postponed? "I guess, … she was upset because Tarquin ends things with her for some reason of royal duty. She's heartbroken, and craves the opposite of Summer, so she goes exploring the glacial beauty of Winter's wilderness" The End. Can we move this along now?

"Tarquin now?" Nesta's sighed. "Yeah well, Summer is baffling. For a culture with no reason to wear many clothes, you wouldn't believe how prim and proper they are. Obsessed with courtly love and slow burn. Nothing good ever happens until promises are made. Bunch of prudes!"

"You know Nes, I've never pictured Elain with someone like Helion." Cassian mused, suddenly very pensive. Oh? "Really? Who did you picture her with then? " She sat up a bit trying to appear casual.

"Well I guess, if it weren't for her bond, maybe someone like Tarquin? He's uptight, but besides that they have a similar nature." Nesta wasn't entirely convinced this unusual pairing wasnt motivated by his desire to get back into Summer Court.

"But I guess to me it's always been Feyre and Rhys, and then you and me…", he looked at her meaningfully, "the epic legend of 'Nessian'. And then there's Elain and… ha! I almost said Az!" Nesta observed him with unusual quiet as he chuckled at his own slip up. In the unlikely event he knew something that she didn't, Nesta wondered how to pry it out of him. "Yes, that is silly." It was unconvincing, but Cassian didn't seem to notice.

"And what about my dear sweet brothers?" He gave her that naughty schoolboy look of his that she pretended not to adore. "Obviously people are kind of careful around Rhys. He's got a reputation after all. There's some dark romances from some anonymous writers. It's bold, but not as popular" "Aw poor Rhysie, not so many fans for him" Nesta shrugged at that.

"And Azriel? Are you telling me Prythian likes to write erotic stories about Az?" Gods yes, ALL of Prythian "Yes, some of Prythian" His gring grew in devilish proportions. "And this is popular in?" "The lunatics in Winter Court. It's always about shirtless winter sports with them. Brutal skating competitions on frozen lakes. The lovers are always some sort of athletic rivals." Nesta rolled her eyes. Winter has really allowed themselves to become predictable. "Bizzarely, also Spring. The Calanmai stories are… vivid and elaborate. As are the ones on, Samhain, Imbolc, Lughnasadh , the solctices, the equinoxes, any minor feast. Really, any excuse for … large group activities." "And Autumn?" "Never met a kink they didnt like." Cassian's laughter boomed through the room, large and indecent. Nesta thoroughly enjoyed his contradictions; this giant, formidable winged fae, captivated and earnest about sharing her fanciful interests. She gave him a big smile as she slowly wound her finger around one of his raven locks.

"Does he know?" "Yes, but I wouldn't mention it to him." Cassian was positively giddy, and somehow looked more wicked than Nesta had ever seen. "Cass I'm serious. He's aware, but very touchy about it. Last time I casually mentioned it I didn't see him for a week. The first thing he said to me afterwards was a lot of mumbling, which sounded an awful lot like 'saucy wench'. " "From what I'm hearing, the only saucy wench in Az's life is Thesan and I'm guessing…. also Helion?" "Yes, there are Azlion stories as well. Did you even have to ask? No waterfalls though." Nesta sighed deeply. "I mean it, Cassian, he is very sensitive on the subject." "Why though? Unless they're killing him too, it's kind of, flattering no? " "Oh I don't know… It's Az. He has his reasons"

Nesta recalled that one day in Elain's kitchen, sitting on the counter and kicking her feet as she shared her thoughts on the most recent Ellion story. The plot annoyed her, the twist was utterly predictable, the pacing was wrong, and she was incensed. Elain deserved better storytelling than that. She didn't even think Elain was listening. Pretty sure she tuned her out completely whenever Nesta went on about fanfiction, making a sharp point to focus on whisking, folding, measuring and … whatever tinkering baking seemed to involve. Which was the whole reason Nesta was spending the morning in the kitchen. Sunday was for breakfast buns, and this week they were lemon cream, her favorite. She was damned if she was to miss out on her batch, knowing otherwise Azriel would swoop in and devour it without a shred of remorse.

And there he was, walking into the kitchen. Elain smiled shyly, as Az all but ignored Nesta. Sitting pretty on the counter between them, Nesta's head whipped from one to the other as they said hello. She observed nothing extraordinary, just polite, proper greetings, small, polite smiling, and polite questions about today's variety of polite breakfast buns. "They'll be cool in another half an hour" Again, nothing but the quietest smile from her lovely sister. Nesta narrowed her eyes hoping for some glimmer of recognition of Elain's tells. Nothing. There was either nothing to see or Elain had gotten even better at slipping through the cracks with her true thoughts and feelings undetected. "That's alright, I don't mind. I'll wait with you two"

Oh, so he did notice her. "Morning Nes!" He said as if she had been the rude one. Az moved to the little kitchen table and opened the Sunday Velaris Times. Nesta was more than happy to continue with her fanfiction tirade. And oh, they just had to hear about this incredibly well written, steamy story involving Az and a beautiful fae girl from Summer Court. She was downright obsessed, and hadn't even read formally published work as good as this in a long while. This was the kind of story that Elain deserved.Maybe she should reach out to the writer with an idea for a story about Elain, and "then we can finally read something of quality". She was already half way through the very salacious plot, working up to the bedrom scene, when she realized the uncomfortable quiet settling into the kitchen. Elain was pretending to wipe a bowl, that was clearly both clean and dry. It had still managed to slip her fingers and fall with several ungraceful clangs on the kitchen floor. "Oh my, well I guess it's a clumsy morning for me" Elain was rarely this ruffled anymore.

Az went professionally still, no longer flipping through the paper. And while his expression didn't reveal a single change, his shadows swirled in what seemed like annoyance. As much as mysterious shadows could be annoyed, Nesta supposed. The rest was incoherent mumbling. After Az grabbed his share of the breakfast buns in a neat cloth covered dish, he thanked Elain at least twice and actually flew out of the kitchen. Elain threw her a look that was somehow both dirty and embarrased. "Get off the counter…" struggling to be unpleasant, Elain's attemp at a bark came out as more of a yip. "… please, Nesta." Elain promptly handed her a dish of lemon cream breakfast buns, and with some flimsy excuse about proper cleaning, tossed Nesta from the kitchen.

"Yes, so they both appeared annoyed. I wouldn't say they're into fanfiction" She had left out some curious details and her suspicions, but gave Cassian the gist of "Neither Elain nor Azriel cared much for fanfiction"

Nesta had wondered about that interaction ever since. Why did it always feel like there is some quiet, even unspoken conversation she wasn't privy to, going on with these two?

Nesta always felt that she knew her sister and her manner of soft, nuanced interaction with the world. Was she mistaken? She could only speculate Elain's feelings flowed deeper, and warmer than polite conversation would have you believe. She had her theories, but had made it a point to keep them to herself.

"Huh, strange that." Cassian didn't appear to give it much thought, because he finally looked down at her nestled in his chest with a different kind of grin.

"So Nes, I wonder, have you gotten any interesting ideas to explore from these… bracing stories?" Definitely, at least the first couple pages of a long collated list. "Maybe… I might have?"

"You know, Nes, I noticed this room has only one bed." Cassian raised an eyebrow and smirked at her.

"Did you, now?" She giggled and felt the kind of brilliant levity that a life with Cassian always promised. "Mhm" His voice lower now, for a moment he just sat perfectly still and smoldering.

Before there was any room for protest, he suddenly grabbed her and in one fell swoop, flipped them around. Nesta gasped at the pure stealth and agility of the move. The war general with the confidence that came from generations of training was hovering mere inches above her and every muscle, every inch of her skin burned with excitement. Her breath hitched in anticipation and she tossed the manuscript haphazardly into a corner of the room.

"You know something else? " He whispered temptingly in her ear. "Tell me" "Daddy's home."

Their joined laughter exploded through the room, before he finally captured her mouth in a wild and promising kiss.

[glamourscat]

CELESTIAL BODIES | POLY!JEGULUS X READER

as the title says | three fools in love | 7th year | fem reader |

I. The Moon

"I think I'm in love with two people," Regulus announced to his two best friends as he stared the ceiling of his dorm room, sprawled dramatically on his bed. While Barry was resting his head on Evan's thighs, pretending to read a book.

"Finally admitting it, then?" Evan didn't look up from where he was braiding tiny plaits into Barty’s hair. "Only took you half year."

Regulus shot up, side eyeing Evan. "What do you mean 'finally'?"

Barty snorted, abandoning any pretense of reading. "Reg, darling, you're about as subtle as an elephant. The way you look at Potter and Y/N..."

"I do not look at them in any particular way!"

"No? Shall I refresh your memory? You literally walked into a wall last week when we were our way to class, because Potter flew past the window during Quidditch practice," Evan pointed out.

"And you spent three hours in the library yesterday 'studying' while Y/N read poetry," Barty added, using air quotes.

Regulus buried his face in his hands. "It's impossible anyway. They're... they're together."

"And?" Barty raised an eyebrow, exchanging a look with Evan. "We're together, but that doesn't mean we wouldn't be open to—"

"That's different!" Regulus protested. "You two... it makes sense. But me? With both of them? It's complicated enough being a Black who's in love with a Potter, but adding another person..."

"Love's always complicated, petite étoile," Evan said softly, using the nickname that he gave Regulus as a joke during their first year but it stayed up to now. "But that doesn't mean it's impossible."

Regulus looked between his best friends and felt something in his chest. "I just... I want what you have. But I want it with them. Both of them. Is that selfish?"

"No more selfish than wanting the sun and stars," Barty smiled. "Which, coincidentally..."

"Oh, shut up."

But he was smiling now too, even as his heart raced with a new found possibility.

II. The Sun

James Potter had a problem.

Actually, he had two problems, both currently sitting under a tree by the lake – his girlfriend, you, reading poetry to his Quidditch rival (and frequent source of confusing feelings) Regulus Black.

"Prongs, mate," Sirius said from beside him, "you're staring again."

"Am' not," James muttered, definitely staring, as Regulus laughed at something you said. "Just... making sure they're not plotting anything."

"Right. Because my brother, who blushes every time you say his name and your girlfriend, who writes you love notes in Ancient Runes, are definitely plotting against you."

James turned to his best friend, surprised. "Regulus blushes when..."

Sirius groaned. "Merlin's pants, you're both so oblivious. Just go talk to them!"

"But what if—"

"James Potter," Sirius grabbed his shoulders, "my brother looks at you the same way I look at Remus. Trust me, I would like to say some.. a lot of things about this, but s'not the time. Nor the place. I see it in the way he looks at you, at her. In the way she looks at him the same way she looks at you. And you? You've been pining after both of them for months. So please, for the love of my sanity, go talk to them before I hex you."

James blinked. "Oh."

"Yes, 'oh.' Now get your ass up, you absolute moron."

III. The Stars

You weren't blind.

You saw the way James watched Regulus during Quidditch matches, the way Regulus's grey eyes followed James across the Great Hall. You noticed how they both gravitated toward you, how their touches lingered, how they seemed to orbit around each other, despite claiming they cannot stand each other.

It was rather fitting, really. James with his bright energy, lighting up every room he entered. Regulus with his quiet grace, reflecting that light in his own beautiful way. And you, somewhere between them, trying to bridge the gap.

"Your boyfriend's staring again," Regulus murmured, eyes flicking between your book, the black lake and definetly not James.

"Is he now? Must be staring at you I suppose." you replied without missing a beat.

His head snapped up. "I- what?"

You smiled, closing the book before turning to face him. "Oh, come on, Reg. You can't tell me you haven't noticed."

"Noticed what?"

"The way James looks at you. The way you look at him. The way you both look at me. The way I look at the both of you"

Regulus went very still. "I... that's..."

"Complicated?" you suggested. "Maybe. But the best things usually are."

"But you and James..."

"Are very much in love," you agreed. "Just like we're both very much in love with you."

The confession hung in the air between you, as delicate as starlight.

"Oh," Regulus breathed.

And then James was there, dropping down beside you both with his usual grace (or lack thereof). "So," he said, running a hand through his perpetually messy curly hair, "Sirius threatened to hex me if I didn't come talk to you both."

"About?" Regulus asked, voice slightly higher than usual.

James looked between you both, golden in the afternoon sun. His eyes catched yours and you nod reassurning. You two haved talked about this before, and it seems it was finally time to let the cat out of the bag.

"About how... I'm pretty sure I'm in love with you. Well, the both of you. And how that should probably terrify me, but somehow doesn't."

"And maybe…" James continued while grinning, "we should continue this conversation somewhere more private? Like, say, a certain someone's dorm?" as his eyes flicked back to your figure.

"Subtle, Potter," Regulus rolled his eyes, but he was smiling.

"You love it."

"Merlin help me, I do."

Later, tangled together in your satin bed sheets, you three fit perfectly together. James's warmth, Regulus's cool touch and your steady presence between them. Their kisses tasted different. James like sugar quills, Regulus like mint and the rich English black tea he always has in the afternoons, but they go together so beautifully.

"We should have done this ages ago," James murmured against your neck while Regulus kissed patterns across your collarbone.

"Better late than never," you gasped as Regulus nipped at your skin.

"Much better," Regulus agreed, reaching up to tangle his fingers in James's hair.

And really, what were a few months of pining compared to this? The sun, the moon and the stars, finally aligned just right.

© GLAMOURSCAT (all rights reserved. do not share, modify, translate and re-upload my work outside of tumblr)

[a-man-in-the-crowd]

HELLO EVERYONE YK WHAT TIME IT IS (probably)

i love you eulalie never change

montresor's adhd is unmatched holy shit bro 😭 (it's probably more abt how he's scared and needs something to distract him but like. sh. i want my lil hcs.)

monty, disrespectfully, get thrown off a cliff (preferably by will or ada ❤️)

PLZ eulalie and prospero twinning with their begrudging moral codes, tho eula's is coming in a lot less high stakes situation thank the gods

the eye twitch of a man who was asked about marriage and dating too many times in life, you can't change my mind. AND OH GODS NOT MONTY'S NICE FACE NO 😭

lowkey this is hilarious like god damn monty can rlly say anything and will will be like "yeah that makes sense"

okay, so, as much as i would LOVE for will to follow eulalie and join the misfits... let's be real, there is no way he actually is going to, especially not with monty around to manipulate him. but the fact he has a flashback in the next episode makes me a little more hopeful. but ALSO, i don't think at this point in the story would will switch teams, we just haven't gotten enough will development for it to make sense. i really am praying will defies the odds tho bc i REQUIRE will-eulalie friendship to breathe 😭

also i swear on my life people HAVE to stop telling will what to do. i honestly think that if he was ever directionless, he might have some positive development but like who knows. i just think eula telling will what to do, even if she didn't realize it came off as pressuring at all, would be a bad start to their friendship.

OKAY SO FIRST OF ALL THIS PANEL IS GORGEOUS?? THE TAROT CARD REFERENCE (i'm assuming?)?? BEAUTIFUL CHEF'S KISS

i'm honestly pretty sure the chains are just metaphorical, but i saw some people in the comments suggesting it could be monty's oppression ability. but, like, is monty even in good enough shape to currently use his spectre abilities, especially out of his spectre form? well obviously we've seen will use his spectre abilities outside of his spectre form, and monty almost did once so hm idk

and, of course...

all i'll say is this isn't the WORST birthday gift imaginable, like it looks like someone (monty, maybe? 👀) is pulling him up? if it's monty though i'm not sure how much help it could be. did the hounds get to them, is that why will has a flashback?? i did have a theory that the stag would land where will and monty were, but the place the stag was jumping didn't look like a library?? and we DID see the hounds already so it's more likely that

anyways, in conclusion: eulalie is iconic, will needs help (STOP TELLING HIM WHAT TO DO GUYS I NEED TO SEE WHAT'D HAPPEN), and monty is... still monty i fear

[krispdreemurr]

I like the idea of asriel taking the knock off control but only in the context if he did it because That's What A Good Older Brother Would Do

In undertale chara and asriel were about the same age so asriel never really felt much responsibility for them

But in deltarune is an older brother with there seemingly a decent age gap between him and kris, combined with the fact that it's implied that asriel has a bit of an issue around what's good and what's bad in deltarune (him confessing for supposed sins despite the hometown faith having no concept of sin and more importantly him confession on behalf of kris, which personally if i had an older sibling and they did that to me it would feel pretty uncomfortable)

I feel like while asriel/flowey was a bit selfish and a bit of a sore loser in undertale, in deltarune I think he would have bought into his own image as a golden boy and because of that he'd do a lot of things because they're Good to do, rather than any kindness out of his own heart

Anyway I think deltarune asriel he's a loser but a loser because he's bought in into the idea that he's a Good person and because of that he does Good things, which im very excited to see him if true because that would mean I can definetly see him doing something bad or rude or just plain mean but refusing acknowledging it as Bad because he's a Good person, and Good people only do Good things

Basically because of life circumstances unlike flowey who's like "who cares about morals, I do what I want", asriel in deltarune would be like "I'm a Good person therefore I don't do Bad things" *proceeds to do Bad things and simply not acknowledge them as such*

Hopefully I'm making some sense here

no yeah i can see that kind of like, weird fixation on that happening, esp w undertale how he divides off good perfect asriel and fucked up evil flowey in ways i've talked about many times. he absolutely has a sense of himself that's very much like, following a checklist for goodness like i said, where he does the right things in the right order, etc.

i think why the controller confuses me in that vein is it's the sort of thing that Could have been one of those moments where he doesnt even realize hes doing anything wrong, bc he doesnt actually ever do any kind of self-analysis or any real checks of his morals. like, youre the older brother and the console is yours, and kris doesnt mind the knockoff (or doesnt say anything), and this is how it's always been, and why reevaluate when you know youre always being good?

but maybe kris did manage to assert themself, just once, over this tiny thing. maybe asriel realized he'd done something off, outside his framework. that he'd missed some wrongdoing he'd had.

and then he fixed it and added 'give kris turns on the good controller' to the checklist and that resolved it and he was good again :) no further introspection that reveals the yawning gap of "do i even have an identity" at his center :)

[inseparabiles]

Is Caracalla a top or a bottom in your opinion? Asking for a friend

This is such a question I love it. I need it to be known I was walking home from the store and just... stuck my face to this ask for the whole of it. Your ask made me a traffic hazard.

Anyways,

instinctively, top, definitely. But it's a bit complicated because some of it is culturally tied - it'd take him a bit to figure out there's an alternative, first off. I mean be real nobody's going to be springing this on him in any consensual fashion. Nobody is his equal, suggesting he'd make a woman of himself for someone would easily land them a really dirty cackle and the cross under 7 minutes span. It's not an option, for him to consider or anybody under him to so much as suggest.

And I think even after it crosses his mind that... you know? What's actually stopping him? It's still a question of control. Calla is difficult when it comes to power, imho. Split between always being the follower and losing more and more ground where he'd even be capable of making his own choices to begin with, he often doesn't question when he's being led but he RESENTS where it puts him, and how it makes him feel. It can be Geta or it can be Macrinus but he's very used to having his power stripped from him and relying on the few people he views as capable and reliable. At the same time, while he craves that sense of safety and wants others to make his life simple and easy and safe at all times, he viscerally despises being reduced to a state of inferiority in comparison to anybody else. And it's clear that in matters of pleasure, he demands control and feels capable of wielding it unlike in so many other circumstances, and he craves that sense of power immensely. He can order slaves to die for his pleasure and he takes it as his god-given right to get off to this. Sex is much the same, he can command or pressure anybody into anything from his position of authority alone and easily guarantee that refusal to comply will end badly on the scale of you'll probably die painfully for it or your and your line's lives will at the very least be ruined forever. This is an area where he can have ultimate power over people and he'll take it without questioning it. The only thing we see pushing any breaks for him on this is Geta: he'll allow Geta to spare a gladiator on the arena, even when Caracalla's own vote disagrees (when wouldn't it???)

On the other hand. If he feels unthreathened, lazy, if he's so high he's already barely functional. Maybe he just doesn't care that much, as long as his needs get served by it, or if he's following a whim from curiosity. But I think I disagree with swathes of the fandom that he wouldn't feel shame - initially - for that submission. Again, this is a huge taboo, and he is already always struggling for control. He's never allowed it anywhere in his life. He knows on some level he's not even capable of having it, and isn't worth what he's already abusing to his heart's content. I think being anything but in control, even when it's on his own terms, will be a lot of pushing and then pulling back, purposefully going for an option and then getting incredibly frustrated and distressed when his own goddamn wishes are heeded. Because he might want the feeling of just being for once - having someone be more powerful than he is in a way that he still controls and can get out of, to be cared for, to be served and pampered and loved for all he's worth without having to decree every single part of the act. But fuck anybody who asserts control over him. I mean how the fuck dare they.

Would he like to be versatile? I'm sure, sometimes. And I think it's very clear that he's comfortable with doing just about anything that will get a rise out of other people, he loves being a scandal and having it be known that he doesn't give a fuck about anybody else. Does that mean he's not naturally assertive and enjoy his power and control immensely? Nooope. Even his displays of inappropriate, emasculating acts or behaviours or his dress and style are assertions of that authority - he does it because he wants to and he can and no one is going to be able to tell him no, no one can stop him, and that very much appeals to him all on its own. But ultimately he just needs that certainty so much, he's not any more free from needing to prove himself at all times in his life than Geta is. In some ways, where I could fully vision Geta craving for the chances to be taken out of that position - by his disability and illness, his diminutiveness and physical weakness and by the way he is perceived and how his own body is ripping his control away from him, Caracalla is the opposite. He doesn't innately crave a break from power, he craves for a moment he feels it is truly inherent to him.

In all, I think he'd be most likely to dip from his power trip under two conditions: either he feels exceedingly secure, or else so far gone he doesn't know how to take control in that situation anymore and wants to be safe and cared for more than anything else. He will not be wanting power or control in a spot where it demands anything unpleasant or difficult or dangerous of him whatsoever, and he'd likely be fine giving it up for a while if it's otherwise handed to him in excess.

Anywhere under other circumstances, he'll be gripping to a sense of power above any other things.

So, in conclusion, uh.

Tl;dr: definitely a top because he's a massively insecure and entitled mess of a divine thing - but make him cosy or make him desperate and he'll give it up eventually.