#his craft and its reception

[laurenttheninth]

i say this as a buddie and bucktommy shipper but also fundamentally i say this as a performing artist: i cannot imagine being an artist whose breakout role has been an anchor character for eight seasons on a huge network show and the only fucking interview questions i get asked are about which of my colleague’s characters i’m kissing or not kissing. he should be allowed to bite people perhaps maim them a bit

[inkmonster21]

I Don’t Play Anymore

Hwang In-Ho / Frontman x Fem!Reader

Series Masterlist

As the daughter of the American Frontman, your life takes an unexpected turn as you accompany him to South Korea, to witness the 33rd Annual Squid Games. Being a spectator to the violent events unfolds, and you find yourself unexpectedly connecting with the Frontman.

01. Red Light, Green Light

The American Frontman had traveled to Korea with a purpose: to observe and learn from the infamous underground games. He wanted to gather as much knowledge as possible, so he could translate those elements into the games hosted in the United States.

He was a sharp, cunning individual, drawn to the spectacle of carefully crafted games that challenged people's wits, morals, and will to survive.

The American game maker, accompanied by a small security team and his daughter, boarded the boat that would take them to the remote island where the games took place.

You were well-acquainted with the concept of these games, having experienced firsthand the high-stakes thrill of your father's smaller-scale games. These events, limited to no more than 50 players, unfolded at a rapid pace, often concluding in just one day.

The games held a dark legacy within your family, a tradition passed down through generations. You had participated in the games four years ago, and emerged victorious, a title that filled you with both accomplishment and guilt. Your father, the current game master, was proud, carrying on a legacy started by your great-grandfather. The competition held its price - the cost of taking lives - but the thrill and satisfaction of victory outweighed any lingering doubts and remorse.

You were accompanying your father on a journey to the annual games held in Korea. This trip was more than just a spectator's view; it was an opportunity for both of you to learn and gain insights from the complex and ruthless games that unfolded on foreign soil.

The boat swayed and rocked as it navigated through the waves, and you gripped the railing tightly, a mix of annoyance and slight unease present on your face. You had never been fond of boats, finding the continuous motion and the vast expanse of water beneath you unsettling.

Frustration tinged your voice as you raised your phone, attempting to catch a single bar of service. The signal was weak, barely catching the faintest hint of a connection.

"I can't even get a single bar out here!" you exclaimed, the lack of reception leaving you disconnected from the world.

Your father, observant as always, shifted his gaze towards you. His expression was serious, and he spoke calmly.

"Do you really need it anyway?"

He raised an eyebrow, subtly questioning the need for constant connection and the distraction that technology often provided.

You nodded in response, your response coming out in a confident tone.

"Um, yes. Anderson said he was going to send the address of his friends' club. There's supposed to be a big party, and I can not miss that."

Your father's face remained impassive, but a small flicker of amusement flashed in his eyes at your eagerness for the party.

Your father chuckled, “maybe you can make some new friends, tell them about the good opportunities we could offer,” a hint of amusement in his tone. However, your reply, about friendships being cut short by the nature of your upbringing, carried a touch of bitterness.

"Yeah, and then have them killed. I swear I haven't had a friendship longer than 2 years because of you assholes." Your voice held a mix of frustration and resignation.

Your father's response was curt, and he reprimanded you harshly. "That 'asshole' paid for the Louboutins you're standing in," he scoffed. "I'd fix that attitude before we arrive. You don't want to make me look bad here, (y/n)."

His words held a mix of authority and warning, subtly reminding you to maintain decorum and uphold the family reputation.

As the boat neared the island, your father's head of security handed him a black crystal mask, shaped with the features of the mythical jackalope, adorned with its own set of black shimmering jeweled horns. The mask was a masterpiece, exuding a sense of power and exclusivity.

Your father's head of security handed you a smaller, more delicate mask, its design resembling an innocent rabbit compared to the intimidating jackalope. You looked at the mask with a hint of disdain, a scoff escaping your lips.

"What am I supposed to do with this?" you asked, your tone tinged with a mix of stubbornness and skepticism. Your father's tone was terse, his words simple yet commanding. "Wear it," he instructed firmly, his gaze unwavering. Without hesitation, he placed the black jeweled mask onto his own face, the mask accentuating his features in an eerie way.

With a reluctant sigh, you followed suit, slipping on the elegant black jeweled rabbit mask. The coolness of the metal against your skin sent a faint shiver down your spine. The intricate design of the mask felt both elegant and concealing, a subtle reminder of the event you were about to become a part of.

The black masks placed on the security men's faces only heightened your sense of unease, solidifying the gravity of the situation. The cold realization hit you like a wave, and you couldn't help but feel a sudden surge of regret. A whisper of doubt echoed in your mind, questioning whether staying home would have been a wiser choice. The island loomed ahead, a silent harbinger of the events yet to unfold.

As the boat neared the island, your father's tone held a tinge of seriousness, his words a stern command.

"I want you to pay attention to these games," he stated firmly, his gaze firm. "Observe the players, observe their responses, and see what makes the mind break." The stern words of your father echoed in your mind, his authority unwavering. "Yes, father," you responded, a mix of obedience and reluctance in your voice.

The boat docked, the path ahead uneven and treacherous, especially given the choice of footwear you wore. The path was clearly unwalked and unsteady, making it difficult for you to navigate properly. As you cautiously made your way along the path, you stumbled upon a seemingly invisible hatch door, hidden from prying eyes. The head of security stepped forward, punching in a code and signaling to a hidden camera. The hatch door slowly creaked open, revealing a descending staircase.

As the hatch door opened, you were met with the sight of a man dressed in a striking pink jumpsuit, his mask featuring a distinctive square shape. Behind him were an entourage of four pink-masked guards, each adorning black masks lined with triangles. The contrast of the bright colours and masks against the dim lighting of the stairwell created an atmosphere of surrealism and foreboding.

The head of security's words cut through the silence, his tone low and guarded.

"These are the American game makers," he spoke, his voice holding a mix of neutrality and wariness. "They've been anticipating their arrival."

The man in the pink jumpsuit responded in a simple, yet eerie tone that sent a chill down your spine.

"Yes," he said simply, "please, follow me." Without a moment's hesitation, he turned and began walking down the dimly lit stairwell, his guards falling into a precise formation behind him.

As you followed the pink-suited man up the staircase, you couldn't help but observe the surroundings, taking in the bright colors and cheerful décor. The room was intentionally designed to appear playful and pleasant, a stark contrast to the darkness and mystery that shrouded the truth.

You were led towards a pair of imposing double doors, their golden handles gleaming beneath the lights. The pink-suited man stepped inside, his voice carrying a respect and formality. "Sir, the American game maker has arrived," he announced, his words carrying a weight of significance. The doors opened wider, revealing a grand room.

As you entered the grand room, your gaze fell upon the imposing figure across from you - a man clad in a sharp black suit, his distinctive black mask adorned with a hood. His presence immediately commanded attention and respect, and you couldn't help but make the connection - this must be the Frontman, the counterpart to your father's role.

Your father stepped forward and introduced himself to the Frontman, ignoring your presence. You were not the focus here; you were merely a spectator, a silent observer, your importance seemingly diminished. The sense of insignificance gnawed at you, but you remained composed, maintaining a stoic expression as you watched the encounter unfold.

The Frontman spoke, his voice authoritative and confident. "It is a pleasure to have you witness our 33rd Annual Squid Games," he echoed with a practiced smile, his gaze fixed on your father.

The words echoed in the grand room, a stark reminder of the gravity and spectacle of the events about to unfold - the annual game where lives were on the line, and the consequences were severe.

Your phone buzzed, interrupting the tense atmosphere. With a pleased smile, you reached into your purse and retrieved the device. As you sat down on one of the couches lining the wall, you muttered, "Finally," under your breath. Despite the gravity of the occasion, you couldn't help but feel a surge of satisfaction at the distraction, grateful for a moment of respite from the tension.

You scrolled through the texts from your friends, their pleas for glamourous pictures from your vacation with your father only fueled your growing urge to break away and explore. As you glanced up, observing the room and the ongoing conversation, you weighed the option of sneaking out to indulge in something exciting of your own.

Just as you stood, preparing to casually leave the room, your father called out to you, his command firm and unwavering.

"Sit," he ordered, his voice stern. You froze in your tracks, the words reverberating in your mind. Your desire to step away and explore was abruptly brought to a halt by his authoritarian command.

“I’m just going to go-,” The click of the gun echoed in the room, causing you to halt your words. Your father's stern glare and the sight of him pointing the pistol at you filled you with a mix of fear and resignation. You reluctantly walked to the designated chair diagonally across from him and sat down, your eyes locked on the gun. It was a tactic he had used before, but it never failed to send a wave of fear through you, reminding you of the consequences of disobedience.

Despite being his daughter, you couldn't shake the uneasy feeling that your father wouldn't hesitate to pull the trigger. The tension in the room was palpable, and the cold, unwavering gaze of the gun sent chills down your spine.

You muttered your apology, the words leaving your lips with a mixture of guilt and resignation. Your father's glare softened slightly as he lowered the pistol, a hint of acknowledgment in his eyes. He said nothing, merely giving a subtle nod, acknowledging your apology but still keeping a watchful eye on you.

Your father turned his attention back to the Frontman, continuing the conversation with a casual tone.

"Kids," he remarked nonchalantly, referring to you with a subtle nod in your direction. "They can be quite a handful." You remained still in your seat, trying to blend into the background, silently absorbing the words exchanged between your father and the Frontman.

As the Frontman stared at you, his masked gaze fixed upon you, you couldn't help but feel a strange sense of acknowledgment. His gesture, the slight tilt of his head, conveyed a silent curiosity. Without fully understanding why, you responded with a subtle nod of your own, a silent acknowledgment passing between you.

The Frontman's curiosity grew as he observed you, his masked gaze now filled with deeper intrigue. There was a hint of concern beneath the hard exterior, a subtle indication of his genuine interest in your well-being. He couldn't quite pinpoint why, but there was an undeniable pull to ensure your safety and comfort.

The Frontman broke the silence, offering a gesture of hospitality. "Would you like a drink?" he asked, his voice calm yet with a touch of formality. The offer seemed almost casual, a small gesture amidst the tense atmosphere, but the underlying purpose remained clear - to maintain control and ensure everyone was comfortable while the games began.

With a grateful nod, you accepted the Frontman's offer of a drink. The nerves were building within you, and the thought of numbing the tension even slightly was enticing.

"Please," you replied, your voice carrying a mix of relief and anticipation, while your father remained stoic in his seat, observing the interaction with a guarded expression.

The guards moved swiftly and efficiently, providing you with a drink with remarkable speed. You couldn't help but appreciate the efficiency and the thoughtfulness of the gesture, offering a small nod to convey your gratitude, your smile tinged with a hint of tension. Your father watched the exchange with a guarded expression, his eyes scrutinizing every move you made, observing your every reaction.

The moment had arrived. The games were about to commence, and the first event was set to be red light, green light. A seemingly simple premise, yet the tension and anticipation hung heavily in the air. The atmosphere seemed charged with anticipation and the potential for both triumph and defeat.

As the screen lit up, the scene unfolded before your eyes. The field of players, clad in green tracksuits, moved forward, their movements slow and measured as they explored their surroundings. Their attention was immediately drawn to the large doll stationed at the far end, a sight that both captivated and unnerved.

The calm and cheerful voice echoed through the field, issuing the directive.

"Please stand behind the white line drawn on the field," it repeated, the words resonating in the air. "Once again, will all players please stand behind the white line and await further instructions."

The players, dressed in green tracksuits, stood in a line behind the white line, seemingly unaware of the danger that loomed ahead. They followed the instructions with obedience, showing no signs of comprehending the true nature of the games they had willingly entered. There was a sense of blind trust, oblivious to the impending chaos and violence that awaited them.

The phone on the small table beside you rang abruptly, catching your attention. The Frontman moved closer, answering the call with a sense of authority. "This is the Frontman speaking," he said, his voice carrying a confident yet somewhat chilling tone. "We can begin now," he confirmed.

The Frontman took his seat beside you, maintaining a respectful yet noticeable distance between you. However, you couldn't help but feel a subtle sense of unease as you felt his gaze on the small parts of your face that were left uncovered by the mask. There was an intensity to his gaze that felt almost disquieting, a mix of curiosity and observation, his eyes seemingly taking in every detail of your features.

The Voice's tone carried a blend of cheerfulness and authority, as it instructed the players on the imminent event.

"You will be playing Red Light, Green Light," the voice announced, a tone of gleeful anticipation evident in its words. The players, dressed in green, stood still, their expressions a mix of anticipation and tension, their eyes focused on the voice coming through the speakers.

The rules of the game were explained with a strange blend of innocence and coldness.

"You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green Light,' stop when 'it' shouts 'Red Light.' If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated," the voice stated, its tone maintaining a mix of childlike playfulness and the harsh reality of the consequences they faced.

The voice continued, outlining the rules of the game with a matter-of-fact tone.

"Those players who cross the finish line without being eliminated within the five-minute playtime will pass this round," it explained. There was a pause, a dramatic moment of anticipation, before the voice concluded, "With that, let the game begin." As the words echoed in the air, the players braced themselves, the tension palpable.

The doll, with its childlike voice, issued the first command.

"Green light," it declared, its voice a mix of innocence and underlying menace. With those words, the game officially commenced. As the game began, a few players eagerly surged forward, attempting to make progress toward the finish line.

In an instant, the tension heightened as the voice announced, "Red light." The players, who had been moving forward, came to an abrupt stop, frozen in their tracks, their bodies gitty with anticipation.

You couldn't help but tense up at the sudden sound of a gunshot, the gunshot breaking the tense silence, causing your body to flinch involuntarily.

The voice, cold and unforgiving, announced the first casualty of the game. "Player 324. Eliminated."

The players, engrossed in the game, had yet to fully comprehend the true nature and danger of the situation. Despite the gunshot, most of them were still caught up in the excitement of the competition, their attention focused on the doll and the race to the finish line. The reality of the violence and life-or-death stakes hadn't fully sunk in for many participants.

As one player finally looked down at his dying friend, the reality and gravity of the situation became undeniable. Fear shot through their eyes, and realization dawned on their face. The cheerful facade shattered as they faced the brutal truth of the game's nature, a truth that left them shaken to the core. It was a moment of sobering clarity, the illusion of a simple game evaporating before their very eyes.

The chaos unfolded as panicked players rushed to the entrance doors, desperately trying to flee. However, their efforts were futile as one by one, they were shot by the hidden snipers in the walls.

The voice echoed through the loudspeakers once again, repeating the rules of the game with a chilling precision.

The remaining players, shaken and terrified, listened intently as the rules were reiterated, their hearts pounding in their chests.

"You are allowed to move forward when 'it' shouts 'Green Light' and stop when 'it' shouts 'Red Light.' If your movement is detected afterward, you will be eliminated," the voice stated, its tone cold and methodical.

Your father, visibly engrossed in the spectacle, couldn't contain his excitement. "Amazing first choice," he chuckled, his voice filled with a mix of admiration and enthusiasm. "We simply can't do it yet. We need more players on sight. But this is amazing!" His words showcased the twisted nature of the games and the satisfaction the game makers derived from the chaos and bloodshed.

Your father turned his gaze to you, seeking your opinion on the unfolding events. "What do you think, (y/n)?" he asked, a hint of amusement in his tone, as though he was eager to gauge your reaction to the unfolding spectacle.

Your words came out in a matter-of-fact tone, the practical aspect of the situation evident in your response.

"It's the best choice for the first game," you stated, a sense of realism lacing your words. "It gets rid of the mass amount of players and shows them the outcome if they don't listen. It's practical." Your father seemed pleased with your assessment, a subtle nod indicating his agreement and approval of your observation.

The Frontman, listening to your words, couldn't help but feel a sense of admiration for your practicality and realistic approach. He appreciated the way you had analyzed the situation and made a rational observation. In a world where brutal violence was the norm, your sensible view stood out, and he respected it quietly.

The game continued, the voice's cold instructions echoing through the field as players met their fate. Each round of "Red Light" brought a new wave of eliminations, the remaining players trembling in fear and uncertainty. The game was a deadly, ruthless spectacle, leaving the players in a state of constant tension and anxiety.

Your attention was drawn to the small figurine band that came to life, playing a gentle tune. As "Fly Me to the Moon" filled the room, you turned to the Frontman, a surprised smile gracing your face.

The Frontman's gesture took you by surprise, his action a mix of playfulness and unexpected charm amidst the cold, violent world of the games.

Despite the tense atmosphere, the Frontman's decision to play "Fly Me to the Moon" softened the mood slightly. As the song played, you crossed your legs, your voice carrying a slight tone of contentment.

"I like this song," you remarked, a small, appreciative smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

The Frontman's eyes flickered, his gaze briefly meeting yours, as he acknowledged your comment. There was a subtle sense of understanding in his gaze, a glimpse of a shared appreciation for the song that created a brief moment of connection between you two.

The moment of connection and shared appreciation between you and the Frontman provided a sliver of hope that this trip could indeed become more enjoyable than you had initially anticipated. The games were still unfolding, and the tension in the room lingered, but there was a hint of warmth in the air.

[wethotcrazy]

Tsunoda or Verstappen x princess reader where the media catches them?

Max Verstappen’s Mystery Girlfriend Revealed—She’s a Princess!

pairing: Max Verstappen x Princess! Reader

word count: 951

a little short fic im a little unsure of this but i think its cute. i have never written for max so i hope you like it.

The hum of engines filled the air as the Belgium Grand Prix roared to life, the energy palpable even beyond the track. It was in this electric atmosphere that Max Verstappen, Red Bull’s ace driver and reigning Formula 1 champion, first crossed paths with Princess Y/N of a small but wealthy European kingdom. She wasn’t there for pomp or ceremony, but for her unshakable love of motorsports. Her fascination with engineering had brought her into the paddock, under the guise of a “guest of honor,” though she was far more interested in torque ratios than champagne receptions.

Max had noticed her standing near the Red Bull garage, her eyes sparkling as she watched the pit crew fine-tune his RB19. She wasn’t like the other VIPs who came to the paddock for photo ops. She asked questions—intelligent ones—about the aerodynamics of the car and how it adapted to the tricky Spa-Francorchamps circuit. When she turned to him and asked, “How does it feel to handle Eau Rouge at full throttle?” Max couldn’t help but grin.

“Pretty thrilling,” he replied, his Dutch accent softening his words. “But you already know that, don’t you?”

She blushed but didn’t shy away. “I might’ve simulated it once or twice,” she admitted, and Max’s laughter was genuine.

From that moment on, they were inseparable that weekend. Between practice sessions and qualifying, Max found himself looking for Y/N in the crowd, her royal guards standing at a respectful distance while she chatted animatedly with engineers. She was intelligent, quick-witted, and refreshingly down-to-earth for someone who could probably claim ownership of a castle or two.

By the end of the weekend, they had exchanged numbers. What started as lighthearted banter and shared interests evolved into long, late-night calls discussing everything from racing to the struggles of living under the public eye. Max learned that Y/N had been fascinated by motorsports since she was a child, but her royal duties had always kept her at arm’s length from the world she loved. Y/N, in turn, found Max’s straightforwardness and his dedication to his craft intoxicating.

From then on, Max and Y/N were inseparable. Between races and royal engagements, they carved out moments just for themselves. Sometimes it was a late-night call after a long day, Max’s voice soothing as he recounted the chaos of the paddock. Other times, it was quiet afternoons strolling through parks in cities they barely knew, their laughter blending into the rustle of leaves.

Max was careful not to share too much in public, but he couldn’t entirely hide his happiness. In interviews, he would casually mention his “girlfriend” with a sly smile, never elaborating but always leaving fans buzzing. Clips of him dropping hints circulated endlessly on social media, fueling theories and debates about who the mysterious woman could be.

Their secret didn’t last forever.

It happened one sunny afternoon in Monaco, where Max and Y/N were enjoying a rare day off together. A candid photo surfaced online of them sitting on the edge of the marina, her hand resting lightly on his knee as they watched the boats sway in the harbor.

The internet exploded. “Max Verstappen’s Mystery Girlfriend Revealed—She’s a Princess!” read one headline. Others followed, speculating wildly about their relationship.

For a moment, the world seemed to close in. Reporters hounded them both, and social media was flooded with opinions—some supportive, others less so.

Max, however, remained unfazed. During the next press conference, when asked about the rumors, he simply shrugged. “We’re happy,” he said, his voice steady. “That’s all that matters to me.”Y/N faced her own challenges. Her advisors worried about the implications of such a public relationship, but she met their concerns with quiet resolve. “Max is kind, driven, and genuine,” she told them firmly. “He makes me happy. This is not up for discussion.”

Despite the noise, they didn’t let the spotlight dim their connection. Instead, it seemed to strengthen their bond. Y/N became a quiet force in Max’s corner, offering him calm reassurance during stressful race weekends. Max, in turn, encouraged Y/N to pursue her passion for engineering, helping her connect with teams and experts in the field. Their love only grew stronger in the face of scrutiny. Between the whirlwind of races and royal duties, they found comfort in each other. Y/N often joined Max in the paddock, where she quickly became a beloved presence. Mechanics respected her keen interest in their work, while Max’s team appreciated the grounding influence she brought to his often-hectic life.

On their quieter days, they escaped the chaos entirely. Max taught her how to kart, laughing as she spun out on the first few laps but cheering her on when she finally nailed a clean run. Y/N, in turn, introduced him to her world—showing him the intricacies of royal life and sneaking him into her palace’s private library, where they would talk for hours.

At the Austrian Grand Prix, Max took her on a private tour of the Red Bull factory. Watching her excitement as she examined the intricate details of the car made his heart swell. “You’re amazing,” he told her, his voice filled with awe.

Though their story seemed unlikely to outsiders, it made perfect sense to them. They shared a love for pushing limits, for the thrill of speed and the beauty of innovation. Most importantly, they found in each other a kindred spirit—someone who understood the weight of expectation but refused to let it define them.

And so, they continued forward, hand in hand, their hearts racing not just for the thrill of the track or the demands of the crown, but for each other.

[pinescent-and-gingerbread]

˖✧ The Jackpot

✦ Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Fem!Reader ✦ Summary: You join Arthur and the boys for a job on the Grand Korrigan riverboat where you act as Arthur’s lap girl. The man in question is more than excited about this decision. ✦ Warnings: Guns, mention of shooting, swearing, SMUT, oral (reader receiving), edging if you squint, unprotected p in v ✦ Words: 3,8k ✦ a/n: A big heartwarming thank you to @zae-heeyyy!! Who took the time to correct my dumb spelling and give me her thoughts on this before publishing it! Please go check her work, I swear it won't disappoint! Also: pictures are not mine! I usually try to use a pic for Arthur from my own playthrough but I'm fcking stuck on Guarma rn. Found them on Pinterest.

Dim lights are flickering all around you, making the golden ornaments of the luxurious place you're in shine like a thousand stars. You couldn't believe this gigantic reception room, gratified by a bar, a grand piano, and of course, three elegant poker tables, was actually floating on water right now, as you were on the Grand Korrigan boat, the jewel of its kind, den of the richest gentlemen in St. Denis, in search for some amusement and of course, even more money.

Trelawny and Herr Strauss had plotted a well-crafted deal that could earn a lot of money for the gang. Along with Javier disguised as one of the guards, Arthur would act as a new wealthy businessman who had just made a fortune in oil. Strauss would give him signals during his poker game, which guaranteed him to win considering Trelawny had made a friend out of the dealer.

You? You'd play his mistress, sitting on his lap during the game to make the scene look more convincing. On top of that, you had been able to hide a little gun in a hidden pocket in the underside of your dress, guaranteeing some extra protection, which wasn't a bad idea considering the Grand Korrigan was heavily armed and neither Arthur, Trelawny nor Strauss had one.

So here you were, thriving in your role, comfortably sitting on Arthur's lap, hands wrapped around his neck, both legs hanging on his left side. His arms were enveloping you, hands resting on the edge of the table as he was focusing on his cards.

Well, more like trying to focus, actually.

Maybe it was because you two had started a quite passionate relationship a few weeks ago, sneaking in each other's tent, simple kisses and whispers in the night quickly turning into something more, the both of you having cravings to fulfill.

Maybe it was because Trelawny, the damned man, had chosen a particularly suggestive dress for you to wear, comforting your play considering wives weren't allowed at the poker tables, only work girls and such, your cleavage on full display for his immoral eyes.

Maybe it was the way he could feel the round and warm flesh of your ass even through the fabric of your clothes, right where he wanted to, making his brain impossible to function properly, desperately trying to keep the hardness between his legs to stay in line.

Either way, Arthur had to make enormous efforts to focus on the job and was frankly relieved Strauss was telling him what to do; despite being a pretty good poker player, he would never have been able to win the easiest of games in this state.

Strauss told him to go all-in. He did. You smiled, you would have lied saying you weren't enjoying yourself right now. You had known far worse jobs than playing Arthur's lover. Much to your surprise, he had played a really convincing character through the night too, his usual mumbling far gone, replaced by a bright and confident speech and a cheeky grin that was making you want to kiss it even more. In fact, you wanted to take care of him just to see this cocky smirk flatter under your touch, replaced by a pleasured expression on his handsome face.

It was easy to say both of you were acting pretty good, but inside felt like two teenagers in love.

Arthur had won another hand, men were starting to leave the table, angry. It was only you both and the target now, an opulent man known as Desmond Blythe, loaded with money thanks to his hosiery business.

You pulled a cigarette out of Arthur's pocket along with a match, and you felt his breath hitch for an instant when you slipped your hand in it. Rubbing the match against the wood of the table, you lighted the cigarette casually, little flame illuminating a thin grin on your lips. You took a small drag on it to make sure the tobacco had plainly burnt, then you placed the cigarette in front of Arthur's lips, holding it for him between your index and middle finger, so that he could smoke on it while keeping both his hands on his cards.

It was downright one of the hottest things anybody had done to him and he was starting to lose it. Wrapping his lips around your offering and smoking a long drag, he allowed himself to avert his gaze from his opponent for a few seconds, planting his turquoise pupils into yours.

His eyes were half-lidded, long lashes accentuating the languorous gaze he was giving you. Your heart started racing. The power this man had on you was insane, but if only you knew what you were doing to him in return. You had a glimpse of it though, right there in the depths of his two blue diamonds, this so distinctive dark glow of him, direct window on the sinful pit of his urges.

You were sure your own eyes were mirroring it. And it got worse when, after exhaling some smoke, he quickly kissed the palm of your hand, indicating he had smoked enough, the warm sensation of his chapped lips on your skin giving you goosebumps. His eyes went back to Blythe, and you exhaled as if you had been holding your breath during the whole time you had locked eyes.

You retrieved your hand, taking a drag yourself on the cigarette after him, loving the idea of sharing it with him, of putting your lips right where he did a few seconds before, your biased brain telling you you could taste sweet remnants of him there.

Another all-in, another hand won by Arthur who couldn't stop himself from smiling this sly cocky smirk, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Shit, shit!" Blythe shouted, hitting on the table with his fists furiously.

"I guess ma luck held... Is that you done?" Arthur asked him, his tone triumphant while bending over the table to gather his not-so-well-deserved chips. "Or, do you got somethin' else to play with?" He added more lowly, his baritone voice almost making you shiver just hearing it.

"Meaning?" Desmond questioned back, visibly frustrated. Looked like frustration was a popular feeling around this poker table tonight, about the game or other things...

Arthur had gotten up from his chair and you too, now standing by his side, partially glued to his body as he had snaked an arm around your waist while finishing to put in order his chips. He answered using the same taunting, arrogant tone as before.

"Well, I heard there was some big boys on this boat, maybe that's not you, no offense-"

"Sit your and your whore's hillbilly asses down." The rich men cut him off, voice dark and serious.

You felt Arthur's hand grip tighter on your waist. For a faint moment, you thought that his cover would collapse, considering how tense he had gotten hearing him calling you a whore. But the way he was still smiling was almost even more scary, it was a false, threatening one. The kind of smile that hides a cold anger, boiling silently inside.

"Why?" Arthur simply answered, tone brilliantly contained considering the way his muscles were flexing on their own under his fancy suit.

"I got a watch... An expensive one, swiss... a Reutlinger no less. It's in the safe, upstairs. It's worth more than you."

You forced yourself not to cross eyes with Arthur. Your target. He had just confirmed what you were all here for. Perfect, just a bit more of this whole play and Arthur would be able to access the strongbox.

"Okay, I trust ya." Arthur consented while sitting back on his chair, placing you with his two big hands back at your place, on his lap. You were definitely loving this job. You'd have to thank Trelawny for it, someday.

The rest of the game passed just like before, your outlaw ultimately winning once more thanks to your colleague's little trick. Desmond was furious, and you obtained your goal.

Arthur happily got up once again, gently helping you stand, one of his hands naturally resting on your shoulder. Before following the gentleman who was supposed to bring him to the safe, he bent over to you, head brushing against yours, his stubble and hairs tickling your cheeks. He whispered in your ear, voice deep and hoarse, this one voice that was always making your head turn.

"When we're finished here, I'm gonna take care of ya, darlin'."

You sighed, cracking up a sly smirk, your cheeks turning a bit red. These simple words were enough to make the heat between your thighs make itself known; crying out for attention. Being so close like this was allowing you to breathe in his scent, its combination on top of his breath on your ear was a dangerous mix for your sanity. You took the opportunity of having his skin so close to your lips to place a small kiss on his neck, right below his own ear.

Arthur smiled at you, his bright blue eyes sparkling as he took a last look at you before walking off. You sighed softly again, already missing his presence. The wait for some time alone was only making your own needs grow.

You were only hoping the job would end up smoothly.

Of course, it didn't. 

Desmond, sore loser, had accused Arthur of cheating. That and the fact that the guard Javier had knocked off to steal his clothes had appeared out of nowhere yelling to shoot him had set things on fire on the Grand Korrigan, the boat now witness to a heated shooting the Van Der Linde Gang was known for.

You had instantly pulled out your hidden gun and helped Arthur clean up the place thanks to Javier who had thrown him a rifle. The night had ended with your incongruous team jumping straight in the water, swimming back to the shore, a quite odd and armed to the teeth fish shoal. At least, everyone was alive, and you even had obtained a pretty decent amount of money, not even mentioning the watch Strauss had authenticated as a real Reutlinger. Arthur had quickly taken back the precious object from his greedy hands, "well give it back then", which made you laugh to yourself.

True to himself, your cowboy had instructed everyone to separate and get out of the shore, as always after a job. You were all quite a sight, soaked to the bones. As you were greeting everyone a good night, Arthur silently walked to you and grabbed your hand. Even with the water you both had leaking from your clothes to your skin, you could feel how warm his hand was, contrasting yours which was completely freezing cold from having swam in the icy waters. You wondered if this man was even human.

"But you, Miss, are comin' with me." He playfully informed you, not leaving you any choice.

It was not as if you wanted to go anywhere else anyway.

"Really now? What d'ya have in mind, cowboy?" You asked him with an equally mischievous tone on your own, your eye glued to the way his hair looked completely soaked, subtle rivulets sliding all the way from it to his neck.

"Maybe we could pay ourselves a well-deserved night in town..." He proposed, voice turning more and more into a low growl as he was letting his desires take the lead on his reason.

"I would love that." You simply agreed, before getting closer to him, tilting your head up to bring your lips to his. He gladly let you, one hand still holding yours, the other gently landing on the side of your face.

The walk to the La Bastille Saloon was supposed to be a short one, but you both looked like you couldn't wait to be there before teasing each other. You would sometimes stop walking to just attack his neck, lips merciless as you sucked and kissed him there. Your taunting acts were often met with his equally heated answer, one of his palms ending on your ass, or your thighs, your wet clothes transparent and glued to your curves not helping him to keep his touch away from these places of your body. Arthur's breath sharpened as he called you his lil minx, and no, darlin’, we can't just do it on the streets.

Finally, after having shocked the barman by arriving at such late hours in completely soaked clothes, which honestly just made the both of you laugh mischievously, you reached your love nest for the night.

And what a nest! Silk sheets, canopy bed, sumptuous decor glistening with the dim lights of the chandeliers. Even the floor looked comfortable, carpeted with some fancy patterns, matching the couch and bed's color. Red, just like passion, just like lust. Red, like the color of your cheeks right now as Arthur had closed the door and was already on his knees, placing you on the edge of the mattress. Red, just like what Arthur was seeing right now, hungry hands pulling your dress up, positioning himself between your thighs.

You looked down at him, his darkened eyes looking at you. You noticed he had ripped off his fancy tie, needing to breathe properly, the heat between you both already making him suffocate. In those moments, his beautiful pupils were always shining with a more murky color, his usual sky blue turning into a more cobalt one. They were staring intensely into yours, expression questioning. A silent demand. You nodded positively, quietly answering. Dooming yourself.

The moment you did, he buried his head between your legs, left hand resting on your hip, holding you gently. His lips started kissing softly on the fabric of your undergarments. His other hand quickly came, helping him in his task by pulling it to the side, granting him access.

The moment his lips met your folds, you let out a moan, unable to resist the feeling he was giving you. He was loving it, his ears getting redder as he was more and more aroused himself. He was so big between your thighs, his shoulders were spreading them almost completely open.

He licked in a long, slow movement all the way to the top of your pussy, making you sigh in pleasure already, hips jerking against his head, begging for more.

"Easy, girl... I've got ya." He soothed you hoarsely, left hand holding you more firmly to prevent you from crushing him totally. Nevertheless, he took your eagerness into account; he couldn't deny you anything. Not when it came to sex. Not when you were so beautiful in this ostentatious dress. Not when he had grown more and more found of you, even if he was refusing to admit it to himself completely for now.

He brought his lips on the top of your core, tongue gently circling around this so special knot of nerves, his stubble scratching pleasantly against your skin, bringing you even more sensations.

It was already so good, Arthur's mouth showing you no pity, licking, sucking, kissing, as if you were becoming the only food he could ever feast on, the only oxygen he could breathe with. The sight of his broken nose buried beneath your skin, as if he was searching to go even deeper within you was almost too much for you to handle. Your hands that were gripping the sheets had now found the top of his head, spurring him to continue, please please please, Arthur, more, or you could have died right here on the fancy bed of the La Bastille Saloon.

Arthur's tongue answered your begging call, lapping your sensitive spot faster, harder. How the Hell was that man so good at pleasuring a woman? That, sinful, dirty man, just like the sounds you were letting out right now.

Your vision started to blur, the back of your head sinking onto the mattress, your back arching deliciously, and you were going to let him know just how close you were until he stopped all of a sudden.

"A-Arthur!" You protested, head snapping back at him, eyes pleading, tone both offended and needy as his name had sounded more like a whine when it had felt from your mouth.

He smiled cockily at you from where he was, his mouth looking wet with your arousal. He loved it, he loved being responsible for it.

"I'm here, girl... I jus' need ya too much right now. Lemme just..."

His voice was now a low rumble, coming from the depth of his chest. You watched as he quickly ripped off his clothes with little care for them. Trelawny would have shouted at how he was treating one of the most expensive suits he had ever brought.

But he didn't care about the suit. And neither do you, as your eyes were devouring every inch of his flesh that was appearing under them. The sight of a completely naked Arthur always had the same effect on you, no matter how many times you already had seen it.

His muscular body looked like it had been carved by Angels. No, more likely by an angry, dark God, who would have sculpted him from a hard and brutal material, his many scars and blurs a remnant of it. You could almost picture his tools molding your lover's broad chest and shoulders with sharp, furious hammer blows. His powerful arms and legs had received the same treatment, as if the deity wanted to pass on all of his brutal force into his creation. And his cock was definitely no exception to it.

And yet, this massive force of nature was blushing under your gaze. He couldn't have resisted the hurtful sensation of emptiness around his shaft, one of his hands now giving himself a few strokes to try and relieve some of it. His eyes closed in a frown for a few seconds, your pussy burned at this unholy scenery he was offering you.

You were in such a state of need it was almost depraved. You quickly got rid of your own clothes, tossing them somewhere on the floor of the room, needing to share this intimacy with him, to feel his skin against yours.

"Oh, please... Arthur, jus' take me..." You asked yourself before he could probe your adequation. You knew him well now, you already knew the next words he was going to speak would be another demand to make sure you truly wanted this.

He seemed to enjoy how you had forecasted it, his eyes opening again to look at you, his cock hardening even more, precum slowly leaking from its top, wasting all the efforts he had done to relieve it a bit.

"If that's what you want darlin'... I'm your man." He answered in a growl, climbing next to you on the bed.

You weren't sure why but his last words had made your heart swell in your chest. You were sure, deep down inside of you, that he meant it in another way. He really had become yours, and you, his. Lost in your thoughts, you let him handle you gently, placing you on your belly against the silk sheets, lying himself on top of you, legs between yours.

You slightly moved your rear up against his erection, earning a grunt of pleasure from him. Saying he had loved it was an understatement; he had been thinking about doing this with you since you had sat on him on the riverboat.

Using his right hand, he placed his cock against your entrance, and finally started pushing, your pussy already ready for him thanks to his ministrations, your mouth mewling at the sensation. Your perfect, hot walls were finally enveloping him, and he tried his best not to come just from that intense feeling alone.

He was so big and tall behind you, his head could reach yours and he buried it onto the crook of your neck, his hair still wet offering you a cold feel, contrasting with his whole hot chest pressed on your back, making you feel as if a literal inferno was burning it. He slowly started to pull back, only to shove himself in you again, starting a slow but intense back and forth.

"God, damn it... 'Feel so good girl..." He mumbled against your skin, his arms encircling you from both sides, caging you under his tall figure.

You sighed at his praise, wanting to answer something to compliment him back, but he snapped his hips just at the same time, making you shut your eyes close, and moan louder than before. Your voice was starting to crack under the amount of pleasure he was bringing to you, hard shaft brushing this deep spot within your core every time his hips moved, hitting just right where you needed him to.

He had noticed, and it was only making him lose his mind even more, unable to keep his pace slow, letting his body unleashed. He had waited this whole night to bury himself in you, listened to this moron calling you names without having the right to punch his goddamn idiotic face. He couldn't hold anything back anymore.

He started thrusting more frantically, pistoning his cock in and out of you so fast and hard he was now fucking you onto the bed. His right hand grabbed a fistful of your ass, the feeling of it colliding with his pelvis with every thrust making him insane, the other one next to your left shoulder, preventing him from crushing you completely.

You could feel it, the familiar feeling, the divine relief, building more and more thanks to him, the pace increasing your pleasure. Feeling how impossibly hard his sex had gotten in your cunt, you knew he was close too. This simple fact was the last push to your deliverance.

"A-Arthur! God, yes!" You screamed, unable to form any coherent thoughts, existing simply for this, for this moment with him, naked on the bed of this saloon. Just you and him.

"Oh, darlin’, shit!" Your orgasm had made your walls clench even more around his dick, exploding his limit. He quickly removed himself from you, and finished at the last second on your back and ass, his burning release painting your skin in flaming spurts. His very own sinful art piece.

The room felt silent again. The air stifling from your lovemaking, the only sounds being heard were your sharp, quickened breaths. Arthur took a few seconds to collect himself, feeling better and so satisfied, almost euphoric. Turning your head to the side, you took a glimpse of your lover's gorgeous state. Hair messy, cheeks and ears crimson, sweat dripping everywhere on his skin, chest rising and falling in big, profound exhales.

He then grabbed a piece of fabric from one of the wardrobes to gently wipe off his seed from you, and tossed it away, wanting nothing more but to rest against you now. A perfect contrast, from an agitated, stormy sea to a quiet, secret cove. As if you were the only one who could see him like this, vulnerable, loving even.

You watched him lay by your side on his back, your head still feeling dizzy, slowly coming back from a world of fantasies. You snuggled against him, resting your head on his chest, and he wrapped his arms around you, feeling spent but so, so happy. And you felt the same. Still naked, skin against skin, heart beating together, just the two of you.

Tonight had been quite something, and despite having won a few thousand dollars, it was definitely not money that was making Arthur feel like he had hit the jackpot.

[kumkaniudaku]

White Lies

Summary: Terry and Patrice work together to a little white lie.

Pairing: Terry Richmond x Black!OC

Word Count: 4,521

Warnings: Mentions of Pregnancy

Recommended Reading: Caught, Me and Your Mama

MASTERLIST

Something was…off. 

From the moment Patrice and Terry stepped into Marvin and Diedra's freshly renovated two-story home, which was primped and primed with all the luxury finishes one could ask for, Patrice could sense that their carefully crafted plan was in jeopardy. 

Terry's father was far too cheery. Diedra was always high energy, often smiling and hugging to celebrate a cloudless sky or the fresh sprouts of garlic cloves in her window sill garden, but Marvin was more even-keeled. In her teenage years, Patrice often questioned whether he liked her because of the lack of meaningful communication with her until she became a legal Richmond when he acknowledged her as something other than "the Ellis girl" at their wedding reception. In reality, Marvin carried immense respect for his daughter-in-love and regularly sang her praises in private despite carrying an exterior that felt more like casual indifference than familial affection. 

That's how Patrice knew their surprise announcement had been compromised. When Marvin greeted her with a hug so tight around her shoulders that she felt the bone pop from the pressure, her intuition perked up, sending red alerts to every corner of her brain. Still, Patrice kept quiet. No need to throw accusations when she couldn't prove her suspicion. 

Terry knew something was up when Rosalyn called him out of the blue to reiterate that she was excited to see them for dinner an hour before they arrived to share a feast from their collective favorite local soul food spot. Rosalyn rarely called him. If she needed to speak to Terry, she called Patrice and relayed a message through her daughter. If the situation was urgent, she'd send a text as a last-ditch effort. While he loved his mother-in-law dearly, finding himself in a 15-minute conversation about the weather felt strange. He hung up with the nagging feeling she knew more than what she was letting on. But he buried the thought to keep Patrice stress-free and excited about revealing their news to the grandparents-to-be. 

In the dining room, with an Aretha Franklin CD playing softly from Marvin's old standing radio system, the Ellis-Richmond clan conversed around a decorated maplewood dining table featuring all of their favorite Sunday dinner staples. They passed around Diedra's expensive glass bowls full of potato salad and pristine china platters of baked chicken between discussions of matters equally important and frivolous in nature. How was your vacation? Did you hear what so-and-so said about such-and-such? Your cousin is having a baby. Isn't that great?

That revelation made Terry pause as he spooned collard greens into his mouth. He chewed quickly to expedite a response to his mother. "Sure. Gerald has had a lot of kids, though, Mama. Ain't this number five?" 

Five that they knew of at least. 

"I know," Diedra sang after a sip of lemonade, a smile fighting its way past the neutral expression she'd been trying and miserably failing to maintain. "But a baby is a blessing every time. Especially when you're a grandparent getting to love on all those little ones. Sheila calls just to brag about them babies every weekend." 

Patrice rolled her eyes internally when Rosalyn added her two cents as if she didn't already know how her daughter felt about having a child one day. 

The older woman adjusted her black-rimmed glasses on her nose and hummed to signal her agreeance. "You know you get to treat your grandbabies different. Get 'em all hyped up on sugar and toys so they can go back home and be out of your hair until next time." 

"That's exactly what I plan on doin'," Leon laughed, the sound booming throughout the room. "Have fun with Pop-Pop, then go right on back to your mama 'nem." 

Terry tried to ease the annoyance emanating from Patrice's bouncing leg with a short chuckle and a soothing rub on her denim-covered knee under the table until she slowed to a halt. "If this is y'all's way of asking when we'll have children, I feel like I gotta remind everybody we just got married. Can't we enjoy some time alone for a little while? We haven't really dated, you know." 

"And I have shared my very detailed five year plan for us, which does not include trying for a baby until year three. Please, let's not rush my well-thought-out process, people!" 

Part of what Patrice said was true. Her laptop had a detailed five-year plan tucked neatly inside a folder labeled "Crack In Case I Marry That Man." She shared it with her mother a few weeks before Terry's surprise proposal, and there was a multi-page section on when and how they'd prep for parenthood after exactly three years of marriage. It was all there in 12-point Times New Roman and adequately disseminated to all interested parties to reference when the timeline called for them to reconvene. 

The lie was that they were still following said plan to the letter. 

Their parents exchanged knowing looks they assumed their children wouldn't understand. Terry and Patrice let them live in their bubble without calling attention to the many side eyes and allusions to pregnancy by frequently changing the subject but always ending right back at the starting line. 

Forks scraping against bright white porcelain signaled the end of their main course, just as an attempt to steer the conversation toward sports proved successful. 

Marvin waived his arms in a spirited attempt to direct Terry and Leon's attention toward an invisible clipboard of surefire inbounds plays for the Charlotte Hornets after another regular season loss. "See, this is why they didn't win the other day. The damn coach don't know what he doin'," he rambled without interruption. "Why the hell is Bridges inboundin' the ball with five seconds left? He oughta be in the paint waiting for the lob!" 

"Probably a decoy, Pop. Get 'em to inbound, then he cuts to the basket. They just botched the play because they're a bad team. Which you know. I'm not sure why you keep devoting your time to them." 

Marvin scoffed, miffed by the insinuation that his perpetually bottom-of-the-barrel team was ill-equipped to win. "Boy, I used to take you to Hornets games all the time." 

"I know. And they were bad then. Why do you think the tickets were so cheap," Terry laughed.

Terry's father shooed him away with a grin that slowly turned into a laugh, joining the small chorus around the room. "Yeah, well, at least they're exciting and bad this go 'round," Marvin countered before leaning back in his chair, full from the feast. "Better to watch LaMelo Ball get 50 in a blowout than sit through 48 minutes of Keith Bogans." 

"Hey, now. I had a Keith Bogans jersey!" 

"Because it was cheap," Marvin winked. 

More laughter filled the room, easily replacing the awkward tension marring their earlier interactions. Dinner was supposed to be fun and light-hearted to usher in big news for the year ahead. If conversations about the bleak future of their shared NBA team could offer a distraction, Terry and Patrice would watch every 40-point loss with glee.

Patrice cleaned the corners of her mouth and tossed her napkin on top of her clean plate in surrender to the indulgent meal. "I think some of my students are gonna sing Lift Every Voice at a game during Black History Month. We could go as a family. It'd be our first little mixed outing."

"You sure you'll feel up to it?" 

Chatter stopped. Terry swore he heard Aretha gasp before the final track faded into silence. The air in the room felt stagnant as if it were also holding its breath in anticipation of the fallout. Patrice blinked twice as her head tilted to one side in the confused look she sported right before she picked her victim apart for answers. It was the calm before an ugly storm.

Rosalyn wished she could've put the words back in her mouth and swallowed them whole so they'd never come forth again. The question was meant for her internal dialogue and a side conversation with her good friend and gossip partner, not the group discussion. 

She waited with the rest of the crew, breath drawn into tight lungs, praying that her daughter hadn't caught her innuendo. 

Patrice smiled a tight-lipped smile, the expression looking more like a grimace than an indicator of true happiness. "Why wouldn't I be up to it?" 

"Somethin' goin' on that day, Mrs. Ros?" When Terry said his vows, the part left in the margins was the commitment to join his wife in conflict, even if his parents were on the other side. They'd sort through the details later. And, honestly, he enjoyed a sprinkling of mess every once in a while.

Rosalyn released a cool titter to erase the lines creasing her forehead in worry. "I figured it'd be in the middle of the week. You know how P gets about her babies." Another slip to make Patrice's ears perk in curiosity. Leon wiped a large palm across his face to muffle a quiet groan. Diedra pretended to pick at sweet potatoes she had no intention to eat. Marvin nearly choked on a heavy gulp of water he didn't need. Rosalyn tripped over her words to clear up her mistake again. "She loves her students! Whew, is it warm in here, or am I having one of my personal summers?" 

"It is a little warm. Must be that oven," Diedra rushed to confirm. "Mo, can you turn the oven off? I'm sure the cobbler is done by now." 

"Leon and Ros, y'all ain't had my peach cobbler yet. Make sure you loosen up your belts and make some room by the time I get back." Marvin's deep baritone reverberating in uneasy laughter did little to lighten the mood. Everyone was in deep shit. 

An unholy mishmash of utensils clanging and plates stacking interrupted Leon's response as Patrice scrambled to collect dishes before Marvin could push away from the table. "We'll grab it!" she blurted while tugging Terry to his feet hard enough to make him force down a cube of ice he wasn't ready to swallow. "Come on, TJ. I need your help." 

"Shit," Terry hissed, rubbing his aching throat. "I'm comin', girl. Slow down."

Curses and grumbles about being far too rough with a pinch to the underside of his upper arm followed Terry and Patrice out of the dining room and into the sweltering kitchen across the narrow hallway. 

Patrice chucked spoons and forks into the dirty side of Dee Dee's farmhouse sink before reaching the counter and gripping for dear life with both hands, her arms shaking in rapidly rising fury.

"Rinse the dishes with me and turn your back," Patrice instructed the moment they were safely out of earshot. She waited impatiently for Terry to drag his feet toward the kitchen sink, already exhausted and ready to rip the bandaid off the whole ordeal if it meant he could get back home enough time to fall asleep on the couch with Troy Aikman commentating in the background. 

He sighed like he'd worked a full day's shift and reluctantly placed one of his mother's fancy ramekins under a steady stream of warm water. 

After Terry's long, lip-flapping huff, he and Patrice spoke at the same time. "They know." 

The pressing, the slips of the tongue, the looks across the table like there was a joke Terry and Patrice weren't in on – they knew. But when? And for how long? 

"Did you tell your sisters?" 

"No, I didn't tell my sisters. I know how to keep a secret." Terry answered, taking exception to the insinuation that he would be the one to blab despite their ironclad pact. 

Patrice kissed her teeth. "Oh, whatever. I asked you not to tell Robert Mitchell what I said about the senior formal, and not only did you tell, you punched him in the mouth!" 

"I did not tell him what you said. I punched him in the mouth first, then went to class. No words were exchanged." 

"You are a liar, Terrence James, but that is not the point." Patrice whisper-yelled as laughter swelled from the other room. "Think. Have your parents said anything weird since we got back?" 

Terry directed his eyes to the ceiling to rewind through the previous two weeks but came up empty save for an insignificant conversation the morning they got in from D.C. "My mom did ask if you felt okay. Something about not being able to smell like you used to." 

"I never told her that. The only person who knew I was having trouble with certain smells was –" 

"Your mom. When she called on Christmas Eve." 

Like the missing piece to a puzzle, an innocuous conversation unlocked the key to their Scooby-Doo mystery. The mention of cinnamon and its all-out assault on Patrice's senses must've been the first domino to fall. That's why her mother rushed off the phone when they'd typically spend no less than an additional 15 minutes pretending to hang up while sparking insignificant nuggets of conversation until someone broke the seal. That's why Terry received a call from his mother asking if Patrice was feeling sick. And that's why, despite supposedly being entirely in the dark about the reason for their first-ever Sunday dinner as a family, none of the older adults in the room could stop themselves from talking about babies and parenting. 

As the realization that their surprise was ruined long before it could take shape, fresh, hot tears began to cascade down Patrice's cheeks. Terry sprang into action, shutting off the water to softly catch the evidence of his wife's inner turmoil on his index finger's knuckle. "It's alright, baby. Come here." 

Faint cries joined shaking shoulders as Terry pulled Patrice into his chest by her elbow before peppering kisses at her crown. Her arms encircled his waist, squeezing tight while he ran his hands up and down the back of her oversized sweatshirt to soothe her second emotional outburst of the day. "Talk to me. What's the matter?" 

"It's all fucked up," Patrice heaved before muffling a short sob against Terry's body. "I want to go home. Fuck today! I don't care anymore!"

Assuming the role of reliable comforter didn't deter Terry from smiling down at Patrice with a plan that made his eyes twinkle like an excited child. "That's no fun, sailor," he cooed into her hairline before a quick kiss. "I planned to make this worthwhile, and I need those acting skills I love so much." 

"What's the plan?" Patrice sniffed as she looked up at her knight in shining armor to wait for his day-saving plan.

"Terrence James is a liar, remember?" Embers of mischief animated thick eyebrows wiggling on Terry's forehead, leaving Patrice silently begging for more context. He kissed her nose and held his lips in place to keep their plan confined to their bubble of solitude. "We're gonna lie, and I need you to follow my lead."

"You have to tell me something! Don't leave me in the dark."

Clamoring in the other room snapped their attention toward their parents, who were still waiting for the sweet treat they'd been promised. 

"What's goin' on in there?" 

"My sugar dropping, now! Stop all that kissin' and bring the cobbler before I pass out." 

"And make sure you wash your hands!" 

Minutes were dwindling into precious seconds, which required more spooning cold ice cream on top of warm dessert neatly packed into bowls for a room full of antsy elders. 

Terry quickly started an assembly line, with Patrice falling in line but still pressing for answers. He carefully pulled vanilla ice cream from the ice box, procured his Mama's good scoop, and hummed while he worked like the world around him hadn't capsized into chaos. That didn't stop Patrice from pestering him incessantly until he turned to briefly kiss her forehead in the process of preparing worthwhile servings. 

"Have I ever steered you wrong?" When she opened her mouth for a rebuttal, Terry cut her off with a rough finger on her pouty lips. "Don't answer that. What I'm saying is trust me. I got the three of us at all times. What I need from you, gorgeous, is to give me that winning smile, put some sweetness in your voice, and…" Terry held his final word as he plopped hefty round dollops of sweet vanilla ice cream onto three servings of cobbler then carefully balanced them on a serving tray with the needed utensils. "Follow my lead." 

"How will I know what to say, Terry?" 

Terry tapped her nose and gently pushed her toward the room's threshold before gathering three additional bowls in his hands. He winked as he walked past her. "Takes a liar to know a liar. Come on."

Patrice didn't refer to her truth stretching as lying. She preferred to view it as world-building, taking a page from her lesson plans to explore weaving exciting narratives together for entertainment's sake. And, sure, she was the only one who would derive any pleasure from falling into her elaborate storytelling, but so what? Plus, that part of her life was long gone. She was rusty, unprepared, and dreaded having to be the supporting actress to a leading man she hadn't seen in action since they were teenagers. 

A deep exhale helped Patrice's still racing thoughts and put on a believably happy face in enough time to shuffle behind Terry into the dining room. 

"Who wants cobbler?" Her chirping sounded too eager for someone who was shaking from rage moments earlier, but she was committed to the bit. It was too late to turn back. 

Various answers in the affirmative provided enough of a distraction for Terry to shoot Patrice a warning look. Calm down. His eyes said it all, and Patrice didn't need a second eyebrow raise to get the memo. 

They took their seats side by side, allowing their parents a few moments of unwitting happiness before Terry began his charade. 

"So…we have some news. We thought about calling on New Year's Eve but figured this was something better shared in person." Like children anticipating the arrival of Santa Claus by Christmas morning, Terry and Patrice's parents practically jumped from their seats to hear what they already knew. Chairs scraped against the polished hardwood to get closer to the table. Eating stopped. Bodies leaned forward in suspense. Terry had their attention in the palm of his hand left hand while he placed the palm of his right hand on Patrice's thigh to keep up the facade. 

"We're…moving." 

The words didn't quite register to anyone but Patrice as she sat there fighting to keep her eyes from squinting in uncontrollable laughter. Moving? Of all things, moving was Terry's grand plan to catch their parents off guard. But, as she watched the light of expectation slowly turn into confusion, she made a mental note to give her man his props. He'd successfully thrown a cartoonishly large wrench into their assumptions. 

Diedra cleared her throat and smoothed a hand over her auburn pixie cut. "I'm sorry, James, can you say that again? You two are –" 

"Moving," Terry reiterated plainly. "When we were in DC, we talked about finally getting out of here and startin' somewhere fresh, right, baby?" 

Patrice chimed in. "I disagreed with Terrence at first, but he convinced me. How amazing would it be to explore a new city together? And the DMV is perfect. There's government work for him…" 

"And teaching work for P. We'd live in the suburbs, so y'all wouldn't have to deal with the city noise when you visit. It's perfect." 

If they were ever asked to rate their improv for the afternoon, both Terry and Patrice would mark their performance at a solid seven and a half. There was room for improvement, but, dammit, they were a worthwhile team. Terry gave Patrice an appreciative squeeze, and she expertly played the role of sweet, innocent wife by wrapping her arms around his bicep while they waited for the shock on Rosalyn's face to transition into the only version of happiness she could muster. 

Patrice watched her mother's lips purse in a tight smile until she found enough wherewithal to respond kindly. "That's great, but what's so wrong with Fayetville? Don't you two want to be around your Mama and daddy?" 

"Exactly," Marvin chimed in. "Why now? What's there that you can't get here?" 

Perfect. Terry couldn't have concocted a more perfect scheme if he was given weeks to prepare. The spontaneity of it all made for air so thick that he could've cut into it and served a slice alongside his daddy's famous cobbler. 

Terry looked over at Patrice to defer, preferring to let her flex her strongest muscle. She seamlessly took on both questions without faltering. "New opportunities," Patrice exclaimed as if the answer was as clear as a summer day. "Fayetteville has been good to us, but imagine how we'll grow together in a new city. We love y'all dearly, but it's time for us to spread our wings as a couple. You understand, right, Daddy?" 

"Not really, baby girl." Leon shook his head in silent disbelief as he wrung his hands together. "Can't say I'm ready for you to leave yet. Feels like I just got you back from A&T, and here you are all grown up and trying to leave again." 

Crestfallen silence blanketed the room. In all her years, Patrice had only seen her father look so forlorn one other time. They'd just finished unpacking her freshman dorm. Once the sobering realization that he was leaving his only daughter behind to tackle new horizons, sadness overtook him faster than he could wish it away. Patrice could see him reliving that afternoon and so many more as he pushed bits of crust and peach chunks around in his bowl for a distraction.

"We'll miss y'all," Terry answered, still holding on to the lie for a few moments longer, hoping his mother would cave to set up their grand finale. Diedra tried to remain cheerful in the face of heartbreaking news. 

She clasped her hands together and smiled wide. "Well, I think that is incredible news! You know, I have a realtor friend out there who is still selling houses. Let me go in my purse and grab her card. We'll get you two set up with a down payment, make sure we coordinate a moving plan and tour with you to make sure you're getting the best available, and oh, it'll be wonderful! Let me go and grab my purse!" 

Mission accomplished. DeeDee had cracked like an egg, still trying to contain the runny yolk of suppressed feelings while the remains ran through her fingers and made a mess. 

"Mama," Terry called out. The show was over. Curtail closed. Time for the big reveal. When Diedra didn't stop rambling, Terry dialed up the volume. "Mom!" Dee Dee stopped in her tracks. Terry released an easy chuckle. "Sit down. We have one more thing to tell you." 

"Oh, hell. No more bad news, boy. It better be something worth hearing." 

Marvin's exasperation drew stilted laughter from Terry, and then Patrice, who joined him with her eyes closed and tears leaking from the corners of her eyes. A shared, all-out cackle they couldn't contain any longer helped further confuse the four sets of eyes looking back at them. 

Patrice tried to calm down with a deep breath, but a look at Terry's smiling face sent her back to the top of her guffaw. "Oh my goodness! I can't breathe. Baby, help!" 

"I can't stop until you stop!" They tried again several times over, waiting for the other to calm down until they could force the truth out between giggles. Terry wiped at his waterline, then chuckled through an answer. "We're not moving, y'all. It's all a joke." 

Rosalyn blinked back her bewilderment. "I don't get it." 

"That's not the news. We had to get y'all back for thinking you could know that we're our business before we knew our business and then laugh without us. How rude!" 

"So it's true," Diedra questioned, eye beginning to buck with newfound hope. "Are you…"

Patrice nodded and leaned into an already beaming Terry. "It is. You're gonna be a grandma alongside that lady over there," she confirmed, pointing at Rosalyn. 

"And y'all are going to be granddads. Or Pop-Pops. Whichever you prefer." 

Terry's additional barely registered over the sounds of hands slapping together in excited hi-fives and high-pitched squeals full of the kind of love only a baby boomer with dreams of cradling children born from their children could exude. 

Leon raised his hands to give the Lord a high-spirited thanks once he saw Patrice's grainy sonogram, which made the news all the more real. A grandchild was on the way, and not from his knucklehead of a son like he'd imagined—not yet. 

Marvin rushed in and out of the room, returning with a black and Carolina blue onesie filling once empty hands. Terry looked on in shock. Where had his father been hiding that? 

Rosalyn and Diedra immediately jumped into visions of floral arrangements for a garden party baby shower and talked about how their children could avoid childcare costs with both nearing retirement. 

The youngest Richmond couple found themselves ushered out of chairs and forced into a group hug, surrounded by unconditional love and bubbling excitement to meet a person still developing lungs. 

Patrice struggled to speak against their embrace. "I take it y'all are excited." 

"Over the moon, little girl." Rosalyn gushed. "The babies are havin' a baby. You're all grown up! Congratulations!" 

Terry used a little wiggle room to return his mother-in-law's excitement with a rub against her arm. "Thank you, Ms. Ros. We appreciate y'a– ouch! Mom! Let go!" 

With her pointer finger and thumb, Diedra tugged and twisted a new spot on Terry's inner arm as punishment for his earlier antics. She let go with another harsh pull before smacking his arm for good measure. "You might be grown, but not that grown. Don't play with me, boy!" 

"And don't think I forgot about you, Patrice Nicole!" 

"Sorry, Mama. It was Terry's idea!" 

Though things were changing, some remained the same. No matter how much Terry and Patrice grew and prepared to take on the responsibility of ushering their own child through the world, Terry and Patrice would never escape their parent's love or discipline.

———————————

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[sleepymarimo]

𝕚𝕥'𝕤 𝕒 𝕞𝕒𝕥𝕔𝕙!

summary: just a small list of qualities & traits which may be ideal for these op men when it comes to choosing a partner pairing(s): luffy x reader, zoro x reader, sanji x reader notes: based off my personal opinion of the monster trio and what we've seen from them! i also tried to utilize their alleged mbti and enneagram types. i totally didn't get butthurt while writing this (cries)

luffy

adaptability. luffy marches to the beat of his own drum. a dinner date might quickly turn into infiltrating an underground criminal organization. its just how he is! having a partner that can roll with the punches, maybe even enjoy it, without feeling neglected, is ideal

he doesn't like the predictable and will take any opportunity to spice things up. someone who panics when plans go off track, who finds comfort in having routine, may not be the best match for him

commitment. someone who is flaky and can't keep their promises is a big red flag for him. he craves connection and loyalty. despite his childlike enthusiasm, his feelings run deep. his pain isn't something he openly shares, as he opts to express himself happily, but he will open up his his soul to you if he knows you'll be there, no matter what

following the first point of adaptability, know that luffy will show up for you regardless of the situation. a date or outing or fight might not go as planned, but he won't leave you hanging he will want to take on your big emotions too. he loves feeling, he loves knowing your feelings and understanding you. while he might not necessarily agree with all perspectives, he can see where people come from. be open with him, don't hide

creativity. this captain hates boredom and routine. he does things his own way and enjoys thinking outside the box. his partner would likely be the same way. a big imagination and a lot of enthusiasm draws luffy in. if you constantly shut down ideas without offering any of your own, it frustrates him

he would love doing things like arts and crafts with a partner. anything hands on will catch his attention! loves talking about the future. goes back to the point regarding commitment. he doesn't care if the ideas you offer are crazy or unrealistic, as long as you have him in mind for what's to come, he's all in luffy attracts people, its just how he is. to keep him actively interested, he needs excitement. if the two of you are cuddling and you're looking too cozy, he might have to start a tickle fight

vocal and affectionate. luffy feeds off the energy around him and gets satisfaction from others. he loves seeing his nakama happy and the same goes for his partner. it could be as small as a smile or as grand as tackling him to the ground- let him know, verbally and through action, that he's doing well and making you happy!

words of affirmation and quality time! he'll never get tired of hearing you talk and very much prefers it over silence. even if it's the most obscure and obtuse topic, he doesn't care as long as it comes out of your mouth a partner who is easily embarrassed by pda may not be the best match for him. luffy has no shame and will not hesitate to pull you to his side and drag you off towards whatever adventure he has planned. he'll be confused and maybe even slightly offended if you push him off

patient. luffy is not the most easy person to deal with at times. along with being patient, he would love a partner who revels in the attention he gives and can also reciprocate it without getting too overwhelmed.

however, sometimes, you want your own space and time to do things. luffy might take this as a personal hit to himself, since he's much more receptive to the criticism of his partner. this is why he would also do well with someone who is...

gentle and constructive. don't snap at the man or suddenly grow distant! if he truly loves you and is in deep, he'll be hurt and might even force himself deal with an issue in a bid to 'solve' the conflict. taking the time to explain things to him while giving him a healthy dose of affection will work wonders

will very much ask what he did wrong if you ever say you want time away from him. his extroversion makes him able to be in the company of others for extended periods of time without needing to take time for himself a partner with emotional awareness would be great for him. he feels a lot, and he feels it very strongly, so having someone who can read him is great!

likes unique features! freckles, scars, killer eyeliner... luffy is drawn to people who look interesting. before he really gets to know you, he'll probably associate you with whatever he finds most captivating about you!

zoro

independent. this man values his ambitions. having a partner with a full and functional life, outside of the relationship, is something he would admire and respect. he sees a relationships as a union between two individuals, very much egalitarian. he's loyal and passionate to the core, would do most anything for his partner, but he also expects the same in return. all or nothing.

you recognizing him as a being, as an individual, really makes him comfortable. codependency and clinginess, too many expectations will have him retreating talks of marriage and future endeavours might also be touchy. as much as he craves stability in a long term partnership, he also values his freedom and being unconstrained by expectations. don’t set marriage dates or make a ‘plan’ for the relationship. he loves you, but he truthfully doesn't know what the future holds. all he knows is that he wants you now. the act of choosing you in the first place shows that he has you in mind for the future- he won’t get into a relationship for fun or for the sake of keeping his bed warm. he takes it more seriously than you think!!

private. you're a team, a unit. if something comes up, talk to him first. he gets needing to consult with friends for outside perspective, that's understandable, and he might even do the same. but giving your friends the hot gossip, spilling details about your relationship- it ticks him off

does not necessarily mean he prefers a quiet partner! he enjoys listening to his partner and participating in engaging conversations about obscure topics. does not care much for drama can be quite empathetic, but you have to let him know how you're feeling. he won't figure it out on his own, but once he understands where you’re coming from he becomes a lot more reasonable.

respectful. his pride is important to him. he doesn't like embarrassing himself or being embarrassed. he enjoys your teasing and affection in private, but in public prefers to hold himself to a certain standard

if you ignore these boundaries, maybe embarrass him for the sake of a good laugh, he gets a bit irritated, even if it is only for lighthearted fun preferring to do things alone, zoro knows he's starting to fall for someone when he lets someone join him for the smallest of things. could be polishing swords in silence or sharing some sake- the fact that he wants you around, even if he isn't too outwardly expressive of it, is meaningful. respect and cherish the time he gives you, don't complain of boredom or head off to do something with someone else loves you and adores you, but will not put you on a pedestal. will point out hypocrisies and double standards. don't take this point the wrong way, because once he's committed, he's committed, and won't let the relationship go that easily, but he respects himself he expects you to call him out if he ever treads over your boundaries as well

understanding & perceptive. this man very much does things how he wants, when he wants. not to say that he's inconsiderate, not at all, but sometimes things come up that simply demand his attention. if he's on his way to meet up with you and sees some marines unjustly terrorizing civilians, he won't think twice. know that in his heart, he'd never intentionally do anything to hurt you

if he chooses you, he expects you to have trust in him and his intentions. having a partner that can read between the lines and see the magnitude of his actions is something he appreciates he won't outright ask for much of his partner, so, ideally, they should be perceptive enough to give him what he needs. show him and tell him that you appreciate what he does acts of service and physical touch!

realistic, or perhaps even idealistic. he admires those with lofty goals and ambitions, those who are aware that what they seek won't just be handed to them on a silver platter

relationship-wise, zoro would appreciate a partner who is aware of the facts…without getting butthurt yes, sometimes he wants time alone, even from you. no, it doesn't mean that he doesn't love you. yes, he'll protect you with all his heart and soul, but you can't expect him to hold your hand on every island you stop on. you're pirates- this won't be a sappy love story

supportive. a partner who shows interest in his craft will get his attention. you don't have to be an expert on the ways of the blade, but asking him questions and allowing him a chance to engage in something he's passionate about will draw him out of his shell

asking about swordsmanship is probably what drew him to you in the first place. he won't bother with conversation if its not something he's interested in, so its a good way to get his attention! similarly, if he's genuinely in love, he would go the extra mile to learn about his partner's interests and passions. he is an intense lover

zoro is a bit indifferent when it comes to physical preferences. he's very much drawn towards character above all else. however, in my opinion, due to his friendship with kuina, he does tend to have a soft spot for those with darker hair and eyes, maybe even someone taller than him

sanji

generosity. sanji is a giver and is not afraid to show it. it's a double edged sword. he's shown that he is willing to sell himself short, willing to put himself down if its for the sake of others. while he enjoys giving, revels in it, he desperately craves someone who can coddle and spoil him rotten

ideal partner would not be embarrassed of him or push him away. he's a sensitive soul, afraid of abandonment from the one he loves most. accepting his love with a smile and returning it with equal or greater fervor would send him over the moon partner does not necessarily have to be super bubbly or extroverted to check this point! if sanji loves you, he knows you. a quiet partner who gives him a smile and squeezes his hand can be just as reassuring as an extroverted partner pulling him into a hug

emotional depth. this man would merge his very soul with yours if it were possible. sees partnership as a bond that will transcend all else and won't accept anything less. allowing him to explore you, all of you, will not only make him feel trusted, but truly connected to you

seconding this, a partner who can be open with him would be ideal. if you close yourself off, hesitate to divulge information, he might feel that he is doing something wrong. he understands needing time to process emotions, so if that's what you want, then at least make him aware of that he will be just as open. you're his safe space, his haven

committed and idealistic. this is a man who loves to talk about the future. marriage, kids, how your kitchen will look like… it warms his heart and makes him feel secure. it lets him know, even if some of the ideas are outlandish, that you have him in mind for the long run

partners that find discussing such commitments to be nerve racking, may make this cook a little panicky. you might not doubt him, but he would wonder why you felt the need to avoid the topic. did you not see him as someone you could be with in the future? talk with him, dream big with him

organized and orderly. he recognizes the effort it takes to formulate a plan and execute it, especially when it comes to dates and gifts. in the moment, spontaneous outings are meaningful, but don't hold as much weight as something which requires effort and is tailored to his partners wants and needs. he's a planner and likes when things fall into place

also ties to previous point about commitment. he finds comfort in planning a future with you and discussing your desires

compassionate. ties back to first point relating to generosity. sanji will very much push aside his own wants as long as you're happy. having a partner who can get him to speak up for himself, and actually listen, would be a dream come true. when he treats you and spoils you, he expects nothing in return. its just how he is. reciprocating and giving him his own spot in the limelight will heal him in ways he didn't even know he needed

unlike the marimo, sanji will put you on a pedestal. he thinks you're an angel, incapable of wrong. sanji needs a compassionate partner who recognizes this and gently reminds him that it takes two to form a partnership, and that he is just as worthy of love sanji does not do well being criticized by his partner. lack of reciprocation and a general disinterest in him will turn him away

reliability. he'll be in your corner, always. in a pirate world where everything is tumultuous and unpredictable, he finds solace in knowing that his partner is waiting for him. you being there for him, regardless of the situation, makes him even more eager to please you and show you that he's worthy of your affections. the simple act of showing up means more to him than most

sanji has been known to indulge in the finer things. aesthetics and looks are what catch his attention and he floods most any pretty thing with affection. however, its that emotional connection and depth, authenticity and passion, which ultimately keep him hooked

disclaimer: don't worry if you lack any of these traits- any relationship can work! these things work in mysterious ways... as long as there's proper communication and love, i'm sure any of these one piece men would adore being with you ૮ • ﻌ - ა

[beegomess]

Your marriage with them || Slytherin Boys

Summary: This time, the title describes it well… Warnings: None.

Requests are open!

Blaise Zabini

It was on a sunny afternoon, at one of the idyllic country estates of the Zabini family, that your wedding with Blaise came to life. The setting, though unpretentious, exuded a serene elegance. The estate was situated on a vast property, surrounded by green fields stretching as far as the eye could see. The ceremony took place outdoors, under a clear blue sky, with subtle decor that appeared natural and unpretentious, yet it was evident that every detail had been carefully chosen.

The altar was a simple structure, adorned with white and green flowers that blended perfectly with the surroundings. The chairs, arranged in elegant lines, were dressed in soft-toned linen fabrics, creating a pleasant contrast with the green field backdrop. The sound of birds singing and the gentle breeze completed the tranquil and intimate atmosphere of the event.

The guests, many of whom were close friends and family, appreciated the sophisticated simplicity of the setting. The reception featured an outdoor dinner with refined dishes served informally, allowing everyone to feel at ease. The day concluded with a sunset celebration, marked by lively conversations and laughter, in an environment where elegance met natural beauty.

Draco Malfoy

The wedding with Draco was a spectacle of grandeur and tradition, reflecting the prestige and magnitude of the families involved. The ceremony took place in a splendidly decorated church, whose interior was an imposing example of classical architecture. The environment was filled with luxury and refinement: crystal chandeliers hung from the high ceiling, casting a soft light over the meticulously crafted details.

The altar, adorned with opulent floral arrangements in shades of white and gold, seemed like an extension of the church itself, harmonizing with the columns and walls embellished with marble details and gold frames. The main aisle was filled with guests, all dressed in their finest attire, giving the event a royal air. The sound of organ music filled the space, creating a solemn and majestic atmosphere.

The reception was equally grand, held in the main hall of the Malfoy family estate, distinguished by its refined decor and luxurious details. Guests enjoyed an exquisite banquet and danced to the music of a live orchestra. Every moment of the wedding was planned to emphasize the significance of the occasion and the connection between the families, creating a celebration that will be remembered as a milestone of elegance and prestige.

Lorenzo Berkshire

Your wedding with Lorenzo Berkshire took place in a serene field, immersed in the simplicity and natural beauty that characterize the Berkshire family aesthetic. The location was carefully chosen to offer a tranquil and elegant setting, with robust trees and blooming white flowers.

The ceremony was held outdoors, with a simple yet sophisticated altar, decorated with white and green floral arrangements that complemented the natural palette of the field. The chairs, arranged in a semicircle, were dressed with linen covers and ribbons in neutral tones, blending with the surroundings. The blue sky and gentle sun created a pleasant and calm atmosphere for the celebration.

The reception followed the same refined simplicity, with an outdoor dinner served under elegantly decorated tents. The menu included light and sophisticated dishes prepared with fresh, high-quality ingredients. The overall atmosphere was one of relaxation and intimate celebration, with friends and family enjoying a natural and elegant setting where the beauty of the field complemented the discreet sophistication of the occasion.

Mattheo Riddle

The wedding with Mattheo had to be conducted quickly and practically, reflecting the urgency with which both of you wanted to seal the union. The ceremony took place in a small and cozy garden at the back of one of his family's houses. The decor, done in a hurry, was simple but had a touch of homey charm.

The space was decorated with field flowers and candles, creating an intimate and warm environment. The ceremony area was improvised with an arch of white and green flowers, giving the place a fresh look. Simple wooden chairs were arranged around the makeshift altar, where the vows were exchanged.

The few friends present shared a simple feast, with homemade food and drinks. The celebration was marked by a sense of urgency and love, with everyone present understanding the importance and intensity of the moment. The simplicity of the event reflected Mattheo's and your desire to unite quickly, and even in its simplicity, the love and dedication were clearly present.

Theodore Nott

The wedding took place at the end of a golden afternoon, in a seaside garden belonging to a majestic house on the coast. The setting was breathtaking, with the deep blue sea shimmering under the soft light of the setting sun.

The garden was adorned with natural and refined decor, with white flowers and green arrangements that enhanced the beauty of the environment. The chairs were arranged in a semicircle configuration, offering panoramic views of the sea and the sunset-lit horizon. The altar, simple yet elegant, was framed by a curtain of flowers and leaves, matching the garden’s color palette.

The ceremony was enveloped in a warm glow, as the last rays of sun reflected on the sea, creating a magical and romantic atmosphere. The reception continued outdoors, with a sophisticated dinner served under a large tree, where guests enjoyed the spectacular view and relaxed ambiance. The combination of the natural setting with elegant details created a dreamlike scene, capturing the essence of love and glamour.

Tom Riddle

The wedding with Tom was an urgent and symbolic celebration, held in the Chamber of Secrets, a location that, despite its dark and mysterious character, became the backdrop for a deeply personal and significant moment. The ceremony had to be conducted quickly due to the need to remain hidden, but Tom insisted that all the elements he wanted be present.

The Chamber was temporarily transformed with simple but effective decor. Magical torches cast a soft light on the stone walls, and a series of white candles were placed around the makeshift altar. Discreet floral arrangements, consisting of white lilies and dark flowers, were positioned at strategic points, providing an elegant contrast to the somber environment.

The few carefully selected guests were present to witness the union, marked by sincere vows and a sense of urgency. The ceremony was brief and intense, reflecting both the gravity of the situation and Tom’s deep desire to seal the union as quickly as possible. Despite the improvised decor and unusual setting, the moment was filled with significance, with Tom ensuring that every detail reflected his commitment and desire to build a future together, regardless of the circumstances.

_______________________________

masterlist

I loved writing this, and I hope you enjoyed it too!!

xoxo, bee🫶🏼✨

[theelfsongbard]

Jealous Astarion Drabbles

Cw: brief mention of breeding

Word count: 1235 words

Astarion glares daggers through the canvas of his tent in your general direction. He hated the way you made him feel weak and uneasy. Every reassurance, each offer extended to him to drink from you, the way your kindness weaves its way into little unnecessary niceties that you give your companions. He couldn’t understand why your actions threatened to make him fall for an illusion of trust. There must be a catch to all of this. There always is, he just hasn’t found it yet. You are an unexpected problem because despite his racing mind telling him otherwise, he can feel himself slipping into complacency around you. He finds himself enjoying your company beyond what is needed for a mere travelling companion and he *burns* with a feral desire that he doesn’t understand. He wants to claim you as his own, to fill you and be the only one who can know the whole of you inside and out. Every draw of blood that he takes is a battle to temper his own imaginations before he loses control of his carefully crafted facade.

He wants to act quickly and secure you to him as soon as possible, for he sees the lingering affection in the wizard’s eyes when you draw near. *Competition* is all that repeats in his mind like a resounding threat of a challenge. He doesn’t like Gale, and Gale doesn’t seem to like him, even if it’s not for the same reason. He chooses to believe it is though, only because it fuels his want for you, even in the unsteady waters of his burgeoning emotions.

For now though, he has more pressing urges to attend to and the straining in his trousers just will *not* do.

~~~

The days pass with ever increasing tension for Astarion. Despite the unusually sunny weather they were experiencing that he usually adored, Astarion was feeling absolutely wretched. Wretched and angry. And on top of that, his campmates thought he was jealous. He scoffed as he sat on the ground beside you and Gale, dressing his kill just as you instructed and taught him. Jealousy? It could not be further from the truth.

He was not jealous when he came back from his hunt with his prize only to find you dancing with Wyll. He was not jealous when he saw the way he pulled you close enough for your lips to brush and he was certainly not jealous when The Blade invited you to *practice his swordplay* later on. If he were being honest, Wyll was a man worthy of making anyone swoon, even Astarion. If only his moral compass were less of an impediment, he may have thrown himself at Wyll. But this was the hand he was dealt, and the Blade was threatening his little bid for protection from you. After all, how could he win his favour if he wasn't *The Favourite* in your eyes?

But the way Wyll’s eyes trailed after you as you sauntered over to assess his kill and the way he had put his hands around your waist just moments before made him want to rend the monster hunter to pieces and to announce to him that you were *his* territory. When you weren't looking, he made sure to send what he hoped was a frightening enough message to the warlock, baring his fangs for good measure.

Now, sandwiched between the idle conversation you shared with Gale, he couldn't see how his life could get any worse. His list of competitors was growing and given your warm reception to both, it would only be a matter of time before someone initiated a romantic relationship with you. Astarion was a seducer and had no idea what to do to romance someone. But clearly, it was time for him to start learning if he wanted to make things work. Either that, or it was high time that he started disposing of some of his less savoury companions. The sound of your laughter, genuine and untamed as Gale recounts his shenanigans with his cat is enough to convince him of it.

As his hands work mindlessly, his thoughts drift to something more fun. The smell of you sitting so close beside him sends a pang of familiarity down to his gut and at the same time fills him with arousal and passionate imagination. He thinks of how you might look stretched around his manhood, keening with pleasure as he thrusts into you, filling you full until you're overflowing, over and over until your mess becomes the proof to the entire camp that you are spoken for.

He imagines you below him and on top and all the delicious ways he might have you, wants to nuzzle into your breasts and drink from you as he loses himself in the pleasures of your flesh. And for the first time in an eternity, he even wants to lie with you, holding you close to him your back to his chest, keeping your safe and tucked against him for all eternity. Something stirs in him and he isn't sure if he likes it. This is too tender, too vulnerable and another weakness that he doesn't need.

He's only doing this for protection. Nothing more and nothing less. These are just part of his plans to seduce you, he’s only sorting out the details to make sure everything is perfect.

Mildly, he’s aware of the twitching in his trousers and the slight wetness dribbling from within. Excusing himself rapidly, he stalks off to the forest, away from prying eyes to indulge himself a little. All these thoughts are so distracting and it would do him no good if his campmates saw him in such an unbecoming state.

He needs to be alone for a little while. Yes, he just needs to clear his head because he doesn't need to be thinking about you when he has Cazador, a tadpole and his protection to contend with. But trying times call for trying measures and when he makes sure that he’s far away enough to not be heard or seen, he loosens the ties of his trousers just enough to slip himself free. Already, he knows that he’s going to need a trip down to the river to wash his undergarments, soaked with his arousal as it is. But he can't seem to find himself annoyed by his predicament.

Leaning against a tree, he closes his eyes, wrapping his hand around his length and stroking himself to the thought of you. Imagines you taking him in hand or into your mouth. But his hand is corpse cold, so void of the flush of life you have in you that it brings him back to reality with a growl of frustration. This is nothing compared to how you would feel around him.

And so with increasing vigour he rubs one out, alone and cold in the forest, watching as his seed dribbles and spurts out, landing in the dirt. Wasted. How he would love to stuff you full with it, right up to the brim, keeping it inside you until your belly starts to swell with the evidence of what he has done to you.

If only you knew what kind of effect you had on him. Maybe you would take pity and indulge him.

[aleppothemushroom]

Sonic Movie 3 Review

Sonic the Hedgehog 3 is easily the best of the trilogy and quite possibly the best video game movie made (as of now) but a few hiccups keep it from being truly great.

Firstly, positives.

I'm glad these movies have finally embraced the corny, action-packed tone of the games. Seeing the approach to story and dialogue in this one really brought me back to playing Sonic Unleashed on my PS3. Themes of friendship, family, and making good choices are played unapologetically sweet as a Saturday morning cartoon. While, yes, it may not be for everyone, it feels far more honest than trying to make Sonic the frickin' Hedgehog more "mass appealing."

Speaking of Sonic, Ben Schwartz continues to be my favorite portrayal of the character. He's the right amount of snarky, energetic, and kind-hearted while his "coolness" is portrayed more as a kid trying to look cool than "actually" cool.

Jim Carrey is as fun as always, especially since he's acting against himself now. I also really, really, REALLY like Robotnik/Eggman's arc here. I won't give too much away, but I'd be perfectly fine with this being Jim Carrey's last acting role for a while.

And Shadow. Holy crap Shadow. From Keanu Reeves wonderful voice performance, to his tragic backstory that's done expertly well and may even get you a little emotional (of all the movies I expected to get me teary-eyed, Sonic the Hedgehog 3 was not one of them).

The visual effects have also really improved here. Seriously, the last two movies had many shots that looked fake, which is pretty much absent here. I hope this means the VFX team was given the proper amount of time to do their craft, something that they don't usually have the luxury of getting.

And while I've never really cared for these movies need to focus on boring humans, this movie finally find a good supporting roles that give them time to shine while not overshadowing (not a pun, I swear) the actual main characters.

Now, for the negatives.

While Act one and act three are "peak" as the kids say, act two is where things start to drag. Lots of exposition dumping, lots of backstories that need to be covered. While the plot marches on, actual story development all but stops. It ends making a lot of scenes feel like padding, which I feel is VERY unintentional.

And while I like the idea of Sonic's character arc mirroring Shadow's (there's probably a pun there somewhere), it should've been spread out more across the movie rather than just the last third.

And Knuckles and Tails, while I love them, feel a little shafted here. Their own arcs with Sonic feel incredibly rushed, even if they are still sweet.

But other than that, I'd personally call Sonic 3 good, which is one step above the its predecessors' just okay. If you're a fan of Sonic or you liked the previous two movies, I'd highly recommend it. If you didn't really care for those last movies, or you're just not a fan of Sonic in general, this won't convince you. I'm glad these movies are getting better with each entry and even more glad that the team behind them are receptive to feedback. That's a rarity for people making Hollywood blockbusters.

[thereceptioniststyles]

Stolen Glances

Harry.

His name echoed in my mind, a constant presence that refused to let me sleep. I was consumed by an insatiable curiosity about him. When would our paths cross? What did he really look like? Did he possess the necessary skills to excel as a receptionist? These questions may have seemed trivial, but little did I know that Harry would become the catalyst for the destruction of my entire existence.

The days crawled by, each one dripping with mounting anticipation. I found it nearly impossible to concentrate, the mere thought of his imminent arrival sending shivers down my spine. And yet, fate had a cruel twist in store for me. Our meeting would not unfold as I had envisioned. No, it would be the other way around.

I parked my car on the desolate street, my hands trembling as I rummaged through my purse in search of my employee badge. The frigid air bit at my fingers, numbing them to the bone, making it a challenge to locate the badge amidst the chaos within my bag. After what felt like an eternity, I finally grasped it, only to have my nerves intensify as I hastened my pace down the pavement. The weight of the unknown bearing down on me.

I arrived at the entrance of the imposing building, the echo of my footsteps drowned out by the sound of my racing heart. With a trembling hand, I swiped my ID card, granting myself access to the enigmatic realm that awaited me. As I stepped inside, my eyes were immediately drawn to the reception desk where two girls engaged in animated conversation, their attention seemingly fixated on a phone call, undoubtedly scheduling an appointment. And then, it happened. Our gazes collided. Him.

Harry was nothing like the image I had constructed in my mind. In my fantasies, he was a polished intellectual, a charming nerd of sorts. But reality shattered my illusions. I stood there, rooted to the spot, utterly stupefied. Callie had not been exaggerating when she spoke of his attractiveness.

He was breathtaking. His dark hair cascaded in gentle waves, as though meticulously crafted to caress his forehead with effortless grace. His eyes, oh those piercing green eyes, possessed an intensity that could penetrate the very walls of my soul. His skin, concealed beneath a rolled-up button-down shirt, hinted at a fair complexion tinged with a subtle tan. And there, just beneath the cuff, tantalizing glimpses of inked artistry teased my hungry eyes.

My heart threatened to burst through my ribcage, its erratic beats echoing in my ears like a war drum. I prayed fervently that he hadn't caught me in the act of staring, my gaze fixated on him like a moth drawn to a flame. With trembling hands, I gathered my belongings, desperate to appear composed as I scurried towards my desk. I cast my eyes downward, then upward, anywhere but in his direction. I struggled to regain my focus, but it was an uphill battle. The world around me seemed to freeze, time grinding to a halt while my palms grew clammy with nervous perspiration.

As clients checked out and appointments were booked, I threw myself into the tasks at hand, a whirlwind of activity to distract myself from the magnetic pull of Harry's presence. I rushed to answer the phone, offering assistance to the person on the other end of the line. I did everything in my power to keep my hands and mind occupied, until I reached a point where distraction was futile.

One girl was engrossed in a phone call, another on her lunch break, and suddenly it was just Harry and me. I stole glances in his direction, catching glimpses of him, absorbed in learning the intricacies of the computer system. I could feel his eyes on me too, a magnetic connection that sent shivers down my spine. I silently thanked myself for taking the extra time to primp and preen, unwilling to appear anything less than presentable in his presence. After all, a guy like him, he was practically divine.

Suddenly, a voice shattered the cacophony of conflicting thoughts that had been swirling in my mind. The sound of his chair wheels sliding across the floor reverberated through the air, drawing my attention towards him.

"Hi," Harry's voice was a soft whisper, sending an electric current coursing through my veins. "I'm Harry."

In those few words, I felt a primal surge of wildness coursing through my being. It was as if my very essence had been awakened, ready to unleash an untamed, feral side of myself that I never knew existed.

The desire coursing through my veins was insatiable, an all-consuming fire that threatened to consume me whole. I longed to tear through any obstacle that stood between us, to claw my way to him and feel the strength of his arms, hidden beneath those rolled-up sleeves. My heart yearned to devote itself entirely to him, to become a willing sacrifice at the altar of his presence. In that moment, he was a god, and I was but a mere mortal, ready to surrender myself to his whims.

I nodded, my head barely moving, as if I were in a trance. I paused, gathering my thoughts for a fleeting moment, before slowly lifting my gaze to meet his. His emerald eyes bore into the depths of my soul, capturing my very essence in their hypnotic gaze.

"I'm Ayla," I whispered, my voice barely audible. I kept my introduction brief, fully aware of the potential to make a complete fool of myself. I had to tread carefully, to consider my every word and action in his presence.

A smile played at the corners of his lips, a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he extended his hand towards me, an invitation for a handshake. My hand trembled as it found its place within his, our palms meeting in a delicate clasp. A surge of electricity surged through me, setting my entire body ablaze.

"So, do you enjoy this job?" Harry inquired, his voice laced with genuine curiosity and a thick British accent. I nodded, a silent affirmation of my satisfaction.

"Yeah, it's fun. It has its ups and downs, but then again, what job doesn't?" I replied, attempting to maintain composure despite the whirlwind of emotions swirling within me.

Our eyes remained locked, an unspoken connection forming between us, until our manager emerged from her office, interrupting the charged atmosphere. She was a stern, no-nonsense woman who commanded respect with every stride. Her presence was a stark contrast to the intoxicating aura that surrounded Harry.

"Ah, Harry," our manager's voice cut through the air, her tone businesslike yet friendly. "I see you've met Ayla, one of our valued team members."

Harry released my hand, reluctantly breaking our connection, and turned towards our manager. "Yes, we just had a very brief introduction," he replied, his voice betraying a hint of warmth.

"Well, Ayla," our manager addressed me, her gaze piercing. "I trust you'll show Harry the ropes and ensure he settles in smoothly."

I nodded, my heart pounding in my chest as I absorbed the weight of her words. Showing Harry the ropes meant spending more time with him, delving deeper into the enchanting allure he exuded. It was an opportunity I simultaneously craved and feared.

"Of course," I managed to say, my voice steady despite the torrent of emotions threatening to overwhelm me.

"Ayla," she declared with a commanding tone, her voice cutting through the air like a sharp blade. "Step into my office. I have a question."

I rose swiftly from my desk, relief washing over me like a cool, soothing wave. She had come to my rescue, sparing me from the torment of prolonging the conversation with him. It wasn't right for me to entertain such thoughts, especially when I had a devoted boyfriend. Though our demanding schedules kept us apart, Beck and I had been together for nearly two years, and the last thing I needed was to be consumed by thoughts of another man who seemed out of my league.

I obediently followed Callie into her office, the heavy door clicking shut behind us. She pivoted to face me, her eyes piercing into mine, as she settled into the chair across from me.

"So," she began, her voice dripping with caution and concern, "Harry is undeniably attractive, and it's no secret that everyone finds him so. But you and Harry? That's a dangerous path, Ayla. I know you have a boyfriend, but life has a way of throwing unexpected curveballs, doesn't it? Focus on your work, stay grounded, and you'll be just fine. Besides, Harry, well, he's considerably older than you, isn't he?"

I nodded, though deep inside, I was engulfed in a sea of uncertainty. How could she draw such conclusions from a mere introduction and a brief handshake? It was unprofessional of her to pry into my personal affairs, but there was a grain of truth in her words. I had Beck, my pillar of support, the one who stood by my side.

All Parts

[gabessquishytum]

The Endless family are warlords.

The only way the siblings have any territory to rule is if they take it. And the most successful of the Endless siblings warlords, is Morpheus d'Endless.

He lays waste to the ruling family of the area he is set to conquer ~ people say he sends dreams nightmares to the opposing forces/royal families and drives them insane! So that by the time his forces make it to the next kingdom in his path, there is no resistance. The Nightmare King leaves very few royal survivors.

The kingdom of the royal Gadling family is next on Morpheus's list for conquest. Crown Prince Robert, Hob, can't stand the thought of his mother, sisters and baby brother, being driven mad and then killed, so Hob crafts a plan --- the White Horse Kingdom will welcome King d'Endless and offer, with joy the Gadling heir. Hopefully a posture of welcome not war will keep the harshest of the precursor nightmares at bay.

Hob is not even sure that Morpheus will be receptive to the idea, but when the d'Endless army is seen over the rise and ravens circle over head, Hob makes sure to be dressed in his sluttiest most flattering raiment and welcomes Morpheus home. Hob counts himself very lucky that Morpheus is so very attractive.

And Morpheus did not expect open doors, a prodigal like welcome, and a beautiful king kneeling at his feet. Even more surprising Morpheus detected no artifice. This King Robert was actually pleased to see him.

Clever, crafty Hob! What has he gotten himself into, though?! King d'Endless hardly has a good reputation when it comes to spouses. Nada, Calliope, Alianora. All of the King's relationships have ended in tears. But that does mean that he's in the market for a husband. And despite the fact that Hob must know his troubled history, he does seem... quite keen. He's clearly nervous, but more in the way a bride would be before a wedding. Apparently Morpheus’s attractive visage has been enough to make him forget that this could all go horribly wrong...

And yet it doesn't go wrong. Morpheus listens to Hob’s offer, considers it briefly, and accepts. The small kingdom is not a particularly rich or advantageous one, and it wouldn't be worth wasting the troops, or his own magic. A marriage alliance is more sensible. He can always get rid of this King Robert later on, and inherit the kingdom as his husband anyway. A contract is signed, the marriage is announced, and the wedding is scheduled.

And then Morpheus is left alone with his betrothed. Its barely a minute before Hob slips from his own chair and shyly straddles the great war lord's lap. He's blushing, but he's no virgin, Morpheus can tell. Truthfully he seems excited. His eyelashes flutter when Morpheus cups his plump arse and squeezes him. Hob’s pretty mouth falls open and he whimpers, genuinely greedy for more.

For the first time in many years, Morpheus thinks of something that isn't conquest or bloodshed. He heaves Hob onto the table where the contract was just signed... and he gives his future husband what he so obviously wants.

A double victory for Hob. His family are safe, and he's just been fucked like never before. Plus, now he knows exactly how he'll keep his husband in a good mood.

[hardwriterdeluxe]

BuildTech

Emily, a determined and hardworking college student, found herself in a constant struggle to make ends meet. With mounting bills and the pressure of rent looming over her, she embarked on a relentless job search to secure a source of income.

One day, as she scrolled through countless job listings online, a particular advertisement caught her attention. It read, "Exciting Opportunity at BuildTech: Join our Dynamic Team!" Intrigued by the promise of excitement, Emily clicked on the ad to learn more.

The BuildTech website showcased a vibrant and innovative company, known for its groundbreaking projects and commitment to excellence. As Emily delved deeper into the company's mission and values, she couldn't help but feel drawn towards the company and this empty position. Emily decided to take a chance and submit her application. She carefully crafted her cover letter and updated her resume to highlight her skills like her leadership or strong mind and determination. With a glimmer of hope, she pressed the "Submit" button, eagerly anticipating a response.

Days turned into weeks, and Emily's anticipation grew with each passing moment. Doubts and worries began to creep into her mind, questioning whether she was qualified or if she would ever find a job that could alleviate her financial burdens.

Just as she was starting to lose hope, an email notification appeared in her inbox. Her heart raced as she clicked on the message, revealing an invitation for an interview at BuildTech. The excitement and relief she felt were palpable.

Emily meticulously prepared for the interview, researching the company's projects and familiarizing herself with the construction industry. Dressed in her best professional attire, she arrived at the impressive office building that housed BuildTech, her determination unwavering.

As she stepped into the sleek and modern reception area, the ambiance exuded an air of professionalism and ambition. The receptionist, Sarah, greeted her warmly and directed her to the interview room. Emily couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation and nervous energy as she entered the room.

Sitting across from Mike, the manager of BuildTech, Emily was immediately struck by his friendly demeanor and genuine interest in her. The interview commenced, with Mike delving into her background, skills, and aspirations. He sought to understand her motivations and determine if she would be a good fit for the company's dynamic team.

Throughout the interview, Emily's passion and dedication shone through. She expressed her desire to contribute to meaningful projects and make a difference in the world. Mike, impressed by her enthusiasm and genuine nature, saw great potential in her.

As the interview came to a close, Mike leaned forward with a smile on his face. He extended his hand and offered Emily the position at BuildTech, citing her determination and alignment with the company's values. Emily's heart swelled with gratitude and excitement. Finally, a breakthrough had come her way.

If she only knew that the company just hired men…

Ecstatic about her new job at BuildTech, Emily eagerly awaited her first day of work.

The day arrived, and Emily arrived at the BuildTech headquarters with a mix of nerves and anticipation. She was greeted by Sarah, the friendly receptionist she had met during her interview. Sarah handed her a set of documents to fill out and explained the basics of the company's policies and procedures. Emily, so caught up in small talk, didn't even realize she signed the documents confirming her work profile to be updated as male and her work position being a construction worker not a second assistant.

After completing the paperwork, Sarah led Emily down a long corridor towards the employee facilities. As they walked, Emily couldn't help but notice that everyone she passed in the corridor was male. It seemed odd to her, but she brushed it off, assuming it was just a coincidence. 

Sarah stopped in front of a door labeled "Employee Dressing Room." She explained that Emily would find her uniform inside and instructed her to change into it before joining the rest of the team on the construction site. Emily thought to herself “wait wasn't my position second assistant, why do i need a construction uniform.” but she brushed it off again as a small misunderstanding. Emily stepped inside the dressing room. 

To her surprise, the dressing room was unlike any she had ever seen. It was a sleek, futuristic space with walls adorned by mirrors and high-tech displays. Emily's reflection stared back at her, a mix of excitement and curiosity in her eyes.

In the center of the room, there was a platform illuminated by soft, glowing lights. A voice echoed from the speakers, its tone soothing yet authoritative. "Welcome, Emily, to BuildTech's Gender-Conforming Dressing Room. Please step onto the platform for scanning and outfit customization."

Curiosity overcoming her, Emily complied and positioned herself on the platform. As she stood there, the room's lights brightened, casting a gentle glow around her. A series of scanning beams enveloped her body, analyzing her physical features and detecting any inconsistencies.

To her shock the bright lights turned red, the AI system detected that Emily's assigned gender did not match her work profile. The robotic arms in the room sprang into action, undressing her. Emily felt a mix of confusion and vulnerability as the arms swiftly removed her clothing.

The next moment, the robotic arms approached her and grabbed her so they could correct her. they began spraying Emily in a thin clear coating, each movement molding the spray to her body. Emily felt a tingling sensation, almost as if her very essence was being reshaped.

First up was her legs as the skin-like suit adheard to her bones and molded them her calves grew pushing her from her ordinary 5’6 to a a 5’7. Her legs continued to mold and gained muscle mass on top of muscle mass and next up was her feet, her feet grew so much that she looked out of proportion, she now sported real man's feet and it continued with her thighs giving her juicy big thighs matching her now changed legs and feet. Before the transformation moved forward it blessed her legs and feet with a generous amount of hair and also gave her bad boy feet a rank stench so powerful she needed to cover them up daily. The molding continued and moved upwards the changes barely touched her bouncy butt, the spray just molded her feminine curves into the strong masculine side making her butt fuller and firmer. 

The magic of the spray went on to continue and gave her torso a great gift. Her torso fat melted into string and hard abs and her female gender became male with the dick growing hard and big, to complete her downstairs or well his downstairs the changes gave him a full treasure line with hair his once female breasts flattened into some rock hard pecs adorned with yet again sweaty musky body hair. 

His arms ballooned giving his once small biceps muscles. The arms extended and filled with arm hair and veins giving a strong and yet inviting look. His hands grew from a delicate soft hand into hands that could hold any dick or tool easily, these new hands were calloused and dirty from hard work and experience. Next was the armpits which grew to match the muscles and became hairy and wet sporting the same foul smell.

His physical appearance transformed before his eyes. The contours of his face shifted, becoming more angular and masculine giving him a perfect jawline and the perfect nose. His voice deepened, resonating with a newfound confidence and authority but also masculinity and toughness. 

As the transformation progressed, Emily's mind underwent a parallel change. Memories of his past life as Emily faded into the background, replaced by a new sense of self. He no longer identified as Emily but embraced his new identity as Alex, a strong and capable construction worker.

The spray completed the transformation by stretching Alex from 5’7 to 5’11. The robotic arms dressed Alex in a pair of white socks or by the looks of it almost yellow, the socks had the same smell as Alex feet explaining the odor. Next the arms dressed him in sturdy work boots that were well worn and were made of sturdy leather. Alex got put in rugged pants adorned with stains and mud and some tools, Alex also got a durable work shirt with a vest. The robot arms placed a construction worker's hard hat atop his head, symbolizing his new role within the company and sealing his new identity, and with that the world only knew Alex.

Stepping out of the dressing room, Alex felt a surge of confidence coursing through his veins. The world around him seemed to shift, as if acknowledging his new identity. Colleagues who once knew Emily now saw him as Alex, a skilled and respected member of the construction team.

As he walked among his new coworkers, Alex couldn't help but notice the subtle nods of approval and respect. He had earned his place in this traditionally male-dominated industry and was now another worker in the crowd.

[olisephaa]

Okay just to collect my thoughts how I'm gonna draw/write Viktor Machine Herald™, bc I do like S1 Viktor but I dislike the goop possession, let's mash it up

original Mask. The inherent eroticism of hiding your face behind unfeeling metal, yet leaving you vulnerable and human when its removed. Removing it can be intimate & a show of trust, or forced which makes both him and his attacker grapple w the human underneath

Og hexclaw. What's the point of showing it in S1 if its never brought up again? I do like the idea I read in a fix that it's fully integrated into his nervous system like a limb, though I think it should be detachable for comfort

Arcane Herald didn't look like he was made of metal, but I do like the sleekness. So, his augmented arm and leg (after S1) may instead be more receptive to metal, allowing wires to connect to nerves etc. Would also solve the issue of his illness (that exists in arcane but not old lore iirc), since the fluid metal could more believable craft lungs. Also the Arcane concept art that showed him w ferro fluid type metal. Not 100% on the specifics but inspo from his short story House on Emberlift Alley.

Unsure abt Hexcore possession or if it should stay mostly a "tool". If I do want them to merge, their relationship should be more like how it was written in Doctrine; the hexcore being an otherworldly being that is curious and aids Viktor to learn about this world.

Anything he does is done with consent (none of that "choice is false" bs), he's the last person who would take another person's autonomy against their will. If I go with the ferro fluid ability, it could be helpful in integrating prosthetics in his patients. Organic metal in a way.

Reduced emotions but in the sense that he tries to subdue them, he can't get rid of them entirely. I do like the old lore idea of suppressing fear, tho Idk how I'd implement that properly

Isn't super muscular, any bulk comes from armor and augmentation

His coat/cape being Jayce's blanket is incredible, I'm keeping that

He's Czech. Very important

Also he's trans. As a treat to me.

[nemolfc]

𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 - 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐤 𝐬𝐳𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐳𝐥𝐚𝐢

・𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐨𝐮𝐬

( 𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐲𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 )

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞: 𝐚 𝐟𝐥𝐮𝐟𝐟 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐛 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐧𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐚𝐧 𝐝𝐢𝐬𝐧𝐞𝐲 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞, 𝐞𝐧𝐣𝐨𝐲.

𝐬𝐳𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐳𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐤 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐬𝐳𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐳𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐤: a sappy girlfriend appreciation post, don't say I didn't warn you!

Édes Angyalkám!! watching you prepare for this role has been nothing short of incredible, the hard work you have put in, day in and day out truly showcases your love for your craft, not just in this role, but in every role you take, every time I hear people praising you, I'm filled with a sense of pride because as much as people claim you never put in your effort, you always do.

This role is the role of a lifetime, a role you have strived for since becoming an actress and I can honestly say that after watching the trailer, that not only will this be your breakthrough into mainstream, but also the role you'll always be remembered for, I'm so proud of you baba!!!, knock everyone dead tomorrow ☠️

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐧𝟗𝟒, 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝟔𝟔 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝟗𝟖𝟑,𝟔𝟓𝟓 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬. - 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰:

user1: if my boyfriend isn't as proud of me as dominik is proud of his girlfriend, we are breaking up 😭

user2: dominik really setting the standards high here and we love to see it 🥲

user3: she is so lucky, what I would do to have a boyfriend like dominik 😭

user4: I don't know whether I want to be her, or want to be dominik

trentarnold66: sappy aren't you? never thought I would see you like this 😂

yoursuername: trentarnold66 you see him more than me, you're one to talk since the two of you have the internet thinking you're together 😒 szoboszlaidominik: yoursuername come on baba, you know you're my girl ☹️ szoboszlaidominik: trentarnold66 go away 🖕

user5: haha trent might be a little jealous 😆

yourusername: user5 I don't know why he's jealous, since he spends more time with my boyfriend than I do szoboszlaidominik: yourusername 💔🥺

yourusername: comments aside, I wouldn't have made it through the grueling process without your support mi vida, the sweetest, most compassionate, most loving boyfriend I can ever hope for 😭❤️

szoboszlaidominik: yourusername, I love you so much baba ❤️ yourusername: szoboszlaidominik I love you too handsome😍

liverpoolfc: best of luck on your film yourusername ❤️

yourusername: liverpoolfc, thank you guys 🫶❤️

______________________________________________________________

𝐬𝐳𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐳𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐤 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐝.

𝐬𝐳𝐨𝐛𝐨𝐬𝐳𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐤: what a reception that was, the film was incredible, everyone involved had done such a wonderful job, especially my sweet angel, you looked so ethereal that it was hard for me to look anywhere else until the credits rolled, what touched my heart further was the love you received, a testament to the hard work you have put, congratulations to the cast, crew, writers and everyone for an amazing piece of art that will be talked about for ages ☠️

𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲: 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫𝐮𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞, 𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐰𝐫𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭𝐬𝐨𝐧𝟗𝟒, 𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐥𝐝𝟔𝟔 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝟗𝟖𝟖,𝟒𝟓𝟔 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐬. - 𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐰 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐰:

user1: once again dominik being a proud boyfriend will never not have me wishing for a love like theirs

user2: 😭😭😭😭😭😭

user3: that's it, if they break up then love is dead 🥺

user4: dude, only dominik will write a sweet post then end with the ☠️ emoji, dedication at its finest.

yourusername: thank you for showing up tonight mi amor, I was a nervous wreck 🥺❤️

szoboszlaidominik: what kind of boyfriend will I be if I don't support my baba, hm?

trentarnold66: congrats yourusername 🫶

yourusername: thank you trenty ❤️

liverpoolfc: congratulations on an incredible film yourusername ❤️

yourusername: thanks guys!!

user5: I need a boyfriend like him 😭

andrewrobertson94: congrats yourusername, rachel and I loved the film 🫶

yourusername: aww thank you 🥺, send my best to her and the kids.

[archinform]

Pleasant Home, Oak Park IL

Pleasant Home (Farson-Mills House), 1897, 217 Home Avenue, Oak Park, IL 60302

Pleasant Home

George W. Maher designed this 30-room mansion for millionaire banker John W. Farson of Oak Park. Farson purchased the lot at the corner of Pleasant St. and Home Ave. in 1892 for $20,000, the largest price ever paid for a residential lot in Oak Park. Over the following years he acquired land to the south and west for a large garden.

Herbert S. Mills, the second owner of Pleasant Home, made his fortune in the amusement business. The Mills family sold the house in 1939 to the Park District of Oak Park, the grounds being designated as Mills Park in their honor.

The home today is operated as a historic house museum, an events venue, and serves as the headquarters for The Pleasant Home Foundation.

The house is listed on the National Register of Historic Places.

Illustration of Pleasant Home from The Inland Architect and News Record

Considered one of the earliest examples of prairie school architecture, Pleasant Home is often viewed as the finest surviving example of Maher's residential work. The house was completed three years after Frank Lloyd Wright's Winslow House in River Forest, an early expression of Wright's emerging design principles, later to be known as the prairie style.

The Prairie School developed in sympathy with the ideals and design aesthetics of the Arts and Crafts movement of 19th century England by John Ruskin, William Morris, and others. It is also seen as a successor to the Chicago School of architecture associated with architects William Le Baron Jenney, H.H. Richardson, Daniel H. Burnham, John Wellborn Root, Dankmar Adler, and Louis Sullivan.

The Prairie School attempted to develop an indigenous North American style of architecture, without the design elements and aesthetic vocabulary of earlier styles of European-influenced architecture such as the Queen Anne and Gothic Revival styles. 

The smooth surfaces of Roman brick, the low-pitched, hipped roof and the broad entrance porch of the Parson House are characteristic features of Maher's work that link him to the early modern designs of his Prairie School contemporaries. In the Parson House Maher also introduced his personal design philosophy, which he called motif rhythm theory, to unify the decorative details of the house and its furnishings. The house retains its historic integrity in terms of materials, design and setting. Virtually all of the original decoration specified by George Maher is preserved and the lavish decorative treatment is everywhere apparent on the interior.

Kathleen Cummings, National Historic Landmark Nomination, 1996

Detail of front porch support column

Stained glass entrance and flanking windows

Entrance hall fireplace beneath Pleasant Home panel

Detail of lion head carving, repeated throughout the house, on entrance hall built-in bench

Carved screen in entry hall in front of the music room on the mezzanine

Stained glass entrance window

Reception room

Living room or sitting room

Dining room ceiling fixture

Dining room

Dining room corner, leading to summer dining room

Domed light fixture in the library

Library

Original Maher-designed dining table and chairs, now displayed on the second floor

The stunning original wall colors are seen in the above two photos of second-floor bedrooms

Vintage views of Pleasant Home, from the Ryerson and Burnham Libraries, Art Institute of Chicago:

Left: George W. Maher and John W. Farson in the garden of Pleasant Home

Right: Entrance hall

Left: dining room Right: sitting room

The Ryerson and Burnham Libraries, Art Institute of Chicago, house a copy of the 1902 publication "Farson, John, Residence; Farson-Mills Pleasant Home." The publication contains many views of the house, exterior and interior.

Collection Call Number FF Special NA7239.M34 A65 1902.

Access the digitized copy at this link:

[daifukumochiin]

Summary: Sasuke's orderly life at elite Sairiumu Academy is disrupted by the arrival of Hinata, a timid transfer student whose obvious crush on him, a young man dedicated to his craft and his current relationship, stirs unease. (Initial SasuSaku with SasuHina endgame, modern Norse myth AU, high school, angst, romance, photography, postmodern-ish fic). Rated T

Nevertheless I have this against you, that you have left your first love. NKJV — Revelation 2:4

LIGHTS,

BOWS, and

MISTLETOES

an entry for SasuHina Month 2024, Day 27 : Forget and Remember

(for @peachy-hina, since December) @sasu-hina

ffnet: https://www.fanfiction.net/s/14369143/1/Lights-Bows-and-Mistletoes

ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/57030778

Part 1: Lights go to Chapter List>

I heard a voice, that cried, "Balder the Beautiful Is dead, is dead!" And through the misty air Passed like the mournful cry Of sunward sailing cranes. 

—Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, Tegner’s Drapa

i

What does one make of stalkers? Female ones.

Sasuke stood close to five foot eleven, fairly active and athletic, with a lean, muscled build typical of a teenager who cared for his health and traveled frequently for photography. Not quite pugilist material, but capable of defending himself if necessary. With his quick wit and a taekwondo brown belt, he was well-prepared for self-defense—should, as previously mentioned, the situation call for it.

Sairiumu Academy lay reposed among lush, well-preserved forests at the base of a prominent mountain carved with the visages of heroes past. At one glance, it seemed a serene and fortified paradise for the children of the elite and sickeningly wealthy. But there loomed a sense of threat in its seemingly endless marbled corridors for Sasuke that particular busy noon when she came: the new transfer student, Hinata Hyuuga. The crown of her head couldn't even reach his neck; she showed no vile display of possession of arms or rambunctious attitude; she couldn't seem to stop twiddling her thumbs, and judging from her body language, didn't feel confident enough in herself to speak way out of a difficult situation. And yet, she dared strike him up with a greeting, asked him for general guidance about the photography club’s applications, and timidly signed her name on the form.

It didn't escape Sasuke how she stole glances at him. With only the reception table between them, she must've imagined he kept looking at her because he was checking her out. A sense of dread came over him, and he looked away. He had taken on the reception duties and sent the other photography club members on a lunch break. To Hinata Hyuuga, who has an apparent crush on him, it was the perfect opportunity to engage him in small talk and get familiar. But he would not let her have it.

As though held at gunpoint, he glanced to the right and then to the left, checking out the hallway while she continued filling out the form in small, neat handwriting. His heartbeat quickened, each thump echoing in his ears, a drumbeat of unease. At a corner several blocks away, the Japanese classic painting club was bustling and this brought Sasuke a sense of shallow relief. Should anything happen, they could be his neighborly witnesses.

“Orientation on the 7th,” he said, handing her an envelope with pamphlets and orientation details inside. His voice was kept monotonous like the hum of a fan, his face blank and stone cold, though he maintained eye contact because he wasn't one to cower in the face of intimidation.

With a deer caught in headlights impression, Hinata Hyuuga's eyes caught the light in an almost prismatic quality. They were like amethysts, clear with streaks of light jumping through a million tiny mirror surfaces, shooting back at him with the rush of a bullet train. It was uncanny and inhuman, sending jolts along his spine. She made the hairs on his forearms rise in goose flesh.

“O-okay…” she replied. And then not another word.

As she walked away, he noticed a faint scent of rain in the air, a memory of an evening on Hashirama’s bridge flashing briefly in his mind, her crazy eyes wide with recognition as she gripped his sleeve. This was not the first time he’d seen her. Her transfer to Sairiumu and even ending up in the same class as him—they weren't mere coincidences, Sasuke was certain. She had come after him.

She disappeared down the hallway after taking a turn, and a sense of foreboding still lingered. An unsettling heaviness whirred in the pit of his stomach that he couldn't quite shake. go to Chapter List>