#i feel like this is more impressive if you know my age

[ryssabrin]

i feel like people who don’t like solas or solavellan have such a warped perspective of what the romance is and how fans of it actually engage in it. like i’ve seen a lot of (most likely het dudes lol) on reddit say they tried it to see what the fuss was but felt it was “demeaning” and i’ve seen it described as literally a horror story where solas is manipulating and using and lying to a young impressionable lavellan who gives up her entire identity for him and becomes a complete doormat to all the awful shit he does. that’s never been my experience and i kinda just want to ramble about how i see it and what i find romantic about it?

so full disclosure, if veilguard had come out a few years ago with how they portrayed lavellan and solavellan i might have been pretty disappointed. i think there is a subset of the solavellan fanbase that likes the wolf/halla or student/professor thing and they play their lavellan younger and agreeing almost without question to everything solas says. i see the appeal but i never played my lavellan that way and i really like the dynamic of it when lavellan actually goes against his advice at times. solas is a character that needs to have his preconceived biases questioned. especially in inquisition when he’s still coming to terms with the fact that the modern people of thedas are in fact people lol. so i was concerned at the prospect of my lavellan being taken out of my hands and having to listen to her make excuses for him and submit to everything he says. (which tbf i don’t think is how she actually comes across in dav, but that was a worry.)

however when i replayed my canon dai run this year, i realized i was closer to the age i always saw my lavellan as (early 30s), and as my lavellan is probably the bioware pc i’ve always played closest to my own personality, i took the opportunity to tweak her a bit and make some different choices. i’ve (hopefully lol) matured and grown a lot since i was 24 and so rather than going for the snarky sarcastic cool girl vibes i opted to play her with more diplomatic and caring choices. it made me see the solas romance in a completely new light. rather than some sort of student/professor dynamic or a pride and prejudice-esque rivals-to-lovers vibe where lavellan is fighting for his respect the whole time, what stuck out to me was how much their connection builds simply because lavellan is kind to solas. she hears him out when he wants to give his opinions and advice, she respects his expertise on the fade and spirits, and she offers him comfort and friendship when she sees he needs it. she impresses him because he finds himself wanting to indulge in her closeness. he finds a connection to someone he never expected to and it makes him rethink everything about the broken state he put the world in.

it’s worth noting that lavellan is always making the first move. she kisses him first, she pursues him. he tries to brush off the kiss as a spontaneous lapse in judgement and she doesn't let him. he only ever gives in to her advances, he doesn't make them himself. he calls their relationship "selfish" on his end. he knows he shouldn't be encouraging her but he can't help but long for her companionship. that being said though if lavellan shuts it down he respects it. he probably feels a little relief because the temptation is now out of his hands lol.

i feel like there’s also this perception that he’s constantly shitting on the dalish while lavellan just has to put up with it and that alone is reason enough to find the relationship demeaning. he mentions the dalish in one optional conversation chain where you ask him for his opinion on the state of the elves and then in the balcony scene where he realizes he’s misjudged the inquisitor after his personal quest. in both instances, lavellan can stick up for the dalish. in the optional conversation, lavellan can say that if solas had a bad experience with a clan once (which we know from dav is exactly what happened lol), that she’d like to correct that misunderstanding about her people.

it's worth noting as well that lavellan doesn't know solas is the dread wolf when he's criticizing the dalish. from her perspective, he's essentially a city-born elf who had some dalish look down their nose at him for not being a "true elf" like they are, something that not only happens in canon throughout the games and lavellan would be aware of, but literally happens to solas specifically, right in front of you. he doesn't say a single word to mihris and she doesn't know a thing about him other than his face is bare and thus feels comfortable referring to him with what is essentially a slur. but rather than confront her directly about it he just passive aggressively speaks to her in elven almost exclusively for the rest of the quest lol.

far from the dynamic being that lavellan is just putting up with someone talking down to her about her culture, i think it's reasonable to see her view is more that they're both members of the same marginalized group, but from different cultures. his position in criticizing the dalish is not punching down it's lateral. she loves her culture, but is able to recognize it has flaws and not every member in it treats other cultures well, particularly even when they're from the same marginalized group. (and it's also just really meaningful that the first "flirt" option you get in the solas romance is lavellan recognizing that solas has put himself in a very vulnerable position as an elven apostate joining the chantry-led inquisition and with whatever power she has she will make sure that it's not held against him.)

i do think the writing conveys that he does have his mind changed about the dalish at least a little bit, but one of his pet peeves is when people are ignorant and refuse any information that challenges their worldview. as a manifested wisdom spirit, it is a particular sticking point to him to not be listened to when he is providing knowledge. i think criticism of how he is towards the dalish is lacking without taking into account his nature as a spirit. obvs we didn’t know that in dai but we do now. when wisdom isn't listened to it turns to pride. "i told you so," "i'll prove i'm right," "you should have listened to me," etc. etc. he got his feelings hurt when the dalish didn't believe him (and according to dav, literally tried to kill him) and his ego's held a grudge ever since.

when it comes to the vallaslin, to me it’s less about solas wanting to dismantle part of dalish culture (he offers no actual opinion on the dalish during that scene) and more that it clearly bothers him a lot that he fought so hard to free the elves from slavery and the one community of elves that’s closest to the descendants of the people he wanted to free still wears tattoos honoring the very tyrants he wanted to free them from. if lavellan says she wants to keep them and that the dalish reclaimed them and they mean something else to her, he doesn’t argue. i actually don’t like that solas’s post breakup banter with cole implies that lavellan thinks he might have broken up with her over the vallaslin. it’s putting thoughts in the head of my character that i personally don’t see her having. the way the breakup plays out, there’s not a single indication that it has anything to do with the vallaslin. i like to pick the “i believe in us” option because it shows lavellan having some idea that there’s something solas isn’t telling her and that’s the main reason he’s walking away. and the irony of course is that we learn in dav that that was the moment he came the closest to just giving up everything to just be with her.

so when i played through dav with my solasmance lavellan and she talks about what drew her to him it all just felt so right. he was kind and wise and sad but he made her feel like she was the only thing that mattered to him. (and that was very almost true!) there was a passion and intensity to their relationship that made her think he was the person she wanted to be with forever. when she says "i thought i would have followed anywhere he asked me to" you could read it as her saying she would have joined him in tearing down the veil if he asked and depending on your lavellan that might be true (though in the next bit she talks about how she would have been trying to change his mind anyways). but you could also read it as what her mindset was while she was with him during dai. before joining the inquisition, she knew him to be someone that traveled the world looking for lost secrets and history. why would she not have wanted to join him in that? is that not something you do when you're in love with someone?

something else that i find really compelling about solavellan is how solas relates to the inquisitor (not just lavellan) as a figurehead stripped of their personal identity. he knows from personal experience exactly what that's like. in the romances (not just solas's), the inquisitor is able to find someone that knows and cares for them for who they are, not what they represent. this aspect of the inquisitor's arc is honestly why i like keeping the vallaslin. my lavellan wants people to be able to look at her as the inquisitor and see a dalish elf. it's one small act of defiance and in reclaiming her own narrative. so thinking about what she might want to do after her responsibilities to the inquisition are over, it's reasonable to think she might want to just go wherever solas goes? because she loves him and feels like herself around him. even her asking him to let her come with him in trespasser feels more motivated by the fact that lavellan sees solas isolating himself and closing himself off and she's sad about it because she cares about him. that was why she wanted to grow close to him in the first place.

and i genuinely don't think it's all that wild that lavellan still holds a torch for solas 10 years later. i personally was friends with this guy in high school i always had a crush on, and towards the end of senior year it looked like it could actually end up turning into something. but then he immediately left for a summer abroad after graduation and eventually moved out of the country full time for school. we kept in touch off and on and caught up when he was in town, but nothing romantic ever happened. for years after i would catch myself thinking every so often what could have been and what he was up to. for solavellan, they were actually together. they had mutually expressed feelings and though their time together was maybe a few months at most, it was intense and passionate. they split up not because anyone's feelings changed, but because of solas's baggage. it's really not unrealistic for lavellan to continue wondering to herself what would have happened if he had been honest with her sooner. if she could have convinced him to change course. and it's not like she has the luxury of retiring and just not thinking about him anymore. that's not a conscious manipulation on solas's part to string her along, that's just the reality of their situation.

and even with all that in mind, in dav lavellan is still able to have the self-awareness to understand that the good in him that she believes exists and all that they had together and what she meant to him could all just be wishful thinking on her part. that she's giving him the benefit of the doubt "imagining his broken heart" when he doesn't deserve it because it makes her feel less foolish. she's not blindly faithful to him. i just loved everything about that scene and every word out of my lavellan's mouth felt spot on and perfect for how i saw their relationship. i could not have been more relieved lol.

as for the ending, i really really dislike the bad faith read that the only thing that matters is mythal and that he somehow loves mythal more and if that weren't true then lavellan alone would be able to convince him to stop. varric says about solas that he wants to be a hero, but it's easier for him to play the villain because it means he didn't fail, everything bad he's done is a choice. once you've done one bad thing, betrayed one friend, manipulated and sacrificed some pawns, committed one lil genocide, etc. lmao, it becomes easier to do it again. you've already crossed your moral event horizon and now you just have to find an end that justifies the means of all your misdeeds. what i've said about solas before is that what's frustrating is that he does genuinely feel remorse about the shit he does, but he needs to believe it's necessary and he will keep doing it. he needs to believe it will all be worth it in the end. it's not that he thinks feeling sorry makes up for it necessarily, but that he had to do it. he had to be the one taking on all of the bad things to hopefully one day do a good thing and it will all work out.

(as a side note when solas says "i would not have you see what i become" in trespasser i always thought that meant he was going to resort to some awful corruptive magic or something but it turns out what he actually meant was "i'm about to be a real asshole and do some incredibly awful things and i don't want you to see that side of me" which is much sadder.)

so when rook says "you don't have to do this" solas counters with "i've betrayed and fucked over and killed so many people who trusted me and if i stop i will have done that for nothing." so then the inquisitor jumps in with "as one of those people, i'm telling you that you can stop." but then we get to the heart of it. he thinks he failed mythal when she died the first time and was unwilling to listen to her as flemeth. he needs to make that mean something. he needs to justify to himself what mythal made him into. so he needs to hear from his mythal, not morrigan's mythal who has the benefit of the wisdom and hindsight centuries of living among mortals gave her, but his mythal, the one closest to who she was when she died that what he is is broken. that she's the one that broke him and he alone doesn't have to bear the weight of everything he did because of her. it's not about loving her, it's about the specific relationship he had with her. with that baggage unpacked, he's not only able to let go of his prideful need to prove himself right by tearing down the veil, he's also free to choose what he always really wanted: lavellan.

and still! yet again! he does not ask or assume anything on her part. she offers! of her own free will. something that really rustles my jimmies about a lot of solavellan criticism is that people act like lavellan has no agency. that she couldn't possibly make the choices she does of her own accord and it has to be solas manipulating her. that has never rang true to me at all. she always made the first move. i think this more uncharitable read might unfortunately be encouraged by how many actual solavellan shippers play into the wolf/halla thing but i personally don't think that's the dynamic that weekes actually wrote. it is lavellan that pursues solas, not the other way around. and weekes was honestly so careful in how they wrote the romance so that when solas's identity and plans are revealed, it doesn't feel like he intentionally tricked you or took advantage. i actually really like the ambiguity of whether or not they slept together because to me it does feel like that's a line solas wouldn't cross, but i get why that doesn't matter as much to other solasmancers.

i also think there's this perception that solavellan is a ship with an unhealthy power dynamic that needs to be "fixed" in some way or at the very least apologized for before you're allowed to like it. for me it's honestly kind of the appeal? not that there's some goofy dom/sub thing going on lol but that in spite of how "superior" solas may or may not feel to lavellan and the modern elves, he still falls hook line and fucking sinker for her. lavellan has so much more power in the relationship than she realizes. she changes his entire perspective on modern elves and his ultimate goals so bad he had a complete crisis of faith and had to run as far away from her as he could. how could he have broken the world so badly he needs to catastrophically break it again to fix it if it could create someone like her? someone he wants and cares for so desperately? it's the push and pull of him trying to stay away but selfishly indulging as long as he can that's so juicy to me! it's so good and i just wish other people could see that, even if they don't care for the character.

anyways. i don't have a conclusion. i don't want anyone to think i'm vaguing about them. this is honestly the result of some thoughts that have been brewing for a while and a lot of common criticisms i've seen over the years. i didn't want to respond directly to anyone in particular bc i learned my lesson about not doing that waaay back in the shenko fandom iykyk lol. i just really like the ship! i think it's tragic and romantic and lovely and poetic and mythological and all that good stuff. it humanizes solas as a character and makes me think about empathy and compassion and how much faith you can have in someone if you love them. or how it might feel to sacrifice love for something you think you need to do, only to ultimately realize you never did and find that love patiently waiting for you to get your shit together. or to love someone and know they love you back and that they love you so much they had to leave or they would have given up everything they thought they needed for you and then to be able to actually get through to them and get them back. "she could save him if he'd only just let her"! it's a very niche wish fulfillment fantasy and it's me! i'm the fan being serviced!

[arealcrow]

an hour found

2.8k words, dragon age: the veilguard, rookanis

Rhava and Lucanis share the last slice of torte, and something more. or : Rookanis first kiss set after the romance lock in.

Rhava thinks that the spaces Veilguard have made their own across the Lighthouse reflect them well. Aside from his own room, anyway. It's hard for him to get comfortable in there. Which is why, he supposes, he finds the dining hall so welcoming on a sleepless 'night'. The lit fire casts the room in a warm light that permeates the timeless Fade to give the permanent impression of evening. The smell of coffee only adds to that, calling to Rhava to have a cup and a treat for dessert.

The smell of coffee- still fresh- means that….

"I should have guessed you'd still be up," Rhava smiles as he pokes his head just past the pantry door, sounding more pleased than reproachful.

He probably should have knocked, but Lucanis doesn't seem surprised at his appearance. The man is one of the most renowned assassins in the Crows, so Rhava suspects his approach was heard. Or perhaps Spite had sensed him coming.

By way of a greeting, Lucanis tilts his head at Rhava. He is leaned against a wall, cradling an ornate, purple cup in his hands. The first flickers of a smile crease at the edges of his eyes, softening his severe features. Rhava can feel a tingle in his palms at the sight. Just a hint of fondness from Lucanis and he's buzzing with electricity, ready to strike like a storm cloud. He'd feel pathetic if he had feeling left to spare past his yearning.

"Yes, you probably should have," Lucanis says- and there's the smile that Rhava had been hoping for. There for a brilliant flash and then gone as Lucanis' eyebrows furrow. Rhava doesn't try to hide the way his eyes flick from his mouth back up to those concerned brown eyes.

"Why are you still up, Rook? Is something wrong?"

Rhava hums and looks around the pantry, stalling as he searches for an answer he does not want to give. His gaze lingers over the slightly worrying collection of cups Lucanis has amassed. He counts… seven? And the one Lucanis was holding made eight. Eight marks the final kill, his brain not-so-helpfully supplies. That's not what Lucanis had asked him about.

"Nothing wrong. I mean, other than," he shrugs a shoulder, "you know… everything that's happening. My gods rampaging and the blight and invasion and cults and… when I sleep it's either wolf packs stalking me through All-Father sent nightmares, or it's the Dread Wolf himself feeding me lies."

His gaze is fixed on the stone floor now. He can't bring himself to meet the unbearable softness that he knows will be waiting for him if he looks up at Lucanis. It's a comfort that feels unearned, but one desperately yearned for. He hadn't spoken to any of the Veilguard of the how the howling in his dreams had driven him to sleepless nights. He was supposed to support them through their trials, he couldn't show them that he was faltering in his own. What kind of leader would he be?

Yet here he was, driven by that small rebellious part of him that told him if anyone would understand voices in his head, it was Lucanis.

"Ah, I see. No rest even when you sleep," Lucanis says.

It's a simple thing, but Rhava is surprised at how much he does feel seen. When he looks up, gentle brown eyes meet his, filled with a depth of understanding that brings him comfort.

"You know," Lucanis suggests, "Viago might have something that can induce a dreamless slumber."

"Oh, yes, he does," a sly smile spreads across Rhava's lips, "I try not to get too dependent on Nightcap, though. I think I've already started developing a resistance."

Lucanis matches his expression with a small, wry smile of his own, "Nightcap, of course. Who am I to recommend poisons to a de Riva?"

Rhava winks at him, and can't help the way his grin widens as he launches into the worst segue he can think of, "So, now that we've established my familiarity and potential resistance to poisons… would you want to share dessert? There's just one slice left of the torte you made."

Lucanis huffs out a laugh, taking Rhava's words for the joke they are.

"I saved it for you."

He's too sweet, Rhava hardly knows what to do with him. Actually, Rhava had plenty of ideas of what he'd like to do with Lucanis, but he thinks they should probably go on a real date first.

"Well… I think it would taste better if you ate it with me. Joy shared is doubled, after all."

"Hmm, if you insist," Lucanis' words are filled with mirth- he's already pushing himself up from the wall.

"I do insist," Rhava gives an overly dramatic nod, and is gone from the pantry doorway a second later.

Lucanis emerges to find him quickly busying himself in the small kitchen. He places two forks onto the platter holding the final slice of torte and then fixes himself a cup of coffee- two sugars, and just a little cream. The mug he chooses is a sturdy one of Dalish design, made of earth toned clay that match the torte. Rhava's cup goes onto the platter as well, which he balances like a tray on one hand. His free hand he offers to Lucanis- who takes it with no questioning other than the eyebrow he raises.

Rhava only offers a smile in a return, and then pulls Lucanis to follow him over to the red couch nestled in the corner of the dining hall. He sets the platter down on the coffee table, and flops down onto the couch like he owns it.

"Sit," Rhava requests, patting the spot next to him.

When Lucanis hesitates, he pats the couch again, once more with fervor.

"Siiiiit," he insists, "I don't bite."

"We both know that's not true," Lucanis jokes as he settles down next Rhava.

Rhava giggles, smothering the noise and his smitten expression behind a hand. Once he settles himself, he leans forward and takes the cake platter from the coffee table. He glances at the sliver of space between them, and rather than widen that gap, he scoots close enough to press the sides of their thighs together so he can balance the platter between them.

"I've got something to chew on, so you're safe for now," Rhava says, picking up a fork. Lucanis takes the other fork, and sets his own coffee cup on the platter.

"I'll have to keep making you treats, then. To ensure my safety."

That sounds nice. Too nice.

"Be careful making offers like that. While I may be easily bribed, my appetite is ravenous," Rhava warns, and maybe he's talking about more than food.

"I can adjust the grocery list accordingly. Just let me know if you have any special requests."

Lucanis is smiling like they're sharing a secret. Rhava wants to be frustrated with him.

If he requested some hard-to-find, stupidly expensive vintage? If he asked for out of season assan'adhal bark? Or asked him to make the paella recipe he grew up eating with his clan?

He's sure Lucanis would do his best to make it happen.

Rhava knows how much money Lucanis' contracts rake in- he knows the man could easily pay to fill any kind of appetite Rhava presented him with. And judging by the special dessert that had been prepared for him- which Emmrich had subtly informed him was a labor intensive confection- Lucanis was just as rich in devotion and motivation. The sum of it all is enough to make Rhava speechless. He tries to hide his mollified expression behind a sip of coffee, but Lucanis is giving him a curious look that tells him he's not successful in his deception. Whatever he's thinking about the exchange, he keeps it to himself.

A comfortable silence falls between them. The only sounds in the dining hall are the crackling fire, the quiet sipping of coffee, and the scraping of forks as they leisurely snack on the final torte slice. If the conversation had died like that with anyone else, Rhava would be scrambling to save face and fill the dead air. He doesn't feel that urge here, confident that Lucanis either understands the reason for his silence or otherwise is content with his lack of understanding. It leaves space in the quiet that stretches between them for Rhava to gather himself again.

It doesn't take too long for his mind to start wandering to all of the unresolved questions between them- all of the little moments that have led to this casual closeness. So far he's been content to let things unfold at the pace Lucanis was comfortable with. His freedom was fresh, and they were both under so much pressure. It was nice to just enjoy the time they had together. But still… some questions begged to be asked.

Rhava is audacious in the way he breaks anything, especially silences.

"Soooo," a playful grin slowly brightens his face as he teases, "I was the key to your mind prison, huh?"

Lucanis makes a noise halfway between a laugh and groan, "Rook-"

"Lucanis," Rhava cuts him off, sounding half fond and half exasperated, "Call me Rhava. Please."

"Of course, forgive me," he amends, looking genuinely apologetic.

"It's fine," Rhava knocks his knees against Lucanis', making their cups wobble precariously, "I just.. like hearing you say it… is all."

"I see," Lucanis digests that information before continuing, "Rhava, if I trust my thoughts to anyone, it's you."

Rhava isn't sure if it's Lucanis obliging his request or the actual words he's saying that causes warmth to bloom across his face. He wants to crack a joke and say that Lucanis has questionable taste, to break the tension thrumming through him. He can't find the words. The way Lucanis is looking at him is so warm and painfully earnest, it scares Rhava. Lucanis trusts him so much. All of the care Lucanis could give- was he worthy? Could he hold a love that soft without some dreadful consequence? Lucanis deserved better than to be hurt by some stupid mistake he'd inevitably make.

"Rhava?" Lucanis asks, after after the pause in conversation stretches on a few seconds too long.

Rhava's eyes dart to his lips, the way they move as Lucanis speaks his name. He has to ask now- before he can talk himself out of it.

"If I kiss you right now, are you going to pull away again?"

There's an expected expression of surprise, but then he watches as Lucanis' mouth twitches and he realizes quickly that he's being smirked at. When he draws his heavy gaze up, there's a heat in the way Lucanis is looking at him that matches the rapidly sparking fire in his own wide eyes. He's sure he's gone pink all the way to the tips of his pointed ears with how aflame he feels.

"Only one way to find out," Lucanis says, voice now quiet and low- taking on the same breathy quality Rhava has only heard once before. The last time they were this close. He feels like he's going to pass out.

As if he knows Rhava needs the grounding, Lucanis tucks an errant strand of hair behind his ear. Following the motion, he gently tangles his fingers in Rhava's hair, cupping the back of his head. He has that same confidence he'd displayed when he'd backed him up against a wall, and shows no signs of leaving him high and dry this time. Then again, Rhava hadn't expected him to pull away last time.

Just as the first slivers of anxiety start to sink their claws in, Lucanis pulls him in for a kiss.

It's everything Rhava had hoped it would be, and more. It's sweet. He's intrigued. Lucanis' lips brush against his with tentative intention. Rhava is bolder in how he meets the invitation, surging forward with all of the hunger and curiosity he can communicate in the short time he's given. He thinks any amount of time spent pressed against Lucanis would be too short- that this is a taste he could get lost in exploring.

He's only just begun to lose himself in the feeling when Lucanis starts to pull away. That won't do. He wasn't done yet.

Rhava follows Lucanis' retreat, leaning forward to capture his lips in another kiss. Lucanis lets him, curling his fingers to lightly grip Rhava's hair. He can feel the pleased upturn of Lucanis' mouth against his, a smile he's happy to devour. It's all the encouragement he needs to get even closer. Without a second thought, he moves to straddle Lucanis' lap- and is rewarded with the clatter and splash of the forgotten cake platter, forks, and half-empty cups of coffee being unceremoniously dumped onto the floor.

Rhava can't bring himself to care, not when he has Lucanis right where he wants him. If Lucanis has any protests about the mess then he doesn't voice them, just places a steadying open palm on his thigh. The spot of contact fans the flames burning through Rhava, a steady growing fire looking for more to engulf. One of his hands tangles in dark, feathery hair- a mirror of Lucanis' own hand in his hair- while the other finds a grip on the fine fabric of his vest. Both soft sensations under his fingertips, but nothing compared to the silken feel of their kiss.

A crackling, electric magic fills the air around them, and Rhava doesn't have to open his eyes to sense Spite's luminous wings wrapping around him. The demon's presence is smoothed out in the Fade, but he still manifests with a frenetic energy Rhava can feel raising the hairs on the back of his neck. It shouldn't be a surprise when two wingtips ghost against his back, sending a pleasant shock up his spine. He gasps at the sensation, and Lucanis pulls away enough to give him a concerned look. Before he can question what happened, or accuse Spite of any malicious intent, he's taken aback by the sound of Rhava's breathy laughter.

"Sorry," Rhava says, "I got… absorbed in the moment, forgot we have another participant."

"Don't encourage him," Lucanis sighs.

Rhava hums thoughtfully and presses his forehead against Lucanis'. This time when Spite's wings brush against him in an embrace, he doesn't startle. The demon holds him closer as Lucanis slowly loosens his grip and removes his hand from his hair. Rhava can feel the moment ending, like a candle at the end of it's wick, but he's still lingering in the glow.

"That was nice," Rhava murmurs.

"It was nice," Lucanis replies, just as quiet. He brushes his thumb along the line of Rhava's jaw before finally letting his hand fall away.

"It's late," he says, and has to steel himself against the way Rhava's shoulders fall in disappointment to continue, "You should get some rest. I'll clean up here."

"Fenedhis lasa," Rhava swears under his breath, "The mess.. I'm sorry…"

"It's fine," Lucanis pulls away enough to press a kiss to his cheek, "That was worth it."

There's a beat of silence as Rhava revels in the easy affection Lucanis always seems ready to give to him. Love served on a silver platter.

"You should get some rest," Lucanis repeats himself.

"So should you," he shoots back.

"I'll go to sleep if you do."

Rhava manages to hold back a laugh- Lucanis drives a hard bargain.

"Contract accepted."

Between Crows, that's better than a pinky promise.

It's only with that reassurance that Lucanis will also rest that Rhava is able to pull himself away from his paramour. He doesn't want to keep Lucanis up any later than he already has. Well.. he does want to, but he shouldn't. So he lays one final, fleeting kiss on Lucanis' forehead before he fully disentangles himself from his lap.

Despite knowing they both need sleep sooner rather than later, he pauses in the doorway, lingering in the dregs of the moment. He's sure he looks as besotted as he feels; he's not trying to hide it.

"Good night, Lucanis," he says, "Thank you."

"Sleep well, Rhava."

Rhava takes the fond look that Lucanis gives him and the way he says his name, and holds it fresh in his memory as he makes his way back to his room. He hopes that maybe- if he turns the kiss they'd shared over in his mind enough- he will have better dreams tonight.

~*~

"Tastes like. Dessert," Spite says, after the door swings shut behind Rhava.

Lucanis nods slowly, ignoring the mess at his feet and sinking further down into the couch. He closes his eyes and sinks into the new memory of a kiss- his first- hoping to etch every detail of the experience into the back of his eyelids. He's used to using his trained mind to commit bloody plans to memory, trying to relish in the afterglow of a kiss is a welcome change. The taste is still fresh on his lips. Coffee and chocolate and hazelnut and cream and apricot and sugar and something else distinctly Rhava.

"Yes, like dessert," Lucanis breathes out, still craving more.

[cakepoppresent]

Kicked Puppy

They can't stay mad at each other for too long ~

Transcript under the cut~

[Malcolm]: Hey...

[Luna]: Do I know you?

[Malcolm]: Luna...

[Luna]: I’m going to call the POLICE. “Hello? 911?”

[Malcolm]: I’m trying to apologize

[Luna]: Is that right? That’s crazy why would a stranger want to say sorry?

[Malcolm]: I know I've been a complete dick. I don’t really have an excuse but I miss you and I'm sorry

[Luna]: Is that it?

[Malcolm]: How I treated you wasn’t right. I keep saying I don’t want you to get hurt but I’m the one who’s scared of being hurt. I’ve always been the scared one and I can’t keep forcing you to be scared with me. I acted like a complete dick and punished you for trying to do something I didn’t agree with and that was wrong of me.

[Luna]: At your big age you’re still acting like a petulant child. At what point did I ever give you the impression I was scared or worried? Hmm?

[Malcolm]: ...

[Luna]: You lashed at me TWICE about this and you refuse to at least listen to me. That's not fair how do I know you won’t just get mad again? You apologizing won’t stop me from reaching out to Andre.

[Malcolm]: I know you want to see Andre...and I want to be there when you do

[Luna] No way! So you can cuss him out in person? Absolutely not.

[Malcolm]: I mean it Luna. I want to be there when you speak with Andre, I still think he’s a fucking bitch but I can hold those feelings back if it means being there with you

[Luna]: Malcolm...

[Malcolm]: I’m serious. I want to support whatever you want to do, I’ll be there every step of the way

[Luna]: Don’t you want to know what happened? He just disappeared does that sound like the Andre we know? The one who would take us out of the house if Dad was in a mood? Or would come to our teacher-parent meetings?

[Malcolm]: Does it matter? Didn’t leave a letter, send a tex or even a fucking email

[Luna]: I’m just...worried. Even when our business was exposed all over the news, Dad didn’t even reach out once.

[Malcolm]: Like I said. It’s always just been us but if you really want to find out why I’ll be there no matter what we find out

[Malcolm]: Listen. I love you Luna you mean everything to me

[Luna]: Even more than Benji?

[Malcolm]: Of course. He knows that too but that's not the point. I’m sorry and I’ll make it up to you no matter what but please believe me when I say I'll be there for you no matter what happens

[Luna]: *heh* Look at you. You look like a kicked puppy, have you been crying?

[Malcolm]: Of course not, stop talking shit. Do you accept my apology or not?

[Luna]: Oh?? I don’t think so with that bitch ass attitude

[Malcolm]: Shut the hell up. I have your fav from Santini's its in the car. I’ll drop you off at home

[Luna]: *hmph* How does Benji deal with your horrible attitude

[Malcolm]: I don’t know either. You’re gonna have to ask him yourself

[Luna]: Poor Benji. Can’t imagine having to deal with your ass everyday

[Malcolm]: Do you want the food in the car or should I throw it in the garbage?

[Luna]: I’m going to beat your ass for real

[Luna]: Oh! I know the loser that exposed our family business. I dealt with her ass today

[Malcolm]: An actress?? What the hell was her problem?

[Luna]: I don’t know but I doubt I'll be hearing from her silly ass anytime soon

[Malcolm]: Something like that seems below you. Why pay her any attention?

[Luna]: Because her face pissed me off. Let’s hope I never have to see her face again

[t0jisd0ll]

Yandere (fem) vampire head-cannons

cw: yandere traits, mentions of blood, giant age gap (bc she's a vampire lol)

disclaimer: I want to emphasize that I do not endorse or support this type of behaviour. This content is purely for entertainment purposes.

Yan!Vampire, who’s lived through centuries of change, has walked through empires that have risen and fallen, and yet remains effortlessly modern, adapting to every era with ease.

Yan!Vampire, who’s had countless lovers over the years, each of them fleeting and forgettable, none of them ever stirring the depths of her immortal heart.

Yan!Vampire, who spots you one night at a bustling modern bar, standing out to her like a flame in the darkness, your laugh echoing in her ears like a melody she can’t escape.

Yan!Vampire, who watches you from the shadows, her crimson eyes tracing every detail of your expression, every movement, and feels something she hasn’t in centuries—a pull so strong it’s almost frightening.

Yan!Vampire, who casually approaches you, exuding a charm that’s impossible to resist, her words smooth and her confidence unmatched. “You don’t belong in a place like this, you know. You shine too brightly.”

Yan!Vampire, who keeps finding excuses to see you again, always showing up where you least expect her, each encounter leaving you feeling both unnerved and exhilarated.

Yan!Vampire, who laughs at your awkward attempts to impress her, finding your human quirks utterly enchanting in a way no one else has ever been.

Yan!Vampire, who grows possessive quickly, though she masks it with playful teasing. “I hope you’re not letting anyone else charm you. That’s my job.”

Yan!Vampire, who refuses to acknowledge that her feelings for you are different at first, chalking it up to a passing fascination—until she catches herself imagining you by her side for eternity.

Yan!Vampire, who can’t help but bristle with jealousy when you interact with others, her fangs briefly flashing as she suppresses the urge to scare them away.

Yan!Vampire, who admits her nature to you in a moment of vulnerability, her usual confidence softening as she says, “I’ve been around for centuries, and I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you.”

Yan!Vampire, who takes her time convincing you to trust her, using her charm and wit to show you that she sees you as more than just a fleeting amusement.

Yan!Vampire, who knows she’s had many lovers in the past, but swears to you, “They were distractions. You’re different. You’re the only one I’ve ever wanted to keep forever.”

Yan!Vampire, who proposes the idea of turning you so casually it almost takes your breath away: “It’s not a big deal, darling. Just a little bite, and we’ll have forever together. Doesn’t that sound perfect?”

Yan!Vampire, who’s uncharacteristically patient when you hesitate, but her patience has limits—especially if she feels like you might slip away.

Yan!Vampire, who lingers close to you at night, her touch cool but her gaze burning as she whispers, “You already belong to me. This is just a formality.”

Yan!Vampire, who grows more possessive with time, her playful demeanor slipping when she sees someone else vying for your attention. “They’re not worthy of you. Only I am.”

Yan!Vampire, who reassures you with a smirk, “Once you’re like me, you’ll understand. You won’t want anyone else either.”

Yan!Vampire, who’s been through eons of heartache and fleeting passion, but for the first time feels a deep, consuming love—and she won’t let anyone, not even you, deny her this eternity.

Yan!Vampire, who looks at you like you’re the brightest star in her eternal night and swears, “You’ll never have to face the darkness alone. Not anymore.”

© t0jisd0ll on tumblr. Please do not steal my work as I spend time, and I take a genuine effort to do it.

[missarchive]

Hiya!

It's me again. I hope you are well <3

I'd like to request a Hannibal x reader (preferably female or undisclosed) who is Hannibals new therapist. But she catches that Hannibal is like... SUPER unethical. Perhaps not that he's a cannibalistic serial killer, but she gets a feeling that he's not exactly safe to be around.

Therefore, she tries to withdraw their sessions, saying that she does not get the impression Hannibal actually wants to be helped or change his behaviour (she tries to play it off that she doesn't want their sessions to be unprofessional, which seems to be his angle). Of course, Hannibal doesn't like that idea and does some despicable shit to get her back (blackmail, murder, etc)

Thnx!

who? hannibal x gn!reader

category: angst

content warnings: NSFW MDNI!! dark themes, cannibalistic references, mentions of death, stalking, aggression, kidnapping

The air in Hannibal Lecter’s office was always meticulously curated. Subtle notes of bergamot and sandalwood mingled with the faintest hint of old books, creating an atmosphere that was as inviting as it was disarming. You’d thought at first it was his way of making his clients feel comfortable, but as weeks passed, the room began to feel less like a sanctuary and more like a spider’s web—artfully spun, deliberately designed. You weren’t entirely sure who the prey was meant to be.

“Dr. Lecter,” you began, keeping your voice measured as you adjusted the cuffs of your blouse. “I’ve noticed something peculiar in our sessions.”

Hannibal’s dark eyes lifted from the notepad he wasn’t really writing in, his head tilting slightly like a predator feigning curiosity. “Have you?” he said, his voice as smooth and rich as aged cognac. “Please, do elaborate.”

You hesitated, the weight of his gaze pressing against you like a physical force. It wasn’t just his intelligence that unnerved you, though that was certainly part of it. It was the way he seemed to already know what you were going to say—as if he had been inside your head long before you even stepped through his office door.

“It’s my professional opinion,” you continued, forcing yourself to meet his gaze, “that these sessions aren’t serving their intended purpose. I don’t believe you’re interested in exploring meaningful change.”

His lips curved into the faintest semblance of a smile. “And what, may I ask, led you to that conclusion?”

Your fingers tightened around the armrest of your chair. “I think you find these sessions entertaining rather than enlightening. It feels less like therapy and more like a… game.”

Hannibal’s smile widened imperceptibly. “Life is, in many ways, a game, is it not? One of strategy, of observation, of opportunity.”

You suppressed a shiver, holding onto your composure with an iron grip. “Be that as it may, I don’t think our continued sessions would be ethical.”

His expression didn’t change, but the temperature in the room seemed to drop. “Ethics can be such a mutable thing,” he said softly, leaning forward just enough to blur the boundaries of personal space. “What is ethical to you may be anathema to another.”

“Dr. Lecter,” you said, your voice firm despite the way your heart was pounding, “I’m withdrawing from our arrangement. I’ll refer you to another therapist if you’d like, but I don’t believe I can—”

“You feel unsafe.”

The words hung in the air between you, more statement than question. Your stomach tightened, but you forced yourself to shake your head. “That’s not it,” you lied. “I simply feel our dynamic risks becoming unprofessional.”

Hannibal regarded you for a long, unnerving moment, his expression unreadable. Then he stood, moving with the kind of deliberate grace that made you feel as though every step he took was a calculated act. “I see,” he said, turning to the window and clasping his hands behind his back. “If that is your decision, I will respect it.”

Relief coursed through you, but it was fleeting. Something about the way he said it felt off, like the calm before a storm. You rose from your seat, smoothing your shirt with hands that trembled only slightly. “Thank you for understanding,” you said, heading for the door.

As your hand closed around the cool brass of the doorknob, his voice stopped you cold.

“Before you go, Dr. l/n,” he said, his tone as polite as ever but carrying an edge that set your nerves on fire, “may I offer one last piece of advice?”

You turned slowly, your pulse quickening. “Of course.”

His smile returned, small and chillingly sincere. “In the pursuit of understanding others, one should take care not to reveal too much of oneself. Vulnerability is a currency, and in the wrong hands, it can be… terribly costly.”

The words followed you out of his office, sinking into your skin like cold iron. It wasn’t until you were in the safety of your car that you allowed yourself to exhale, the tension in your chest finally breaking like a wave against the shore. But even as you drove away, the feeling lingered: the sense that Hannibal Lecter wasn’t done with you yet.

The days that followed felt like a haze, a fog of unease that never quite lifted. You told yourself you had made the right choice, that withdrawing from Hannibal Lecter’s sessions had been necessary. But there was an unshakable weight in your chest, a whisper that he had known all along what you would do. That he had been preparing for this moment, for your withdrawal, long before you had ever made the decision.

In the quiet of your apartment, the phone was always within arm’s reach. You had set it to silent, the fear that he might call a persistent hum in the back of your mind. Every ring, every vibration, seemed to mock you, reminding you of his final words. Vulnerability is a currency… it can be terribly costly.

Weeks passed, and you managed to convince yourself that you had escaped his grasp. But then, one evening, the phone rang.

Your breath hitched when you saw the name on the screen.

It was him.

You stared at the display for several seconds, heart racing in your chest, a surge of cold dread sweeping over you. Then, before you could convince yourself to silence it, your finger slid across the screen, answering without thought.

"Dr. l/n, it’s been far too long."

His voice, smooth and familiar, filled the space around you, and you could almost feel him in the room with you, his presence crawling beneath your skin. You tightened your grip on the phone, trying to steady yourself. "I… I thought we agreed that our sessions were over, Dr. Lecter."

"Did we?" His voice was tinged with amusement, as though the very idea of agreement had never truly mattered to him. "You’re still thinking of it as a session. I suppose that’s part of the problem, isn't it?"

Your pulse quickened, but you kept your voice steady. "What do you want from me?"

"Ah," he murmured, and you could almost hear his smile in his words. "Always so direct. But I would prefer to think of it as something more than a simple want. You see, I am curious about something—something I neglected to ask during our last conversation."

"Which is?"

A pause, long enough to make the silence unbearable. "Why did you choose to walk away?"

You didn’t answer immediately. The question hung in the air, its meaning far deeper than the surface of the words. You hadn’t realized until that moment how much his absence had unsettled you. "I felt our dynamic wasn’t healthy."

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and unsettling. "Isn’t that the nature of all human relationships? The power dynamics, the tension… they’re what make them interesting. And you, my dear, are quite… interesting."

Your breath caught. You hated how easily he saw through you, how much he could manipulate your words, your feelings, as if he were a marionette master pulling invisible strings.

"You know," he continued, his voice low and dangerous, "I find it fascinating that you would choose to withdraw when I offered you something so… rare. An opportunity to explore parts of yourself that most would never have the courage to examine. And yet, you left."

"Because I realized I wasn’t prepared for whatever it was you wanted from me," you replied, your voice firmer than you felt. "I’m not your plaything, Hannibal."

"You are not a plaything, Doctor," he said, a trace of something darker in his voice. "But you are a puzzle. And puzzles, I find, are best when solved."

The air in your apartment seemed to thicken with his words. You knew, even before he spoke again, that you had made a mistake answering the phone. The last shred of safety you had felt, the illusion of escape, was now shattered.

"Think about it, my dear. I’m sure you’ll come to realize that we are far more alike than you care to admit."

You felt the ground beneath you shift. Something had changed. And in that moment, you weren’t sure if you had been running away from him, or if he had been waiting for the right moment to pull you back into his web.

"Goodbye, Dr. l/n." His voice was smooth, final. "I look forward to seeing you again."

The call ended, leaving you in a thick silence that suffocated the air from your lungs. Your body trembled as you set the phone down, your hand still shaking. You had known, deep down, that it wouldn’t be the last time you heard from him.

At first, you told yourself you were imagining things. The faintest glimpse of him on the street, his figure disappearing down a corridor before you could confirm it was really him. The soft scrape of a chair across the floor when you were alone in your office, only to find the room empty when you checked. But the unease never left. It lingered like the faintest scent, always just on the edge of your awareness, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that he was watching you.

It started small. A book on your desk that hadn’t been there before, its cover embossed with intricate, foreign designs—an impossible coincidence, or so it seemed. Then, a note left on your windshield, a single sentence scrawled in elegant handwriting:

"Some puzzles are worth revisiting."

You’d scanned the parking lot, your heart pounding in your chest, but there was no one in sight. No evidence of how it had gotten there, just the unsettling knowledge that Hannibal Lecter had been close enough to leave it for you to find.

The fear began to settle into your bones, insidious and suffocating. Everywhere you went, you felt his gaze, the sensation of being watched constantly hanging in the air like an invisible thread. You changed your routine, took different routes to work, and started locking your doors with an obsessive precision. But nothing seemed to matter. The feeling of being stalked only intensified, the distance between you and him growing smaller with each passing day.

You found yourself walking home through the quiet streets, the chill of the evening air biting at your skin. The usual sounds of the city—the distant hum of traffic, the faint murmur of voices—seemed muted, distant. Your footsteps echoed in the silence, and it felt wrong. Too quiet.

You turned the corner to your apartment building, heart racing as the darkness seemed to close in around you. And that’s when you saw it.

A shadow, standing just beyond the edge of the streetlight. The shape was unmistakable. Tall, slender, poised. Even from a distance, you knew it was him.

You froze, your pulse thundering in your ears. For a moment, you wondered if your mind was playing tricks on you—if you had finally lost touch with reality. But the figure didn’t move. Didn’t speak. It simply watched you, its presence oppressive and suffocating.

You took a step back, then another, but the shadow didn’t follow. It just lingered there, like a predator biding its time, waiting for you to make the next move. You wanted to run, to escape, but your legs felt like lead, as though they had turned to stone beneath you.

The air shifted, the hairs on the back of your neck rising in response to the subtle change in the atmosphere. The figure turned then, slowly, as if it had been waiting for your acknowledgment.

And then, you heard it—a voice so smooth, so utterly calm that it felt like it could break you.

"Dr. l/n," Hannibal’s voice drifted toward you, too soft to be a true threat, but carrying the weight of something far darker beneath it. "You’re still running."

You could see his eyes now, gleaming in the dim light. They were locked on yours, the intensity of his gaze impossible to escape. There was no fear in him—just a cool, calculating presence that made your insides twist with terror.

"You’ve been avoiding me, but you can’t outrun what’s already inside you," he continued, his tone almost gentle, as if offering you some twisted comfort. "No matter how far you go, it will always be there, won’t it?"

Your throat tightened, the air thick with a sense of inevitability. He had found you. He was here. You weren’t sure if you were more frightened of the fact that he knew you so well, or that you couldn’t escape him.

"Why are you doing this?" The words came out as a choked whisper, the panic rising in your chest like a tidal wave. "Why can’t you just leave me alone?"

"Because, Doctor," he said, his voice low and full of something almost tender, "I’m not done with you. I’ve only just begun."

The words hung in the air, and in that moment, you understood the true weight of his meaning. He wasn’t stalking you out of simple obsession. No. He was drawing closer, weaving his presence into the very fabric of your life, until there would be no escape.

He took a step forward, and you felt your body tense, as though preparing to flee, but your legs refused to move. The distance between you both was closing, each step of his calculated and deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to claim you.

"I told you before," Hannibal said softly, his breath now almost a whisper against the cold night air. "In the pursuit of understanding others, one must take care not to reveal too much of oneself."

He smiled then, the darkness around him deepening, and you realised with chilling certainty that you had given him far more than you ever intended.

One morning, you arrived at your office early, determined to confront your own mind and wrestle back some semblance of control. You couldn’t keep living in fear, and you couldn’t keep hiding from the truth. You had to be done. Done with him. You knew, deep down, that you would never be able to escape the haunting presence of Hannibal Lecter unless you made it final.

You made the decision then, as you sat at your desk, your hands steady for the first time in weeks: you would call him, tell him to leave you alone, to end whatever twisted connection had formed between you. You would refuse him. You would refuse him in every way, and you would be done with it all.

The phone felt cold in your hand as you dialed his number. Your heart thundered in your chest, but you clung to the hope that this would end it. The line rang three times before he picked up.

"Dr. l/n, I had wondered when you would reach out again." His voice was smooth, as though the distance between you both had not been filled with terror and hesitation. "I trust everything has been well since our last meeting?"

Your voice was tight but resolute as you replied, "No, Dr. Lecter. It hasn’t. I need you to stop—stop watching me, stop trying to manipulate me. I’m done with this. I’m done with you."

For a moment, there was nothing but silence on the other end of the line. And then, just when you thought he might speak, you heard the subtle sound of him exhaling, as if he were considering your words carefully.

"You misunderstand me, Doctor," he said, his tone calm, but underneath it, you could hear the faintest trace of something dark, something dangerous. "This is not something you can simply walk away from. I do not allow people to walk away from me."

The words sent a chill down your spine. But you couldn’t back down now. You had to stay strong.

"I’m not afraid of you anymore," you said, though your voice wavered just the slightest. "I want you to leave me alone, Dr. Lecter. If you don’t, I will go to the authorities. You won’t get away with it."

Another pause, longer this time. And then, his voice came, colder than it had ever been. "You believe that you are in control. But you are not. You never have been."

And before you could react, the line went dead.

The silence that followed was oppressive. Your heart pounded in your chest, your thoughts racing, but before you could process what had just happened, there was a knock at the door. It was too early for any patients, too soon for anyone else to be here. You stood frozen for a moment, uncertainty flooding your mind.

You forced yourself to move, to rise from your desk, though your legs felt like they might give way beneath you. With each step toward the door, a sense of dread twisted your stomach. You peered through the small window in the door and, for a brief, terrifying moment, you thought you saw him—his face, as calm and calculating as ever, framed by the glass.

You swung the door open, and your breath caught in your throat.

It wasn’t him at the door. But it was someone.

A man, tall and broad, wearing a dark suit that seemed out of place in the sterile office building. His eyes were dark and unblinking, his presence suffocating in its intensity. He smiled at you, but it wasn’t a smile that offered any warmth.

"Dr. l/n, is it?" The voice was soft, but there was a hardness behind it, a finality that made you feel small in its presence.

"Who are you?" you demanded, stepping back instinctively. The hairs on the back of your neck stood up, your pulse quickening as an icy shiver ran down your spine.

"That’s not important," the man replied, and in that instant, you knew exactly who had sent him. Hannibal had never intended for you to simply walk away.

Before you could react, before you could scream or make a run for it, the man lunged forward, his grip closing around your wrist with inhuman strength, yanking you back into the office. You tried to fight, to push him off, but his hand was unyielding, crushing your arm against the desk as he pinned you down.

You struggled, your mind racing for some way to escape, but the door slammed shut behind you. The last thing you saw before everything went black was the faint outline of a figure in the doorway—Hannibal. His dark eyes locked onto yours, unreadable and still. There was no panic in him, only that cold, calculating smile.

"You should have listened," he whispered.

[espace--positif]

A Dragon Age Newbie's First Impressions of Inquisition Companions [Part 1/?]

SO. I've acquired ye olde Dragon Age brainrot after completing Veilguard and starting Inquisition. I have a lot of Thoughts and Ideas TM about both games, so while I decide whether I should make a separate blog for DA, enjoy this messy post on my first impressions of all the Inquisition companions. I also wanna be able to look back at this and see whether my judgments were right or wrong lmao. Yes this is what I'm doing instead of writing fics.

Spoilers for... I don't know where I'm at in Inquisition man. I just got to Skyhold and did a few missions. And MAJOR DAV spoilers, probably. Under the cut.

Cassandra

CASSANDRA PENTAGHAST THE WOMAN THAT YOU ARE.

she honestly grew on me a lot. I knew I wanted to like her from like, the opening scene. she just exudes intensity, and you can immediately tell that she cares. she, however did not like my Lavellan one bit, and disapproved of every single choice I made for a while 😭

early game Cassandra whenever Lavellan breathed:

but she honestly feels like the realest, and maybe most good-hearted character in all of DAI. conflicted, caring, under far too much pressure, and with a cold exterior that isn't just there for the sake of being unapproachable. she second-guesses all of her choices, which I believe is HEALTHY for someone who has that much power.

as I progress through the game and get to know her more, I just end up liking her even more. she also knows how to disagree with you, on small and large things, while keeping an open mind and trying to understand your reasoning - that also encourages me to hear her out. I truly enjoy that about her! her VA is also STELLAR, I just love to hear her talk!!

overall, 10/10 no notes.

Solas

oh you motherfucker.

so DAV Varric (or whoever it was who said this) lied when he said this rat egg man doesn't lie to your face and only lies by omission.

"I know about the fade because of my studies in ancient ruins" "I know about spirits because I befriended them in my dreams"

what if I punched you in the throat? ok but in all honesty. I'm trying to do the Solavellan ting and, well, he's got game. I'll give him that. I was positively shook at the first fade dream thing. they teach you how to rizz up dalish women in those ancient elven ruins? 🤨

speaking of dalish. why is he so mad that Lavellan is dalish LMAO. my ass chose the "proudly dalish" option and he DISAPPROVED. it's not Lavellan's fault that that one dalish clan threw rocks at you when you told them you were fen'harel! damn...

overall? I need to see how badly he betrays her to make a better judgment. will it be worse than the DAV betrayal? probably. will I eat it up? absolutely.

Varric

VARRIC MY GOAT!! THE REALEST MF IN ALL OF THEDAS!!!

I love Varric so much. it obviously helped to play DAV before, so I kinda knew him... for like, 20 minutes, I guess...

anyway, I'm really looking forward to getting to know him some more. as always, he's the only mf who cares how your character is feeling, who bothers to check in on you because everyone just tells you to roll with all the Crazy Shit TM that's happening. everyone keeps asking WHO is the herald of andraste, WHERE is the herald of andraste. no one ever asks HOW is the herald of andraste. except Varric.

he's caring, hilarious, compassionate, but also extremely REAL. cause yeah, Varric, you SHOULD'VE run the other way the moment Cassandra set you free. this breach shit is crazy! but you're literally too good of a man to do that 😭

I also cannot stop laughing at his reaction to Cory being alive. "shit, we stabbed him a bunch, I can't believe he's alive"

Varric continue to be your best real self, I am your biggest cheerleader as you are mine ❤️

Blackwall

ok so Blackwall is great. just a chill dude. super chill actually! however. he's kind of not very helpful at all, is he? "why did the wardens disappear?" "idk. can i join your inquisition?"

you're in luck, we actually take anyone because we're desperate!

but what can he actually do. him being a warden doesn't seem to help very much, because he literally never displays any warden expertise. when Stroud (?) mentions how all the wardens hear the calling now because of mr. Cory, he goes "oh shit yeah me too". and you just forgot to mention it? world's chillest warden, I guess.

I like him! but I just don't know why he's there especially when Iron Bull absolutely clears him when it comes to warrior combat.

anyway thank you Blackwall, very cool!

---

This post has been long enough, so I will make a Part 2 at some point thanks bye!!

[swissmissing]

Fun facts

Tagged by @a-freemaniac to share a fun fact about myself...

I am in the approx. 8% of US-American adults who have never had a cavity. (Counting myself as USA because it's where I grew up.)

Have a fun fact about yourself? Feel free to share and tag me!

[curiosityschild]

I've had a few conversations recently, mostly with castmates, where they are very surprised to learn that I am 30. They keep pegging me as early 20's. And like...it keeps making me feel uncomfortable instead of flattered. And I've been wondering why because I really don't think I've unlearned the whole "30 is old" thing THAT well despite my best efforts.

And I think it might be partially because I kind of feel like I've been tricking them? Like oh no these 20 year olds thought I was one of them but actually I am a gross creepy old person. And partially also because I'm afraid that they're actually calling my actions immature? Like you thought I was younger because I don't act like a "real adult"? I don't know.

Like they literally keep staring at me open mouthed that happened more than once. Stop doing that! It makes me feel weird :(

[imflyingfish]

Fish you are so good at building to me your the Bdubs of people I know

Pheo ;w; ty

[fingertipsmp3]

The thing about my best friend’s family is that they’re perfectly nice people for the most part but talking to them makes me feel like I’m negotiating for my life in a hostage situation

[twistpixel]

Tbh the only thing I have to say abt uth is that winick kind of nailed it with “doing it because he took me away from you” because that is exactly the language Bruce uses when he’s talking about his grief and death the people (usually women) in his life are “taken away from him”

[welcometogrouchland]

Had to leave the tag once I stopped getting GIFs and started getting ATJ thirst posts (no shade, just not my area of interest) but anyway. Fall guy good movie I think

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ me & my husband ]❜

ft. the salesman (gong ji-cheol) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ you don’t need your husband to be perfect, you just want him to be honest┊3.3k words

contains: written before s2 came out!! probably ooc or inaccurate, angst with spots of fluff & a bittersweet ending? reader’s pov mostly, suspicions of cheating, lack of communication, mentioned age gap, random inaccurate lore for the salesman

➤ author's note: yeah, i saw the sudden uptick in notes on that gong yoo post i made and realized season 2 came out which i completely forgot about. i intend to watch it soon as possible and write fics for it as well as (probably) add new characters to my writing list, but for now, please be content with this!!

₊˚ʚ 💌₊˚✧ this fic was heavily inspired by “emotionally intoxicated” by aurasaurora!

gong ji-cheol is the poster image for the ideal husband. he’s always been like that from the moment you met him, and you can’t help but feel like you’re the luckiest woman in the world when he calls himself yours. he’s tall and handsome, someone who catches everyone’s eye despite his only being focused on you. he’s wealthy and hard-working, able to call a luxurious mansion your home, and willing to buy you anything your heart desires as long as you ask for it. he spoils you rotten with that money, gifting you expensive things even if you didn’t ask if it reminded him of you. he’s doting, always sure to smother you in affection with kisses and cuddles whenever together to make it known how much he adores you. the sex is great too, he makes you feel wanted and desirable without ever leaving you unsatisfied. 

most importantly though, you love him, and he loves you. the last two years of marriage have been so blissful, and there isn’t a single thing you would change.

at least that’s what you believe most of the time.

you like to think you know a lot about him, and in a way, you do. you know his favorite color, how he likes his coffee, what he usually orders at restaurants, the type of wine he prefers over beer, the exaggerated shocked fasces he likes to make, how his favorite chore is folding the laundry, how his least favorite is doing the dishes because he doesn’t like getting his hands dirty, the name of his childhood pet, what positions he likes to cuddle or fuck in, the names he’s thinking of giving to your child when they are finally born— there are so many little details you know about him, yet at times you feel like you don't know anything at all.

you don’t really know much about his childhood aside from a few random stories, he claims there’s nothing really notable and that it was as standard as can be. you don’t know who his parents were or what they were like because he said they died when he was young, but surely that’s an important loss which must have impacted him and made youth difficult in some way? you don’t know about his past partners if he even had any, but you doubt you were his first as he was yours with a face like his. you don’t know any of his secrets, like an embarrassing moment or something sinful he might have committed in the past. 

he knew all of these things about you and the little details of your life, so why don’t you know any of the most basic things regarding your own husband?

these periods of uncertainty are few and far, but once the icy tendrils of doubt creep in, it’s difficult to shake them off when you realize you only know these things through observations and not him actually telling you. it’s a miracle your stupidity allowed you to make it this far in falling head over heels for him, getting married, and carrying his child (not that you completely regret it, you still love him, but you wish you had given it more time).

they say there are no such things as stupid questions, yet the main question you have is exactly that as it’s something every wife should know even before the marriage. it would be impressive how long you’ve been clueless about this matter if it weren’t for how often and how skilled he is in managing to evade your curiosity and steer the conversation elsewhere. you didn’t want to press on it since he seems to shut it down every time the topic is brought up and you don’t want to fight over something you technically didn’t need to know, but it weighs on you and presses into your chest with the knowledge you were being kept in the dark. 

what did your husband do for a living, exactly?

his schedule is always unpredictably changing with little rhyme or reason and it confuses you. sometimes you’ll go an entire few days without seeing him, sensing him wake up in the morning before the sun is even up, feeling him kiss you on the cheek before getting ready, and not coming back until long after you fall asleep with no communication aside from a note on the table telling you he’ll be gone for the day along with a wad of cash for you to treat yourself while he’s gone. other times he’ll be chilling at home for an entire week, waking you up with aggressive cuddles (or morning sex), making you breakfast with the morning news on in the background, and taking you out to wherever you want to go on his card in his rare casual clothing and messy wavy hair rather than the typical fancy suits and hair styled with gel. 

as far as you’re concerned, he’s a businessman of sorts, although you don’t know what company he works for or what position he has in terms of hierarchy or how an occupation of that type allows such flexibility in hours or anything at all. 

“what if he’s having an affair?”

you paused for a second before continuing the motion of slicing the cheesecake with a fork and savoring the taste in your mouth. “that’s ridiculous,” you stated simply after swallowing. “he loves me very much, and it doesn’t explain his weird schedule either.”

today was spent with some friends you met back in high school, but honestly, you were only attending out of politeness and tradition since you honestly feel like you’ve disconnected from these girls long before the current. still, you treasure the memories shared in your more formative years and wouldn’t ever say no to them if they wanted to hang out like old times. ji-cheol doesn’t bother to hide his distaste for them, calling them a miserable lot who try to drag you down at every opportunity out of jealousy for your happiness. you laugh it off, but you know deep down he’s right and yet you’re still sitting here at the cafe with them with bright smiles like their words don’t cut deep. 

“maybe he’s dating the boss— a sexy office siren type— she gives him plenty of days off and he stays with her at her beach house at jeju island or something to keep her company, and then she gives him lots of money in exchange.”

“oh my god, could you imagine?”

“can you be realistic? it sounds like you’re just writing a plot for a new drama,” you giggled, not allowing the feeling of a twisting blade in your abdomen to show on your face or the venom to drip from your words at the mere thought of the man you loved being stolen away a faceless woman who was everything you wished you were more of: more beautiful, more wealthy, more experienced, more intelligent—

“you don’t know because he’s your first love or whatever— and you’re so lucky to have been able to marry him— but men are dogs, and i don’t see why he would be the exception.”

“but he treats me so well—”

“maybe he only treats you well because you’re pregnant— he probably just feels guilty. i mean, when i was pregnant and had my first, my husband wasn’t attracted to me anymore and demanded a divorce unless i lost the baby weight.” she shrugged like it was so simple, so common, like the notion of marriage wasn’t something so deeply important and could be thrown away so easily.

“we aren’t suggesting you get a divorce, but we’re just saying you should keep an eye on him— you know? a handsome guy like him was always bound to get a lot of attention…” her laugh was shrill and high-pitched, making goosebumps erupt on your skin.

“right… thanks guys…”

that night, you couldn’t stop twisting and turning on the large sectional couch with thoughts rushing through your head of your husband with some other woman. the jealousy from these fictional scenarios without evidence of existence plagued you. it made you want to vomit up the negative feelings and go back to the person you were a few hours ago without the images of him cheating planted in your mind, which didn’t go unnoticed by him and caused him to ask what was bothering you as it wouldn't be good for the baby.

you hesitated for a moment, “could you tell me about your exes?”

“why are you suddenly curious about that?” he chuckled, knowing damn well that it was because of those stupid snakes masquerading as people (it truly takes one to know one) running their mouths again, but still feigning obliviousness for your sake. 

“just wondering,” you muttered. “i mean, you’re the first person i’ve fallen in love with, but you’re a bit older than me so…”

“and i hope to be the only one too,” he smirked confidently, making you laugh as he plopped down on the ground and rested his head on the cushion next to yours. 

it was such a casual setting in such a vast space, bringing you back to the days in your little apartment inviting him over for chicken and beer before you knew about your immense wealth and got embarrassed over your cheap dates when he was so used to expensive restaurants. he found it very endearing though, knowing you liked him for him and not his money.

“well, if you’re so curious…” he trailed off, but you weren’t quite sure if it was because of hesitation or because he simply didn’t know where to start. you can’t remember the last time a conversation like this was held to learn more about him since it was usually about you, maybe back when you first started dating and briefly discussed his late parents.

he started with his crush when he was in middle school since that was his earliest recollection of feeling love, who didn’t really count as a girlfriend or love because nothing was established and because of their age, but she was his first kiss that he ran away from right after because of how nervous he was, and it was never addressed again. apparently it was his second girlfriend who taught him everything he knew before he met you, saying she basically “trained him like a dog” to create a gentleman out of an inexperienced boy who still wasn’t quite sure how to treat a woman like a queen. she was a bit mean though, and he didn’t realize he dodged a bullet until later after realizing she was unnecessarily cruel to him for no reason multiple times if he didn’t do things exactly her way.

you suppose you always knew your husband wasn’t always the suave charmer you know him to be, but the image of younger him being clueless on matters of romance made you burst out laughing because of how you could hardly picture it.

he reached over to pinch your cheek affectionately, “are you of all people really making fun of me when you were too scared to hold my hand for me to escort you out of my car?”

“oh my god, that was on our first date, i can’t be blamed! i was shaking like crazy on that day— you had to tell me that you didn’t bite.”

“i was actually thinking about calling off our date last minute because of an emergency at work,” he confessed, “but i’m glad i didn’t and met the love of my life instead.”

“aw, you flirt.” the memory made you smile and feel all giggly inside, all the fears you had about him possibly having an affair falling away, yet there were still some lingering at the back of your mind with the mention of his job. “what happened at work?”

“nothing that important,” he said instantly like clockwork. “just some boring business things.”

you didn’t push it, not wanting to ruin the mood, but once again, your curiosity was just itching to ask more questions about his work life even if it was truly as boring as he says. you wanted to know every mundane detail whether it was what his office looked like or what the annoying co-worker did on a daily basis, anything to satiate your need to know more about this mysterious man you had made life-long vows with.

it all came to a head one night while you were cooking dinner, you heard the doorbell ring a dozen times in quick succession and answered it to find an older man with fiery red hair that seemed to match his temper. when he addressed your husband by name and verified your relationship with him, he began spewing all kinds of insults about the blood he had on his hands by luring innocent people to their deaths and you felt your heart drop. you tried to reason with him that there must have been some sort of mistake, barely able to get your words out in a fit of confusion and surprise at the absurd accusation, but he wouldn’t hear you out and pointed a finger in your face, asking if you had any idea what gong ji-cheol was doing behind your back. 

at that very moment, he was suddenly seized by two anonymous men in all black, causing him to yell out in panic as they dragged him away and stuffed him in the back of a car before quickly driving off into the night without a trace. it all happened so fast, you just stood there with your mouth open in shock, wondering if you should call the police on what looked like an abduction. 

then your husband comes running up the steps with his locked briefcase in hand, shouting out your name, asking you if you’re okay, pulling you back inside the comfort of your shared home, and checking you all over to make sure you aren’t harmed in any way. when you ask about who that man was and what he was talking about, he simply told you he was some crazy customer who was dissatisfied with the company, was looking for someone to blame, and promised to tell you the details later. 

you didn’t tell him that you didn’t believe him, just pursed your lips and furrowed your brow for a second then let go of the topic like you always do, taking his coat off his shoulders with a peck on the lips asking how his day was. he reciprocated the kiss, said it was fine without anything special, and that he would shower before having dinner, something he didn’t really need to say since you already knew but stated anyway as per evening routine. 

as he headed up the stairs and disappeared from sight, you stared at the locked briefcase resting crookedly on the little entryway table and paused for a moment. if you did this, it would be a breach of privacy and a sign of growing distrust in your husband, but it could also answer all of the questions that never cease. 

your hands wouldn’t stop shaking involuntarily as you felt the cold black metal underneath your fingertips, marveling at the smooth material clean of any scratches or dents. fidgeting with the built-in combination lock, six number sequences started rushing through your mind as you started to hastily run through your options with a focus on dates. you were determined to only do this three times since you had no idea if an alarm would be set off or if it would close off permanently.

his birthday?

an electronic beep went off indicating you were incorrect, making you nervous.

your birthday?

wrong again, you only had one attempt left. you swallowed, shaking the accumulating sweat off your hands.

the date of your wedding?

you gasped as the locks suddenly flipped open and lightly knocked against the briefcase. it was undone, you could open it at any moment now and see it all.

and yet you still hesitated during this golden opportunity. was it the fact that the passcode to his most secret possession was the day you got married? was it guilt for going behind your husband’s back for answers instead of directly asking him? was it because you were afraid of what you would find if you discovered the red-haired man was telling the truth?

whatever it was, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and locked it again, leaving it looking untouched and went back to playing dinner.

there was a heavy tension present at the dinner table that night, the only conversation present being him interrogating you about what the red-haired man talked about word-for-word. not really interrogating since his tone of voice was still calm and gentle as he asked questions, but you could see him fidgeting with his fork and not leaving much room for any other topic until he was sure you told him everything. he then sighed and claimed the man was insane, a gambling addict who was too deep in debt to afford treatment and was trying to drag him into his misery after meeting at the subway station. 

“ji-cheol?”

he froze for a second, not used to hearing you use his real name rather than a pet name. “yes?”

“what do you do for a living, exactly?”

a pause, you watched him fidget with his chopsticks and shift the grains of rice around. “you know, business stuff— nothing you need to concern yourself about—“

“but i don’t know! that’s the thing!” you felt tears starting to well up behind your eyes, letting two years of frustration trickle through. “i know it doesn’t seem that important for me to know, but is it really so important that you leave me in the dark about it for the three years we’ve been lovers? and now some guy comes to our doorstep and tells me about how your job is playing games with people at the subway station to make them participate in death games?!” you took a deep breath, calming yourself down, “please, be honest with me, that’s all i want…”

“i-i…” that was the first time you’ve ever heard him stutter, and if the situation wasn’t so tense, you would be proud you finally got one-up on him. “i can’t say… it’s for your own safety and mine.”

“so he was right?”

he remained silent, trying to think of some way to counter what seong gi-hun had told you, but if you didn’t believe the elaborate lie he already told you and wanted to learn more, then he knew this was the end of the road. 

“i-i need some time to think…” you looked defeated and it broke his heart. “i’m going to my mom’s house tonight, i’ll be back tomorrow—“ you got up, not bothering to pack anything aside from your phone and your wallet.

he had prepared for you to start screaming and crying (not that he would blame you, i mean, who would willingly stay with a man who was complicit in mass murder), demanding a divorce and packing your things to shut the door for him never to be seen again with your unborn child. the strangely calm reaction was both a relief and extremely unsettling to him.

“i won’t be mad if you decide not to come back” he stated plainly, defeated in a state you’ve never seen him in before. “whatever choice you make, i’ll support you, just know i love you— more than anything else in this world.”

you stared at him blankly through the open doorway. perhaps your husband isn’t the perfect man you believed him to be, but he was as honest as he possibly could have been with you regarding the matter, and that’s enough. 

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning.” that’s how you feel at the moment, but you don’t know if you’ll feel the same way tomorrow morning when it sinks in.

[savethepinecones]

love having multiple ways to refer to someone. i can tell stories about my roommate and my sister and one of my buddies and each of them could be about the same person

[arminsumi]

ADULT STORE

↳ GETO すぐる + fem!reader

"Oh, see I told you... this product's a bit intense."

1.5k words

Pt. 2

Summary : product testing with the helpful employee at the adult store!

Warnings : minors do not read/interact : smut/explicit content : using toys, stranger/hookup sex, softdom!Geto, praise, cunnilingus, fingering, dirty talk, squirting, multiple orgasms, sex fantasy trope (sex with the adult store employee)

Note : i haven't made a trip to the adult store in ages bc... everything i want is so expensive lol (the struggle) 😭 i have some rlly funny adult store stories i could ramble about but i will refrain ✋ anyways, indulge yourselves in this fantasy, angels! 😈

Playme : wanna know what it's like?

The gate of the store buzzes, the employee watches you open it with a clink and enter the adult store. Your eyes flood with the overwhelming sight of wall-to-wall toys.

The smooth voice of the employee comes from behind the cash register.

"Yo."

Long hair. Dark, brooding look — almost gothic. Attractive hands with pronounced veins running over the back of them, poised on the countertop which he's lazing over.

He sees you and slowly straightens out his back out to impress you with his height.

"Ah, h-hello..."

He hears you stutter, and assumes it must be your first time in an adult store.

"First time? I mean, in an adult store, that is." he breaks the ice.

"Haha, y-yeah... yeah, it's my first time."

Yeah, that's what I thought.

He holds hard and deep eye contact with you. Yes, he's aware of how intensely he stares. He's doing it on purpose.

"Would you like some assistance, or do you just want to leisurely browse by yourself?"

His tone is so friendly, it doesn't let on to how heated his abdomen is getting at the sight of you.

"Yes, please, I'd appreciate your assistance."

Aw, of course.

"M'kay... then let me assist you."

He smoothly comes out from behind the counter and the two of you stand in front of a wall of toys.

"Overwhelmed?" he chuckles, noting how your eyes widen while looking at all the products. "I know there's a lot to choose from. But just focus on your needs. What do you need?"

"What do I need? Honestly, I have no idea what I need." you laugh nervously.

I know exactly what she needs...

"Well, why don't we carefully go through the products together? I'm sure I can figure out what you need. Promise I know my stuff. I've been working here for three years."

His nonchalance and professionalism puts you at ease. It's something he prides himself on: making customers feel relaxed.

Your eye catches on a pink dildo, so he takes it off the rack to show you up close.

"This one's good, it's got a ribbed design." he shows it off. "Are you looking for just penetration or clitoral stimulation?"

Aw, she's flustered.

"Uh, both I guess? Yeah. I'd love both."

Of course you'd love both. That's what you need, pretty girl.

"Both? Come over here. Let me show you something you might like."

There's a flirty tension between the two of you that just keeps getting more and more... intense.

He plucks a curvy vibrator. It looks expensive. Because it is expensive.

"This one's got ten functions—"

"—ten?! Sounds a bit extra."

"Nothing's too extra when it comes to your personal pleasure."

The two of you share a long look, then laugh.

"But it really is an excellent product."

"Are you advertising?" you joke teasingly.

"Absolutely." he jokes, "Kidding. I'm not trying to come across as a preachy marketer or something. I've used it with partners in the past, that's why I'm recommending it; I know it's good. It's a pretty intense toy. Helps girls squirt even if they think they can't."

I could make her squirt.

He's running his eyes up and down your body.

"Is that so...?" you mumble flirtatiously, eyeing out the product in his veiny, manly hands.

"Hm, still a skeptic? Because I'm sure I could please you."

He hopes that you note his deliberate use of 'I' and not 'it' there.

"Yeah. I'm sure you could please me, too." you flirt.

A heat erupts in his abdomen and stomach.

Oh wow... now she's really flirting, huh? Why'd I wear tight pants today of all days...

He has an unwavering gaze on you. You've captivated him. Put him in some kinda horny trance.

"Did I say me? Sorry. Slip of the tongue." he murmurs, voice dropping lower, "I meant the vibrator." he obviously lies.

You and him exchange a suggestive, longing look. You can feel your pussy clench around nothing, begging to get stuffed up and pleasured.

He hesitates before speaking again, as if he's scared of crossing a line and making you uncomfortable.

"If you want to... we could test it out together?" he suggests. His nonchalance is an act, really he's so nervous when he asks this.

"I'd love to..." you consent, and he doesn't miss the erotic excitement in your tone.

He nods towards the backdoor, eyes keeping on you and your cute little body that he just wants to feel and squeeze like a toy itself.

"Promise to keep your lips sealed about this? I don't wanna get fired for uh... you know... demonstrating products... to my pretty customer."

"Only if you promise to help me squirt for the first time."

Oh wow. Fuck. I'm hard.

His lips widen into a devilish grin. "Sure thing."

After a sloppy, desperate make out with this stranger, you find yourself sat on the couch in the breakroom. Door locked. Blinds shuttered closed. Legs spread wide to his liking, as he cushions the vibrator into your plush slit.

He's rubbing it slowly up and down your folds. He watches your reactions intently, breathing heavier at the sight of your pussy squishing under the pink dildo. The buzzing sound fills the room, but your moans are louder.

He clutches the toy gently, massaging the bulbous head into your clit with sweeping circular motions.

"F-fuck... that pretty clit feels good, doesn't it? Yeah? Let's get it feeling even better."

He turns it up a notch. It buzzes harder against your sensitive nub.

"How's that? Haha, yeah, intense, isn't it?

"Yeahhh — Fuck! Ohhh that's so good, that's so — oh my goddd fuckkk. S-sorry I think... I'm gonna cummm — !!"

"It's okay. Cum as hard as you can, yeah? I want you to get a good idea of how well this toy can pleasure you before you buy it, after all. Oh there we go... just let go and... f-fuck... wow... j-just cum like that. Fuck... that pretty clit feels so good now, huh? Gonna cum? Gonna cum for me, with a vibrator on your cunt?"

He takes note of your reaction to his dirty talk and smirks. Then he slyly turns the toy's setting higher and it buzzes more intensely, and in one... two... three... seconds, you're squirting like crazy all over the pink vibrator and his hand.

Holy shit, look at that pretty pussy gushing... she could drench my dick. I wanna be inside her so fucking baddd...

"Oh, see I told you... this product's a bit intense." he regains his professional tone after you cum.

He turns the toy off and watches you come down from your shaking orgasm, smug look on his face. He keeps it clutched in his veiny hand, and brings it up to his lips to suck and lick up all your juices from it.

She tastes so fucking good... I feel dizzy.

You watch him with wide eyes as he tastes your slick off the toy.

"F-fuck... wh-what did you s-s-say your name was again?" you stutter, starstruck by this stranger.

You're so fucking dizzy, your pussy is buzzing like it still feels the intensity of the toy against it.

"Hm, wanna know my name?" he smiles teasingly, "How about you cum on my face and then I'll tell you."

"Fuck, okay."

And then as soon as you give him permission, he's hungrily diving between your thighs.

"Oh my god..." he loves how you gasp and writhe under the influence of his mouth.

Let's see how fucked-out I can get her. Wanna see her lose her mind 'cause of me.

His lips latch onto your labia and suckle, then onto your clit. He points his tongue at your clit, then oh my god flattens it and laps at your bud while suckling. His softness shows a hint to tenderness in his personality; he really knows how to treat a woman well.

This stranger spoils your pussy with his tongue and lips. He seems to be in his own little world while nosing between your thighs. He carelessly gets your juices smeared across his cheek and lets the rest dribble down his chin.

"Fuck fuck fuck — like that, like that. Don't stop don't stop — !! 'm gonna cum! G-gonna — fffffffucking cummmm ahhhhh — !!"

He flicks the tip of his tongue against your sensitive bundle of nerves, eager to make your pussy freak out on his mouth. Just before you cum he slips two fingers into your hole, middle and ring, and pumps them into a sweet spot hard. He just wants to get an idea of the feeling of your pussy when it cums.

Suckling at your clit, fingering you with nice hard rough strokes, closing his eyes like he's the one enjoying it meanwhile he's silent and you're moaning like you're going insane. He can tell you're close and speeds it up.

"Cum cum cum, cum for me. Just let go and cum." he sounds so desperate, and that professional tone of his is finally cracking. "Cum on my fucking face, please."

And he dives his tongue right back into your hole, wriggling his tongue around, resulting in the nastiest wet squelching sound. His lips press flat against your pussy, he draws in a deep breath and your heat is all he smells.

Please cum on my face. Please please please.

"Ah! Fuck! Fuckkkk!"

You gush right on his lips, which are plump and swollen and red and glistening with your slick.

He pulls away and licks his lips and tells you his name.

"Suguru, by the way. My name's Suguru. Hey... can I give you my number?"

Oh he's so smooth. But he's even smoother at the checkout, when he asks if you're free this Friday for a date. At his apartment. With the company of some of his favorite toys.

© arminsumi

Do not plagiarize / repost / translate / copy layouts / etc.

Do not steal what I've worked hard to create.

[idiopathicsmile]

School Gymnastics: A Tragicomedy

So one day when we were in third grade, our P.E. teacher divided us into girls and boys. (I don’t remember what the boys had to do. Wrestling? Tackle football? I don’t know, probably not at age nine, but that’s not the point. Gladiatorial combat? I still don’t really understand kids’ sports.)

What matters for this story is that all the girls had to do gymnastics. Now—and I suspect this won’t surprise you if you know literally anything about me—I was always terrible at any form of school athletics. I am intensely, almost impressively uncoordinated. This doesn’t affect my life much at 36, but it was often a miserable way to be a kid. The only playground game I liked was playing pretend, because when you are playing pretend, you don’t have a bunch of people ostensibly on your side screaming in your ear, “Pretend faster! Pretend over there! Pretend with greater accuracy!”

Anyway, gymnastics and my clumsy, doughy little body. I couldn’t do a cartwheel. I couldn’t do a backwards somersault. I couldn't do any of it. We had an entire unit on this business and I literally did not learn how to even safely attempt a single move besides the log roll (lie flat and roll sideways on your belly). In retrospect, this seems like maybe it was in part a teaching problem, not a me problem, but that’s actually not the point either.

The point is, at the end of the unit, we were told to divide ourselves into little teams and choreograph a group gymnastics routine. My group, faced with my long list of limitations (more limitation than girl, really) decide my role will be to just forwards-somersault around the rest of the group as they do their moves. (This is itself kind of embarrassing but trust me, it is but the appetizer.) My friend Ashley has the Lion King soundtrack and we all agree that it is a great choice. The movie has only come out a couple of years earlier, and it of course features some funny, peppy options. 'Hakuna Matata'? 'I Just Can't Wait to Be King'? It's all coming together.

Carried on a wave of youthful enthusiasm, none of us even think to double-check which track Ashley has picked. Foreshadowing!

So the day of the performance comes. Another group goes right before us. They had picked “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls, which was a huge hit at the time. I mean, it still is because it’s a classic, but then it was big and new. They step onto the mat and immediately begin to do choreographed dance moves, which they have worked into their routine. We had not thought of this. Oops. Dance moves, of course! So they incorporate the necessary gymnastics, it goes over really well, the energy is high, and now it’s my group’s turn.

I take my place at the edge of the mat, the mat we are required to stay on for the length of the piece. Ashley cues up the track she’d chosen.

A song starts up. Instantly, I recognize it from the movie. It is the very slow instrumental music that plays when Simba realizes his dad is dead.

‘Well, this is not optimal,’ I think. I've been on this planet for nine years; I can see that much. But it’s too late to change the track, and so I tell myself, ‘It’s okay. I’m a performer. I can sell this.’ I put on an extremely solemn face and begin to execute a series of the world’s saddest somersaults.

Friends, when I say “sad” I mean it, in every possible sense of the word. Picture a nine year old with the gravest possible affect, determinedly doing somersaults to the slowest, most serious music she can imagine, in a careful ring around her friends who have actually learned any gymnastics whatsoever. Okay, now as the music starts to pick up and get more hopeful, imagine she gets real dizzy and in front of everyone, she rolls all the way directly off the mat, careening dangerously towards the assembled students.

Somehow, I roll myself back onto the mat, we survive what feels like hours of humiliation, we stagger away, and I blessedly avoid adding “puking my guts out in front of all of my peers” to my very short list of gymnastics tricks.

Later, I asked Ashley what in the world possessed her to choose that song.

“It didn’t have any words,” she said.

(There was absolutely no rule against using songs that had lyrics.)

Anyway, that’s why being an adult is better than being a kid.

I may have to do laundry and make my own dinner and wrestle with more complex existential angst, but you know what I haven’t been asked to do in like 26 years? Somersault for three minutes straight to the musical shorthand for “this cartoon lion cub has no choice but to process the weight of unimaginable grief for his dead dad.” And you know what? If I live another 50 years, I can be pretty confident nobody will ask me to do it then, either.