#he is an incredible being struggling with deeply human things

[millionsknives]

i don’t think i’ve rewatched atla since becoming a committed pacifist and i just finished what was probably my tenth rewatch and i have never loved aang more. i've seen it so many times but i still came away with a new appreciation for the way the end of the story was handled. aang is the only survivor of a genocide and he is clinging to the last remnants of his culture and religion, and everyone is telling him the only way to save the world is to kill the dictator whose regime is responsible for the genocide, but to do so would abandon the deeply held beliefs of his people. if aang goes against his beliefs and kills ozai, his people's way of life dies completely and sozin wins.

aang knows it would be wrong but he can't see another way out so he prays for an answer, and the universe hears him and the spirits send out the lion turtle, and the creator answers him. and here's the thing that i never put together before today: aang would not have been able to energybend ozai if he had given in and wanted to kill him. the lion turtle tells aang that only the incorruptible can bend another’s energy, or else they will become corrupted themselves. and i think that aang, because of his love for the fire nation as he had once known it, was never corrupted by personal hatred for the fire lord or the fire nation. he was able to expertly hold two conflicting beliefs in harmony better than any adult could, the belief that ozai is a horrible person and the world would be better off without him and that he's still a human being with a life that is sacred.

and i don't think it's a matter of selfishness like some people make it out to be. aang is not some immature little kid who doesn't want to kill because killing is for bad guys. he's an incredibly wise and spiritual person who was shaped by airbender beliefs and upholds airbender beliefs, and he can see beyond the scope of this war. the balance of the world depends on the existence of the four nations, and aang does not just represent the air nomads, he IS the air nomads. he's all that's left.

despite many people’s interpretation of the four past avatars’ advice, none of the past avatars outright tell him to kill ozai. they tell him to be decisive, to bring justice, to be proactive, to be sacrificial. but none of them tells him definitively to kill him. he doesn't disobey or ignore their advice, he follows their ancient wisdom while still staying true to his beliefs. yangchen actually comes the closest to outright telling him to kill ozai (even more than kiyoshi, surprisingly) but what she fails to account for is that aang is not just the avatar, he is the last airbender, and being the last airbender is far greater a burden than being the avatar. no matter what happens, once he dies, there will always be another avatar. but if he is not careful to preserve the airbender way of life, there will be no more airbenders. yangchen could sacrifice her air nomad way of life for the sake of her duty to the world because there were thousands of other air nomads to continue their traditions. aang has no such privilege.

and it's not that he doesn't want to kill, it's that he actually doesn't think he can do it -- both that he won't be able to emotionally bring himself to kili someone, and, prodigy that he is, he doesn't have the raw bending skill to overcome a comet-powered master firebender. and then it turns from 'i don't think i can do it' into ‘i can’t do it.’ and when the avatar state gives him enough power to actually do it, he changes the answer to ‘i won’t do it.’ he overcomes all the combined power of his past lives to say no, i have found another answer and i will remain incorruptible. to kill is to maintain the power struggle of the fire nation and to reject air nomad wisdom and without airbenders the world CANNOT be brought into balance.

the only thing ozai cares about is power, and that's what the entire fight with ozai is about, physically and ideologically, because ozai only sees power in terms of force, fear, threats, and violence. to ozai, aang (and his entire people) are weak and undeserving of life because they are largely pacifists, but he fails to see the magnificent power that the airbenders do hold, spiritual wisdom and mastery of the self and contentment and joy and harmony and a deep understanding of the world that a man like ozai could never obtain. to kill ozai would ratify ozai’s worldview that power as he defines it is the most important pursuit in the world and the only way to assert one's right to be in the world is to be cruel and violent like him. i think to ozai, becoming powerless might be worse than being dead. he wants power, or he wants death, and aang gives him neither. it upends everything he believed in. aang, the avatar, but more importantly, the last airbender, armed by his past lives' power and his people's love and the spirit world's blessing and the lion turtle's omniscience (and toph's mastery of true sight through neutral jing), ends the war 100 years to the day after the air nomad genocide, in the way that his people taught him, with power that goes beyond force and violence, with spiritual wisdom, with an incorruptible soul, with mercy -- mercy that is not weakness, mercy that brings justice.

[rosenotactuallyquartz]

“rose is always wall eyed, sad eyed even when smiling.” — rebecca sugar

this is such a simple note describing rose’s appearance in rebecca’s concept drawings for rose’s lion 3 debut, but it’s incredibly tragic when you consider rose’s character

she’s so deeply ashamed of herself and her past; the way she worships everyone around her is so sincere; she can’t stand herself

rose keeps her eyes closed in every picture she leaves behind. rose with her boyfriend, the portrait in steven’s house. she wouldn’t want him to be anywhere near that kind of pain. even rose’s fountain has a statue of her with her eyes closed. she hides parts of herself, literally & figuratively.

she can’t open up about her past; she would much rather shut it out. she can’t bear the thought of even having to look at her own pain.

“oh, i’m so happy for everyone who’s going to know you.” — rose, lion 4

“rose quartz hoped with all her being that her child would grow up surrounded by love & kindness & care… and would never find a way back to her horrendous old home.” — the tale of steven

“sometimes i wonder if it's even you up there, smiling all day and night. i just want to know the real you. not the you that everyone tells me about.” — steven, storm in the room

just on a pearlrose note, i always loved how pearl was in the picture on the left. rose really did trust her & garnet & ame, despite the fact that it took time for them to understand how to show their love & raise a half human kid properly. but he was a gift to them & she believed in them too. she’d be proud of them, especially with everything going on.

rose hides her past, but one person was there for most of it. she was the type to notice small details—maybe it was painfully easy for her to notice rose’s eyes. i wonder if this complicated things even more, as she was already focused on what she could do to make rose happy. simply being herself made rose feel loved, but that was always something she struggled to feel worthy of

[punkpandapatrixk]

👑Your Destined Person’s Anima vs Persona ♦︎ Timeless Pick A Card

According to Carl Jung, the anima is a man’s feminine (Yin) aspect, and thus unconscious in him. Correspondingly, the animus is a woman’s masculine (Yang) aspect, and thus unconscious in her. The anima is the Masculine’s hidden psychology, essentially.

In the grand scheme of the Cosmos, the Yin is the dark, the magnetic, the VOID—the empty space where all creations are first dreamt. In this dark space, it is up to the Masculine individual whether or not he wants to succumb to the allure of Lilith the Destroyer. In Jungian psychology, apparently, they have this thing called The Devouring Mother LMAO

All things considered, in the name of character development, it is up to the man—if he ever so chooses, which, one must first always make a choice for things to go a certain way—to make the unconscious conscious.

When the Yin and the Yang in a person are united and fully realised, that person becomes what we call Divine~ Man or woman, this person then becomes a more complete Human being. He or she then becomes the master of his/her own Destiny~⛵️

GNOSIS: A Man's Anima Reveals Itself In Sexual Fantasies as explained by Marie-Louise von Franz (entertain the comments section, peeps~)

SONG: Say You Love Me by EXO KAI

MOTHA: Kim Kardashian plays a SAVAGE version of herself in AHS Delicate 😩 by Offensive Tea

deck-bottom: XVIII The Moon Rx, Red Geographer (Marco Polo) & Priestess of Illumination

[PAC Masterlist] [Part 1] [Part 3]

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Pile 1 – Evil Fuck vs King

‘Until you make the unconscious conscious, it will direct your life and you will call it fate.’ – Carl Jung

VIBE: Reason by EXO KAI

anima – XV The Devil

Look, babe, we keep it real in this household, OK? XD We don’t know if your Destined Person has Mars/Pluto in the 8th or 12th House—or possibly—Neptune itself in the 5th or 8th House, but essentially, your DP is a person who’s deeply fascinated by SEX and all the taboos surrounding it. They could struggle with having a lot of improper thoughts, quite often, at inappropriate times and places, deep inside.

Your Destined Person most likely watches a lot of porn or indulges themselves in those types of activities/media, and on top of that, prooobably has some mummy issues. At the very least, they could have a strange/unhealthy relationship with their mother figure or have a difficult time accepting/integrating the Yin aenergy inside of them.

Overall, this strange combo of Scorpion/Neptunian qualities in them lends to your Destined Person’s macabre fascination with all things ‘dark and sexual’. Be that as it may, this doesn’t automatically mean that your Destined Person is simply a depraved piece of fuck. Don’t be surprised to know that things changed drastically for them by the time they graduated their 1st (or 2nd if they’re slow LOL) Saturn Return~

persona – 9 of Cups

There is something about the way sexuality is expressed in this Human world that feels strangely fascinatingly depraved, which is genuinely incredibly foreign to your Destined Person’s Soul XD If they’ve felt inexplicably drawn to it, it’s because they want to UNDERSTAND fully what makes ‘sex’ in the Human world so…icky and disrespectful. 9 of Cups here is literally indicating that your Destined Person’s Soul is incredibly pure and altruistic.

And that is exactly why they are endlessly perplexed by the darkness—the sickness is more like it—surrounding SEX in this wicked world which they realised is almost completely deprived of Love. The sheer lack of a soulful cosmic connection in most sexual activities in this world puzzles the living shit out of your Destined Person!

It may take some maturing from your Destined Person until they finally understand that this dark fascination is actually quite common for people with their kind of natal configuration or let’s say, psychology. Their Saturn Return phases will play (or have played) a critical role in their awakening to a Higher Truth that eventually liberates them from the chains of a strange addiction to… yeah…

Divine Human – Queen of Pentacles Rx

At some point in Life—most likely after their, at least, first Saturn Return—your Destined Person understood why some things simply don’t add up for them when it comes to how Humans connect with each other to enjoy these…worldly pleasures; which then led to a great spiritual liberation from all the deceits they’d been told about sex and sexuality in this…mortal world.

Your Destined Person is somebody who’s quite inexplicably cosmic, you know. Either they feel to you like an alien or a fairy. They simply can’t fit into the expectations of ‘normalcy’ in most of Human societies. The depraved things people so take for granted, none of that feels ‘normal’ to your Destined Person. This is someone who’s actually incredibly decent and polite.

Your Destined Person is not the type that wants to hurt you in intimate situations. They probably don’t even prioritise the sensual sensations more than how they connect with you on an emotional level. This is a person who wants to ‘fill you up’ spiritually through a divine sexual activity, which, now that you know, explains why they’ve had to learn to unlearn the lies of sex and sexuality in their younger years ^^v

WHAT IS LOVE🔻💜

honey? – Priestess of Solitude

poison? – Priestess of Faith

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Pile 2 – Many Dreams vs Unworthiness

‘One does not become enlightened by imagining figures of light, but by making the darkness conscious.’ – Carl Jung

VIBE: Amnesia by EXO KAI

anima – Knight of Pentacles

There is a chance that your Destined Person has some significant Virgo-Pisces bullshit going on in their birth chart. This is the axis of sacrifice and self-undoing of the zodiac wheel and this in itself could cause a person to ‘self-sabotage’ out of a fear of becoming happier than everybody else. It sounds crazy, right? But people with a harshly afflicted Virgo-Pisces connection tend to be somewhat of a martyr.

In practice, where your Destined Person is concerned, this affliction plays itself out in the form of endless rumination, as well as a sense of not being worthy of what they’re actively daydreaming about. This is almost giving me that main character from the movie Parasite. This guy dreams and plans a lot, but fucks everything up in the end because he’s simply not…capable enough?

OK, that’s a bad example but this aenergy is almost similar to how the guy is portrayed by the very end of the film XD This afflicted Piscean aenergy especially, is making your Destined Person, most likely subconsciously, afraid of letting themselves happy. So then, as a means to reaffirm this ‘belief’ their brains ‘course-correct’ by fucking up whatever nice bit of Reality they’ve manifested…

persona – 5 of Swords Rx

After experiencing the same kind of bullshit for some time, could be a number of years for some, too, your Destined Person could’ve become dejected. This is a very normal human response, right? They could’ve developed some kind of inertia within themselves. Always frozen mid-air when thinking of actually jumping into the next breakthrough or any other sense of adventure. They tend to not take action towards liberating themselves from either boredom or a dead-end of a situation.

A lot of people who interact with them regularly probably only know them as a mild-mannered person who’s quite pleasant to talk to. But deep inside, your Destined Person is raging chaos, waiting to murder someone. They’re sometimes possessed by this strong feeling of wanting to destroy something massive or ruin another person’s Life completely. All because they’re superbly frustrated by the lack of action or excitement in their own everyday Life…

At minimum, this is a person who could struggle quite a bit with regulating envy or jealousy upon seeing another person’s success, freedom and happiness, but most of all, another person’s sense of advancement in Life. This isn’t to say that your Destined Person is simply an evil fuck of a devil incarnate; actually, quite far from it! It’s just that this person has dealt with, really, quite a bit of systemic letdowns from the Universe itself…

Divine Human – Page of Pentacles Rx

Life rarely feels fair when someone’s Virgo-Pisces axis has harsh afflictions. Then again, this is quite literally your Destined Person’s ultimate test of strength and of character. That’s precisely why their Soul chose to be born with such afflictions in the first place. To see how their Human Avatar would navigate this type of crazy in their psyche~★ I promise you that you aren’t destined to marry an actual psychopath LMAO But, let’s see…

In the beginning, your Destined Person could’ve struggled with looking into the depths of their own disturbed psychology. This could be a fear from within themselves and so they refused to do so, but especially if your Destined Person is an XY, this could also be their environment/society’s wrong reinforcement when they say, ‘Boys will be boys, riiight?’ as a means to excuse your Destined Person’s refusal to learn and grow from their failures and mistakes *smh*

Whether XY or XX, your Destined Person’s mother could’ve been a pick-me or straight up a narc; and due to this lack of proper guidance, structure and discipline in your Destined Person’s childhood, they could’ve grown up to embody somewhat of a dark triad personality. In actuality, your Destined Person wasn’t allowed the chance to grow up emotionally or psychologically—honestly, whoever their mother figure was, she failed them.

WHAT IS LOVE🔻❤️

honey? – Priestess of Abundance

poison? – Priestess of Love

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Pile 3 – Lazy Escapism vs Mahoroba

‘People will do anything, no matter how absurd, in order to avoid facing their own souls.’ – Carl Jung

VIBE: Blue by EXO KAI

anima – 7 of Wands Rx

Your Destined Person is out with lanterns looking for themselves~ Doesn’t this picture make you think that? ^^ Your Destined Person is a walking paradox to say the least; they are the type that may not always be honest with even themselves. I sense it is because they feel this burden from all around them to be the highest-achiever or the best-mannered or whatever else. Other people have put such high expectations on them that they originally thought they too had to think precisely that way.

In the beginning, your Destined Person might not have known who they were at the core of their Soul. They had only known themselves through the lens of other people’s perception and expectations. Though they might have thought this normal when they were small, at some point in Life—possibly when Saturn made its last aspect at around age 21—your Destined Person was nudged by the Cosmos to go on a Soul-search.

During this time—and all through their first Saturn Return—your Destined Person realised for real for the first time that they are quite a rebellious spirit, and when met with the wrong situations, can honestly be quite vengeful XD At this point, they may have developed some bitter feelings about how they had allowed others to murky their own perception of themselves! This Soul-search could’ve been quite world-shattering for your Destined Person…

persona – 3 of Swords

Most people don’t seem to notice this but a self-denial kind of issue is actually really quite painful on an emotional and psychological level. Like this feeling of not knowing themselves, not embracing their inner child, not allowing themselves more freedom, all of this, upon being realised, broke your Destined Person’s heart so horribly. It was such a deep psychological issue that they may not have found any person to confide in.

Some of their friends, even closest friends, might’ve perceived that your Destined Person was distant from them. They sometimes felt standoffish or simply…well, distant. Not quite there with the rest of them or they could also have avoided hanging out too much with even those closest to them. They became somewhat of a loner. To process their feelings, your Destined Person often disappeared into the dreamscape.

In many ways, I think your Destined Person became quite deluded, if not delusional XD The dreamscape, their escapism, provided so much more comfort and excitement than real life. In the daydreams, they could be so much more real than what they’re allowed to be in the real world… So when you realise the reason, it’s really quite sad and poignant.

Divine Human – 6 of Pentacles

Your Destined Person is truly a Divine Human in that they do truly have such a generous, charitable heart. If this is your main pile, a common ground here is that your Destined Person is so much more kind and gentle than appearances may give—even if they’re already perceived as kind and gentle~ It’s almost unbelievable that someone as pure as this still exists in today’s world, especially if your Destined Person is an XY LMAO

This person, all they wanna do in Life is to be good and to love people and share good times and promote good deeds. Alas, that was very childish of them tsk tsk tsk… It took them a real smacking on the head to realise they’ve been victim to so much gaslighting practically their entire Life. Because in this wicked world, ‘goodness’ is weaponised by bad people to victimise actually good people.

A total mindfuck, yeah, took them a while. As they grow older, your Destined Person learns to balance between what is ‘fake short-term good’ and what’s ‘divinely good in the grand scheme of the Cosmos’. All in all, whether or not they have the technical knowledge, your Destined Person is actually a WITCH. Some of the most powerful witches out there—an alchemist of the highest order😉

WHAT IS LOVE🔻💚

honey? – Priestess of Inspiration

poison? – Priestess of Energy

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[threepandas]

Bad End: Poisoned Cups

I hadn't adjusted well, at first. I don't think anyone could have. Being an elf sound cool, on paper. The better eye sight, the incredible hearing, the stamina. All sorts of perks right? But what they don't tell you, is that when your soul is human? When you get isekai'd by some divine oversight or fucker with a truck?

It doesn't adapt that well, to a new body. Your soul INSISTS you should still be human, with all the trappings, and throws a FIT, when you just.... aren't. So you end up with migraines. Eyes that swim in and out of focus. Wheezing, struggling, breathe. A body at war with itself.

The world was so loud. Too loud. I could hear EVERYTHING and it HURT. Couldn't breathe and THAT hurt. Was nauseated all the time, from my eyes refusing to focus properly. That too, hurt. All of it, pain. Just? Pain. Day after day, pain pain pain.

My poor parents were helpless. The doctors struggled.

But the King? HE could save me.

And he did.

He was younger then. Just barely into his rule. His Father having just stepped down. My parents, desperate, brought me before him. Waited in line for days. They didn't even know if he COULD do anything, were grimly prepared for him to say that sadly, nothing COULD be done. But? Instead? He looked me over, called for several old texts, looked again, then called upon the strength of the Throne.

My parents apparently started weeping the second I stopped.

All I remember is the pain going away. Being exhausted. A REALLY pretty elf man in a crown. Things getting... better, after that.

I was told that story often, as a child. It utterly transformed our household. From merely loyal citizens, to devote Loyalists. Speaking ill of the King in THIS house? Would now get you HURT. My parents had been convinced they were going to LOSE me. The King as far as they were concerned, saved my LIFE.

Which is why I didn't put anything together. Seeing as we were an "all King all the time" Sort of house. We had one(1) team and we were sticking to it. Permanently. His son? Eeeeh, maybe. We'd figure that out later. We didn't care to know. And I was too busy with school work to CHECK.

Which? Meant I didn't NOTICE? He looked? More and more... Otome Capture Target as time went on. Specifically, he looked kinda crown prince from "Dance of the Secret Forest! A True Love For Me?!" sort of Shaped. Which... gee, what ARE the odds? Especially given that so many OTHER things are named suspiciously similar or exactly the same to that game?

.........yeeeeeah. I decided not to take chances.

I looked that shit UP.

And wouldn't you know it? Protagonist-chan? Not there yet. But she SURE COULD BE! All the legends were EXACTLY what they should be. Forests and locations the same! PEOPLE the same! Oh HELL no. Good to know where NOT to be, I guess.

Not my circus, NOT my Otome Drama Monkeys.

I? Would be working for the KING. My family owed him a debt.

And when I graduated? I applied. Top of my class. I studied my ASS off. Could have gone anywhere. But I was aiming for the TOP. A debt to be repayed and frankly? Excellent job security on top of it! So filling busy work in dusty ass backrooms it was. Gotta start from the bottom, after all.

I exhausted them. Was honestly barely trying too at that point. They should see me TRYING to put my nose to the grindstone. Burn the midnight oil! Ha! HA, I say! Long elven lifespans slow you all down! I? Used to live in a capitalist hellscape! This is NOTHING.

I'm not even multi-tasking. It's not even LUNCH YET.

Did I get promoted? Yes. Do I worry my coworkers? Deeply! But shit needs doing and we don't have all day! There is a nation to run! Have some tea. Eat a turnover. Now~! Where are my fuckin documents~☆?

I get promoted again.

Then again.

Aaaaand again.

I'm pretty sure it's cause I scare people. Am FAST. Efficient. Willing to hunt my coworkers for SPORT, like a god damned bloodhound, if it means we get that one extra tax document that makes or breaks us. I have (and will again if necessary) climbed through people's fucking WALLS. Cause, honestly? If they wanted to stop me?

They should have warded the gods damned vents.

Fuckin casuals. Get on my level.

So, now? I am the baby. King's inner circle. And EVERYONE? Is damn near twice my age! And, granted, yes. It IS hilarious I still scare like half the people working under me... but come ON! You are elite government officials! Do BETTER! (Geez. At least my PARENTS couldn't be prouder.)

But... (and God damn it, why is there ALWAYS a "but"?) here's the thing. It? Took me a WHILE to get where I am now. Long enough, in fact, for our... Problem, to arrive. A Problem which is GOING to cast his Majesty's kingdom into chaos and turmoil, in fighting and divides. Religious upheaval. A PROBLEM, which? In the name of luuuuuv~?

Is going to get NEIGHBORING COUNTRIES involved.

And WHO do you think is going to have to deal with that? WHO will have to prevent all out WAR? Religious schisms? Ward off assassins in the night? Certainly not Mr. "But Daddy, I love her!". Oh no, HE gets to sit back and enjoy the fruits of his father's suffering! Make more trouble! (Fucker.)

But, hey! Maybe I should throw in with his SECOND son, right? The supporting character? He seems vastly more reasonable and emotionally more balanced doesn't he? Well educated, cautious, why, thoughtful even! Ha ha... yeah... he DOES seem that way, doesn't he?

SEEMS.

He Is Not. Little fucker is a SPECIAL flavor of batshit. Completely "wake to find him standing over you, in your LOCKED BEDROOM, asking if you want to see his new favorite knife" nutty puffs. Not sure which side of the family it comes from, to be honest. Disturbingly good at getting past my warding.

Or at least he WAS, until I got the King involved. Ha! Royal wards! You can't touch me! I sleep like a BABY now! The only people who can enter my rooms now? Are literally JUST me and the KING HIMSELF! How safe is that~‽

But for real... poor his Majesty, you know? It's not like he didn't TRY to be a good father. Take time he couldn't afford out of each day, to spend time with his sons. Insist on eating meals together so he could ask them about their interests, how each day had gone. Involved them where he safely could.

He's a somber man. A dignified one. But let NO ONE say, he is not a LOVING one.

And HOW do his children fucking reward him? Middle school love dramatics and MURDER ATTEMPTS IN THE NIGHT! Because, YES, I have found the disturbing murder board that the second prince has in his "secret" room. Right along his equally disturbing stalker board of ME.

I, obviously, told the King.

He did not look pleased.

Don't know if my new reality has, like, intensive therapy programs or something? But I hope for ALL our sakes, that the second Prince is at the winter palace getting HELP, instead of just? You know... plotting.

His Highness has a nasty tendency to plot, after all. But hey, his Majesty says not to worry about it? I choose to believe him. Concern myself with more immediate threats. Enjoy, no longer turning around to find some baby faced little creep with a hunter's stare, just... watching me. As I try to work. As I try to eat. Around corners, still as a statue, yet somehow a THREAT, in lonely and too empty corridors.

God fucking DAMN, his little "crush" was creepy!

If it weren't for his Majesty? I would have run and run FAR. But... but I? And you CAN NOT repeat this, okay? It's WILDLY inappropriate! A-And I SWEAR I'm never going to.. to ACT on it! I would NEVER. So...so PROMISE, okay?

....cause.... I may... MAY! Possibly! Just a LITTLE bit! Sorta, kinda, just a BIT? Have a TEENY? Little crush... on... his Majesty? Maybe???

YOU CAN'T TELL!

It's SO fucking inappropriate. Oh my GOD. I hate this so much!? Cause he's my BOSS! And old enough to be my DAD! I SHOULDN'T be so attracted to him, right?! Plus he's the KING! There's definitely a power imbalance there! How would that even WORK?! We would have no future! I don't know the first THING about how to BE royalty. And no one would accept me!

Not that I think I even have a CHANCE! Fuck no! I'm not THAT arrogant.

But, like? A girl can day dream. Fantasize, you know?

Which is why? Having his SON? Be a creepo stalker at me? Kinda the WORST. I've literally JUST discovered I'm into older men! Thanks! BEGONE, zygote! Also, your vibes are RANCID! No thanks! I hated that and am SO glad it's gone. Now? All I have to worry about? Is Protagonist-chan and the political SHIT SHOW she drags after her like trail of destruction.

Why is she involving foreign royalty? PLEASE stop involving foreign royalty! Dukes! Religious leaders! MILITARY LEADERS. Stop "Helen of Troy"-ing your ass through our nice, PEACEFUL, kingdom!!! What the ACTUAL FUCK!? This is NOT A THEME PARK.

I watch, vaguely horrified, as his Majesty finishes reading three (yes, count um! Fucking THREE!) different royal missives demanding three different women of legend, from three DIFFERENT legends, who coincidentally enough? Happen to ALL BE THE SAME PERSON. Fucking Protagonist-chan.

They were from long standing ALLIES.

We could not AFFORD to lose those.

And the FOURTH message? Oh, THAT? That, was from his SON! Mr. "But Daddy! I Love her!" HIMSELF! He wants permission to marry the random woman of unknown province he found in the woods! Could be a foreign spy! Could be a mad woman. Who CARES right? They're SO in love~

Enough to START A WAR OVER IT.

I skip the tasting cups and instead? Bring his Majesty a bottle of the strongest star wine I can find. The sort that could damn near eat through rocks and vaporizes in air if you pour it out. Pain killers too, for what HAS to be a killer headache. Then I hesitate. You know what? Fuck it. I grab a cart. Make a care package.

Paper, ink, the STRONG tea, that special occasions tea (in case he needs a reason to remember his will to live), some snacks, a few shawls in case he decides to work late...

It's worth it, to see the way his stressed face relaxs when I return. Eyes softening, corner of his mouth curling up in that tiny, secret, little smile. We can get through this. We WILL get through this. I may not be able to stand by his side, but? I can support him. Help.

So long as HE sits in this office, burning himself down to keep this nation warm, so too, will I.

Tea or booze, your Majesty?

"A blend, I think. Unfortunately, I fear it is going to be a long night for us both." He replies. His voice smooth and low, effortlessly filling the room. A lifetime of public speaking, ingrained so very deep. "You should pour yourself a cup as well, my dear. Sleep will be a long time coming, we will need both the calm and the clarity."

I rolled my borrowed tea cart to the side and got to work. Strong tea and stronger star wine. Certainly a... flavor. Fairly certain such a thing should be illegal. Pretty sure our healers are going to be appalled. But, oh well. Needs, must. One for me, one for him.

He held out a hand. It was a sweeping gesture of his arm, a gentle turn of his wrist. I could never get used to his casual... elegance. The beauty of him. Like a living art work. A dancer. As though he were an actor, striking a pose, about to consider the soul of the simple tea cup. I handed it over, gently and with as much elegance as I could.

It still felt clumsy in comparison.

Yet he still smiled, just slightly. In that way I had learned to spot. Tension dripping away from his shoulders like thawing ice. Running in little rivers like melt waters, as he sat back in his chair, half turning it to face me. A brief moment to relax. Before work begins again.

"Ah... completely vile. Thank you, dear. It's disgusting." He said dryly, catching me off gaurd, and making me damn near snort into my cup. "If it did not work so well? I would never consume this swill again. What a perfect waste of tea and wine. We should invite Yevault."

I laugh. A snirking, snorting, choked little thing into my cup. God, but I've been TRYING to laugh more elegantly. Hell, I've even practiced. But when he catches me off gaurd? I swear to God, I cackle and pop. Like some sort of deranged witch pig. Ow, my sinuses.

"Oh but that's right, Yevault is a healer, on the occasions he takes time from being an unbearable snob. He might actually make us rest, dear. Then where would we be?" His Majesty muses, taking another sip before grimacing at the taste.

I go to respond. Probably some quip about "preferably in bed" or "asleep". Only... only to find my tounge sluggish. My exhaustion mounting, not slipping away. The world has begun to sway. Just a little at first, then notable. My mouth... fuzzy? Prickly. W...what?

His Majesty has begun to frown. Delicately setting down his cup... cup? Something about... a cup... I have taken too long to respond. He rises. Strides in a few, urgent, steps over to where I lean. Against the edge of my assistants desk. Swaying~ swaying~ w-why is the ground... my tounge feels to big. Think? I've begone to drool?

Warm, big hands cup my face. Was slipping forward, to the side. Gonna fall? Not anymore. Up. Hi! Is the king. Hi King. I... I don't feel so good...

His eyes have gone focused and cold. Pretty. Crown begins to glow. Leaves. Gold and gold, a halo of light. From within and beyond him. Power of the throne. Oh... oh I was here before, wasn't I? My bones remember. Like the roots to his great tree, power seeping deeper and deeper into my body, finding imperfections to consume. So... so much LIGHT.

I can not look away.

"Poison, was it? How terribly banal. Do they think me so simple to kill?" There is scorn in his voice. Utter distain. But deep beneath, like the hidden embers of a forest fire, there is rage. "How dare they drag you into this. Bad enough they throw a FIT over some trouble making tart, now they get the innocent involved? What if I had not been paying attention? Or you had taken that tea where I could not see it? Unacceptable."

Like spreading branches, like antlers, the light spread. The hands on my face gentle even as his Majesty's face might as well have been carved from stone. I tried to protest, swallowing thinking past the still rolling nausea. It was my fault! The tasting cups exsist for a REASON. They're supposed to test for things like this. I got too comfortable.

"No." The word slammed down as about an absolute as any sentence CAN. A declaration from on high. The commandment of a king. "It takes far more then simple poisons or common blades to kill me. The power that flows through the Throne insures it. You do not have that luxury. You could have DIED."

"....might still yet."

The last bit, almost a confession, pressed to my brow as he leaned down to press his lips to my forhead. His grip tighter, as though to stop his hands from shaking. My joints were starting to hurt, like I had a nasty cold, and I was already starting to feel feverish. I was starting to drip sweat. Shit.

I tried to stay calm. But... but I was scared. What do I do? Your Majesty! What do I DO?!

"We are going back to my quarters. Work can be brought to me. You need to lay down." He decided after a long moment of deliberation. Something had shifted in his eyes. I couldn't make heads or tails of it. Clung to the only trustworthy source of comfort I knew, in the chaos of this moment. "I'm going to take care of you. I have you, dear. Just trust me, darling. I will fix this. I swear it. You don't have to worry about a thing. Just put all of your trust in me, all right?

"Just come with me, dear. Everything will be all right."

"You can trust me."

[nav-i-nav]

Actually, while we are at it, can we talk about how awful a lot of the fanbase treats Basil? My man can’t catch a break because almost everyone misinterprets him one way or another.

Where do I even start? Literally everything he does is taken the wrong way. There’s the people who characterize him as an obsessive yandere who only cares about Sunny and did everything in his power to isolate him. On the other hand, we have people who just remove one of the basic core aspects of him as a whole and make him an empty husk with no real personality.

Headacanon him however you want, but also try to understand him? I don’t know how people can say he only cares about Sunny when it’s clear he deeply appreciates his friends. He has a stronger bond with Sunny, but that doesn’t mean he’s a possessive and obsessed person who is toxic.

He definitely fucked up along the way, but his actions were never intended to hurt Sunny intentionally. He was in a panic and all he wanted was to keep his best friend safe. People constantly treat him as he’s a disgusting person for simple fact he shows mental illness signs, which is incredibly disheartening because there IS people in real life who act this way and can’t help it! What a relief it is to know people will treat me or my friends like this if we dare show an ounce of distress or panic!

Being mentally ill does not justify your actions, but this also doesn’t mean you are allowed to treat people who suffer from them like scum. People like Basil deserve to get help, to have people who support them so they can start healing. Basil clearly didn’t have that support, the only person that was there for him being his bedridden grandmother who he eventually lost.

And on the other hand, we have people who just choose to get rid of Basil’s personality altogether and characterise him as this character who is all suffering and trauma based off things that are NOT canon. It’s true that Basil’s life doesn’t exactly fit a “normal” childhood (having to live with his grandmother for unknown reasons) but that doesn’t immediately mean he is beyond traumatized? Basil is a little shy, sure, but a lot of people are. Basil used to be a smart and lively kid who loved his friends dearly. It wasn’t until AFTER the incident that he spiralled to the point he is where we see him in game.

People either disregard his trauma and paint him as a villain (let’s make one thing clear, there are NO villains in OMORI), or try to give him even more trauma for no apparent reason. All we know is that his parents aren’t really present in his life, and while that may bring some issues, from what we can see in cutscenes and the photo album, Basil lived a comfortable life surrounded by a loving family member and friends who cared about him.

You are free to explore Basil’s character however you like, but there’s a point where it no longer feels like Basil.

There is nothing wrong with showing his gentle side, just as how there’s nothing wrong to explore his unhealthy behaviour. But focusing on only one of the aspects of his entire self just turns him into a one-dimensional character with no redeemable qualities.

In my opinion, Basil is one of the best examples of a person struggling with mentally illness in media, yet people choose to ignore the complexity of his character to have either a selfish and dangerous yandere or a cute and shy femboy who’s only there to look pretty.

Write him like the mess he is. He is unstable. He is resentful, he is paranoid. That’s what makes Basil’s character so loved. That’s what makes him feel so relatable and human. Ignoring one side of his self takes away all of that. OMORI is a game about acceptance and forgiving. Why shouldn’t we apply those terms to their characters? It’s rather hypocritical for the fanbase to treat Sunny as a poor boy who only did what he did due to stress and trauma and then mark Basil as a psychopath with no redeemable features as if he wasn’t also a scared child who witnessed his very best friend push his sister down the stairs.

[leighsartworks216]

My Sunshine

Astarion x gn!Tav/Reader

Part 2 Here: Tumblr link - AO3 link

This is probably definitely ooc but I needed to get it out of my brain anyway. I also have not seen any actual gameplay (aside from the romance scenes) so this won't be 100% canon compliant

For @niermortem bc I need you to read this and suffer (affectionate)

Warnings: alcohol use, swearing, grief/mourning, blood, injury, fluff and angst, hurt/comfort

Word Count: 3,146

Masterlist

AO3

You raised your goblet of wine in the air, smiling blindingly bright at your best friend. "To another case solved, and another criminal behind bars!"

He laughed and clinked his goblet with yours. The red liquid sloshed against the edge, almost spilling into yours. You each drank deeply.

"You make that toast after every trial," he bemoaned, but a stray chuckle ruined his disapproval. "It's a minor court for minor offenses - It's not like I locked up a serial killer."

You huffed and nudged his shoulder. "Don't sell yourself short! What you do is incredible, Astarion. It's so rare for an elf as young as you to get appointed as a magistrate. That's worth celebrating."

He hummed, smirk dancing across his face. "You're younger than me, my dear, and from what I've heard you're doing just as well." He gestured around the room.

The light of the fireplace cast odd shadows of your figures against the wall. Between the flickering shapes, Astarion could see the several paintings hung up on the wall. Portraits, landscapes - all formed with careful brush strokes and intense patience. It was no mean feat. He'd grown up alongside you, witnessed your struggles with charcoal and accuracy. He'd even posed for a few so you could study anatomy and shadow. Pride swelled in his chest thinking of those shaky, rough sketches and seeing the confident, soft strokes that composed the paintings.

You avoided looking, staring into the fire. For the briefest moment, he wanted to smooth out the crease in your brow and remove the frown from your face. Instead he gripped his goblet tighter and took another drink.

"I wish I could be as proud of them as you are, my sunshine. But when I look at them, all I see are mistakes."

He sighed quietly. "Your parents still don't approve, then?"

"They approve my profession - finally - but they think my execution is lackluster. I paint like a human."

"You paint like a god, darling."

“Ah,” you chuckled, “is the praise being turned back on me now?"

He smiled and raised his goblet. "A toast to the greatest artist Baldur's Gate has ever seen and will ever see again."

After a moment's hesitation, you raised your glass and knocked it against his. He threw back the last remaining contents, a drop of red falling from the corner of his mouth and down his neck. He finished off the rich alcohol with a contented sigh.

A clock on the mantelpiece chimed. You leaned back on your hand to look up at the old thing. It was a gift in lieu of payment, handmade, from its gears to its wooden casing. It chimed 11 times in all. Astarion sighed.

"One last drink for the road." You offered him the last of the wine in your goblet, and he drained it easily. “We can finish the rest tomorrow.”

“Mm, and what will we be celebrating tomorrow?”

“Anything and everything.”

He smiled fondly. What gods could have been kind enough to create you?

He rose to his knees and held your cheeks in both hands. “I look forward to it.” You closed your eyes as he planted a kiss on your forehead. It was almost a ritual, after so many years of doing it. Once he pulled away, you rose to your own knees, held his face the same way, and pressed a kiss to his forehead.

“Stay safe on your way back.” You pulled away to look him straight in the eye, an exaggerated expression of seriousness on your face. “If anything happened to you, I wouldn’t have anybody to absolve me in court.”

He chuckled. “I’ll be fine, my dear.”

“You’d better.”

-

You stared numbly at the headstone. Your eyes scanned the words over and over and over again. You could recite it if you wanted to.

'Astarion Ancunin 229 - 268 DR'

He was only 39. He was just a child. A child buried 6 feet under your boots, hidden away, wrapped in sheets and sealed in a wooden coffin. Thirty-nine. He was only thirty-nine.

The sun was beginning to set. There was not a cloud in the sky. No chance for rain. The only water that fell were tears, and yours had long since dried up. Everyone else left hours ago. They'd touched your shoulder, shared in your grief, promised to pray for you and Astarion. If you were perhaps a bit more naive, a bit more desperate, you would have pleaded to the gods to bring him back, no matter the cost.

You inhaled shakily and tilted your head back. The sky was so beautiful; a vibrant array of orange and yellow and blue. You cursed it, for your best friend would never get to share in its beauty with you ever again.

When you looked back down, you forced your eyes not to trace the carved stone any more. It wasn't safe at night. If you looked again, you'd never make it back home.

A hint of white in the corner of your eye stole your attention. A flower. Its petals curled back and around, almost touching itself. Blue and yellow mixed within its center, but the very tips of its petals were bright white.

Your feet felt like lead as you moved toward it. Deep prints were left behind at the end of the dirt mound. Your legs were stiff and creaky from standing so long.

When you reached down to pluck the flower, you stopped. Hand outstretched toward its stem. You'd be killing it to mourn your friend. And in an hour, it will be droopy and wilted, dying on top of the grave. But if you left it, come two days from now, it would be closed and dried up anyway.

Your frown dug creases into your skin. Lines around your mouth and between your brows. You never realized before how quickly beautiful things die. The lines smoothed slightly when you brushed the delicate petal with your fingers. It was as soft as his hair had been.

"Look after him for me," you croaked, voice raw and unused. It cracked when you whispered desperately, "Please."

You rubbed your eyes as you backed away. The burn of tears stung the back of your eyes, but no water was produced. And you needed to get out of here. It hurt too much to stay.

You allowed yourself one last glance at the grave, before you turned and left. Your home never felt so cold, so uninviting, and so empty.

-

You’d never been much further than the city’s limits before, yet here you were. Lost, infected, confused. The blood on your hands terrified you, but if you hadn’t fought, you would be dead. A voice in the back of your mind haunted you with memories. Unbidden, you often recalled tidbits of your life 200 years ago. This time it reminded you of Astarion, flipping knives and sneaking up on you for a laugh. He would have been much more suited to this awful situation than you were.

Your hand fell to your pocket, pressing against a hidden journal tucked safely away. You would be lost without it. It’s all that’s kept you sane all these long years.

A shock of white hair up ahead caught your attention. A man, searching down a hill, beckoning. “Hurry,” he urged in a whisper, “I’ve got one of those brain things cornered.” He kept his back to you, but something in the way he spoke seemed familiar. Or maybe you were just so tired. “There, in the grass. You can kill it, can’t you? Like you killed the others.”

You flinched, frowning at the way he said ‘killed’. It shouldn’t have bothered you as much as it did. Perhaps it sounded too confrontational. Perhaps it was the dark turn his voice took. But you swallowed down the discomfort. You weren’t going to abandon someone in need.

“I can.”

You stepped forward, ready to grab at your dagger. It was quiet. The soft rustle of dry shrubs was all you could hear. You stepped a little further.

A loud squeal made you jump out of your skin as a frightened boar ran from the grass. You stumbled backward. Before you could trip yourself up, a rough arm wrapped behind your neck and dragged you down to the ground. A knife pointed at your throat.

On pure instinct, you grabbed at the blade. It dug into your palm and fingers, but you couldn’t let go. You could feel the man applying pressure to keep it at your neck. If you let go… You shuddered to think what could happen.

“Shh. Not a sound. Not if you want to keep that darling neck of yours.” Deep crimson eyes stared into yours, contrasted by the pure white of his hair and the smirk toying his lips. He looked oddly familiar, too. Had you passed him somewhere before? No, you would remember a man like him. “Now, I saw you on the ship. Didn’t I? Nod.”

The command has you nodding with no hesitation.

“Splendid,” he purred. His voice turned serious then. “And now you’re going to tell me exactly what you and those tentacled freaks did to me.”

“I haven’t done anything,” you grit out. Blood trailed down your wrist and stained the cuff of your sleeve. His eyes flickered toward it for a moment. “They took me prisoner, too!”

“Don’t lie to me! I- Argh!”

Behind your eyes the tadpole squirms. It’s jarring and uncomfortable, and so are the images that come with it. Dark city streets seen through someone else’s eyes. They scan every passerby, studying them. But just as you urge to see more, it’s gone. All you’re left with is the sensation of fear.

The man grunts again. “What was that?” he demands. He pushed the knife even closer to your neck, despite your best efforts to keep it away. “What’s going on?!”

The fear from the memory quickly intermingled with your own terror. Your heart thumped in your ears. The words came tumbling out of you before you knew what you were saying. “Please, please just put the knife away and we can figure this out.”

For a moment, he just stared at you. Calculating. And then the pressure faded and you could let go of the dagger. His arm let go of you, and he watched as you scampered away one-handed and struggled to your feet. He stood defensively, keeping his hold on the knife.

“You’re… not one of them.” You could feel his eyes searching you up and down. “They took you, just the same as me. And to think, I was ready to decorate the ground with your innards.” He laughed weakly. “Apologies.”

You cradled your hand to your chest with a frown. Nobody would blame you if you shouted insults, left him to deal with this on his own, took care of your own issues. But you couldn’t. “Apology accepted,” you sighed.

He smiled. It felt plastered on, like an actor’s during a play. “I’m out of wine and flowers, so I hope an introduction will suffice. My name’s Astarion. I was in Baldur’s Gate when those beasts snatched me.”

The last of his words was drowned out. Your heart raced, flooding your ears as a tidal wave of emotions swirled in your chest. That name. In all your years, you only knew one elf with that name. What were the chances of another carrying the same one?

Slim to none.

But it can’t be him. He died.

It has to be him. It has to.

“Darling?” He chuckled nervously, waving a hand in front of you. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

If you weren’t so dazed, maybe you would have laughed. But you just stared, wide-eyed and slack-jawed. Your eyes burned. A lump crawled up your throat and you weren’t sure if it was bile or a sob.

“You died,” you finally gasped out. It was only a whisper, but Astarion’s ears picked it up as if you’d shouted it out. His grin faltered, entire aura of confidence and sexuality falling with those two words alone. “You died… My sunshine.”

Astarion stepped back, holding his dagger up as a warning. It still dripped with your blood. His face was dark. You’d never seen it as gravely serious as this. “Who are you? How do you- How do you know that?”

Your old name - the name you had as a child - lingers in the air. He stares at you with eyes hopeful and distrusting. There is a war in his mind. You can see it in the way his dagger wavers in his hold. How he looks you up and down, studies your face. He’d grabbed you, even made you bleed - you weren’t just a fucked up figment of his imagination. But he still couldn’t fathom it.

“Prove it.”

“How?”

“I don’t care how! Just prove it!” The shout is broken and desperate.

You fumbled. Everything you knew about him fled your brain in an instant. You searched for memories in the dirt, in the dry bushes, in the curls of his hair…

Cursing, he watched as you ripped a book from your pocket. Even though you’d grabbed it with your uninjured hand, blood stained the leather binding. You held it out to him.

“These are sketches I have made every day for two hundred years.” You stepped forward, urging him to take it. “All of them are of you.”

A part of him didn’t want to listen. It wanted him to remain unaware and oblivious for the rest of his godsdamned life. The mere idea of the truth - of his past being exposed to this corrupted thing he’s become - terrified him. How easy it would be to run away. To hide away forever.

But he would never be free. Always a slave to the burning questions. Forever wondering just who you were, and if you were telling the truth.

He reaches past his knife and takes the journal. With use of his leg as an aid, he’s able to remove the string tying it shut and flip open the book.

On each page is his face. Several of them. Smiling, laughing, pouting, focused, and a thousand more expressions. After 200 years, he doesn’t quite remember what he looks like. He couldn’t recall if his hair had always been white, nor the shade of his eyes. But tucked away is a crude sketch, not of his face, but of yours. It looks like a child closed their eyes and scribbled. At the bottom of the page, in what is undoubtedly his handwriting, is his signature.

You watch desperately as he puts his knife away. He’ll have to clean it later, but he isn’t thinking about it now. Both hands freed, he flips through each page. At the beginning, the portraits are unrefined and rough. The lines are sketchy and smudged, as though someone had tried wiping away their mistakes. With each page, they get better. The lines become confident and smooth. Even further still, the style is almost elegant, but the face has become unfocused. The eyes begin losing form. The mouth feels off on the face. On one, the face has been erased and redone several times over; so much so the paper has begun crumbling. The last drawing held little resemblance to him anymore. This one was freshly done. The lines were sketchy once more, uncertain. The only recognizable features were his ears and the curls of his hair. Even the shape of his face was lost to time.

“After you… After I buried you, I…” You take a shaky breath, fighting back tears. “I didn’t want to forget you. So I sketched you, every day. I thought I’d always remember that damn smile of yours, but… I didn’t. Little by little, you were stolen from my memories, until all I had left was a vague impression of who you were, what we did together. Even looking at the old sketches couldn’t bring it back. But I kept trying.”

Astarion’s face is the epitome of sorrow when he looks up at last. There are deep set creases around his mouth and eyes, aging him - an odd concept for an elf. He looks so lost. “Where did you go?”

You frowned, and Astarion wished he could smooth out the crease between your brows. How could he forget your face? After all Cazador did to him, made him do, how could he forget you?

“After you buried me,” he clarified.

“I couldn’t bear to stay. I sold all my paintings and I left. I didn’t get very far.” You chuckled weakly. “Just stayed with my parents.”

His face lights up. “What name are you going by now?”

“Tav.”

“Tav,” he repeats. The name is different in his mouth. Not good or bad, simply there. New. He wishes he could have been there when you chose it.

You took a deep breath. It was time to ask the big question, the one burning a hole in your chest. “How are you alive?”

The corner of his lip twitches up, somewhere between amused and dismayed. “It’s a rather long story, my dear.”

“I’ve waited 200 years to hear it.”

He chuckles at that. It’s genuine, but a sour note still lingers. He closes your journal, deftly ties the strings, and saunters to stand in front of you. The intoxicating scent of your blood drives him mad. It’s so close, but he could never forgive himself if he told you the truth and you ran away. Truthfully, after so long, he wasn’t sure how you’d react. But it still felt too heavy an admission.

He slips the book back into your pocket. With both hands, he reaches to cup your face, but he stops. The motion feels wrong. He wants so desperately to hold you again. You even lean toward his palm. The tip of your pointed ear brushes his fingers. But he can’t. His hands fall back to his sides, and he plasters a smile on once more.

“Come on, darling. Let’s get you cleaned up before you attract something.”

You nod and follow alongside him as he begins leading you toward water. The bleeding has mostly stopped by now. The cut still stings, exposed to the air. But the pain feels distant. It hardly matters when the man you’ve spent two hundred years mourning is alive and with you again. And he’s changed - there is no way to deny it. His hair, his eyes, even the way he spoke had more of a lilting tune to it than it once did. But he’s here. He’s real.

“For the record,” you begin, stepping close enough to brush arms as you walked, “it’s good to see you again, my sunshine.”

And, oh, if that didn’t make him feel alive once more.

[destinationtrekk]

I want a long explanation of Albert's mental state after re5, you know....ummm, I mean, how much does his behavior and actions change? How will he feel about himself? Will he suffer from depression or such disorders? How will be his relationship with the reader?

I hope I didn't bother you ❤️❤️

awh, asks are never a bother!! wi will say I think @nshtn is much better at describing wesker's psyche than me, but my version of post re5!wesker (i call him uroboros!wesker) is different than theirs.

also holy shit this is 1200 words, i don't know what happened

i think immediately after re5, there's no change. physiclly, he's incredibly weak and in near-constant pain as uroboros heals him. you dote on him religiously, desperate to keep him alive as well, and this is what begins his mental shift. it does take a few months, but he slowly comes to realize how much he needs you past his surface level sexual desire and trust in you as a "lackey" basically

not that he never felt affection for you, but he certainly labelled it as something superficial - what one would feel for a pet, perhaps. now that he has nothing to do except sit around and feel sorry for himself and struggle with his feelings toward his own virus in his body, he feelings for you morph quite a bit.

but first, his self-perception. after spending his life comparing himself and those around him to Spencer, he had a serious ego problem and god-complex. he literally calls himself a god in re5, and gods don't lose the game - except he did. i think wesker sees the world as pretty black and white. you're either an asset or an enemy, worthy or a waste, and the only time in his life when this mindset fractured was in stars.

he saw many, many people as an officer who made genuine mistakes that put them in awful situations - criminals who were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and victims who just wanted a way out. he finally had a glimpse of humanity's reality, that regular people had to fight to survive like he did, except they get to be happy when they survive something. he never had that. it was survive or fail, and you don't get to be happy about it when your only other option is to die. i think marcus' death absolutely had to do something to his psyche as well, definitely as a motivator to 'stay on the path paved for you, and be obedient, or bad things will happen."

so in stars he feels conflicted emotions about the reality of his childhood, but they're temporary and quickly get repressed again as his life goes on. they resurface post-re5 because he sees how you interact with others, and he really has nothing else to do except to think about it.

this obsession with analyzing his own upbringing couples rather poorly with his feelings for you, now fully fledged as romantic and devoted. of course, he refuses to say anything. he now believes that he's worthless, a failure, and his life's work has been utterly destroyed. wesker is the kind of person who needs a goal and clear objectives, and without them he feels like he'll drown in his own thoughts. which is exactly what he's doing!

you notice his odd behavior immediately, from the way he refuses compliments that used to make him cocky, and how he rarely (if ever) asks you for anything. you were basically his assistant before, and now he apologizes for even having a harsh tone with you. he can't fathom how you care so deeply for a failure like him, and why you aren't using helping to save his life against him. because that's what people do, right? they take and give and everything has to be a favor that helps you climb to the top.

well, you never actually cared about him being on the top, so you take it upon yourself to confess first. surely he's always known how you felt about him, smirking at your blushing reactions and lusty stares, but he reacts bad when you finally tell him. he thinks this is how you're making him repay for saving his life, by humiliating and debasing him for his romantic attachment to you.

this is a shock to you, because you thought he was moping out of self-pity, not a midlife, self-exploratory bout of depression. it hurts both of your feelings - he thinks you've played him by being kind for something in return, and you're heartbroken that the man you love doesn't trust you anymore.

it takes a while for him to come around. you double down on your affection and explanations, trying to dismantle his fragile mindset piece by piece. he's resistant, somehow convincing himself that he's trapped in some sick mind game that you're manipulating, because he's too thick to just give in. he doesn't know how to accept love or, frankly, get the fuck over himself. yes, he failed. yes, his life's work is kind of ruined. but he has a new lease on life, if he would just accept it.

what finally pulls him out of this spiral is a kiss. you've been pleading with him for days, trying to get him to just talk to you and work this out, because you can't keep living in this emotional hell. he's snippy and rude and exhausted, because he feels the same. he can't bear to be around you anymore, so he tells you to leave him the hell alone. you're in his new office, having switched safe houses a few times until you could finally settle, and this most recent, permanent move is why you've been so upset.

why does he think you're sticking around? he still has access to nearly all of his resources, if he really wanted you gone he could leave without telling you. he's well healed now, except for a few things he'll likely deal with forever, but he's keeping you around. he knows he can't let go of you, but he's still so resistant to everything you're offering.

he's standing hunched over his desk, hands white-knuckling the dark mahogany, broad shoulders and back facing you so he can hide him expression from you. his voice is strained, like he's barely holding himself together while you're openly crying. this is unbearable, but you comply with his wishes.

your last move is to walk closer, your hand lightly settling on his elbow while you press your forehead to his bicep, seeking any tiny sliver of comfort you can find in him. you leave a gentle kiss on his arm, as well as a wet patch of your tears, before you walk away, silent except the heartbreaking sound of your sniffling.

this shatters him. he spends the rest of the day destroying himself, but he vows it's the last time he'll wallow in misery. it takes time, but he slowly begins to open up to you, admitting to his poor mental health and struggles with finding purpose. how he can't fathom your love for him, but he can't fight his own attachment to you either. he cries when you kiss his lips for the first time, but he fails to hide his smile when you pull away.

later in life, years after the devastation that was Kijuju, he's a different man. he's still a little flighty and calculating, but he's fast to comfort and reassure you, expressing himself freely and communicating instead of lashing out or pushing you away. you both still work on...well, everything. your lives have been tragic and painful, especially his own, but he's never felt so secure as he does with you. he truly loves you, and he'll do anything he can to keep himself from ever hurting you again.

[lewmagoo]

try a little tenderness | rhett abbott

description: in which you take care of each other in different ways

pairing: rhett abbott x f!reader

warnings: 18+ only, slight angst, very brief mention of religious trauma, rhett's childhood trauma, smut, dom/sub undertones, rhett is a switch, mention of kink play, oral (m receiving), deep throating, cum swallowing

notes: just a self-indulgent little somethin'-somethin' with some holiday vibes to go along with it. hope y'all enjoy

You were barely holding it together. 

The rain that poured from the dreary sky seemed to encapsulate your mood as you made your way home from work that evening. It was mid-November, and the weather was just beginning to make its shift into winter. 

On your little homestead, you and your husband had been battening down the hatches, preparing the house and the surrounding property for the onslaught of frigid temperatures and snow storms that were sure to blow in over the next few weeks. 

Wyoming winters were long and hard. But somehow, you didn’t mind them that much. Not when you had your little farmhouse to snuggle into on days when the weather got bad. You’d moved into the house when you and Rhett had first gotten married. Although it was a house that had been in your family for years, it was a fixer-upper, and everyone had told you that you were wasting your money. But the two of you were determined to make a home out of it. And you had. It was a safe haven for both of you. 

And now, you were running to it, seeking refuge in its warmth, and in the comfort of your husband’s arms, because he was what made it a home. 

They say home is where the heart is. He was your heart. 

He was so much steadier than you were. At the moment, you felt incredibly fragile. As if a gust of cold wind would shatter you into millions of tiny pieces and leave Rhett to have to pick up those pieces and painstakingly glue you back together. 

You’d been trying, but failing, to hold in your tears the entire thirty-minute drive home. You couldn’t even bring yourself to turn on your driving playlist to occupy the silence, you were simply too overwhelmed and needed the peace and quiet. 

All you could think about was how deeply you longed to be in Rhett’s comforting embrace. He was the only one who could console you when you were like this. And he loved being that for you. Knowing he was your source of comfort above all others made him feel special. It made him feel needed. 

It was him you depended on. Him you allowed to see you at your most vulnerable. He cherished those moments. Even though it pained him to see you suffering, it brought him some semblance of peace to know that he was providing you comfort. 

He knew that things had been difficult for you as of late. You were at a crossroads in your life, forced to make some hard decisions that had been weighing heavily on you. You’d spent countless hours agonizing over them. 

Sometimes, it felt as if your only easy choice in life had been choosing to marry Rhett. You’d known beyond a shadow of a doubt that you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. He was good. He was kind. And he loved you. Did he come with his fair share of struggles? Absolutely. But that was what made him human. All the things he had been through had shaped him into the perfect man for you.  

You had both gone through hell to get to each other. Your souls were bonded together, forged in the fires of great tribulation. But you were stronger together because of it. 

You had built a life together. One of peace and security, far away from those who had wronged you. Rhett had distanced himself from his family. He only kept in contact with his mother and his niece. 

Gone were the days of walking on eggshells, trying to avoid knock-down drag-out arguments with his brother. He didn’t have to use that sort of caution with you, because you never treated him that way. He’d learned how to communicate his feelings, rather than fight about them. There were never screaming matches within the walls of your home. Never a raised voice. Never a harmful hand laid upon the other. 

It was a place of solace. And that was why you were running to it. 

As you pulled into the driveway, the rain gave way as the first flakes of November snow began to swirl from the sky. Normally, you would stop to admire them, but you hardly even noticed the white flurries as you pulled into the carport next to the house. 

Your eyes were blurring with hot tears, and all you wanted was to get inside, to find Rhett and fall into his arms. But as you climbed out of the car, the strap of your bag got caught on the gearshift. You didn’t notice until it was too late, and in a very dramatic turn of events, the force of the catch was enough to send you stumbling. On the way down, your ribs clashed with the bottom edge of your car, sending sharp pain blossoming through your torso. 

You yelped, squeezing your eyes shut as you breathed through the ache. Meanwhile, Rhett was inside the house, having just seen the flash of your headlights in the window, signaling that you’d arrived home. Eagerly, he headed to the kitchen, with the intent of making dinner, because it was his night to do so. He was making grilled cheese, the one thing he had finally mastered in the kitchen, and he wanted it to be nice and hot for you, so he’d waited until that moment to begin preparing dinner. 

But as he set to work, he noticed that it was taking you a while to come inside. Curious, he glanced out the window that overlooked the carport, and to his surprise, he saw you on the ground next to your car. 

His jovial mood dissipated, replaced with concern. Without hesitation, he hurried to the door, where he shoved his feet into his worn, old boots and then wrenched the door open. 

“Darlin’?” He called out, as he stepped outside, boots crunching on gravel. Quickly, he rounded your car, which gave him a full view of you crumpled on the ground, crying. Immediately, he was rushing to your aid. “What happened?! Are y’alright?”

He knelt beside you, wide-eyed, searching your body for any signs of outward harm. His protective instincts had kicked in.

“I-I fell,” you managed to whimper out. Honestly, it wasn’t even the fact that you’d fallen that kept you on the ground. It was the fact that you were entirely depleted of physical and emotional strength, and once you’d hit the ground, you couldn’t bring yourself to stand back up. 

“Are ya hurt?” That was his biggest concern. He’d drive you to the hospital if he had to. 

Your bottom lip wobbled as a fresh wave of tears poured down your weather-cooled cheeks. “A-a little,” came your response. You knew that your ribs were going to bruise. 

“Hospital hurt?”

“No.”

Rhett nodded, relaxing a little. “Alright. I’ll help ya up. Let’s get inside where it’s warm.”

Lovingly, he helped you to your feet, securing his arm around your waist, and grabbing your bag from the car before he led you into the house. The warmth washed over you immediately. You hadn’t realized how cold you were, but the slight tingle in your fingertips told you that you had certainly gotten a chill from outside. 

Rhett closed the door behind you, effectively shutting out the cold. You stood there in the entryway, unmoving as you felt another wave of tears overcome you. Your husband hadn’t noticed yet, as he was taking off his boots, but when he stood up, he saw you frozen in place. 

“What’s the matter, pun’kin?” He asked. His pronunciation of pumpkin, the sweet nickname he’d given you years ago when you were still dating. 

His gentle concern was the straw that broke the camel’s back. Immediately, you turned, surging forward into his arms. It caught him by surprise, but he quickly recovered, wrapping you up in his embrace. You melted into a fit of sobs, burying your face against his broad chest. 

“Hey now, I’ve got’ya. Ain’t never gonna let you go.”

His assurance only made you cry harder. You loved him so much. He was so good to you. 

His hand, large and warm, came up to cradle the back of your head, and he slowly rocked from side to side, soothing you with a quiet “shh” as he let you cry. He didn’t inundate you with questions, although he did want to know what had you weeping so brokenly in his arms. It made his heart ache. 

You weren’t sure how long you stood there in the entryway. It could’ve been a few minutes. It could’ve been a whole hour. But the comfort his embrace brought you was welcome. It calmed you down considerably. 

After a while, you finally pulled back, lifting your face from his now tear-soaked shirt. His expression was soft, his lashes fluttering as he lifted his hand to dry what was left of your tears. 

“Somebody make you cry?” He asked. He’d give them what-for if they had. 

“I-it’s just…oh, it’s everything,” you whimpered. “Work sucked today, I felt like I was in fuckin’ purgatory. I don’t…I don’t know how much longer I can take this.”

Rhett sighed softly. Seeing you in pain made him feel so powerless. While he knew that he was providing you comfort, he still wished he could take all the hurt away. You didn’t deserve any of it. “I’m sorry.” He leaned in to kiss your forehead. 

And then, “Let me take care of ya. ‘ve already got dinner started. How does a bath sound? I’ll get ya set up and then finish dinner so you can eat.”

“Good,” you whispered, as if you couldn’t find the strength to speak louder.

With a nod, Rhett set to work. “C’mon, let’s get you out of all these layers.”

He began carefully undoing your coat, which he removed from your body and promptly hung on the little coat rack by the door. Then he pulled your hat off your head and placed it on the pegboard that also housed different sets of keys. 

He guided you to sit down on the bench near the shoe organizer, and there, he knelt before you, unlacing your boots. You watched him so tenderly, so reverently, care for you, and again, you felt yourself welling up with tears. 

You hadn’t retained much from the time you’d spent growing up in church, aside from some trauma and a distaste for religion. But one Bible verse in particular popped into your head as you watched your husband remove your shoes. Most men will proclaim every one his own goodness: But a faithful man who can find?

Rhett never asked for anything. He never bragged about himself or his accomplishments. He was good and kind. A little rough around the edges, but he treated you like royalty, and respected you deeply. He was faithful to you, and to the homestead you had built together. He didn’t wander. He didn’t seek intimacy in the arms of another. He was anchored to you, for better or worse. 

And now he was guiding you up the stairs and to the bedroom, his arm secure around your waist, part of him always touching you. Grounding you. He guided you to sit on the bed, leaving a kiss against the top of your head before he sauntered over to the dresser to choose some pajamas for you. 

You were in a haze, brought on by the rush of emotions you had experienced. Sleepy from crying, frazzled from your stress. You were lucky that Rhett was there to help you, because you felt so pathetic and incapable of caring for yourself in this state. You could manage alone if you had to, but you didn’t have to. As long as your husband was around, you’d never have to worry about being alone. 

“You want to wear these, or these?” He asked, holding up a set of Christmas pajamas that were your own, and a pair of sweatpants and one of his Henleys. 

Of course, you chose the sweats and his shirt, because you wanted to be entirely surrounded by everything that was him. 

With your pajamas picked out, he guided you to the bathroom, where he had you sit upon the closed toilet seat while he began filling the tub, making sure the water was the perfect temperature. In the process, he grabbed the little space heater you kept in the bedroom, and he set it up in the corner of the bathroom, to warm up the cold tiles so you wouldn’t catch a chill. 

You smiled fondly at his attentiveness. “I love you,” you spoke. 

He paused, his face softening, his eyes fluttering. “And I love you, pun’kin.” He kissed the top of your head before he motioned for you to stand. There, he began undressing you, and you allowed him to, because you didn’t have the energy to do it yourself. 

After the bath was filled, and the bubbles were in, he guided you into the water. “I’m gonna’ go finish makin’ us dinner, alright?”

But you frowned at that. “No, wan’ you to get in with me.”

“And I’d love to get in with ya, but you haven’t eaten anything since your lunch break, right?”

Sheepishly, you nodded. “Since 11:30 actually.”

“Uh-huh, exactly. That’s why I’m feedin’ you dinner. Ain’t no way I’m lettin’ my baby starve.” Another kiss was left upon your head. “Just relax and enjoy your bath. I’ll be back in a few to help ya get dressed. Then we can eat.”

That piqued your interest. “Can we watch a holiday movie?” You asked. 

He hummed, a twinkle in his eye. “‘course we can, sweet thing.”

As he turned to leave, you spoke up. “Hey, Rhett?”

In the doorway, he turned. “Hm?”

“Thank you for takin’ care of me.”

He shook his head. “That ain’t somethin’ you need to thank me for. Carin’ for you is my job, and I’m always gonna do it.”

What a man he was. Once he left the room, you found yourself reflecting upon how blessed you were to have him. When you’d first met him, he was a broken man with so much love to give, but no one to bestow it upon, except for his niece. But she wasn’t his child, so he found himself holding back, because even though he didn’t agree with the way his brother parented her, he didn’t want to overstep. 

Of course, he would’ve made a better father to Amy than Perry ever could. But that was neither here nor there. Now, Rhett barely spoke to his brother. For his own well-being, he’d cut ties with Royal and Perry. It was one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but he was better now because of it. 

There were behaviors he’d worked hard to unlearn after he entered into a relationship with you. Trouble communicating and processing his emotions was the most glaring issue. Those first few years together were no picnic. You had argued often. All you asked for was for him to be open and honest with you. He bucked against it like an untamed horse. The thought of being exposed and vulnerable in that way terrified him. 

He didn’t want you to see the wounded, ugly parts of him. Didn’t want you to see him cry, because his father had drilled into his head that showing emotion was feminine. Men don’t cry, he’d tell his son. It was simply because he didn’t want to deal with Rhett’s emotional nature. 

Rhett, who had always been a sensitive soul, learned to hide that sensitivity early on. Don’t cry, for fear of being told “I’ll give you somethin’ to cry about.”

In recent years, since Amy was born, Royal had softened a bit. But he was still just as hard on his youngest son. Rhett was the workhorse. The dependable one. The one who would grit his teeth and get the job done without complaining. 

And God forbid if he tried to complain. Royal wasn’t one for physical violence, it just wasn’t in his nature. But when Rhett was seventeen years old, he’d gotten fed up with the verbal lashing from his father. It was the first time he’d really tried to stand up for himself and tell Royal to shove it, in not-so-delicate terms. But it hadn’t ended well. Royal had backhanded Rhett so hard he saw stars, and ended up with a bloody lip. 

The man had felt bad about his reaction, but the thing about Royal Abbott was, he didn’t apologize. It wasn’t in his nature. Rhett couldn’t remember a time when he’d ever heard ‘I’m sorry’ come out of his father’s mouth. 

That moment was what made Rhett realize he couldn’t stay in such a toxic environment. He longed to leave the confines of the Abbott Ranch behind and pave his own way. But that was easier said than done. A sense of responsibility to his family kept him chained down to Wabang. He seemed to be destined to spend the rest of his days as a bull rider, living in his father’s shadow, busting his ass and receiving nothing in return. 

And then he met you. 

You made him believe there was more to life. You made him believe he could chase his dreams and achieve them. You made him believe in himself. 

He had learned so much from you. And through you, he had found freedom. You were the first person, aside from Amy, who’d ever truly believed in him. And here he’d spend the better part of ten years pining after a girl named Maria, who had never and would never return his affection 

He remembered being so glad when she returned to town after being at college for the last few years. He thought maybe things would be different. Maybe she would see him for who he was and finally reciprocate his feelings. 

But all she’d done was string him along and make him feel like shit for never leaving Wabang. In the end, she lost any interest she might’ve had in Rhett, leaving him dejected. 

And then you showed up. You were new in town. Your grandparents had just bought a new house in Florida, but still had yet to successfully sell their ranch. While they transitioned to a new house in a new state, they asked you if you would be willing to stay at their place until it sold. Dissatisfied with your current job and living situation, you agreed. 

Soon, you found yourself in an unfamiliar town in Wyoming, the last place you ever thought you’d be. You got a job through Amelia Elementary School, teaching piano. One of your students was Amy Abbott, and this was how you met her uncle, Rhett. 

You should have known it from the second you saw him. He appeared rough and tumble, but when he introduced himself to you, his eyes, bright and blue, were soft, and you swore you saw the hint of a blush in the apples of his cheeks. 

That was what did you in. There was a softness to him that tugged on your heartstrings. You had Amy twice a week for lessons. Rhett picked her up each time, and you found yourself looking forward to seeing him. 

Over the course of the next few months, he swallowed his fear of rejection and worked up the courage to ask you to go for coffee. Rhett wasn’t a fan of the fancy lattes and whatnot that Two Horns Coffee sold in downtown Wabang, but he’d noticed you often had a coffee cup from the place in hand, and he wanted to take you somewhere you liked. 

That was how he found himself seated in a quaint little cafe that totally wasn’t his style, in favor of getting to know you. That day, you talked for hours, until the coffee shop employees were shooing you out because it was closing time. And after that, you walked through the town and continued talking. 

Rhett wasn’t loud or boisterous or pompous. He was quiet and gentle. He was shy, which surprised you. He seemed so confident, but really, it was all a front. Everyone perceived him a certain way. He was the promiscuous bull rider with a new buckle bunny in his bed every night. 

But that couldn’t be further from the truth. He admitted to you that he hadn’t slept with anyone since Maria a few months ago, and before her, the last time anyone had been in his bed was the night of his 21st birthday. Some girl he barely knew. 

His family’s perception of his promiscuity stemmed from that instance, where Royal had caught the girl sneaking off early in the morning. Since then, Rhett hadn’t been able to live it down. In the minds of his family, he was the man-whoring problem child. 

Rhett never bothered to correct them, because what was the use?

But when you looked at him, you saw him. The real him. Shy and slightly awkward. Fidgety, unable to sit still. Kind and loving. Determined. 

He liked that. He felt seen and heard with you. He never felt like a burden. And because of this, he found himself drawn to you more and more. Soon enough, a romance blossomed between you. While it had its ups and downs, there was no doubt in each other’s minds that this was it. You were bonded for the rest of your lives. 

Your wedding came not long after. An intimate occasion with your closest friends and family. A beautiful ceremony in the mountains. After that, you moved into the home you’d been staying in since you moved to Wabang. As it turned out, your grandparents’ little ranch never sold, which left you and Rhett to move into it. 

You offered to pay in full for it, but your grandparents wouldn’t hear of it, insisting it was your wedding gift. The house did, however, need a lot of renovations, and that was where a lot of your money went. 

Since then, you had turned the house into everything you’d always dreamed of, and you’d started a wholesome life within its walls. 

Here Rhett was, thinking he needed to leave Wabang. But in reality, it wasn’t his hometown that he needed to distance himself from. Miraculously, his mental well-being increased tenfold when he escaped from beneath Royal’s thumb and started living his own life. 

And that was the thing of it, too. Rhett had a purpose here, on your little ranch. He could cultivate that intrinsic need to take care of things. He could take care of the land. He could take care of the animals. The only animals you had were your horse, Marabel, and Rhett’s horse, Esmeralda. But he had hopes of one day opening a horse sanctuary on your land. 

That was his dream. Not professional bull riding, like he’d spent so long trying to convince himself of. He loved horses, and wanted to do everything he could to help the animals that had always meant so much to him. 

He was working toward making that dream a reality. And someday soon, it would be. 

It was amazing to see the difference in him, since he’d started chasing after what he loved. He was no longer a man chained down to a life he didn’t want. He’d found a sense of freedom, and now, he was happier than he’d ever been. 

Yes, he had you to thank for it. But really, the determination to live a better life came from him. You were simply the one that lit the fire beneath him. Now he was a roaring flame, burning brighter than the sun. 

You were so proud of how far he’d come. And he was proud of himself, too. He had every right to be. 

He’d taken his ranch expertise and found a job at a horse ranch just outside of town. This allowed him to continuously be around the animals that he loved, while also making money. The owner was quite well off, and was paying Rhett handsomely. 

For the first time in his life, he was making a steady income, and he could provide for not only himself, but for you as well. You had your own job, and could hold your own, of course. But Rhett liked knowing he could take care of you. And you appreciated it. Coming from a family who’d never uttered so much as a thank you for all he did, it was refreshing to have someone express their unending gratitude for his care. 

Something as simple as making you grilled cheese for dinner made his heart soar, because after a difficult day, you were depending on him to care and provide for you. And he’d be damned if he was going to let you fend for yourself.

Watching you struggle had been hard for him. He hated seeing you in such a state of unrest. The changing of the seasons didn’t help, either. You were always hit with a bad wave of seasonal depression as soon as the clocks fell back. The early darkness made you sad. 

So Rhett did all he could to help you bear that burden. And tonight, he was determined to help you feel better. While you enjoyed your bath, he set to work finishing up dinner preparations. A little while later, with sandwiches at the ready and the living room set up with blankets and pillows, he rejoined you in the bathroom. 

“Hey, pun’kin. Y’ready?” He asked. 

You smiled sleepily at him. “Mhm.” 

So, he began the process of helping you out of the tub. He toweled you off, and then reverently smoothed your favorite lotion onto your skin. You were in a state of bliss as his large, but gentle, hands traveled over your body. He aided you in changing into your pajamas, and then he pulled a pair of cozy socks onto your feet. 

“C’mon now, let’s go eat ‘fore it gets cold.”

With that, he bent to shut off the space heater before he guided you out of the bathroom and down the stairs. When you walked into the living room, you couldn’t help but smile. He’d spread multiple blankets and pillows across the couch, creating a soft, cozy resting place. The fireplace was roaring, the low lights were on, and when you glanced at the window, you saw the snow was now falling in white sheets, making you feel as if you were inside a snow globe.

“Oh, this is perfect,” you whispered. 

Rhett beamed. “Go on, have a seat. I’ll get ya a drink. What do you want? Coke Zero? Some sweet tea?”

“Tea, please!” You quickly replied. One of the things Rhett could make besides grilled cheese was a mean sweet tea. Not too sweet, with just enough tea flavor that it wasn’t overpowering. It was your favorite. 

“Comin’ right up, chickadee.”

As you settled into the soft blankets on the couch, Rhett hurried to grab drinks for both of you. Soon, he was rejoining you, presenting you with a glass of tea, complete with a straw. You thanked him, and he smiled before he set about selecting a holiday movie. The 1947 version of Miracle on 34th Street was his choice, and soon, you were cuddled up together as the opening credits rolled, enjoying your dinner of grilled cheese. 

And just for a little while, things didn’t seem so bad. The harsh reality of life was dulled if only for a time, softened by the sweet delicateness of this moment shared between you. 

After you finished your food, you curled into Rhett’s side, your head on his shoulder. Content, he rested his cheek atop your head. You knew it was inevitable that he’d fall asleep. With a full tummy, and a cozy couch beneath him, he was sure to doze off. Rhett liked to stay busy, so during moments when he wasn’t, such as sitting down to watch a movie, he would almost always fall asleep. Years of being a workin’ man will do that to a body. 

He expected you to fall asleep, too. You’d had such a difficult day, and he was fully prepared to spend the rest of the night asleep on the couch with you. 

However, you were still wide awake as the movie neared the ending. Instead of drowsiness, you were filled with immense gratefulness. Rhett had come home from a long day of working in the cold, and had prepared you dinner and ran you a bath, simply because you’d had a bad day. He didn’t have to do such things, but he wanted to. 

He didn’t expect you to turn cartwheels and thank him in some dramatic way, but as you lay curled against him, you were struck with an idea. Albeit a mischievous one. 

You shifted, moving to glance at him. He was barely awake, his big, round eyes droopy. But then you began to nuzzle against him, kissing his jaw lightly. At first, he didn’t think anything of it. But then, one of your hands worked its way beneath the hem of his shirt, rubbing at the skin there. 

“Your hands are wanderin’,” he murmured, eyes still closed.

“I know,” you replied with a smile. 

“What’re you doin’, girl?” He continued as your hand went toward his chest. 

“Can’t I touch my man?”

“Sure y’can. But with you there’s always some ulterior motive. Little tease.”

He let out the softest of surprised squeaks when you tweaked his nipples, feeling them harden beneath your touch. “Not teasing. Just exploring.” Your lips attached to his jaw again, where you kissed and nipped at the scruffy skin. 

He began to melt beneath you, always a sucker for your loving touch. Your wandering hand trailed down his abdomen, and stopped just above the waistband of his plaid lounge pants. 

“Darlin’…” he warned, as your fingers swirled through the light dusting of hair that led down into his pants. 

“What?” Deft fingers traveled beneath the band of elastic. He wasn’t wearing anything underneath, which pleased you greatly, and gave you easy access. You brushed against the base of his cock, gripping onto it purposefully. He sucked in a breath, his hips jolting.

“Just wanted to thank you,” you hummed against his neck. “Always take such good care of me. Thought I’d take care of you.” 

You stroked him once. Twice. Palm running over silky skin. You longed to feel him grow in your hand. It was so erotic to you. Holding that thick, beautiful cock of his while it swelled to full hardness. 

“Wanna see it,” you spoke again. 

Rhett lifted his hips off the couch and haphazardly pushed his pants down toward his thighs. That was all you needed. His lower half was exposed, just enough for you to free him from the confines. Your mouth watered at the sight, and you languidly ran your hand up and down, resting your head on his chest as you watched him harden. 

God, you wanted to worship him. So that was what you did. 

You turned, moving to trail kisses down his smooth chest, stopping to leave a kiss against the raised scar that sat upon his shoulder. An unfortunate accident with a bull some years back. 

Then you went lower, lower, lower. Hands exploring, lips traveling. Soon, you were kneeling between his strong thighs, gazing up at him. You tugged his pants the rest of the way down, discarding them entirely so you could have uninhibited access. 

“S’pretty,” you hummed, as you admired him. It took him a moment to realize you were talking about his cock. His cheeks turned a shade of pink. But his bashfulness was soon forgotten when you leaned forward and began kissing along the underside of his shaft, from base to tip, offering tentative kitten licks as you went. 

He watched as you rubbed your cheek against him, nuzzling him as you kissed at his sensitive balls. You wanted to take a moment to truly appreciate what was before you. Standing tall and proud, something Rhett had every right to boast about if he wanted. 

But he didn’t. And that was where you came in, talking him up because you loved the way it rendered him speechless and blushing. 

“So big, I don’t know how it even fits inside me,” you mused. And it was the truth. But he was careful when he fucked you, never wanting to hurt you. Of course, that didn’t mean he was gentle. He had his gentle moments when you needed them, but he also had his moments where he fucked you within an inch of your life. You loved the balance. And you loved that he was mindful of what your body could handle. He’d never push you past your limits. Getting you to safeword was not the end goal. He wanted you to be able to enjoy intense scenes, without being pushed too far to the point where it took you out of the moment. 

Together, you had built a steady trust in each other, with boundaries put in place. Even in the midst of those scenes, you felt safe with Rhett. Protected. Even in the throes of intense passion, he was still looking out for you. 

But sometimes, something simple was all you needed. Like now, for instance. Lazily mouthing at his dick, relishing in the sharp saltiness on your tongue, and the deep muskiness that could only be described as Rhett. There was something so manly about it, and it sent a needy ache thrumming through your core. 

Meanwhile, Rhett was blissed out above you, torn between admiring you between his legs, and letting his head fall back against the couch as he relished in the feeling of your warm, wet mouth. Sinful and heavenly all at once. 

After spending time kissing and licking at him, you finally moved to focus on his tip, blushed and glimmering in the low light. Eyes flickering up to meet his hooded gaze, you parted your lips and very slowly began to swirl your tongue around him. Making a show of it, you focused your attention on the slit, tongue flicking back and forth until you were rewarded with a bead of precum, which you eagerly lapped up. 

“Oh, oh darlin’,” he breathed, hands gripping at the blankets beneath him. “You an’ that mouth of yours.”

You hummed around him, closing your lips around the tip and suckling softly before you began inching your way down. Being able to deep-throat him had taken practice. You remembered the way he reacted when you first took all of him. Unbeknownst to him, you’d been using a toy that was roughly the same size as him, training your throat to be able to take him. 

Now you could take him like a champ, and it drove him wild. 

Slowly, slowly, you took more of him, relaxing your throat, until your nose was pressed against the gathering of dark hair around the base. He kept himself neatly groomed, but left just enough behind because he knew how much you loved it. 

“‘at’s it, atta girl,” he graveled, fighting the urge to place his hand atop your head and hold you in place. But he would soon quickly lose that air of dominance to you.

You swallowed around him, which stole the air from his lungs, before you pulled back, kissing at the tip, wet with your spit. As you took a moment to catch your breath, you brought a hand up to toy with his heavy balls. 

“Ha!” He gasped, and you couldn’t help but grin. 

“Sensitive?” You asked. 

“Uh-huh,” he answered. “Ain’t had ‘em played with in a while.”

“Oh, honey,” you cooed, mouth still against the soft skin of his cock. “I’ve been neglecting you, haven’t I? Haven’t played with these big sensitive balls. Haven’t milked the cum out of them in so long.”

“F-fuck!” You’d taken him all the way to the hilt again without warning. 

It was true. It had been a while. It had been a crazy few weeks for both of you, and you hadn’t had time to really enjoy each other in the way that you wanted. A few quickies here and there hadn’t satisfied that burning desire you held for one another. 

Rhett didn’t like getting off without you. Sometimes, he would, if he was ever out of town or vice versa. But he much preferred being with you. He craved you. Fantasized about you. Wanted only you. His hand didn’t cut it. Your mouth and pussy were what he wanted. 

And oh, how good your mouth was. You knew exactly how to pleasure him. Knew he loved when you swirled your tongue against the underside of his tip, where he was most sensitive. Knew he couldn’t get enough of your hands on his balls while you took him down your throat. Knew he loved when you rubbed your face all over his dick. 

When you pulled your mouth off of him again, you rubbed the tip all over your lips, kissing softly, humming against him. Then you went back to tonguing the underside, and he gasped sharply, hips jolting. 

You took that opportunity to close your mouth around him and let him slide naturally to the back of your throat again. You used your other hand to massage down his shaft as you pulled back up, never leaving him without a moment of stimulation. 

“Y’ keep doin’ that and I won’t last,” he warned. 

“That’s the idea,” you replied with a smile. 

He moaned softly, letting his head fall back as you swallowed around him. This time, you stayed down longer, gulping as you did, and the sound drove him wild. You were drooling all over him, pulling out all the stops to bring him to the edge. 

And it was working. He was so pent up, and you both knew he wasn’t going to last. He’d begun to tremble, his thighs shaking at either side of your head. His hands clenched and unclenched around the blankets he held. His hips had begun to move of their own volition. 

“You’re squirming,” you teased. 

“Ca-can’t help it,” he stammered. “Your—fuck—your mouth is so g— ah!”

He couldn’t even get the words out. You kept pressing your tongue against that damn spot, knowing it would get him all worked up. He was losing his coherence the longer it went on. Mumbled half phrases, with gasps and whines mixed in. It was so easy to work him up like this. He was always so responsive. 

Interestingly enough, he hadn’t always been like this. In the beginning, he’d been more reserved. He was shy about the sounds he made. Ashamed of his whines and whimpers. He was holding back, and you could tell. So, little by little, you encouraged him to be more vocal. 

“Wanna hear you. Wanna know it feels good for you,” you’d told him, and he hadn’t really thought of it that way. As much as he loved hearing you and knowing he was making you feel good, he realized you also wanted the same thing from him. 

It took him a little while to feel confident enough to freely make those sounds of pleasure, but once he finally got past that hurdle, you couldn’t shut him up if you tried. Not that you wanted to, either. 

There was something about this man of few words being unable to remain silent that really got to you. You’d expected him to be all gravelly grunts and groans. And he was. But he whimpered, too. A lot. Especially when you got him feeling really good. 

He was so easy to rile up. Whether he was assuming the dominant or submissive role, or just simply making love to you with no kinky games involved. Get him close to orgasm, and sounds would pour from his throat uncontrollably. 

Like now, for instance. He was so beautiful this way. His whole body trembling, his eyes rolling back, his mouth open to let out unsteady gasps. You loved how you could reduce him to such a state. This strong, steady man, who’d just so tenderly taken care of you, was now trying to hold it together so he wouldn’t come too soon. 

But you wanted it. “Nuh-uh, don’t you hold back,” you told him. 

He took a shuddering breath. “Honey…”

“C’mon,” you coaxed, wrapping your fingers around him and stroking quickly. “Know you wanna come in my mouth, wanna watch me swallow all of it.”

And oh, he did. One thing about Rhett was that he loved watching you take his cum. Whether it be smeared across your pretty face, painted onto your chest, dripping out of your pussy, or in your mouth. 

Right now, you wanted it in your mouth. And you were determined to get it. Keeping your tongue right against his tip, you tightened your grip on him only slightly, moving your hand with purpose. Your other hand was at his balls again, massaging in time with the hand on his shaft. 

His eyes swam with unshed tears, and he gritted his teeth, breathing harshly through his nose. Warmth was beginning to crackle to life at the base of his spine, as if you’d just lit a fuse. 

You pulled out all the stops, taking him to the hilt again before you resumed that pleasurable torture against his tip. Alternating back and forth, bringing him closer and closer and closer to the edge, watching through hooded eyes as he lost himself, chest heaving, body trembling. 

“C-close,” he gasped. 

“Come down my throat,” you urged, before you placed his cock against your tongue, stroking hard and fast as you brought him toward his end. 

Rhett gazed down at you, and you caught his eye, your face pleading as you eagerly awaited his load. He could barely take the sight, and he threw his head back, groaning deeply. “F-fuck, darlin’, I’m—”

And then he whined. Keening high in his chest, his hips shunted forward. You could feel him pulse beneath your touch, and in an instant, you closed your mouth around him, creating a seal so that nothing would escape. You took all he had to give, swallowing every last drop of his seed like the good girl you were, all while he gasped and whined and softly sobbed above you. 

As he came down, he twitched in your mouth, the sensitivity mounting. He hissed as you pulled off his cock, sucking any remnants of cum from his skin before you released the softening shaft. You pressed a gently kiss to the tip before you innocently looked up at him.

Breathlessly, he swore. “Get up here,” he murmured, and you smiled, climbing up into his lap. He searched for your lips, and you kissed him, letting him taste himself on your tongue. “Mm, nearly sucked m’ soul outta me,” he teased.

“That was the idea,” you said with a giggle. 

He leaned in to kiss you again. His eyes were droopy, sleepiness evident in his features. “Should return the favor,” he continued when he broke the kiss, but you shook your head. 

“Uh-uh, that was my way of thanking you for taking care of me. We’re even.”

“But I wan’...” he paused to yawn, “wan’ make you feel good, too.”

“Tomorrow,” you promised. “For now, let’s just rest.” Another kiss was pressed to his lips before you reluctantly slid off him to retrieve his pants from the floor. You had just enough time to pull them onto his body before he had fallen asleep.

Lovingly, you brushed a lock of hair away from his forehead before you settled down beside him, pulling the blanket over you both. “I love you, cowboy,” you whispered, as you nestled yourself against his side. How grateful you were for him. This good and kind man was all yours. You silently thanked the universe for giving him to you.

And sure enough, the next morning, you woke to his head between your thighs, sending you to a place of absolute, unadulterated bliss. 

Yes, you were thankful for him indeed. 

-

taglist:

@withahappyrefrain @rhettabbotts @ryebecca @up-thereinthesky @oldfangirl30 @peachystenbrough @attapullman @auroralightsthesky @sebsxphia @delopsia @damrlova @hangmanapologist @lovinglyeternal @laracrofted @callsign-magnolia @callsignspark @bobfloydsbabe @bobgasm @nobody7102 @milesmillergf @idontcare-11 @theliterarybeldam @yanna-banana @floydsglasses @whisperofsong @1-800-floyd @floydsmuse @cruel-winter-nights @goldenseresinretriever @keep-on-burnin @happyrebelruins @bamfkurt @swiftsgirlfriend @virgo-wonder @seitmai-too @bradshawsbaby @bradshawsbitch

[bambi-kinos]

Would you like to answer a few questions about you opinions about Paul. Peoples read him very different and of course as a human he too has good and bad sides. What are the things that stands out to you the most: pros and cons besides being icon and music genius. Not from beatle historians or anyone else's opinions just your personal views? In the Beatles, pre and post Beatles. How do you view him today vs from decades ago? (Don't know how long you've been a fan) do you think he's mostly happy or sad in private. I'm asking you this because to me you seem like the one on line blogger that seem to "get him". Also would you say that you are attracted to him? Have you seen him live? What are you favourite songs by him both as a Beatle and beyond. I'm a super-Paul-stan fan and proud of it and nothing you say can change my own opinions of Paul but because nobody is perfect. Ok I'll let you go now.

Had to think about this one for a couple of weeks.

My opinion about Paul is that most of positive and negative feelings towards him are earned. He deserves the reverence but sometimes people take it too far like when his stepsister Ruth called him a god with feet of clay or whatever lmao. That kind of behavior is incredibly cringe and its very embarrassing that people can talk that way about Paul. But I think that he's busted his ass for over 60 years so truthfully he's earned the accolades and praise that he gets. There are some people that get really pissy and mad that he's revered so much and the only thing that we can say to them is "get a fucking life." Paul McCartney has been working his shapely ass off for decades to get where he is and is still slamming out music at in his fucking 80s. When you accomplish half as much as he has than you can think about whining that he's too revered and too worshipped.

On the other hand Paul has done a good job of earning all the negative emotions directed at him. He's egotistical and isn't graceful about wearing that praise. He tries to pretend he doesn't care but it's so transparent and see through that it's actively irritating, I think it's this more than anything that can get people to bitch. There is a phony veneer to Paul where he's clearly doing a bit of some sort and it's aggravating because it's not entirely clear what the bit actually is. Like all the posts making fun of him for pretending to be """normal""" are not coming out of no where, it's real aggravation that he's worked his whole life to get where he is and he tries to go "heehee I don't actually want it I'm just a guy like you <3~" like cmon dude really. For fuck's sake.

When it comes to Paul himself, my take on him, idk. I identify with Paul heavily. I like to think I'm more aggressive than he is but who actually fucking knows. I went through a life changing trauma at a similar age. (I was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes when I was eleven years old which is the insulin dependent diabetes that you hear about a lot on social media. BTW if anyone else has diabetes type 1 or 2 I'm available to talk, my dad and my partner are both type 2 and I know a lot about both.) I can identify with how your life is heavily bifurcated between Before and After. I also identify with how Paul really struggles to come to grips with his family life, while it's clear Jim and Mary did love him a lot they also simply were not stellar parents and a lot of their success with Paul and Mike lies in the fact that they gave their sons a steady home life without chaotic disruptions more than that they navigated the trials of parenthood well. I identify with that as well because diabetes makes my life very chaotic, and my parents did work to smooth those things over; but on the other hand my folks also had nasty and ugly moments with me just like Jim did with Paul. So I know what its like to love your parent immensely and be loved by them and still have a deeply resentful and distrustful relationship with them. And I never had a John Lennon in the mix to disrupt things.

I think it left me and Paul in similar places though our birth order is reversed with him being the oldest and me being the youngest. I realized a long time ago that I was completely on my own in terms of my diabetes and the rest of my life (my mother made some treatment decisions about my diabetes that nearly killed me a few times before I took control of it completely.) A parent can love you immensely, try to do everything right, and still damage you profoundly. With Paul having to endure physical blows and attempted emotional manipulation from his father, I think he too realized that he was totally on his own and that Jim could not give Paul what he needed. That is why Paul has such a strong self preservation instinct and why he comes off as two faced and why MLH remarked that he did not want to be in a dark alley with Paul if Paul did not like him. I've had to do some nasty things for self preservation and I think Paul has had to do it too. Some of them we know about but the majority we never will.

I think that it's hard to be the first born or the last born kid. You get so much of your parents attention but they screw you up in so many ways. I know middle children tend to feel ignored but I'm going to tell you right now, you're being shielded from a lot because you're not getting the Eye of Morder trained on you. Maybe we should all be thankful for what we have, idk. I have a lot more in common with my oldest sister than any of my middle siblings.

Paul is ruthlessly out for himself. I think John dying actually changed that a bit, it made him somewhat less vindictive and he was more open to letting people in but he's never not going to protect himself first. Or else he wouldn't have married Nancy in the first place, Nancy's first cousin was Barbara Walters and through Nancy Paul has a direct line to the news media which means he has yet one more string of influence so that he can control his public image. Nancy and Paul like each other a lot and their relationship is sincere, but Paul also benefits greatly by it. Do you see how this goes with him lol, he can invest in sincere relationships (and to be clear he does love Nancy) while still benefitting from it materially and immaterially. Note that a lot of the negative stuff about Paul started fading out of the press after he married Nancy.

Other fans often think I'm being negative and hateful about Paul when I point out that he is a manipulator and that he has a ruthless streak in him but that can't be farther from the truth. I sincerely admire Paul's ability to arrange his life in such a way that he is safe from most tangible threats and that he has such a way of moving chess pieces so that his hand isn't visible. I find that a great deal more admirable and amazing than John's bluntforce "let me squawk like a chicken to a reporter and they'll shit on Paul for me because I took a photo with them" thing. John was very blunt and clumsy with his sledgehammer and that did get results but I think that Paul is a great deal more artistic and beautiful with his media manipulation. The fact that he can carefully line up his pieces, get the results he wants, and then his influence is never seen (unless you extrapolate your way backwards from the results) is, to me, a great deal more elegant and sophisticated than the Lennono approach to bloviating during interviews.

Paul learned this during the initial Beatlemania rush when he had scads of heterosexual men all on their hands and knees begging him to let them fuck him. He does things exclusively through dangling something people want in front of them and then lets them take a course of action that suits him. And despite the fact that he is the architect of these movements you can never trace anything back to him because he does everything through influence and suggestion, not by out and out coercion or bribery. It's actually kind of incredible. Last week my friend remarked "I think Paul could pull off a bank heist and never get caught" and she's right.

That's what I admire about Paul. That is what I think is beautiful about him. Not necessarily the music or the lyrics or the insane life. Just the fact that he is a very patient and careful human being that doesn't lose his cool easily. I want to know more about him because I want that, you know? Being able to control facets of my life with that much care and harmony.

But that wasn't always the case. Paul was very clumsy during the 1970s because he let his feelings rule him when he should have crushed John like a bug. It wasn't until after John died that Paul started building the fortress, that was when he finally realized "oh shit, I need to build a persona for PR. I can't just be me anymore." Wings Paul is in some ways the most honest Paul, he vomits his feelings everywhere and we get a lot of insights into his mind and home life. That was before he had formed his own network of influence and political chicanry. 1980s Paul is when he's investing in that network finally and then 1990s Paul is when he started putting it into motion culminating in the divorce with Heather Mills. All in all I find it fascinating that Paul was not able to pull these disparate parts of himself together until he was in his 40s and Linda died. What is to be done with such a man?

I think that Paul has always had disparate parts of himself that he hasn't been able to reconcile. This is of course not unusual, it is the work of our lifetimes that we must see, accept, and internalize our contradictory natures. It's Paul's bad luck that he has to do this all in the public eye. No one envies him that. It's hell on earth and my heart breaks for him sometimes.

When it comes to Paul's moods in private, I think he is more or less "happy." Paul himself has said that he doesn't overthink his actions, he just decides what he wants to do and does it and whether it pans out or not is a different matter. I think that he's the kind of person that doesn't ruminate and he doesn't overthink what he's doing. And if he does do that then he goes to his guitar and does the "tell it all my problems" thing which is actually music therapy. It clearly helps him a lot and it clears his head so that he can keep his problems in perspective. I do that with journaling and my common place book, and I should do it more. It clearly helps Paul which is a good habit to have. All in all during his day to day life, Paul is happy and accomplished and has a big family with lots of grandchildren. Clearly loves Beatrice to bits and would do anything for her. The fact that we never hear anything bad about Beatrice is proof that she inherited all the right things from Paul lmao, she knows better than to get in trouble. Interestingly I think Beatrice is Paul's mini-me and considering Heather Mills is the same kind of personality as John Lennon, it makes me think that John and Paul having children together would actually have worked out very well for them.

On the other hand we know that Paul carries his share of anger and bitterness and old grudges. "No one knows the real me, do they." We're lucky that we live in a time where we can be relatively open about our personalities as well as our wants and needs. Paul did not grow up with such privileges and is only just recently starting to feel his way to the place we have inhabited our entire lives. He's suffered greatly for it. He's a naturally reticent person but I think John Lennon is the only person in the world Paul could fully express himself with; even Linda did not get full access to Paul considering comments made by others about Paul's controlling nature which belies anxiety. Why was Paul anxious around Linda, his soul mate? Because there were still parts of himself he didn't want her to know. And so on.

I think that in some ways Paul's lack of rumination and cheeriness is a choice that he's made for himself. He's been "tired" of negativity and hurtfulness for pretty much his entire life, he's always wanted to bring light into the world. John once said that Yoko painting "yes" on the ceiling of her exhibit was what he liked about her because it was positive, unlike the self absorbed 'woe is me' bullshit exhibits other avante garde people put up. I think John was attracted to Paul for similar reasons. Paul tries to take the sad song and make it better. Paul transformed John's life and he saved John from a much harder and painful path like the common belief that John would have landed himself in prison if he hadn't met Paul. I don't think it would have happened precisely that way but it was certainly a distinct possibility that John was aware of and he knew that Paul saved him from it.

Paul does it for himself as much as anyone else. I think he's actively trying to avoid the traps that many of us fall into. Rumination, bitterness, regrets. These are things that poison a person's life and even without therapeutic language Paul realized that he didn't want his life to be consumed by it. That doesn't mean he doesn't have his well of pain to tap into but he wants to live and be happy. He said once that John wouldn't want him to be hurt and depressed and he was right. I think if we all approached our lives with that kind of attitude, "I deserve to be happy and I'm going to do what it takes to get there," we would all be much better off. Paul is a role model in more ways than one.

Paul is a sport, a one off. There is no one else like him and when he dies there will never be anyone like him ever again. Treasure him now while he is here.

I have never seen him perform. When he has his next US tour then I'll go, I don't care what it costs.

Am I attracted to him: yes and yes. I find it more like an aspirational attractiveness but I think he's intensely beautiful and he became more beautiful as he aged (though there is something very special and breedable about 22 year old Paul McCartney. It's deeply depressing that he never got pregnant.) That's different from being handsome, all of the Beatles were handsome but Paul is intensely beautiful. It's the kind of thing that gets memorialized in Sumarian poems. If we were told he was descended from swan maidens or something like that, it would not be a shock. There's a story in that somewhere lol, imagine Paul bathing in a lake and John steals his feathered coat so that Paul will marry him or something like that. IDK. Paul is very intense.

Beauty is sovereign. Beauty triumphs over all things. Paul is one of those rare people that handles (almost) all of his affairs adroitly. Every little thing he does is magic.

I'm a big fan of all of Paul's work, I genuinely enjoy London Town for instance and I don't get why some circles make fun of it. Synth owns what is the problem here. Some of my favorite Paul songs:

With a Little Luck

Probably my favorite "John, I love you, I'm sorry, please come home" song. It's just very Paul, the very carefully arranged harmony, the minor key in an upbeat tempo, with the almost mismatched lyrics before Paul brings it back to a major key resolution. It makes me want to find my partner and kiss them on their lower lip. (My partner has a very pouty lower lip, easily one of their best features.)

Let 'em In

I have an entire animated music video in my head about this song. I've actually been looking up how to teach myself art because I want to pursue it. First learning to draw, then learning to animate and all because I want to animate this sequence I have in my head. Oh Paul. I adore you.

Rock Show

This one actually made me stand up and dance around my house which never happens anymore. I just love the energy and Paul's silly voices. And Paul's platonic fascination with axe wielders rears its head again! I wonder if Paul ever fantasized about killing people with an axe.

Another Day

This is the anthem of my life lmao. At least I have a romantic partner but we're long distance until I can emigrate to the United Kingdom so again I identify very heavily with this Paul piece. Ahhh…

When it comes to Paul's Beatle work, I don't really want to reference anything there because Beatles music was such a community effort, even Paul's songs aren't fully his once the other three got their hands on it. That's not a bad thing but it does mean the Beatles were an engine unto themselves. Paul never had full control of his songs. My choices are not particularly enlightened but they are true which is all I can provide.

This was a really great ask to get, thank you for sending it in. Very flattered if I'm someone who "gets" Paul. I think it's more like he makes a lot of sense to me and it's very rare that he does something that does not make sense to me. I'm probably projecting a lot but we all do that so who cares?

[lost-in-fandoms]

I know maybe you're not in the mood right now but any thoughts about Tarzan!Max? I'd accept thoughts about any of your pics because everything is amazing tbh but there's something about Tarzan!Max discovering a new world through Daniel and discovering how amazing is to fall in love.

Does Daniel take him to his farm? I think Max in Daniel's farm would be hilarious, amazed by everything and finding a family in Daniel's family too.

babe i am always down to talk about my boy in all and any situations! sorry this took a while, i took a little nap and then couldn't think about anything but!!!

(the first thing I thought was like..how do you get a whole person through customs. obviously max doesn't have a passport or any form of id so would they have to go through a sort of immigration procedure? but he's not emigrating from anywhere???? i guess i'll leave that problem to them sdfbdjhbf)

I love the idea of Daniel taking Max to his farm.

I'm imagining like. The jungle is Max's home right? But I imagine he's a little less in contact with his monkey pack. He likes to wander around and he has his own little hidey holes and his own places to sleep. So when he imprints on Daniel, he sees Daniel's "pack" as his new family. (and I am now thinking about Max trying to "groom" Daniel or Josh or whoever, gently raking his fingers through their hair and fiddling with their clothes and cleaning dirt smudges away after licking his thumb).

So when Daniel asks if Max wants to go with them, both because he can't imagine leaving another human being in the jungle and because he can't imagine leaving Max behind, Max goes. And in whatever way they manage to do it, Daniel brings him to his farm.

He understands that Max will probably never be ready to live in a city or close to a lot of people, he needs to be close to nature, and even if the nature in Daniel's farm is different from the jungle, it's still better than most options.

I imagine at first Max will struggle to adapt. He is used to have a lot of space to roam, to have trees to swing from, a whole different climate, a whole different diet. and now Daniel asks he wears at least underwear and a tshirt most of the time, he has to eat different foods, it rains so much less? where is the rain? how is he supposed to be clean if there is no river?

Daniel has to really help him through a lot. it helps that Max is learning to communicate more and more every day, but sometimes they bump into a new roadblock that they weren't expecting, and Daniel is reminded about how different Max's life has been so far. (would love to explore an overstimulated-by-electronic-noises max when i have more energy maybe. or a deeply-sad-because-where-is-my-jungle max)

But I think Max also really enjoys learning new things. He is delighted by some of the simplest things, which makes Daniel look at life in a different way too. How did he never realise how amazing forks and knives are? why does he think so little about how incredible it is to be able to make ice in his own freezer? the wonders of a ceiling fan???

I can picture Max spending long minutes just staring at things. Clocks, the washing machine, the fan, the turned off television, the kitchen sink tap. turning lights on and off. flushing the toilet over and over. And I can also picture him taking apart stuff and then (try to) put it back together, like the toaster (was never the same), the blender (was left with several pieces on the counter), the tv remote (tried to eat the buttons).

Max being terrified of Daniel's phone and then, when he gets used to it, absolutely fascinated by it. Asking so many questions about everything that Daniel doesn't know the answer to and forcing him to look them up because Max will simply not stop asking until he has a satisfying answer.

On the other hand, Max taking care of the vegetable garden and the animals. Being so incredible at it that it becomes mainly his job. They're different from the animals he's used to, but he is amazed by the chickens and loves them so much. Sometimes he likes to just sit with them and pet them softly. He becomes best friends with the donkey and the alpacas. maybe Daniel gets him bunnies and at first he's worried Max will kill them when he's hungry, but Max is so so gentle with them and loves them all so much.

And in all this, Max loves Daniel. He does his best to make Daniel food, gives him little "gifts" (eggs from the chickens, tomatoes from the garden, a clean sweater straight from the drier, a glass of water with clinking ice), curls up around him at night because he always refuses to sleep in his own bed. He's very protective of Daniel and gets upset when Daniel needs to leave the farm for errands or other things.

And Daniel shifts from I am very fond of this weird jungle boy to I would very much love to sleep in your arms for the rest of my life with a side of oh my god when is this beefy jungle guy gonna rail me. He sees how gentle and sweet and smart Max is, how quickly he learns about things and adapt to this new life, how interested he is about everything, how he takes care of Daniel, the farm, the animals, and can't help but fall in love with it all.

And the first time Daniel kisses Max at the farm, they're on the couch, Max watching something on the tv, almost without blinking, and Daniel watching Max. He calls his name and when Max turns (because Daniel will always be more important than anything else, even if the guy in the tv is cooking beef and Max is kind of hungry) Daniel kisses him. Max stays still for a bit and then when Daniel pulls back Max licks his cheek in response. It's not perfect, but Daniel can teach him. and Max always learns.

[uhhhitsme]

thinking so hard about agent curt mega i sort of am losing my shit because he just cares so much. about saving the world. about other people. about being the saviour he thought he was always meant to be. about owen. and how throughout the show we see curt struggle so much trying reckon with all that feeling, that vulnerability, and ultimately that grief. and his humanity.

right from the moment the curtains part, and we meet curt, we are greeted by the the thing that defines most of curt's personhood---his cool, cocky persona as a spy. as a hero, in his eyes---throwing himself into the heat of action to defeat the bad guys, "overthrow" an evil power, "save the world again." he and owen handle bombs and murder men like its nothing, grinning as they fight guards and are pursued by enemy agents. they're the definition of confident, competent, strong. the best in the field. its the thing he takes most pride in, boasting about his success and skill, actively making things harder for himself and owen just for the fun of it. he presents himself entirely as this one dimensional character---the good guy. the one who gets things done, who saves the world, the brave, daring hero of this story that you trust to do the right thing.

and then owen falls. and in one, full swoop, that image---that thing that curt prides so much of himself on---is blown to bits. because owen falls, and its his fault, and seeing the body of his partner laying broken on the ground is too much for him to bear, so he runs. he isn't brave. he isn't selfless. in the one moment that it really, truly mattered, he could not save the man he loved. he could not do the right thing. he wasnt the person that he had so desperately tried to be. and i think that haunted him, afterwards---that moment of selfishness, that moment where he was a coward. he ran and left his partner behind to save his own skin, because he was afraid, and he didnt know what to do. because at the end of the day, he's not just a tool for his government or this flawless, incredible spy. he's human, and he made irredeemable mistakes, and theres nothing he can do to fix it.

so when he comes back to spying, when he gets that second chance to try again---he wants to escape his humanity entirely. he refuses to acknowledge his fear, refuses to let go of what is ultimately a hopeless mission, is cocky and brash and everything he thinks a spy needs to be. he can't let himself feel, can't let himself acknowledge his emotion, cant let him confront how much he cares, because thats what made him kill owen. he can't live with being anything other than that untouchable hero he has always tried to be. at his core, he wants, desperately, to be good. to be the man that the world looks up to, righteous and fearless and the protector you can rely on, the american hero---not the deeply flawed, deeply human gay man he is, who would be shunned and criminalized if anyone knew. he needs to be good, to mean something, so much that he cannot bear trying to be anyone else.

and so he tries, and tries, and tries. and it ends with a bullet in the brain of the man he loves, and a mission he was always doomed to never complete, and the failure of not being the person he never could've been in the first place. he cared. so much that it made him unravel.

[catkyunie]

ateez's love languages (maknae line) ♡

Sannie is a cuddle bug and as soon as he is sure that you are comfortable with him and vice versa, he’s going to make sure you know it. If there is ever an opportunity for his arms to be wrapped around you in some capacity, he’s taking it. Cooking dinner? He’s hugging you from behind. Laying on the sofa and scrolling through TikTok? He’s now your human blanket. Physical closeness and the intimacy that comes with it is something that Sannie cherishes. San is a person who loves deeply and who loves hard so being able to feel the way your body responds to his affections, hearing the quickening of your heartbeat, seeing the way the tips of your ears and cheeks flush with the prettiest shade of pink, fills him with an insatiable sense of pride. This goes hand in hand with his need for quality time as well as his want to care for you with acts of service. After a long day of work, he’d have body oils ready for a deep tissue massage, a blanket his mother made him fresh from the dryer that smells of him, and a warm drink at the ready and promptly refilled when he noticed it getting low. Going on a movie date together? He’s dusting off your seat and being mindful of picking seats that he knows aren’t too close or too far so as not to strain your eyes. Don’t mention your car needing any kind of maintenance. He’ll purposefully have the managers drive you to work the next day so he can go have the oil changed, and the gas tank filled, and even detail it for you. Any and everything that he can do to make your life easier, he’s willing to go above and beyond because he knows you would do the exact same thing for him. He is also so appreciative of the fact that you can be okay with having Wooyoung, Yeosang, or any of the members around for casual hangouts. San’s friendships mean just as much to him as his relationship with you and he loves the fact that you understand and are willing and able to accommodate his need for quality time with his members as well. Seeing how much you love his brothers and how much they adore their little sister does things for his spirit that he finds difficult to put into words. So, he expresses it with as much physical affection as either group can stomach.

Song Mingi is a person who often uses physical touch to comfort those around him. Whether it’s a reassuring hand on his hyung’s back or a quick hug to help drive a point home, he is always able and willing to be that source of solace for someone when they need it. However, it is when someone is willing to do the same for him that he melts. The comfort he feels from your hand on his neck or the weight of your head on his shoulder is something that causes Mingi’s chest to swell. It is also something that the rapper has found helps him lessen his own anxieties. More often than not if the two of you are seated beside each other, Mingi will motion for you to crawl into his lap or to even lay atop him. You are what he likes to refer to as his own ‘personal weighted blanket’. Another way that you help Mingi through his day-to-day worries is with your words of reassurance and affirmations. While he has since gained incredible confidence in himself and his abilities as both a rapper and stage performer, there are still days when the man struggles to separate what is meant to be a stage persona and the person he really is behind that mask. Thankfully, between you and his members, he is reminded that no one is like Mingi and that, despite his own perception of himself, he is loved and cherished for being that very person. On and off the stage. Quality time with his brothers and his partner also does wonders with grounding Mingi and helping him differentiate between the many hats he wears. Some of his favorite ways to relax after a long week of schedules is by sitting at home with takeout and tossing on whatever anime series he’s been putting off watching. Most of those nights are also accompanied by couples' face masks and the occasional distraction in the form of makeup. Though it isn’t something he does often, he enjoys it when he and his partner can just play around with eyeshadows and turn each other into eccentric and beautiful canvases. He particularly likes it when you teach him different makeup techniques, like which brush is the best for blending out a smokey eye or giving him a plump, dewy lip look.

Much like his dear friend San, Wooyoung is very much a fan of physical affection. In fact, out of all eight ATEEZ members, he’s probably the most forward with his physical affections. He’s never been one to shy away from hugs or kisses, and will even go out of his way to give reassuring or playful little booty pats. He’s also, by far, the most bitey of the members. While most of the nibbles are mischievous in nature and are nothing more than a little chomp, there are times when he can get carried away and leave a mark or two, much to the disdain of his members. Alas, it is always good fun. Most of what Wooyoung does is for the sake of fun at the expense of his members or partner. Wooyoung is The Brat of ATEEZ and will go out of his way to be a little menace whenever the opportunity arises. Whether it’s being sassy or pouting when he doesn’t get his way, Wooyoung naturally demands attention. With that being said, sometimes he worries if maybe it’s too much too often. While he’s never been one to dim his brightness for the sake of others, he can’t help but wonder if, at times, he’s verging on the edge of inconsiderate or maybe even annoying. This is where his need for words of affirmation comes in. Though his members, and even occasionally his partner, may pick back with him and pretend like they don’t like his forwardness or affections, they are always sure to reassure him after the fact that he is loved and adored for being just who he is, even if that is a chaotic little fox. They wouldn’t have him any other way and Wooyoung is forever grateful to have found not only a set of brothers but a lover that can and will cherish him, inside and out. How does he show this appreciation? By going out of his way to do what he can for others when and if he is able. While Wooyoung can be extremely extroverted, he is, at his core, an introvert (he is an ISTJ after all). It is the quiet moments in between when you and Wooyoung are alone and away from the prying eyes of the public that Woo really shines. This is when he can turn his persona down and really get the chance to just be Wooyoung with his members and partner. One of his favorite ways to display acts of service is by cooking for the people he loves. Whether he’s experimenting with a new dish or simply chooses to make your favorite because you’ve had a tough day at work, Woo’s love of food and his love for you is evident in the way he not only prepares it but presents it as well. And seeing the way you melt in your seat after taking a bite? It absolutely fills him with pride and adoration.

Jongho adores spoiling you and will often take you out with this intention. One of his favorite ways to do so is by popping into department stores and having cheesy dressing room montages with you, the sole purpose of hyping you up and reminding you of how stunning he finds you in literally every article of clothing, even the pieces that you purposefully pull from the rack to try and look silly. Something that initially surprised you about Jongho is how much he enjoys styling his partner. While you’re shifting through different pieces and putting together outfits, he’ll occasionally wander the store as well, perusing the racks until he finds articles of clothing that he not only knows you’ll love, but that he thinks you’d look striking in. His favorite way to style you though, by far, is with accessories. Pops of gold or chrome silver, colorful and playful necklaces, stylized bags. And once you settle on an outfit or two that you fall in love with? To the register you go, with a surprise gift usually being thrown into the mix, often in the form of a dainty chain or bracelet. He’s the type of partner to buy his someone a chain with a letter J pendant for everyday wear. Much like Yunho, the youngest of the two Ho’s intertwines their gift-giving with acts of service. Jongho would definitely be the type to purchase his partner the latest software or camera equipment if their job or hobby required it and he’d do it with no prompting whatsoever. This maknae is all about spoiling their someone and making their lives as easy as they possibly can. But, that isn’t to say that Jongho does not enjoy hearing how much you enjoy how he spoils you. Seeing as he is a person who has a difficult time expressing himself with words or physical actions, he sometimes worries that his someone will perceive his spending habits as ways to buy their love when that certainly isn’t the case. Hearing you say how much you enjoy the new bag or how much easier your work has become since purchasing some sort of software really and truly reaffirms for him that you see and understand why he does the things he does. It isn’t to purchase your love. It’s to make you smile and reassure you that you deserve to be spoiled.

[hannibals-favourite-meal]

He’s So Pretty (When He Goes Down On Me)

Eddie Munson x plus size reader

I think the title is pretty self-explanatory

Warnings: smut, oral (f receiving), Eddie has a bit of a praise kink

WC: 424

Minors DNI

Eddie Munson was a truly gorgeous human being. He was tall and lean with the muscles of a mechanic, especially around his forearms and hands from years of playing guitar. His long fingers were always adorned with various silver rings, sometimes even a bracelet that he always put on his right wrist. His pale skin was covered with the dark ink of long-healed tattoos. A mess of unruly hair fell beautifully around his oval face, highlighting a strong jaw and huge brown eyes. 

He knew he was attractive, just the same as any other early twenties guy who’s soon to journey out into the great wide world. But he didn’t know how incredibly beautiful he was. You were hypnotised by him, utterly and completely stuck onto him. 

Yet nothing compared to how heart-achingly divine he was right at this moment. The small lamp on his bed-side table cast a yellow hue over his freckled skin. His hair fanned out over your plump thighs as his face was nestled between them.

Sweat rolled down his sides like little drops of gold. Black boxers sat low on his narrow pelvis, showing off his long porcelain legs and perky ass. 

The muscles in his back rippled with each surge of his hips against the bedspread. You could feel the tip of his round nose pressed to the small bundle of nerves that shot sparks of pleasure through you. “Eddie.” You moaned and buried your hand in his hair. 

But instead of the boy picking up his pace, he lifted his head to grin at you. “Yes babydoll?” Your chest constricted with affection. He rested his cheek on your soft inner thigh and you noticed the shine of your juices along his square chin. His chest heaved as he took in as much air as he could before he inevitably returned to the warmth of your cunt.

Releasing his black curls from your fingers, you cupped his jaw and used your thumb to wipe away some of the slick that remained on his lips. “You’re so pretty.” You murmured.

Eddie’s face went beet red with the praise and somehow, his already blown pupils grew wider. “You’re in trouble now.” He growled and surged forward once more, forgetting that he was meant to be teasing you. 

Your back arched up to meet his dexterous tongue as you struggled to keep your eyes on him through the blinding pleasure. “So so pretty.” He moaned deeply into your soaked folds, his fingers tightening on your wide hips.

Yeah, Eddie was gorgeous.

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Stranger Things

@getoutofthere

[800milesisadrive]

Meet Cute

Author's Note: This is my first attempt at playing around with AI co-authoring, with maybe 75% either being my own work or a heavy rewrite of the suggestions. It's a very crude and ugly little bit smut, but felt good enough to share it. Any stories I do share in the future that use AI for more than editing and brainstorming will be noted as such!

Sarah was so deeply focused on her homework, she didn't notice the man sitting across from her until he started talking.

"You know, girls as cute as you shouldn't need to study so hard," his voice cracked as he wheezed out the words.

Sarah could feel her whole body tense up. This guy had been bugging her all week, pestering her with inane chatter about anime and hentai. She just wanted to be left alone. She looked up at him, glaring at the overweight and unbathed lump sitting at seat on the other side of the table. Her almond eyes narrowing into slits, barely able to keep herself from screaming at him.

"I suggest you focus on your own life, buddy," she snapped back, her tone sharper than a knife.

The weeb recoiled slightly, but only for a pause. After a moment of stuttering, he seemed to regain his undeserved confidence. With a slightly unhinged smile, he launched into another speech about some obscure anime series.

"Like in Duko-Duko Magica?" he continued, completely ignoring Sarah's protest. "The One-Chan; doesn't have to worry about school, her master just puts a replica of her in class so no one suspects she's off having adventures!"

His tone was that of a father trying to explain a storybook to a toddler. This man wasn't talking to Sarah, but down to her. Even without his hunched posture, Sarah suspected she'd still be taller than this dork.

Was he wearing the same, sweat-stained anime t-shirt from yesterday, when he first tried to corner her in the library? Sarah was nearly sure of it, but wouldn't put it past this loser to have multiple outfits that were plastered with girls making faces with their tongues out...

"It's an 'Ahegao' pattern," the man said leaning forward. Sarah had unexpectedly zoned out, staring at him. " Though you know that already, being Japanese! It's actually the 'Mind-Break Ahegao' edition," he continued pointing at his chest. "Limited drop!"

Sarah felt lightheaded and frustrated. She couldn't believe how persistent and presumptive this guy was. While her family was from Japan, she'd never been herself and had never watched anime.

"Listen, I don't want to talk about this anymore," Sarah finally said, her voice trembling with impatience. "Can you just leave me alone?"

The man's face contorted into a mask of disbelief. "But we're having such a fun conversation!" he whined.

Sarah was done with this loser and his racist shit. She started to collect her things, packing them up to escape this annoying prick.

Out of the corner of her eyes, she noticed the man shifting in his chair, looking around nervously. His nerves coming back.

"It's not supposed to take this long..." he muttered to himself. "'Instant changes' is what the site said..."

Sarah paused, confused and oddly concerned by his change in demeanor. She hated this guy from the moment she set eyes on him, yet now she felt some irrational empathy.

He seemed like a pathetic loner, desperate for human connection that he would cling onto anything within reach. That desperation reminded her of her own loneliness, amplified by being a minority in an overwhelmingly white campus.

As he mumbled under his breath, she found herself glancing at his shirt again. The lewd drawings were unsettling, especially since they appeared to be moving - pulsing faintly with each heartbeat. Suddenly, a wave of vertigo washed over her. She struggled to sit upright, feeling dizzy and disoriented. Was it the late hour? Or perhaps something in the air?

Maybe it was too close to the radiator and there was something wrong with the heating system, because she suddenly felt incredibly warm and light-headed. Her hands, which moments ago held tightly onto her books, loosened their grip. She stared blankly at the book covers sprawled before her on the table. In that hazy state, she realized that they depicted scenes from Japanese folklore, images that once alien to her were now strangely familiar. It was like she remembered childhood memories of hearing these stories told by her grandmother during bedtime.

Sarah closed her eyes with surprise at the vivid imagery she saw in her mind.

"Hey, are you ok?" The man leaned toward her, concern etched into his previously obnoxious expression. "Maybe you should get some rest."

"No, I'm fine," Sarah assured him, opening her eyes wide. "Just tired, I guess."

The man nodded sympathetically. "You've been working too hard. Exchange students have it the toughest."

"I'm not..." Sarah began to protest and stopped herself. She wasn't an exchange student, was she?

Sarah thought to herself, her grip tightening around her textbooks. But then why do I feel this strange sense of familiarity? She wondered if she had simply forgotten her heritage due to spending her entire life in America. Maybe her mother spoke tales of Japanese myths during her childhood, stories that somehow lodged themselves deep enough inside her brain to surface now.

"Are you sure you're doing alright?" He asked, peering at her intently. Sarah was taken aback by her sudden attraction to his soft brown eyes. They were full of genuine concern, a stark contrast to his previous arrogant attitude.

For a brief moment, Sarah considered sharing her confusion with him. Yet, she hesitated, fearing that he might exploit her vulnerability. Instead, she simply replied, "Yeah, I'm good. Just need to take a break." She stood up abruptly, hoping to end the conversation. However, as she did, a sharp pain coursed through her legs, causing her to stumble. Mark caught her quickly, his firm grip steadying her. Sarah blinked, surprised by his unexpected gentleness.

"Maybe you should sit down. You look exhausted," he suggested softly.

Sarah looked up at him. Just a few moments ago she'd assumed he was about her height but now he towered over her, looking almost manly in spite of his flabby shape.

Something was happening to her. Sarah didn't fully understand it, but if felt like gravity itself had shifted. The whole world seemed a bit taller, and this man's touch felt like a life preserver she needed to cling to.

"This is... This is all wrong." Sarah breathed out, trying to keep from fainting.

A hungry smirk crawled over the man's face, once that filled Sarah with strong revulsion. She yanked herself back.

"What... what are you doing to me?" she stumbled, catching herself on the table. Sarah felt a strange sensation in her head, this was beyond exhaustion. Sarah managed to ask, her voice trembling.

Mark maintained a deceptively calm composure, though beneath his outwardly collected exterior, he felt ecstatic. He had finally found someone who understood his passion for anime and accepted him.

"Nothing much," Mark responded nonchalantly. "Just trying to help you relax, that's all." "Relax?" Sarah scoffed incredulously.

" Relax? What kind of sick game are you playing with me?"

His face fell, his eyes widening innocently. "Sick game? No way, Sarah. You know me, I'm Mark. We bonded over our love for anime..."

"Oh yeah?" Sarah retorted sarcastically. "And what makes you think I'd enjoy something so... so ridiculous?"

Mark faltered for a moment, looking hurt. "Well, you seem pretty stressed out..." Mark trailed off quietly, swallowing the last of his words.

Anger boiled up inside Sarah, threatening to overwhelm her resolve. "Stressed?" she spat, unable to contain her fury. "How dare you insinuate that you can read my mind? That you can even begin to comprehend my feelings?"

Her voice shook with anger, and she took a step backward, away from him. Mark's gaze followed her every movement, his eyes flickering between sadness and determination.

"I-I'm serious..." she couldn't focus on his face. As much as she wanted to scream, looking at him seemed to diffuse the anger. She didn't want to hurt him, she wanted him to be happy. It was her place to make him happy... "You're just becoming more _you_" he comforted her, and Sarah couldn't help but nod in agreement. This tall, sweet man was just trying to help a confused exchange student. How could she ever have been so rude to him?

Sarah felt ashamed and guilty, wishing she could turn back time and apologize. Instead, she stood frozen on the spot, her heart pounding against her chest. "Mark, please forgive me," she whispered, her voice cracking in despair. "I didn't mean to lash out at you. I'm just scared and confused right now..."

Mark gazed at her with tender compassion, silently acknowledging her apology. "Don't worry about it, Sarah," he reassured her gently. "I understand that you're going through a lot right now..." Mark spoke in a soothing voice, reaching out to lightly touch

Sarah's arm. Sarah felt a shockwave of pleasure ripple through her body. "But I promise you, everything will be okay. We'll find a way to make things better."

Sarah swallowed hard, her throat parched and dry. "I just don't... I don't feel like myself anymore," she confessed, her voice breaking. "I feel like I'm losing control. My thoughts are jumbled, and I can't remember..." Sarah said weakly, feeling increasingly vulnerable.

"You're just remembering who you truly are, deep down," Mark murmured, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her arm. "You're not just a diligent student, Sari-chan."

Sarah tried to resist, but his gentle touch felt too inviting. "What are you talking about?" she whispered hoarsely. "I'm Sarah. I-I don't know you at all. You're doing something to me. You drugged me or something..."

Sarah winced thinking of what he said. "Sari-chan", the nickname feeling alien and foreign on her tongue. Still, she couldn't deny the strange sense of comfort it brought her. It made her want to lean closer to Mark, basking in his warmth and safety.

"Let's just sit here for a moment, shall we?" Mark coaxed, leading Sarah to sit with him on the cold stone floor. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, offering her a comforting embrace.

"Mark-san." Sarah said, her voice seeming oddly light and girly. "What did you do to me?"

Mark's arm wrapped around her, slyly cupping her breast as he comforted her.

"You're just remembering who you truly are, deep down," he murmured, his fingers tracing gentle patterns on her arm.

Sarah gasped, her body jolting involuntarily. "What are you doing?" she cried out, instinctively attempting to push his hand away.

"Shh, Sari-chan," Mark hushed her, tightening his grasp around her waist. "There's nothing to be afraid of." Mark whispered into Sarah's ear, his hot breath sending goosebumps down her spine. "I'm only trying to help you. To bring back your true self."

"My true self?" Sarah repeated, feeling a strange mixture of apprehension and excitement welling up inside her. "Who am I really, Mark?"

With a soft chuckle, Mark pulled Sarah closer, pressing her body against his. "You're Sari-Chan. You're the beautiful Japanese girl who's too in love with me to ever say anything." Mark said, his voice sounding confident and dominant.

Sarah felt a surge of arousal course through her veins. The idea of being a submissive Asian woman enthralled her. She'd spent years suppressing her true desires—the longing for a powerful, protective man to guide her every move. Now, it was like the floodgates had opened, uncovering buried fantasies she'd never allowed herself to explore.

"Why...? Why you want girl like Sari-chan?" Sarah asked, her voice quivering uncontrollably. "Mark-san is big and handsome American..."

Sarah's own brain betrayed her, her memories of home being replaced with fuzzy memories of cherry blossoms and Japanese villages. Images that weren't hers but now seemed to be part of her deepest self swam in her mind.

"Sari-chan, you're ready to show yourself to everyone, aren't you?" Mark whispered seductively, his hot breath tickling Sarah's neck.

"Oh yes, Mark-san," Sarah whimpered, feeling an odd sense of liberation. "I'm ready to be yours forever."

Mark smiled triumphantly, stroking Sarah's silky hair. "That's my girl," he murmured approvingly.

"I knew you could do it. I could see it in your eyes."

[beautiful-vil]

Vil Schoenheit: Profoundly Misunderstood (An In-Depth Character Analysis)

FULL NAME:

Vil Schoenheit

NICKNAMES:

Beta Fish, Beautiful Vil, Roi du Poison

NAME MEANING:

Schoenheit is German for "beauty"; since Snow White is a German fairytale, and the Fairest Queen was famously obsessed with maintaining her beauty, this makes for a fitting surname for the Pomefiore housewarden.

Vil is a French name, a variation of the word “ville”- this fits the elegant, European-inspired nature of Pomefiore. The name Vil also sounds like “evil” or “villain,” which seems like an allusion to the Evil Queen whom Vil is twisted from. It also relates to how Vil was constantly typecast as a villain throughout his acting career.

AGE/BIRTHDAY:

April 9 (Aries); 18 years old

SPECIES:

Human

HEIGHT:

183 cm

GENDER AND PRONOUNS:

Male; he/him (I do like fem Vil, though.)

HOMELAND:

Shaftlands

DORM:

Pomefiore

YEAR:

Third year

CLASS:

Class C (No. 23)

HOBBIES/TALENTS:

Singing, acting, modeling, fashion, makeup, general stage presence, leadership

CLUBS:

Film Studies Club

BEST SUBJECTS:

Potionology

MORE INFORMATION:

Vil is one of the most popular celebrities in all of Twisted Wonderland, with a huge net worth. Though he loves his work as a singer, actor, influencer, and model, he has currently put his career on hold in order to focus on his duties as Housewarden and his academic success at NRC.

He is twisted from the Evil Queen, from Snow White and the Seven Dwarves.

EXTERNAL PERSONALITY:

Vil comes across as extremely confident, fashionable, and elegant, if somewhat haughty. He can sometimes come across as overly critical of others’ appearance, because he expects perfection not only from himself, but from everyone around him. There’s a certain regal quality about him, and he’s a natural leader. He also comes across as somewhat effeminate, and gets bothered by students like Epel who try to pointlessly conform to a gender binary. Vil believes himself to be the most beautiful man on campus and expects everyone around him to know it. He wants everyone in his dorm to conform to his high standards of dress, diet, and comportment.

INTERNAL PERSONALITY:

Despite his haughty exterior, Vil is actually deeply afraid of failure, or of being anything but the best. He feels that must be the most beautiful, the most successful, the most talented, or he’s completely worthless. He tends to be incredibly hard on himself if he makes the smallest mistake or fails to achieve complete perfection, and he often seeks validation from others rather than within himself. He is an incredibly hard worker and strives to do his absolute best in everything he does. He’s incredibly passionate about the arts, whether that’s fashion, musical performance, or theatre, and likes to challenge outdated, heteronormative, or patriarchal notions of sexuality and gender. He struggles to forgive himself for mistakes, and this “phantom guilt” is what ultimately leads to his overblot; though his friends all forgive him for his attempt to poison Neige leBlanche, Vil is unable to forgive HIMSELF.

MORALS:

Vil firmly believes that hard work is the key to success; if it first you don’t succeed, you just have to try harder, do better, give it more time and effort, push yourself to your limits until you finally succeed. He believes there are no such things as “girly” or “boyish” hobbies- the gender binary is arbitrary and pointlessly confining. He believes there’s no point in doing anything unless you give it 110 percent. He also greatly appreciates the value of beauty, and every single aspect of his appearance is a conscious choice. After all, image is everything, especially when you’re famous.

GOOD AND BAD HABITS:

STRONG WORK ETHIC- Vil believes the only way to succeed in life is through giving it your all.

CHALLENGES SOCIAL NORMS- Vil challenges the antiquated and misogynistic ideals of students like Epel.

PRIZES SELF-CARE- Vil understands the importance of taking care of your appearance and treating yourself like royalty.

OVERLY CRITICAL OF OTHERS Vil tends to be displeased with students who aren’t as well-groomed or well-mannered as he is.

INSECURE Vil chases the validation of others, rather than believing in his own innate worth. He’s unable to grasp that if he believes he’s the fairest of them all, it doesn’t matter whether others agree or not.

OVERLY CRITICAL OF HIMSELF- Even when others forgive Vil for his mistakes, he is often unable to forgive himself. Even when people offer words of praise to Vil for his acting, singing, or modeling, he often insists that “that was far from his best work”- his voice was strained, his stage presence was lackluster, his hair was out of place, etc. He’s unable to simply take a compliment- instead, he’s constantly thinking of ways he needs to improve.

FEARS:

-Never breaking out of his “pretty villain” typecast

-Failure

-All of his hard work being for nothing

-Not being good enough

-All of his fans turning against him one day

-Disgracing the legacy of the Fairest Queen

MAGIC MAIN DESCRIPTION:

Vil is naturally talented at brewing potions, as well as any magic that has to do with one’s appearance. He is able to magically make himself seem naturally charming, beautiful, or endearing to an audience, a talent that comes in handy for someone like him, who constantly has eyes on him.

UNIQUE MAGIC:

Fairest One Of All - Allows Vil to place a curse on anything he touches, with any conditions of his choosing. It is so powerful, not even Vil himself can undo it until the previously specified conditions are met.

CHILDHOOD:

ERIC VENUE

Show business runs in Vil’s blood; he was raised by one of the most famous actors in all of Twisted Wonderland, Eric Venue. Eric was a very caring and loving father who taught Vil everything he knows about achieving a perfect performance. Vil inherited his father’s love of making an audience adore him.

TRAPPED IN A TYPECAST

Inspired by his father, Vil started acting from a young age, taking on roles in school dramas and TV shows. But Vil was always casted as the role of the villain or the bully, which started to bother Vil early on in his acting career. He didn’t understand why he was constantly categorized as a “villain,” and wondered what it was about him that was so despicable. Was it how he looked? How he acted? To make matters worse, he seemed to have been frequently bullied in school.

He desperately wanted to break out of his typecast and play a hero's role, and to achieve that he would put himself through rigorous training and effort both into his skills and appearance. Yet he was never chosen for anything but a villain's role, which left him feeling frustrated. Despite his building negative feelings, Vil never stopped putting in the effort or giving up his hope as he was growing up.

NEIGE LEBLANCHE

Throughout Vil’s career, Vil constantly co-starred in plays, photo shoots, commercials, movies, and TV shows with fellow celebrity Neige LeBlanche. They often starred together as the leading roles in media projects, with Vil playing the elegant villain and Neige playing the innocent hero. While Neige always seemed to want to become friends with Vil, and seems to feel a certain level of sentimentality towards his co-star, Vil eventually started to resent Neige for how he felt that Neige was constantly overshadowing him. He deeply envied Neige’s popularity and felt like he could never compare, no matter how hard he tried.

MIDDLE SCHOOL YEARS:

MEETING JACK HOWL

You’d think a celebrity like Vil would have lots of friends; in truth, Vil may have had adoring fans, but he essentially had no real friends in childhood. His only friend was his neighbor, Jack Howl. Jack didn’t judge Vil for his onscreen persona the way the other kids in the Shaftlands did. Even though Jack and Vil drifted apart somewhat when Vil arrived at NRC, they both still regard each other fondly and respect their shared history.

CURRENT WHEREABOUTS:

Vil is currently in his junior year at the prestigious academy of magic, Night Raven College, and is housewarden of Pomefiore. He is currently taking a break from the limelight in order to focus on school, and in an effort to make a name for himself outside of his father, he has changed his name from Vil Venue to Vil Schoenheit.

ROLEPLAY SAMPLE:

𝑽𝒊𝒍 𝒕𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒇𝒐𝒐𝒕 𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒌𝒍𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒇𝒊𝒐𝒓𝒆 𝒃𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒓𝒐𝒐𝒎, 𝒉𝒊𝒔 6-inch 𝒉𝒊𝒈𝒉 𝒉𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒄𝒍𝒊𝒄𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒓𝒉𝒚𝒕𝒉𝒎𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒌𝒆𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒖𝒓𝒑𝒍𝒆-𝒂𝒏𝒅-𝒈𝒐𝒍𝒅 𝒏𝒂𝒊𝒍𝒔. “𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒌, 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝑬𝒑𝒆𝒍? 𝑯𝒆’𝒔 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒓𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒍.”

𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒔𝒉𝒓𝒖𝒈𝒔, 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒋𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒂𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒔𝒆𝒅 𝒂𝒔 𝑽𝒊𝒍. “𝑰’𝒎 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒆, 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒐𝒗𝒆𝒅 𝑹𝒐𝒊 𝒅𝒖 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏.”

𝑽𝒊𝒍 𝒈𝒍𝒂𝒓𝒆𝒔, 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒑𝒍𝒆𝒂𝒔𝒆𝒅. “𝑻𝒄𝒉. 𝑶𝒃𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒖𝒔𝒍𝒚 𝒔𝒉𝒐𝒘𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒖𝒑 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑺𝑫𝑪 𝒓𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒂𝒍 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒕 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒃𝒆 𝒂 𝒕𝒐𝒑 𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒐𝒓𝒊𝒕𝒚 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝑬𝒑𝒆𝒍. 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒈𝒊𝒗𝒆 𝒉𝒊𝒎 𝒂 𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓𝒏 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈-𝒕𝒐 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓. 𝑶𝒉, 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍. 𝑰𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒆𝒂𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒘𝒆’𝒍𝒍 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒓𝒆𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔𝒆 𝒘𝒊𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒉𝒊𝒎. 𝑰 𝒘𝒐𝒏’𝒕 𝒍𝒆𝒕 𝑬𝒑𝒆𝒍 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒖𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍 𝒃𝒆𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒊𝒐𝒓 𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒅𝒊𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒆𝒏𝒕 𝒑𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒆.”

𝑯𝒆 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒂 𝒑𝒓𝒆-𝒓𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒓𝒅𝒆𝒅 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒔𝒆𝒆𝒎𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒎𝒐𝒅𝒆𝒍. 𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒑𝒂𝒑𝒆𝒓 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒊𝒔 𝒂 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒖𝒕𝒊𝒇𝒖𝒍 𝒑𝒉𝒐𝒕𝒐 𝒐𝒇 𝒉𝒊𝒎𝒔𝒆𝒍𝒇, 𝒘𝒉𝒊𝒄𝒉 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒃𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒇𝒆𝒔𝒔𝒊𝒐𝒏𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒏. “𝑨𝒍𝒓𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕, 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒔, 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒚𝒐𝒏𝒆! 𝑳𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒔, 𝒄𝒂𝒎𝒆𝒓𝒂, 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏!”

𝑨𝒇𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒆𝒏𝒅𝒔, 𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒂𝒑𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒖𝒅𝒔 𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒉𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒊𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒚, 𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒓𝒔 𝒔𝒑𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒆𝒚𝒆𝒔. “𝑶𝒉, 𝒎𝒚! 𝑹𝒐𝒊 𝒅𝒖 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏, 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒊𝒎𝒑𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒏𝒊𝒇𝒊𝒒𝒖𝒆! 𝑻𝒓𝒖𝒍𝒚, 𝒐𝒏𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒆𝒕.”

𝑽𝒊𝒍 𝒔𝒉𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒂𝒅, 𝒍𝒐𝒐𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒅𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒐𝒏 𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒅𝒊𝒔𝒅𝒂𝒊𝒏𝒇𝒖𝒍𝒍𝒚. “𝑻𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒌𝒔, 𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒉𝒂𝒓𝒅𝒍𝒚 𝒎𝒚 𝒃𝒆𝒔𝒕 𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒇𝒐𝒓𝒎𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆. 𝑴𝒚 𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒔𝒍𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒍𝒚 𝒐𝒇𝒇-𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕, 𝒎𝒚 𝒗𝒐𝒊𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒇𝒍𝒂𝒕 𝒐𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒔𝒆𝒄𝒐𝒏𝒅 𝒗𝒆𝒓𝒔𝒆, 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒎𝒚 𝒔𝒕𝒂𝒈𝒆 𝒑𝒓𝒆𝒔𝒆𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒘𝒂𝒔 𝒍𝒂𝒄𝒌𝒍𝒖𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓. 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒅𝒐 𝒎𝒖𝒄𝒉 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒏𝒆𝒙𝒕 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆, 𝒊𝒇 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒉𝒂𝒗𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒏 𝒂 𝒄𝒉𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒃𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑵𝒆𝒊𝒈𝒆 𝑳𝒆𝑩𝒍𝒂𝒏𝒄𝒉𝒆.”

“𝑶𝒉. 𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝑰 𝒕𝒉𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒅𝒊𝒅 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍, 𝑹𝒐𝒊 𝒅𝒖 𝑷𝒐𝒊𝒔𝒐𝒏.”

‘’’𝑫𝒐𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒆𝒍𝒍’ 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔𝒏’𝒕 𝒄𝒖𝒕 𝒊𝒕. 𝑰𝒇 𝑰 𝒘𝒂𝒏𝒕 𝒕𝒐 𝒘𝒊𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏, 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒏𝒆𝒆𝒅 𝒕𝒐 𝒂𝒄𝒉𝒊𝒆𝒗𝒆 𝑷𝑬𝑹𝑭𝑬𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵. 𝑾𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒊𝒕 𝒕𝒂𝒌𝒆𝒔. 𝑵𝒐𝒘, 𝒍𝒆𝒕’𝒔 𝒓𝒖𝒏 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒎𝒖𝒔𝒊𝒄 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏. 𝑰’𝒍𝒍 𝒅𝒐 𝒃𝒆𝒕𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒊𝒎𝒆!”

𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒌 𝒔𝒊𝒈𝒉𝒔 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒑𝒍𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒄𝒌 𝒐𝒏𝒄𝒆 𝒎𝒐𝒓𝒆. “𝑶𝒉, 𝑽𝒊𝒍…”

[nevadas-night-time-novelist]

Tricky with a mime!reader? Classic clown and mime but mime!reader has like actual mime powers. Tricky is confused but interested!

Oh this is so cute <3 i love clowns and mimes n stuff

Tricky x Mime!reader

Despite the world being a hellscape, there were pockets of quiet, times of peace tucked away in the briefest of moments, like now, for instance.

A small crowd had formed, a few of them tossing loose monies into your little donation box while you performed for them. A child was in the crowd, front and centre with awe in her eyes, it was incredibly rare to see one. The world just isn't safe enough for them.

Performing was such an art, movements so fluid, as though what you were doing was real, your spectators threw a little more monies as you pretended to get struck by lightning while flying a kite.

Shaking off the sparks in your system, you switched to something more calm for your final performance, it was getting late, and soon this peaceful area would be rife with vamps.

Bending down, you plucked a bouquet of flowers, deeply inhaling their scent, before turning and offering them to the child. She giggled, and reached out for the fake gift, but the moment it left your hands, it took on a physical form. She was holding a handful of varying white flowers, daisies, snowdrops, baby's breath, and a proud white rose in the middle.

Stars filled her eyes. "How'd you dO THAT?" She squealed, clinging tightly to the first flowers she'd seen ever.

A single gloved finger pressed to your lips and you winked at her, mime magic. Taking a bow, you began to mime packing away your things, in actuality putting away some very real items to you.

"KEEP GOING, CLOWN WAS HAVING FUN!" You dropped your money box, scattering a few loose coins and notes onto the ground. Turning to face what you hoped wasn't real, you locked eyes with the mangled zombie clown, shaking in his uncontrollable way as his body tried to get rid of the excess energy pooling from the drive in his brain.

Terror filled your veins, you shook your head, acting out a vampire creeping along, before biting you.

Tricky laughed, enjoying your performance. "CLOWN LOVES SEEING OTHER CLOWNS IN THE WILD. YOU'RE DIFFERENT TO CLOWN, BUT CLOWN LIKES IT." He drove his stop sign into the ground, sitting down crossed legged like a child, ready to watch and learn.

It was going to get very dangerous shortly, judging by the encroaching darkness, on the other hand, in front of you was arguably the biggest threat in Nevada.

You held a hand out, suddenly feeling your clothing get wet, and you pulled an umbrella from your bag, trying to keep yourself dry. Tricky laughed and clapped, he was having fun.

The rain soon stopped, and you picked another item to play with, a tiny tricycle which you struggled to get on, before wheeling around in a few circles, Tricky's laughter getting louder and ... slightly more human sounding, under the screeching chaos, a softer male laugh could be heard. Strange...

"DO THE FLOWER THING, CLOWN LIKED THAT!" He suddenly lunged forward, and you reflexively put your hands up, and Tricky slammed into the wall of your mime box. "OUCH! WHAT IS THIS??" His clawed hands patted on the hard surface.

You took a step back, and mimed being stuck in a box. "THOSE... ARE REAL WALLS???" He tilted his head to the left like a curious dog. "CAN YOU TEACH CLOWN TO DO THAT??" Shaking your head in reply, a firm no. Even if you could talk and tell him how you did it, you doubted it'd work.

"NOT FAIR, CLOWN WANTS TO DO THAT. CLOWN WOULD PUT HANK IN A BOX AND SHAKE HIM!" Tricky laughed again, his body shaking violently as his hysteric giggles took over. "CLOWN WOULD MAKE HANK A PULP!"

You carefully picked up your stuff, including the money you dropped, while Tricky was preoccupied. He was being just a little too unhinged for your liking right now, and it was getting dark fast, vamps would soon flood this area for an easy meal.

"DO YOU REALLY HAVE TO GO? CLOWN WANTS TO HANG OUT MORE." You nodded to him. "...CAN CLOWN SEE YOU AGAIN?" A smile crept over your face, and you nodded, gesturing around at the park, you'll be around here sometime.

"CLOWN LOOKS FORWARD TO IT! CLOWN LIKES OTHER CLOWN!"

Clown likes clown too.