#i think she needed an outside source like them in her life regardless of their relationship

[valleynix]

I love how earlier on in chapters Cass was so into being a menace to reader and went out of her way to tease them and rile them up, but in recent chapters she gets so embarrassed easily and doesn’t know what to do when it comes to actually being attracted to them 😭😭

AHAHAHA

it was so funny writing her being a little shit to them, obviously not really into them but enjoying the reactions she would get when she'd touch them or tease them (or even give them a lil smooch on the neck/cheek). she had like zero actual attraction for them at this point and just thought it was really funny to see how they'd react

and then chapter ten-ish rolls around and while they're drunkenly staring up at her in awe and there's such softness on their face and in their glowing eyes... she's just, "oh my god. oh my god??? oh my god. it was just a JOKE-"

and now she doesn't really want to mess things up with them, so she gets nervous doing anything and she's a little afraid wary of what's to come in their future, both as friends and as partners. she doesn't know what the future holds and that probably kinda scares her :(

[tgmsunmontue]

Season to Taste - 19/? WIP

Explicit Hangster - Celebrity Chef Bradley and Naval Aviator Jake Seresin who have a relationship spanning the globe before they realize how tightly bound they are to one another. Heading into this little world.

PROLOGUE/ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN TWELVE THIRTEEN FORTEEN FIFTEEN SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

                “I’m not calling my restaurant Leonardo’s, that sounds…”

                “Like you have no imagination? Why are you trying to pretend that you have an imagination?”

                “Tartaruga Blu,” Leandro supplies, and his lip is twitching like it’s a joke and Bradley starts laughing.

                “Yeah… The blue turtle. Sure. That works,” Bradley says with a laugh.

                “Wait, why is that funny? It’s actually not a bad name.”

                “Do you know why my nickname is Leonardo?”

                “I… I thought it was because it was close to Leandro?”

                “No. He turn up and eat pizza, Every day. Nothing but pizza. Like hungry teenage American.”

                “It was the cheapest thing on the menu,” Bradley offers, a little embarrassed remembering how he’d pretty much subsisted on one food group for a few weeks.

                “And when you come to us, you are sad. Blue. Now, you are not sad. Much better.”

                “Huh. Okay. Well, tartaruga is easy enough for people to say, and blu conjures up cordon bleu so fine dining is sort of implied. I think we have the name.”

…            …            …

                He wakes up to something buzzing and he groans, shoves his head into the warmth of Jake’s neck but he’s already moving away, reaching for his phone, the source of the buzzing and Bradley makes a dissatisfied grunt and Jake, because he’s an asshole, laughs at him.

                “Clearly not a morning person huh?”

                He grunts again, because working late nights in a kitchen means he usually gets to sleep in. Perk of being the head chef and leaving the early morning prep to sous chefs instead. Jake, annoyingly, seems to somehow be both an early morning person and a bit of a night owl. He hears a sharp intake of breath, forces himself to open his eyes to peer in the half-light at Jake, who is staring at his phone with a broken expression Bradley doesn’t know how to decipher.

                “Shit, my mom is having a good day. I have to go.”

                Then he’s scrambling for clothes and Bradley wants to suggest that he maybe has a shower but he keeps his mouth shut. This is the first he’s heard Jake even mention his mom, but the good day tells him more than Jake probably realizes or meant to tell. Jake seems more happy than sad and Bradley knows it’s only a matter of time before he finds out exactly what might be going on. He still feels a little emotionally drained after pretty much running through his entire life story the day before, not really realizing how sad and tragic it might appear to an outsider. He thinks he's got a good life.

                “Go. I’ll see you later.”

                “Yeah. Shit. I’ll come back and pick you up. Or I’ll let you know if the plans change.”

                “Of course. I’m meeting Rickard at ten. Don’t worry about me.”

…            …            …

                Jake has a system and he sticks to it pretty strictly; he sees his mom as soon as he can after he gets home from being deployed, and then again day he leaves, regardless of what she might be like. Whether she recognizes him or not, he needs to go and visit her no matter how much it hurts. Then he spends every day in between hoping that he gets a message from his dad saying she’s having a good day. He sometimes gets two days while he’s home if he’s lucky, none if he’s not.

                A good day is his mom remembering that she has six kids. A really good day is when she remembers that they’re grown and that some of them may have kids themselves. He doesn’t care what kind of good day it is, because his dad has sent him a message and he’s in his truck and driving to the house with his blood and brain fizzing, getting out of his truck and striding up the path and entering the code for the gate around the garden. His dad is sitting on the porch swing nursing a cup of coffee and Jake takes all the steps in one go, his dad is standing, placing the coffee cup on the ground and holding his arms open.

                “Jake.”

                “Dad, hi.” The hug his father gives him is solid and warm and Jake lets himself savor it, glad that he’s here for this good day, and not somewhere else in the world.

                “Maria and Olivia are already inside.”

                Jake nods, because that makes sense, they both live the closest, also on the farm. Sandra and Amanda will have kids to organize, which he expects Nicola to be the next to arrive. He takes in a deep breath and steels himself for his mom not having any idea who he is, even though he knows it’s unlikely. He steps forward and sees both Maria and Olivia smile at him reassuringly and his stomach unclenches a little. Better than just a good day then.

                “Hey mom…”

                “Jake! Come here and give me a hug. Oh… my baby…”

                He goes and hugs her, something he doesn’t always get when he sees her, not when she has no idea who he is. This soothes some of that though, and she’s staring at him in wonder, like she can’t believe just how big he’s grown.

                “Maria was telling me you’ve got a boyfriend…”

                A flare of annoyance goes through him and he catches it, flashes his annoyed eyes at Maria and she at least grimaces apologetically.

                “Yeah, I do.”

                “Oh I’m so happy to hear that sweetheart. Do you have a photo?”

                For the briefest of moments he thinks about bringing Leo here, introducing him to his mom, but dismisses it just as quickly. He’ll have to explain to Leo exactly what the deal is of course, and he knows it’s only fair but it also feels odd, thinking about sharing this with someone outside of immediate family. Introductions can happen later, although of course Maris has a photo to show her. Creeper.

                It always becomes festive, gathering and celebrating the fact that they’re all there. They take photo after photo. He tries not to cry as his mom holds Lincoln and talks to Amanda about what it was like having six children all running around. He can’t help but think how cruel it is for their mom to be here, alive and physically well, but absent nearly all of the time. Maria and Olivia prepare lunch, leaving and coming back with more food.

                “She’ll be very tired tonight,” his dad remarks, watching as she reads over the end-of-year school reports of Sandra’s kids.

                “Yeah,” Jake agrees, because it’s a pattern now that they’re all familiar with. She has a good day and then she crashes, her brain and body just going into a reset rest-mode and she sleeps for at least twelve hours after good days. She usually starts fading around two or three in the afternoon and they’ll all feel a little emotionally raw for a couple of days.

                “So, I’ll be able to make dinner tonight.”

                Well shit.

…            …            …

                He’s got so much food from Rickard he really hopes Maria won’t be insulted that he’s going to turn up with it all. He’s made the promised chocolate cake, along with a large salad because he’s a little nervous and he has to keep his hands busy.

                “Hi. Sorry for running off so abruptly this morning…”

                “It’s fine. Family is important.”

                “Yeah. It is.”

                “Everything okay?” Bradley asks, despite knowing that it’s not. Jake sucks in a deep breath and then blows it out slowly and Bradley just watches, wants to give Jake the space and time he needs to formulate whatever answer he wants to give him.

                “My mom has early onset dementia. She… it started when I was around ten or eleven, and progressed pretty quickly. My dad looks after her pretty much full time, because he’s the only person she hasn’t forgotten at all. The moved back into the original farmhouse, because my mom remembers it. It’s uh… it’s a lot.”

                Bradley blinks. Blinks again.

                “Holy shit.”

                “Yeah.”

                “So today… when you said she was having a good day…”

                “Today was a very good day. She remembered she had kids and that we were all adults. Good days are just when she remembers she has kids at all…”

                “What a fucking roller coaster of a day. Anything I can do?”

                “No. Well. Could I just get a hug?”

                Bradley doesn’t even have to think, is stepping forward and wrapping his arms around Jake and pulling him into his arms, feels him slump against him almost immediately and he just holds on tighter. It’s nice to just hold him, that in just holding him he’s giving Jake what he needs even if a part of him is already sad that there are going to be times when this is what Jake’s going to need and he won’t be there to give it to him. He’ll find other ways.

                “Plus my dad is now coming to dinner.”

                “Uh. Okay. Should I be worried?”

                “No. My dad’s a softie. Hell, it might actually help keep my sisters in line having him there. Just… it’s going to be a weird dinner maybe.”

                “That’s okay. I can deal with weird.”

TWENTY

[separatist-apologist]

I didn't want to hijack someone else's post, but an anon sent @booknerd87 an ask about lightsingers HERE and I wanted to add something to it (given I, too, was sent an anon about SA and Gwyn today).

The thing about the lightsinger theory is that a lightsinger itself isn't problematic by itself. Creatures who lure unsuspecting victims to their deaths is nothing new in mythology, and if SJM wanted to inject this into her narrative seriously, she certainly would have a lot to draw from.

The theory become inherently problematic AND harmful when two things get connected that in the source material, have no connection. Gwyn, a survivor of brutal sexual assault, gets connected to a creature that lures people with its beauty/voice/whatever. This connection is made because Nesta is drawn to the beauty of her voice. You could say, "Oh. Well Gwyn is a beautiful singer and Nesta love hers AND Nesta loves music, and in this moment the two things are converging for her. Nesta has denied herself any and all things that bring her joy all through ACOSF, and in this moment she's indulging in new friendship and the sound of something beautiful, and this moment is meaningful toward Nesta's journey toward self-forgiveness."

Which, I'd argue, was the point of that scene.

Or you could say, "the sexual assault survivor is using her sexy magic to lure people for nefarious purposes, regardless if she means to or not."

When this theory first popped up, it WAS intentional- and then the backlash came and it was softened to, well maybe she doesn't even realize it, but she is probably still doing it, as explanation for why Azriel finds her interesting or is drawn to her. Ignoring all the convoluted plot twists needed to make this theory exist outside of AO3- it plays on the real life stereotype of the too-sexy survivor asking for it.

This is where fantasy and real-life intersect. In our current society, the question is too often, what did they do to bring this on themselves? What were they wearing? Drinking? Why were they out so late, why didn't they scream/yell- and because they didn't do things exactly right, well...maybe they lured this person into thinking it was wanted. Their clothes signaled something. Or maybe their expression, the way their body is shaped, etc. Their attacker couldn't help themselves, they were powerless in the wake of their victims tight jeans.

And now you've got people constructing a villain narrative around this trope. People wonder (out loud) if it even happened (despite both Azriel and Mor walking in on it, and Rhys believing her- a dude who can read minds), and then also wonder if she isn't luring Nesta and Azriel toward some nefarious end game goal. And lets be clear- this is an opinion borne of a shipping war and not canon text or four intelligent brain cells. SJM has stated Gwyn is based on her real life friend, and ya'll think she'd borrow her friends story of SA and triumph and then turn around and make that friend her villain? When SJM has NEVER ONCE written a two-dimensional villain?

Get real. I'm begging this fandom to grow up and chill out. Ya'll weaponize real life issues and no matter how many times I keep breaking this down and reminding people that just because you hate a character doesn't mean you get to invalidate the sexual assault they experience AND that when you do this, you harm REAL LIFE PEOPLE REAL PEOPLE WHO ARE REAL AND HAVE ACTUAL FEELINGS, someone shows up to argue that actually, it's okay for THEM to do this because their masters degree from Clown University makes them an expert.

No one gives a shit if you don't like characters from a book, and no one cares about your ship. There are tons of reason to prefer a one character over another and like- learn how to just say "I don't like them" and move on with your life. You don't need 500 essays moralizing your opinion to give you some kind of high ground which is, frankly at this point, embarrassing (for you).

[thedeal-if]

I love your story 😍😍😍😍😍😍😙😙😙 also is there any interesting facts about the mc

Thank you so much💕💕💕 I can think of a few off the top of my head~

There are so many juicy secrets surrounding MC that they aren't aware of!

For example, as soon as you meet Dante, he is instantly infatuated with MC's soul. He describes it as "so fucking bright it hurts his eyes"

Lilith, who is much more eloquent than her friend, has said that MC's soul makes her feel like "she's a moth, and MC is the only source of light in every possible world"

MC's soul and its powerful aura are something that every non-human notices as soon as they meet them. All of them agree that they've never seen anyone with a soul like that. It almost doesn't feel real given how unique it is.

I'm quite proud of the stat system surrounding the MC! From Chapter 5 (stc) onwards, the stats kind of get locked in, and they provide a variety of different reactions. Like Samurai of Hyuga sorta~

There are a few hidden stats, too. Not to spoil anything but one of them is literally Trauma.

Additionally, I made it so there are many very random details that give MC some flavour. MC can be a smoker, they can be vegan/vegetarian, they can be a huge beer drinker, they can have a preferred genre of music, etc.

MC knows sign language thanks to Josh. Funnily enough, neither of Josh's older siblings knows ASL.

Speaking of Josh, MC has no clue why, but, when they were young children, he one day decided that he was going to call his friend Dot. MC can decide to hate the nickname but I personally find it cute 😭

Their entire character arc revolves around various topics surrounding imposed responsibility and the desire (and need) to live your own life. So, regardless of the different personalities that MC can present, one of their greatest flaws is that, despite themselves, they are needlessly selfless and self-sacrificing (either willingly or like "... *sigh* fine, fine!")

(every RO + MC and Chrissy has their own big issue that they need to come to terms with in order to fulfill their character arc. I'm quite proud of all of them but my favorites are definitely Aliyah and Dante).

MC's parents moved from the West Coast when Dot was very young. They can barely recall any of their life outside of Blackburn, where the first quarter of the story takes place. Blackburn is a fictitious tiny town in Maine.

Dot has an established surname! Warner. So it's (Name) Warner alias Dot and Christina Warner alias Chrissy. The Warner siblings are quite infamous. Everyone in Blackburn knows and pities the two of them. No one has ever reached out to help them, though.

Whereas Chrissy looks like a younger version of her mother, Dot is a carbon copy of their father. If you didn't know them, you wouldn't think that they were siblings.

Even prior to Chrissy's disappearance, Dot is incredibly unhappy with their life. Depending on the trauma stat, this might develop in the MC's depression. Regardless, every character including Dot will have the chance to heal from all their baggage💕

Dot has plenty of reasons to be unhappy. One of them is William, their boss, who hates them for some reason. Dot works full-time as a barista.

That's all I can come up with! It was kinda hard because MC is ultimately meant to be played however you like them to be. They can be needlessly rude, they can be a sweetheart, they can be a dork, they can be a sarcastic asshole... But these facts are shared among all playthroughs!

[lookbluesoup]

couples asks #13 and #29 (dealer's choice)!

Thank you so much for the ask! :D

13. What is their go-to for making a partner feel loved?

Nahte's fairly attentive to his partners. Once he's figured out their 'love language(s)', he tries very hard to show them affection in the way that means the most to them. He knows, for example, that Alisaie and Raha prefer spending time together even if it's as simple as just reading quietly in the same space, whereas Aymeric enjoys thoughtful gifts.

But in an ambiguous situation, or one where Nahte falls back on personal instinct, it's usually an act of service in some way. He finds them trinkets, knits them sweaters, socks, or similar, maybe cooks them a meal, or writes them a song and sings it to them. He makes sure they know he's there when they need someone, and is ready to go all in with whatever they might require of him.

Though Nahte's comfortable with solitude, isolation is very difficult for him. He doesn't want a lover to ever have to think that they're alone.

29. What compromises are they making in their relationship?

I'll delve a little into Tsimh and Thancred for this one. I'm still getting a feel for these two, so this one's a little extra-rambly xD

Their relationship goes through quite a few ups and downs. In ARR-era, it was just physical. Tsimh was fun and didn't expect a commitment, which suited Thancred just fine.

But unlike most of his hookups, rather than fake pleasure to preserve his ego, she'd correct him during intimate moments if something he did wasn't satisfying her. I suppose you could consider that a compromise on his part, because it's not always easy to hear less-than-stellar feedback about your lovemaking ability, and I imagine Thancred went into it a little bit cocky. So that was humbling at times and led to some indignation, but practice with her did make him a better lover and helped set a course for their relationship - romantic and professional both - to be built on clear communication.

Regardless, Thancred had no intention of getting attached. But intentions don't mean much where emotion is involved. And Tsimh was a stalwart companion who, unlike a lot of people in Thancred's life, never put responsibility on him for her own emotional state, and didn't need or want a prince charming to solve her problems. She didn't chase him, which quickly became part of the allure.

They're never really a couple, but he thinks about her a lot while he's stuck on the First. In between the grief and bitterness and anger at everything else, he found himself wishing she was there to help.

Which is where I think... the biggest compromise really comes into play. Tsimh's pregnant in the Source with his child during Shadowbringers, most of her term and the infant's first few months of life passing while Thancred is on the First. He doesn't know.

And it's not her inclination to tell him. Tsimh fully intends to raise this one like all her other offspring, alongside her sisters and aunts and cousins, as a Moonkeeper of the Vhia clan, without input from their fathers. In her eyes, pre-Shadowbringers Thancred wasn't exactly parent material, anyway. Too much baggage. And the last thing he needed was another obligation.

After Endwalker... she can see that he's changed. He becomes one of very few outsiders allowed to visit the Vhia clan's home territory, and when he sees the little white-haired half-Hyur toddling around with all the other Miqo'te children, it's pretty obvious they're related. Tsimh quietly, subtly, allows that information to be known and leaves an opening for Thancred to decide for himself whether he'd like to be involved. Giving him a choice, letting him be a part of the kid's life, and him deciding he wants that and will make an effort to be present, are both pretty big compromises on their parts. Not the least because in many ways, it signifies a kind of commitment to each other that neither intended to make in the beginning.

--

Development Questions for Couples

[mareenavee]

Hi!! For the psychology OC ask game, pick a handful that nobody else has asked yet and answer them! Since you sent me a number of them ❤

Hi, friend! :D I like these particular asks, so I'll scroll and pick one or two to elaborate on for ya! Thanks for your patience.

Psychology Asks for my fic The World on Our Shoulders!

Ask Game is here.

We'll handle HOPE and LOVE for Nyenna, Teldryn, and Athis. For a good mix of emotions below the cut. (: It's a long one.

HOPE– Do they look at their past accomplishments as evidence or inspiration for success? What inspires them to move forward?

Nyenna has a hard time justifying that her actions in the past were any kind of accomplishment when weighed against the amount of chaos her action or inaction created. It's not really inspiration that drives her forward generally, but a strong, rooted sense of duty. She knows what she must do because she was chosen to do it, and she won't be running away again.

That said, when things are difficult, and it's hard to take another step, there are people around her who will do their best to make her see exactly what she is capable of. She tends to be weighed down with doubt more often than not, and others can see more clearly that she has done a lot of good. And nobody is immune to making mistakes. It's all about getting back up and trying again. She moves forward in her attempt to justify herself, this harbinger of chaos, in a world that didn't need more chaos to begin with.

Teldryn's case is a little more complicated considering the amount of past actions he has on everyone else in this tale. He did save his people from the blight and Dagoth-Ur's unhinged dreams and corruptions. He did free them from the tyranny of the Tribunal, even if that is a bit complicated, considering all that happened following that all. There was the collapse of pretty much everything he'd ever known and he just kept living through it, barely. So that is to say, very quickly his past started to feel like a burden and not an inspiration at all.

These days he isn't quite as purposeless as he's been in the past. You could say a new source of inspiration wandered into the Retching Netch one day, though at that exact moment he had no real idea the gravity of the situation. He likes to believe fate has long abandoned him, but it's not true. There was no way something other didn't put him and Nyenna in the same inn at a critical moment in history. Fate, or something like it, probably. He very much wants to be the person for Nyenna that he desperately wishes he had when he was being manipulated by forces outside of his control in the 3rd era. He, in this case, has been with her since the lowest part of her journey when she ran away from everything, and has been watching her walk into her power. He moves forward to keep up with her and see how the story goes, because it is something amazing to behold, even if he hadn't also happened to fall head over heels for her in the process.

Athis thinks he's found success already. His past drove him toward this perception of success but is not something to be inspired by, more like a reminder of what not to do again. He's actively moving away from all that had happened to him toward a better life. He is a good person regardless of his past, and tries to let his actions reflect that. He joined the Companions, for instance, because it was the furthest thing he could think of from his upbringing and all his mistakes. He wants to make the world safe and be that kind of every day sort of hero. He wants to be someone others can rely on if they need to.

Early on in his tale in World, he is living a pretty comfortable life, more or less within the parameters of a predictable routine. He didn't really expect much to change, and really didn't think he'd be too bad off if that was the best he could make of his life. When he meets Nyenna, he thinks he's probably the luckiest he'd ever been or will ever be. He wanted to build a good life with her by his side. The funny thing about this is it really did take a lot to shake him out of the routine he was already in. It was adjusted to make room for Nyenna at first, but when she left more permanently later on in the story, that was the nudge he needed to realize he could have more in life than this. So differently than for Teldryn, Nyenna inspired him in a completely different way. Yes, he still loves her by this point in the story, but as we'll have to see later, that love has to change when all it is for such a long time is pain. And what can one do with so much change but try to pick up the pieces?

~*~

LOVE– What attachment styles do they experience? How involved are they in their loved one’s worries, hopes, or goals? Do they turn to their loved ones for support? Do they let people who love them help them?

(focusing this question on romantic love for the tea.)

Nyenna...oh Nyenna. The problem with her stems from being put in situations where love was just kind of a daydream, or wishful thinking. She doesn't know what it is to love or be loved in this way. She's still young, even for elves, and at a confusing lifestage already without all the drama.

So attachment style? Oh for sure she starts with a fearful-avoidant style. Characterized by having trouble trusting others -- and in Nyenna's case, herself -- they tend to try to do whatever they can to avoid getting hurt. They also tend to have trouble regulating their emotions. I think eventually, after all the chaos, she'll grow out of it, but this does cause a lot of problems as we can see even from the outset of World.

When she thinks she's in love, she is very invested in the other person's life and tries to be encouraging. After a time, of course, she gets overwhelmed by her own worries and it ends up fracturing any hope for peace she'd cultivated up until that point. You would think with that overwhelm, she'd turn to her loved ones for help -- but she does not, terrified that she'll be the one to hurt them more than they could possibly help. It's tough on both sides to fight that kind of fear. And it changes a person after a time. It's heavy.

Teldryn's case, like always is a bit on the complicated side. He's stupid, first of all, and flirts with just about anyone that he finds attractive, consequences be damned. The reason he does this is not because he is interested in love in general -- in fact, he probably feels like he doesn't deserve it, really. It's a mask of confidence to make up for all the shadows underneath.

That said, he's definitely got more of a dismissive attachment style at the outset of his part of the story. He pretends he doesn't need anyone and can be just fine on his own. There's nothing wrong with the type of behavior that leads to one night stands in his opinion. They were going to leave him anyway, so why bother? I think this becomes a bit more fearful-avoidant after a time as he starts to come to terms with what he's really feeling and what it means, considering all Nyenna has going on at the same time. I love to believe he figures his shit out, though, especially since Nyenna ends up being able to see straight through his bullcrap.

Teldryn can be a bit nosy. At the outset he doesn't love Nyenna, but is just intrigued by her. He suspects something's seriously different about her, and then of course he figures out she's the LDB and things slowly start shifting. As she becomes someone he starts to fall in love with, he becomes more sure of his decision to stick by her and help her as best as he can. He already thought she deserved the support, anyway. He still has some trouble trusting her with his trauma, fully believing he'd be a burden if he just tells her everything, especially before he's sure that she loves him back. When she supports him anyway, and forgives him more easily than he can forgive himself (and more easily than she can forgive herself) for keeping secrets, then he realizes it's probably for the best to lean on each other.

Athis....oh you poor boy. Oh you poor, poor bean. He's another one who was totally fine with a life where he'd never really find love. He had a thing for Jenassa, but it was just a fleeting thing -- and who can blame him? She's tough and kind of hot, isn't she? And she constantly rejected him for many, many reasons. (Mostly his general hero attitude. It kind of clashes with her aesthetic.) He got tired of being rejected after a bit, and just abandoned the idea. He was fine alone. Just fine. But then Nyenna came along and, well, like a vase getting knocked off the shelf, things would simply never be the same from that perspective again.

So his attachment style is probably honestly anxious, though he likes to believe he had a secure attachment style. There was an illusion, for a while, that he and Nyenna were working, after all. And in some ways, they were. After their marriage, they worked together to build a good life for themselves. But under it all, they were seen as one entity. Athis and Nyenna, not either by themselves. And when destiny called, he was constantly afraid that something would happen -- she'd either get hurt or have to be called so far away she wouldn't return. He began to dread the day inevitably she'd have to do more and more on her own. He didn't want her to leave. Still wishes she was home, in fact. Without her, it's hard to keep his chin up. It's hard to believe in his place in the world anymore. It's difficult to see beyond the now, and move beyond what they had become.

He absolutely still loves her which perhaps is why all of this hurts as badly as it does. It's like a nightmare, watching her walk away while he's frozen in place. He knows she doesn't want or need his support, but he doesn't know what else to do, or how else to be there for her. So he's stuck. He'd do anything to help her if only she'd let him. But at the same time? He doesn't trust her with his own secrets. He doesn't trust himself, either, to tell them. He doesn't ask for what he needs from her, either, which is her support to get through the change.

So both of them don't communicate, and both of them broke what they were building. Their foundations were built on a whirlwind instead of solid ground and the earthquake of destiny toppled their little illusion. I hope in the end he starts to move away from this pain and starts to realize that his worth doesn't need to be tied up in another person. That he is capable, even if he'd failed before. If he gets up again, it's still progress. It's still moving forward and getting stronger. It's only in the staying still and waiting for validation to come from others that progress is impeded. He can do this. The question, of course, is how much can he hold on his shoulders before he has to make the choice to move on or crumble underneath it all. Not too unlike the others, after all.

[thecurioustale]

Art like this really does it for me. It's so close to my own, nebulous headcanon of this ambiguous creature of legend named Samus Aran.

I love it! 🥰🥰🥰

It is because I love it that I'm going to critique it:

Aloneness: It's so emblematic of Samus, and the Metroid games, in that no one is looking at her; no one sees her—except for us—and, likewise, we see no other faces in a picture filled with people. As a thematic conceit I find this incredibly thought-provoking. Is she alone in this moment? Is it representative of the desolateness and solitude of her work as a bounty hunter as seen in the games? Or is it breathing room? Or maybe a pause between conversations? Or maybe she's eying somebody off-camera who she's just about to go talk to, or is already talking to. Samus looks relaxed and at ease; she looks confident...but that's not really an answer. Does she have friends here? Does she talk to people here? Do they talk to her? Do they notice her in any way? (She is, at least in the older games, one of the most famous bounty hunters in the Galaxy.)

Visual Aesthetic: I'm not really sure what my vision of the Galactic Federation is, because I don't coherently have one, except that I think the Metroid games do a disservice to both Samus and the setting by making it seem as though Samus' entire life is built around this soap opera she's got going on with the Metroids, the Space Pirates, and the Chozo, and that she has no other career as a bounty hunter to speak of. But I picture lots of different settings in the Galaxy that Samus moves around in; I see her as worldly and experienced. This image goes to grittier lengths than my own imagination usually does, but I fully accept that the galactic setting of the Metroid universe would have places like this, and that Samus would be likely to interact with them at least sometimes—for work if nothing else, but possibly for leisure too. In any case, though, I love the vibe of this place, even if it's not the kind of setting I like to build myself.

Blue: I appreciate the BLUE tint to this image, showcasing both Samus' attire and also achieving the rare feat of building warmth through blue color tones. This place looks sweaty and vivacious. It may or may not be physically cold or hot in this bar, but it is a warm place regardless. The glow of the lighting sources also contributes to this effect, and together with the blue they create a sense of movement and dynamism that brings the drawing to life.

The Damn Suit: Speaking of blue, the Zero Suit is still as ridiculous as ever, still as out-of-place as ever, but, at least with Samus having the bomber jacket on, the Zero Suit looks plausible as opposed to like Samus is starring in some kind of space porno. I can, with a space whiskey or two, convince myself that the Zero Suit is just some futuristic fashion trend she's into. The jacket really makes the difference. But good golly, does that suit ever look ridiculous.

When Metroid: Zero Mission came out I rued the day, because I knew that from that point on Samus would always be drawn in her Zero Suit, because it's T&A and that's what a significant part of the fandom is all about when they dream of Samus, and all the more so because there is no other canonical art of Samus outside her various power suits except for the even more skimpy bathing suits if you get a low completion time in the old games. (And the '90s games were also about as risqué as Nintendo would allow in things like the game instruction manual and the Samus death / crystal flash animations.) But it's one thing to pack a little bit of fanservice outside the margins of the gameplay, and another thing entirely to do what Zero Mission did and make it central to the story.

That's my problem with the Zero Suit. It's fanservice masquerading as in-world technical workwear. It's not that skimpy or skintight clothing on voluptuous bodies is wrong or needs to be conservatively concealed; indeed I never had any problem with the blatant fanservice of the bathing suits at the end of the games, and I can actually buy the rationalization that Samus wears something for safety and comfort beneath her power suit. Rather, it's that the Zero Suit isn't that: It breaks the fourth wall from inside the game and sexualizes the character within her own story in a way that doesn't fit into the face-value storytelling. It's a dissonance between the face-value storytelling and the meta storytelling.

Imagine if Samus wasn't wearing the bomber jacket in this picture? It'd be a completely different picture.

Oh, and I love the color contrast that the jacket brings. In this way the jacket really draws attention to itself.

Baby Doll Face: I'm not a fan of Samus' face in this. Her facial design and aesthetic, that is. Not her expression. Her expression is great, one of the strongest aspects of the entire piece. (More on that in a moment.) It looks out of place from the rest of the milieu, too pristine and flawless. Everything else in this drawing is gritty, but her face is perfectly smooth and perfectly made up. In fact it almost looks like it was spliced in from another drawing; it's like two different art styles clashing.

I see this happen sometimes in contemporary indie games and productions, where the faces don't match either the bodies they're on or the settings they're in.

Conversely, I love the expression on her face here. It's inscrutable, and those are some of my favorite expressions. I read it as confident and intentive, but whatever she might be confident and/or intentive about is either off-screen or in her own head. We have no way of knowing, and so the true subject matter of this picture is forever a collaboration with the viewer. I love that; to me that is a great achievement in a piece of art.

And, moreover, one needn't necessarily agree that those are the vibes she is giving off. Her expression is vague enough that, other than bawling or cackling, you could argue that Samus here is experiencing just about any kind of thoughts and emotions.

Da Boobs: I find it amusing how, other than the backlighting around her outline, the brightest part of Samus in this picture is her breasts. Somehow, Samus' face (or at least the right side of it) is in shadow but her breasts are lit up like a beacon. If the bomber jacket draws attention to itself through its rich color contrast with the overall color palette of the work, then the Zero Suit Chest Area draws attention to itself through its use of a literal magic spotlight.

Unlike the Zero Suit, which I usually just find irritating, I find this breast key lighting simply humorous, and a little bit cute on behalf of the artist. But I also admire the technique that goes into it; this is a good display of artistic prowess, a good grip of light and shadow.

Giant Lady: If the artist's use of lighting and shadow in this piece is excellent, their utilization of size and perspective is more open to interpretation. The counter Samus is leaning against in this picture is noticeably small, and the drink in her hand is freakishly small. Is this accidental or on purpose?

If it's on purpose, it's very clever. Samus Aran is a big lady: 6'2" and over 200 pounds without her suit. We don't necessarily know if that's considered big in her time period, but in ours it's very large. The perspective lines in the drawing are vague, or perhaps in conflict with each other, such that it's hard to say whether Samus is noticeably taller than the people in the background or not. But remember, she's not standing at her full height in this drawing: She's leaning on a counter. Her true height is even taller.

Drinks can be made that small: You can get cutsey small glasses, and use the tiny ice cubes (I actually use an ice tray like that), and if you want to use a coffee stirrer for a straw there's nothing stopping you. If Samus is drawn properly big in this picture, then the drink isn't as small as it looks; it's just that Samus is very large. But if Samus is drawn a more average size here, then the drink proportions probably are a mistake.

The Hair: Good gravy I love this hair! I don't know why it is, but so many artists draw Samus with the most incredible hair. Her hair just brings out artists' best, over and over!

I've never been sold on Samus as a blonde; I figure she's just dying it. I saw some fanart of her once, long ago, with silver hair, and to me that's the OTC. It's a factor in why I made Cherry's hair silver. But if Samus is gonna have blond hair, drawing it like this is the perfect way to make me as happy as a clam. Unlike with her weirdly bland face, the detail and depth that goes into her hair in this drawing is really convincing, and really stylish and appealing.

The Gloves: The canonical Zero Suit does have those gloves. But it looks so weird in this drawing. Who would do that for comfort? Wouldn't Samus at least take the gloves off and put them in her pocket—oh that's right it's the damn Zero Suit, WHAT pockets?! Lol. But there is the bomber jacket.

Her hand size also looks a little bit off in the small direction compared to the scale of the rest of her body. More so when you take into account that we're looking at her glove and the true hand is even smaller than that. Maybe Samus just has small hands? 😂

I guess it could be a body modification. We don't actually see her left hand here—the hand she presumably uses to do most things other than shooting stuff. Maybe she got the right hand downsized to fit more optimally in her arm cannon.

That would be kind of weird in terms of proprioception, to have two different hand sizes, and it would also look weird in the mirror. But maybe that's just the glorious future of biotechnological diversity that awaits us!

In Conclusion: Anyway, yeah. I love this piece!! Samus fanart is alive and well in the 2020s and I just love that. Many of my old fave video games don't get a ton of love anymore, having recessed into the depths of time. But Samus Aran will legitimately outlive us all, and I love knowing that there will continue to be new Samus fanart for the rest of my life. In a world where good things always seem fleeting, that makes me happy.

Samus Aran

Art by Cultured Crusader

[throne-for-queens]

I try not to read too much into the lives of celebrities because at the end of the day I don’t know them and can only form opinions on what is being released to the public, but I will say this. I don’t think C being hush about the pregnancy is necessarily due to him not being excited or happy. While the status of the relationship and the general perception of it is a whole different conversation, I think his silence is more so from a place of not feeling like he owes it to anyone to really talk about it. I think for him this is something special he wants to enjoy without feeling obligated to detail every step of the journey. After already losing their first child, and with both of them being very connected to spirituality in this stage of their lives, this pregnancy probably is connecting them more to each other and their spiritual beliefs, and it probably does feel like reconnecting with a soul they had previously lost. He may not want to get too caught up in posting about it on his socials, and more than likely just wants to enjoy it in real time. It could also be because he doesn’t want to only be known as MF’s “baby daddy”, and wants to drive the focus back to him and his artistry. Over the last few years it seems like when his name is mentioned the vast majority of people (outside of EST and some of his newer fan base) focus on the relationship rather than either of their individual careers, and while this is probably a very happy moment for him, he’s still trying to define himself as an artist and I think that he wants maintain his autonomy and to be recognized for his art first. (I do have opinions on the PR aspect of their relationship and how that has potentially had negative affects on their careers and public perception but that can be for another time)

With MF being more public about it I think there may be some intent to garner attention from it, and that’s not necessarily negative as I’m sure she’s very happy too and wants to celebrate this moment. I do think the way she’s doing it is more so to control the narrative as much as she can. There have been so many articles written about them that have said things like “a source close to the couple” or “an insider says” and often times those articles end up being hearsay or half truths. I think her being vocal about it is potentially her way of trying to redirect the focus from articles like that, and having things come directly from the source. And for all we know, C very well may be fine with her being public about it and just doesn’t feel the need to say anything about it himself other than a “thank you” when he’s congratulated.

It’s probably not the most popular opinion, but for me it seems like the most realistic reason behind it. Idk. All in all I do wish them the best, especially now that another life is involved and will be eternally connecting them, regardless of what their future holds.

.

[skvaderarts]

Petrichor Chapter 76: Ambuscade

Chapter 76: Ambuscade

Note: I got your feedback on the last chapter about how you’d prefer to hear Vivienne’s story! Request granted! I honestly think it will be better this way, too. Good call!

(-~-)

Several decades ago…

Recling on the couch near the window, Vivienne watched the traffic go by outside as she flipped idly through a magazine that had come in the mail that day. She hadn’t subscribed to it, but they’d sent her a free sample out of the blue anyway. Probably in a bid to tempt her with more. It was a bid that wouldn’t work, but still. She couldn’t care less about the latest makeup and fashion, but she figured she’d humor them by flipping through it regardless. Maybe there were some cute decorations or pieces of furniture. Or some cure baby toys. Those were normally in magazines like this.

She paused her half-hearted browsing and let her mind wander to other things for a moment. Vergil had left a few days ago and she didn’t have a way to get in touch with him, something that they needed to work out in the near future, especially with a baby on the way. Well, less on the way and eminently arriving. That’s why she was reclining, after all. Sitting up was becoming harder and harder as time went by, and she was taking the doctor’s request to take it easy until her due date very seriously.

But even with those worries and anxieties, she wondered how he was doing out there.

He would be back any day now. She just hoped that he found what he was looking for. She knew that this was important to Vergil. It had taken some persuasion on her part, but she’d gotten him to open up to her just enough for her to glean that he’d been searching for this missing father for a very long time. Any leads were worth their weight in gold to him. And although she wasn’t sure that this one would lead to anything tangible, she hoped that whatever he found might lead to some semblance of closure or peace. 

She knew what it was like to lose a parent, but she didn't know what it was like to never know what happened to one. She couldn't even imagine the hole that would leave in someone's heart. The way their absence would be felt in every corner of that person's life. Vergil had lost a part of himself. She didn't wish that pain on anyone.

But as she sat there in silence, pondering the implications of such a lived experience, she heard something. It was distant and faint, but it was undeniably there. Indistinguishable at first, but then it became clearer and more pronounced. A scuttling sound; the sound of something scraping or scuffing against a wooden surface. It sounded like an animal's paw trying to get under a door, only much, much louder. But she couldn't pinpoint precisely from where. 

Easing herself onto her feet, she looked around the room in confusion, perplexed as to where such a sound could possibly originate from. She did have wooden floors in parts of the house, that much was true, but she didn't have a pet and she couldn't imagine that the neighbor's dog was attempting to break into her house or something of the like. And even if it had, that was a little dog. This… this was something else entirely. Something that bore investigating.

She didn’t like something about this. She didn’t know why, but she didn’t.

Waddling as swiftly and quietly around the house as she could manage, found herself drifting in various directions, sometimes closer but usually further away from it, sometimes circling back around to it but not sure where it was coming from. But slowly she drew closer to its source. It was the front door, of course. And as she drew closer it suddenly became louder, not just due to proximity but in general. The scraping was replaced with slavering sounds, the inhuman moans and machinations of something she couldn't place. She felt a cold chill leap up her spine as she realized that something was wrong. Horribly wrong. She didn't know what that something was, but it was undeniable.

Doing her best to remain as calm as she could and walk backward while maintaining eye contact with the front door without making a sound, she stepped back through the doorway and into the living room. And as she did so the door began to rattle viciously, almost as though whatever was on the other side was trying to break it down. Like a sudden hurricane had just landed upon her front stoop and was now threatening to undo the very foundation of her abode. She felt her heart pound like a frightened bird as all movement suddenly stopped. There was no sound at all. No warning. No rhyme or reason to it. No breathing, no scraping, nothing. Was it still there?

She wasn't going to stand there and find out.

Heading over to the fireplace that stood lit a few feet from her she grabbed one of the sharper fire pokers, making sure that she had a tight grip on it. The cast iron was a bit unwieldy due to the length of the poker, but she would manage. She wanted to make sure that she didn't lose her grasp on it at a time like this. A kitchen knife would be an option worth considering if not for how close she'd have to get in case something actually managed to get in. But she didn't plan to be here for that. She needed to get out of-

Without warning something suddenly broke through the window at the back of the building on the opposite side of the townhouse. She could hear it snarl as she covered her mouth in fright, keen to remain entirely silent so as to not alert the creature to her current position. 

There was no mistaking it. There was some sort of demon in the house.

Slavering as it stalked through the building, she heard it bump into something and knock it over, but she couldn't tell where it was from the room she currently resided in. What she could tell was that it was a bit closer to her than it had been a moment ago. She needed to get out of there and find somewhere else in the house to hide. Fighting was a last resort given the obvious limitations of her current condition. That, and the fact that she didn’t really know how to. She understood the basic idea and was by no means a pushover, but these creatures weren’t even from this dimension. That was a lot to ask of anyone.

She lowered her head and crept as quickly as she could over to the steps, slipping up them just as the demon came into the room she had just been in from the opposite side. And as she made her way up to the top of the landing and ducked around the corner out of sight using its own thudding footsteps to cover the sounds of her movement, whatever had been at the front door finally broke it down. Only this time she was more concerned than she had been previously.

It was a second demon of the same type as the first if the sounds it made were anything to go off of, but this time it was accompanied by another demon. And that demon had been the one to take down the door. And it did so in one precision swoop, effortlessly cutting it down and entering the residence. It had an air of purpose to it. A cool intelligence. A mission.

The demon that came through the front door was different from the one already stalking her through her house. It walked upright and appeared to carry a blade, though that was as much of a look as she got at it before tucking around the corner and taking a moment to think. She didn’t dare risk taking a second glance. She was now more or less stuck on the second story, and they didn't have a ladder or staircase that went outside from where she was. She could climb out of the window, but…

But during the split second that she considered this desperate option, she suddenly heard footsteps coming up the stairs beside her, and as she turned to make her way into the next room, she suddenly came face-to-face with the demon that had so calmly made its way into her home. And although they were at opposite ends of the hallway, she could feel the creature looking into her very soul. 

“I came here in search of Sparda’s Kin,” The demon spoke through its helmet, its masked face not visible to her. To see a creature of such stature stand before her brandishing such a large blade was intimidating, to say the least. But its unearthly voice certainly didn’t help. It eyed her with a look she couldn’t read, but still, she felt its gaze fall lower as it tilted its head to the side “It seems I’ve found something more valuable, indeed. My master will be pleased.”

It took Vivienne a moment to realize what the demon was implying, but the second that she did, a wave of anger and disgust overrode all semblance of fear that she felt in her body. Now she understood what this demon was here for. It had been searching for Vergil. Its target might have changed, but its intentions were equally if not more vile than they had been to start with. Now it had another target in mind. One that couldn’t be more helpless. The only difference now was that she knew what was going on. And she would never let the demon get what it wanted. “Over my dead body.”

The demon lunged at her without warning, grabbing her by the neck and attempting to bring its blade down on her. Out of pure reflex, she kicked it in the knee, causing it to buckle as she grabbed the poker and stabbed it in the throat. Blood spread up the wall behind her as the demon reeled back and used the hand it had just been using to grip her throat with to grip its own in an attempt to stanch its own blood loss, using its blade as a crutch to hold itself up. The demon looked as shocked that she had just done that as she did, but she didn't waste the opportunity and rushed away towards the stairs, taking them two at a time despite her lack of shoes or balance as she raced for the front door. She might have been slightly out of breath, but she wasn't going to stay there for even a second longer.

When she reached the bottom of the stairs and headed for the door, she was suddenly waylaid at the last moment by one of the two demons as it rushed her from the side, forcing her away from the door and into the living area as it slashed at her and just barely missed, causing her to trip and stumble, catching herself at the last moment before she managed to hit the floor by grabbing the frame of the archway.

As soon as she made it into the living room the demon that had ambushed her rushed at her a second time and, in the blink of an eye, found itself impaled in the chest on the end of the fire poker that she had been using to defend herself. Blood splattered across the room and across her, but the creature wasn't dead just yet. Something that she rectified a moment later when the demon attempted to swipe at her and she pulled the fire poker out so that she could back away from it, causing the creature to stumble backward into the lit fireplace and catch itself on fire. It let out a blood-curdling scream as she stared at it in shock for a moment before hurrying out of the room and into the kitchen.

She could hear the footsteps of the demon with the sword coming downstairs as she looped back around towards the front door, cutting her off in her route, but not seeing her in the process as it stumbled around searching for her, tracking blood through the house as it went. And as she heard the third reptilian demon slinking about the place she made the quick decision to simply climb out of the back window that the demon had jumped through in the first place. It was a larger window, after all, and The glass had broken closer to the floor so it was more accessible than not. Well, at least more accessible than the front door. All she had to do was carefully climb up onto a console table and she was golden. It was not the kind of activity she preferred to be doing right now, but this was a life-or-death situation so safety was an ever-fluctuating variable.

She clambered through the opening as quickly and as carefully as she could, the footsteps of the demon growing closer and louder before it suddenly stopped. She spared a split-second glance at the demon and as if by Providence happened to turn just as he threw his blade at her. Letting out a scream of fright she ducked her head at the very last moment, not being hit by the blade but still taking part of the impact of the handle, causing her to lurch backward and fall a few feet into a bush back first that she then bounced off of and fell on the pavement, landing on her side with a thud. She felt a rush of pain rocket through her back and side but she pushed it aside as best as she could and scrambled to her feet with a whimper, taking the opportunity to throw the fire poker at the demon back through the window as she hurried out of the front yard and towards the main road.

A random bystander, perhaps horrified by the sight of a pregnant woman running and screaming for help up the street, flagged down a passing rail car, giving her just enough time to get across the road and to the above-ground track. The stranger practically dragged her up the stairs and threw her onto the car with his ticket as she hastily thanked him and the doors closed, whisking her away to what would hopefully be safety. They asked no questions and received no answers as she tried to explain to them the danger she was in. They simply helped, perhaps assuming that this was a horrific medical emergency. They would catch the next train. This was just one of those situations.

With a groan, the train slowly pulled off before accelerating, gradually reaching its full speed over the course of a few minutes. They weren’t at the main station so the time between arrival and departure had been slim. It was a miracle that she’d made it in time.

Add to that the realization that she had no idea where the train was going or how long it had been since she'd been standing there, but one look out the windows was enough to betray the sheer speed that the rail traveled at. And as it pulled further away from the inner city and out towards the country she couldn't help but feel a bottomless well of anxiety begin to form in her. Had she gotten away? Was she safe? And where was she headed? All important questions but not ones she had the answers to right now.

But as she stood there gripping the safety poll on the trolley as it raced away from the scene of her attack, panting heavily, she felt an unfamiliar yet undeniable pain somewhere she knew she shouldn't. The adrenaline had faded away somewhat and now she could actually feel her body in full for the first time since she'd escaped the house. And only one thing under the circumstances came to mind.

She needed to get to the hospital. Now.

(-~-)

Welp, poor Vivienne is certainly having A DAY. But hell yeah, get 'em! Boy oh boy, poor girl. She’s having a rough time. But hey, I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter! I’ll see you in the comments and in the next chapter! Bye-bye, and thanks again for reading! See you soon!

[highbloodxiii]

I am not targeting OP with this post, simply expanding on it. Here's what everyone is not getting.

THEY ALL CARE ABOUT GOJO, BUT ARE SUBCONSCIOUSLY UNABLE TO SEPERATE FROM HIS TITLE AS THE STRONGEST

That's literally it. Satoru Gojo has had this title imprinted on him since birth. If you are anyone in the jujutsu world, you know about Satoru Gojo. More specifically, you know that he is the strongest. Nothing else. Unless you know him permanently, that's all you're likely to hear about because that's all anyone in that society cares about.

His students have spent time with him. His classmates have spent time with him. They care about him to a degree, but deep in their mind, him and his title are one in the same. This scene is proof of that. Their momentary viewing of Satoru Gojo as a means to an end, as a weapon for jujutsu society, is a result of this thought process being ingrained into them, both from outside sources and from Gojo himself. Yuta speaks up as a reminder that regardless of his title, Satoru Gojo is a human. He's a man who had this life forced upon him, and it has caused him a great deal of loneliness already because his title has created a gap in which he can never understand those weaker than him and they can never understand him because he's so much stronger.

His identity is tied to his power in the eyes of everyone, whether it's intentional or not on their part.

Despite this, once Yuta speaks up, they realize they've caught themselves thinking like that. They don't like it. They don't want to fall into that line of thinking, but this situation has forced them to do so.

And to add to this, Shoko behaving the way she does is completely in character for her. Everyone has this idea that her and gojo have some super deep bonds on the level of Gojo and Geto, but that's not the case. Shoko, like everyone else, is incapable of fully understanding Gojo as a person, and that's not her fault. Nor is it Gojo's fault that he can't do that same to her. It's a result of the society they were raised in. Hell, if Shoko was going to freak out and break down over Gojo doing this, why didn't she when Geto became a mass murderer. She's not as close to these two as people think. They're friends, yes, but Shoko was as close to them as they were to each other. On top of this, she's likely jaded as hell. Everything she's seen, the friends she's lost. While she probably doesn't expect him to lose, she's also not unfamiliar with the fact that this is a fucked up world they love it.

And even then, she still hesitates. Whe she is presented with the bodies to preform the procedure, she still has to compose herself because she knows what she is doing is fucked up on so many levels. She is operating on her old friend so that they can desecrate and use his corpse as a means to an end. But it's not because they don't fucking care about him, it's because they don't have another fucking choice. They need any and all advantages they can fucking get and if this is what needs to be done, so be it. Like Gojo said, you can not be sane if you wanna make it. Like Yuta said, they can't afford to hold onto their humanity. They need to let that shit go or they will lose.

To add a final point, Yuta showing up to the battlefield immediately is not an attempt to diminish the accomplishments of Todo and Yuji. They were fucking putting in work on this motherfucker. But, there was no point in wasting a perfectly good contingency plan, so of course they'd do the body swap, and of course, Yuta is gonna head to the fight immediately. Not only because he may only have 5 minutes to live and was literally dying in his original body so why waste time, but also, Yuta is going to take any and every shot he can to win as he fucking should. They're fighting Sukuna. They have no down time, they can't afford to waste any potential resources. Not going to the fight immediately would be a dumb fucking idea.

I really hope I got my point across because I am bad with words. It just frustrates me seeing so many people dumb it all down to "woe is gojo, everyone else doesn't care about him." No that's not fucking true. Stop and fucking read ffs.

everyone giving yuta a hard time for this can stfu because 1) gojo said it was okay and 2) what were they supposed to do? let sukuna win? yeah i don't think gojo would've wanted that so rip too bad so sad we gotta do what we gotta do sorry not sorry cry me a river build me a bridge and get over it

[lazy-cat-corner]

Okay but thinking about the last Crimson Peak post I responded to sharing my observations of Lucille, I thought I should discuss my observations of Thomas and his growth in terms of love. Or what he knows love is. (cw: sexual abuse)

Unlike Lucille, Thomas wasn’t allowed to love freely. He was under Lucille’s emotional and sexual abuse. Since he was an infant, Lucille conditioned Thomas to accept her love. Wanting herself to be his only source of care and affection he needs. Granted, Lucille wasn’t free to love, either, but when given the chance to break away from Allerdale Hall and find other people and things to love, she chose to keep things the same and hold Thomas as her only means of love.

Abuse is identified based on power dynamics. Who holds power over the other and uses it to control. While it’s clear that Lucille was a subject and source of abuse Thomas wasn’t given that equal playing power. He could only receive the abuse and receive the love. That alone didn’t give him much liberation to know what love is. To Thomas, love was Lucille. Love was Lucille singing him his lullabies to soothe his cries when Mother or Father took out their frustrations on him. Love was Lucille killing their parents after having enough of their torments and taking on the role as his primary and only caretaker. Love was Lucille talking him through what he had to do for them to survive their small, cold, and bitter world and trusting that once they can support themselves with the clay machine their lives will be better off and free of pain.

It’s a little ironic when Thomas says this because he himself doesn’t really know what love is or lived at all. This scene can be interpreted as two children who have never experienced love arguing over what it is. One who has seen too much of a toxic and abusive sort of love curated by a monogamous relationship. The other who was unable to see the fullest potential love can be. Neither of them have been allowed to step outside of their world and see it for what it is and in some ways, they got to find that freedom through each other. 

Thomas slowly begins to realize Edith isn’t as much as a simpleton as he believed her to be. In fact, she is the spark that gives him a taste of freedom. Her kindness, her light and optimistic perspective is so different from what he knows people to be. Particularly what he knows Lucille to be. When he says “you’re so different” he’s comparing Edith’s love to Lucille’s love. Because it’s not what he believed love was. She doesn’t ask anything from him. She’s patient and lets him love her in the ways he knows how. She doesn’t expect Thomas to be more than he is and she still accepts him for it. All his life he’s owed people his affections. Enola would coax him to say he loved her. Lucille would constantly check on him and asses if his loyalty to her is consistent. Edith didn’t expect him to do any of that. She took what little love he could offer and accepted the weight like he gave her a thousand burning suns.  

But, like any tragedy, that hope dies. Because a part of him believes to be too much of a monster to deserve any of it. The book explains that Thomas found the bodies of the dead coal miners to be “strangely arousing.” Arousing, in this context could potentially mean “intriguing” not “seductive.” Regardless, it’s a characteristic that gives him a bit of shame because he knows what Lucille does is wrong. He despises it and yet, he takes accountability. In the book, it also says Thomas looks the other way with Lucille’s killings because the hold Lucille’s love has on him is stronger than his ethics. That was... until Edith. Until she showed him that he can choose to be someone different.

So Lucille feels betrayed. How simple and easy it was for Thomas to realize the life he was living was not life at all and she knew he was leaving her. It didn’t matter if he fantasized her in his life. She wouldn’t be the only source of his love. He’ll learn Edith’s is better and want less of hers. That’s why she was sad when she killed him because she didn’t want to do it. In her mind she was protecting him from a threat. Thomas was never allowed to love. Not really. Because even if he told Lucille he loved her, it was never out of his own free will. Not when she had so much power and control over how he should feel.

Okay, now I’m sad I’m gonna go find lunch. 😅  

[tarydarrington]

It’s only a murmur at first. One more of the Mighty Nein has married, with a small but beautiful wedding in the Menagerie Coast. The Bright Queen is mildly offended to have been both uninformed and uninvited - particularly after the same offense had been given by both the Lavorres and the Nydoorins - but sends her regards, nevertheless. Then the curious part makes its way through the grapevine into Xhorhas. For Caleb Widogast had always been almost overly friendly with the late Shadowhand, and all the whispers name his new husband Essek.

It’s absurd, of course - Shadowhand Essek perished in the Astral Sea years ago. The Mighty Nein had given the tearful report themselves, and what reason had they to lie? His replacement had made sure, regardless; scrying had turned up no trace. But the Dynasty is nothing if not thorough, and so the first Taskhand to volunteer finds himself far away from home with a mystery to solve.

The rumors get clearer the closer he gets to the Nein’s favorite haunts. The Taskhand’s heart skips a beat the first time someone suggests the mysterious husband is indeed a drow, and is surprised that most others he asks confirm it.

He gets nothing from the Blooming Grove. It’s difficult to tell whether the firbolg, the aasimar, and the tiefling are playing dumb or not playing at all, though he suspects it’s a mix of the two. They run him in circles with intentional misunderstandings, and he writes them off as a lost cause at the end of two days.

The Lavorres are even less helpful, though this time he’s absolutely certain it’s on purpose.

He goes to the monk, next; he wrings out of the others that she spends most of her time at the Cobalt Soul in Rexxentrum these days, and from there it’s easy enough to track down her home and wait there. She rolls her eyes when he explains his business, but agrees to let him question her as she sits down for dinner.

“It’s a common name,” she says through a mouthful of food, when he brings up the coincidence.

“It really isn’t,” the Taskhand replies.

She shrugs. “You know I met a guy named Bo once? That was pretty weird.” She pauses to chew for a moment. “Cause my name’s Beau.” Before he can press further, she waves a dismissive hand in his direction. “Listen, man, I met the Shadowhand and I know Caleb’s husband. Definitely not the same guy. Trust me.”

She points him with a heavy sigh in the direction of the Brenattos, whose brand new apothecary is nestled into a bright little street in Nicodranas. A grinning little boy answers the door, but is quickly shuffled behind a pair of stone-faced halflings. He begins the same way as he had with the others, but gets not even so far as his first question before finding a crossbow aimed directly between the eyes.

None of it is enough. He will get no information from these people, and it isn’t worth getting shot to try. What he needs, in the end, is to find Caleb Widogast, himself.

The Taskhand considers waiting there. By all accounts, the man and Veth Brenatto are close as friends can be, and he’s almost guaranteed to find him if he waits here long enough. But he’s itchy to find what he can as quickly as possible, and instead he asks around some more.

It isn’t easy. The leads almost always take him either nowhere, or to yet another cryptic clue in this odd scavenger hunt. The wizard in Nicodranas claims not to have seen him in years, despite assurances from the local courtesan that he had been seen entering the tower not a month ago. A shopkeep in Zadash runs him around for nearly an hour before at last admitting that he has no information, but would the Taskhand like to buy a potion anyway?

Then, at last, by chance, he sees him. Passing through the town of Trostenwald on the word of a guard in Alfield, he passes by a red-haired wizard in the market, speaking with a Zemnian accent and wearing a ring on his finger.

“Caleb Widogast?”

The man turns, surprise and apprehension on his face as he takes in the Taskhand’s armor. Nothing too conspicuous in the heart of the Empire, but clearly of Rosohna to those who know what to look for.  The helmet must be the most intimidating part of it, even without the usual beetle-like shape.

The Taskhand bows. “I have business with you, on behalf of the Bright Queen.”

Caleb shows him to a little, nondescript house on a little, nondescript street. It seems his aversion to revealing his hiding place is outweighed by his desire to have this conversation somewhere private. With the door firmly locked behind them, Caleb sets about drawing a teleportation circle on the floor as they speak. A tactic to draw the Taskhand’s attention away from his reactions, perhaps?

“Your husband.” No reason not to get to the point.

Caleb’s fingers catch in their pattern for just the shortest instant, but it’s enough to catch the Taskhand’s attention. “Ja, what about him?”

“Word has reached the dynasty that he may be someone of interest.” He clasps both hands behind him, clutching his own fingers a bit too tightly. “Someone we were told was no longer with us in this life.”

Caleb tilts his head a moment, as though trying to remember something. “Ah,” he says at last. “The Shadowhand, you mean. No, he is not.”

The Taskhand arches an eyebrow. “Is he present?” he asks. “I would like to meet him for myself before returning to the Bright Queen.”

“Ah, no,” Caleb says apologetically. “He did not accompany me to the city.”

“Where is he, then?”

Caleb’s fingers drum against the wood floor. “He has business elsewhere, I did not ask.”

The Taskhand moves to stand across the circle from Caleb. “I’m very curious,” he says, “where did you meet a drow outside of Xhorhas?”

Caleb looks up, brow furrowed in what might be warning. “I am pretty well traveled,” he says. “There are not many drow outside of your country, but that does not mean there are none.”

The Taskhand hums. “I have heard that this particular drow is a dunamancer,” he says. A little white lie, but it catches Caleb’s attention.

“No,” he says firmly. “Your sources are mistaken.”

The Taskhand takes another step forward. “I don’t believe they are.” He leans down, watching the discomfort in Caleb’s posture grow with every second. The Taskhand gestures to the ring on his finger. “I think it would be in your best interest to stop lying.”

Without warning, Caleb’s hands flash away from the circle on the floor and towards him, magic buzzing angrily in the air.

“Wait!”

Something about his tone must have rung in just the right way, as Caleb’s hands freeze. Carefully, slowly, as though trying not to frighten off a stray cat, the Taskhand lifts off his helmet.

Caleb’s eyes scan his face for only a moment before his eyes widen. “You are…” His eyes catch on the slope of his nose, the lavender of his eyes, the angle of his cheekbones.

“Verin Thelyss.” He bows his head in greeting.

Caleb’s hands fall to his side, and he makes a weak little sound of acknowledgement before nodding himself. “Well, that is a surprise.”

Verin weighs the words on his tongue, running through every practical question he’s been told to ask, every ounce of professionalism he’s expected to uphold. “He’s spoken of me, then?” he asks instead.

Caleb nods silently. The conflict is written plainly on his face. The two of them don’t know each other, aside from whatever Essek has told him. He has no reason to believe that Verin won’t sell out his own brother. He’s under orders to do just that, after all, and the twinge of guilt hasn’t left his chest since he got here.

But… despite it all, it’s Essek. His brother. His blood. It might not mean much to Essek, but it does to him. He tucks the helmet under his arm and bows his head again.

“You have nothing to fear from me,” he says with all the confidence he can muster. “But I think we should speak.” He chances a glance back up at Caleb, and lets the slightest grin tug at the side of his mouth. “We are brothers, after all, yes?”

[ridiasfangirlings]

What are your thoughts on Yata's relationship with his father and stepfather and how it affected Yata? And how did his relationship with his mother affect him? I like the story "Spring 2000 Yata Misaki" and how stepfather treats Yata.

Yata's relationship with his parents doesn't get as much attention as Fushimi's (poor Yata's mom doesn't even get a name...for that matter his stepdad even gets called 'Yata-san' in the All Characters story rather than being given a proper name) but I think there is at least some indication as to how those relationships affected him. We don't really know a lot about Yata's bio-dad but at the very least it doesn't seem like he's in Yata's life at all, which I think is a large part of why Yata has so many issues around masculinity. He's mentioned in LSW as having wanted to 'protect' his mom when it was only the two of them, and even in the All Characters story when the engagement ring is described it's mentioned as being the type of ring Yata himself would have liked to buy for her when he becomes an adult. I think Yata's sort of internalized the idea that it's the man of the house's job to protect everyone else and since his dad is gone he needs to take that over, he needs to become someone strong who can protect his mom (which obviously comes off as pretty sexist and I think Yata does have some prejudices in that direction, but he's also a kid who's presumably taking a lot of his worldview from outside sources that would be likely to push this narrative and beyond that Yata in general has a very strong protective streak towards everyone he loves regardless of gender). I think it could be argued that Yata sees his dad as someone who should have been the hero that protected the family but abandoned them instead, and so he decided to take on that role himself.

Then his stepfather shows up and I think in the All Characters story we can kinda see how this leads to Yata's feelings of not quite fitting in in LSW even though his stepdad seems very nice and caring towards his fiance's child. When Yata-san asks Yata's permission to marry his mom Yata grants it but it's noted that his voice is a little hollow, that he's saying it to make his mom happy but it doesn't seem like his heart is in it, and then of course he takes the ring later on before his guilt wins out and he returns it to his mom. I think when Yata's stepdad appears is when Yata sorta feels like his 'place' is being taken, that now there's a new person here who can be his mom's protector as well, and it's hard for him to deal with because he is after all still just a little kid. Going into LSW we see that Yata has I think reconciled with this feeling, he's happy that his mom found someone who can take over that role of the protector, but at the same time Yata had put so much of himself into that role that he feels a little adrift himself.

Yata clearly loves his mom and I think she did her best raising him – he's got one of the most stable home lives out of the entire cast at the very least – but I think the divorce did kinda leave Yata with his own feelings of abandonment that he hasn't dealt with, not ones that are as strong as Fushimi's but which are similar and that's why Yata longs so much for a community to belong to. Yata has a stable family but he's still struggling with feelings like he can't just be part of this family because they love him, feeling like he's different from his siblings but at the same time he's not 'needed' to protect his mom anymore. Then when he meets Fushimi and later Homra they help fill that void, though by the end of the series he does reconnect with his family because they do after all still love him and he's still an important person to them no matter how long he's been gone.

[fandom-puff]

Family, Duty, Honour (p2)

Pairing: Tyrion Lannister x reader

Warnings: pregnancy/pregnancy symptoms including vomiting, prejudice towards dwarfism (discussion as to whether Tyrion and YN’s child will inherit his dwarfism; not a widely accepted condition in Westeros), childbirth, details of the death of Joanna Lannister (dying in childbirth/traumatic birth), reference to miscarriage

(Part 1)

Gif creds to owner

“Pardon me, Milord,”

Both Tywin and Tyrion turned around to see a young girl, one of your handmaidens, hurrying towards them, remembering a clumsy curtsey in her haste.

“Speak,” Lord Tywin said sternly, and the girl paled briefly before turning instead to his son.

“It’s Lady YN,” she said, and Tyrion instantly stood up straighter, even more on edge. “She’s… sick, my Lord. Can’t keep anything in her stomach, and just now she fainted,”

“Where is she?” Tyrion asked urgently.

“Her bedchamber, Milord. We got a squire to help her back into bed,”

As Tyrion made to hurry after the girl, Tywin’s hand rested firmly on his shoulder. “I will send the maester. He will prove whether or not you have done your duty to this family,”

***

“YN, my dear, can you hear me?”

Slowly, your heavy eyelids slid open, and you turned your head to the source of the noise. Smiling weakly, you squeezed your husband of two month’s hand.

“Are you alright, my lady wife,” he asked you gently, brushing his lips over your knuckles.

“I’m fine. I just got a little dizzy. Must have stood up too quickly,” you said gently, but you did not soothe Tyrion’s worry.

“Your handmaiden said you’ve been ill?” He prompted, and your cheeks heated slightly.

“It’s probably just… my women’s troubles,” you said quietly, still unused to talking about such delicate matters with anyone other than an old septa.

“Or lack thereof, lady Lannister?” The maester spoke up from the end of your bed and you frowned, about to say there really was no need for all this fuss. “The maids say your linen has been clean since your wedding night,”

Clean linen.

Those two words instantly reminded you of when Cousin Cat came to stay at Riverrun with her brooding husband. She had stayed for over a month, and halfway through her stay, you heard gossip of clean linen as you wandered the corridors of your home. Later on that year, she had birthed another child for Ned Stark.

“Does that mean…” you began.

The wisened maester smiled at your bewilderment. “Potentially. If my Lord and Lady are agreeable, I would like to examine lady Lannister to be certain,”

Tyrion smiled gently and kissed your hand once more. “I will give you some privacy, my dear,” he said, and once you nodded, he left the room to bang on the door to his father’s office.

***

“Have you put a babe in her belly?”

Tyrion rolled his eyes at his father’s callousness. “She is being examined as we speak,”

“Good,” Tywin said, hardly looking up from his paperwork. “You’d best hope she is with child and not ill. There aren’t many noble families willing to pawn off a daughter to us,” Tywin sighed and gestured to the chair opposite his desk. “Sit,” he said. “You clearly have something more to say,”

Tyrion was silent for a moment. “I do not want to lose her. She is young. Too young for… this,”

“She is only a few years younger than you. And besides, that didn’t stop you consummating the marriage, did it?”

If anything went on in Casterly rock, Tywin Lannister certainly knew about it within a day.

“No, it didn’t,” Tyrion said. You were nineteen after all, and you had consummated your marriage out of duty to your families.

The night-time visits, on the other hand…

“I’m scared that a baby will… that it will kill her,” Tyrion blurted out, and he could have sworn he saw some semblance of sympathy flash through his father’s eyes. “I am scared that my child will be too much like me. That it will rip her in two and kill her. That it won’t even live in her womb. That it will suffer. That… that she will suffer,”

Tywin stared long and hard at his youngest son, his bastard in all but name as far as he was concerned and sighed. “So am I,” was all he said, before gesturing to the door. And as he left the office, Tyrion knew that Tywin did not care for your suffering, for his suffering, or even for the child’s suffering. He cared only that his legacy remained.

***

Casterly Rock was alive with gossip.

No matter which corridor you walked down, people would stare, both openly and discretely at your belly, which barely showed thanks to the layers you wore (Tyrion insisted you wrapped up warm whenever you walked through the gardens, lest you catch a chill). You could not go a day without the maester inquiring about your general health, and when your swollen ankles were brought to your husband’s attention, he had the cobblers fashion you a pair of comfortable, yet fashionable flat shoes.

***

You were laying in your husband’s bed one night on the sixth moon of your pregnancy, a hand resting on your bump. “Leave the books, husband, and come to bed. I need you to tell your child to stop kicking me so we can all go to sleep. He seems to only listen to you,” Tyrion looked up from his books and sighed, shutting them over and coming to bed, his hand resting over yours. “You’ve gained a sudden interest in midwifery, I see,” you teased, but when he did not smile at your jest, you frowned. “What’s bothering you, husband?” You said gently.

“I…” Tyrion fumbled for the words, his eyes firmly on your belly. “I am frightened, YN,” he said quietly. “That the baby will… will have… will be a little too much like me.”

Of course. You cursed yourself for not even thinking that this could be plaguing your husband. You clasped Tyrion’s hand in yours. “Tyrion… even if the baby is born a dwarf, we will not treat him the way your father treated you,” you insisted, drawing small circles on the back of his hands.

“But what if it kills you like I killed my mother,” your heart ached for him, and you tipped his chin up to face you.

“Then you must promise me to love this child regardless,”

Tyrion’s heart ached. Neither of you had wanted this marriage, yet in the few short months you had been wed he had become fond of you, affectionate. He wanted to protect you from the horrors of a kingdom still reeling from the Rebellion that saw the end of the Mad King. He wanted to see you happy and comfortable and healthy. He would spend all of the gold in Casterly Rock to ensure your safety, despite the fact that your marriage was merely one of strategy arranged by his father and your uncle. You were still his wife, the most precious thing in his life.

But over the past nine months, he could do nothing to alleviate your discomfort. He could only hold back your hair and rub your back as you vomited, the only thing you could seemingly keep in your stomach was dried bread. When you could manage dining anywhere but your chambers, he ordered for the things that turned your stomach to be kept well away. When your legs and feet ached, he could only rub them in hopes of soothing the throbbing. When the baby kicked like mad at night, he rubbed your swollen belly so that you could rest, if only for a few moments at a time.

He watched as the veritable mountain that was your bump sapped you of your energy, and he knew there was nothing he could do to restore it.

And when the time came for you to birth the child, he knew his heart would ache even more as you laboured for hours in agony, with him unable to do anything to take the pain away.

***

You went into labour at night, your sharp gasp of pain as you heaved yourself out of bed waking your husband.

“My dear, are you alright?” He asked urgently, not groggy despite the fact he had been snoring like a boar just thirty seconds prior. As he lit a candle, he saw you grasping onto one of the bedposts, lips pressed together, suppressing your groan. “I will be back in a moment, YN, okay? I’m going to get help,”

“Hurry,”

True to his word, Tyrion returned a few moments later with a few sleepy maids and a septa, who laid fresh linen over the bed and began to send for boiling water. The maester was hot on their heels, scrambling to loop his chains over his neck, before shooing Tyrion and the maids out of the room.

Your groans and cries of pain permeated the walls of your bedchamber and down the hallways of Casterly Rock, and by sunrise, coins were being exchanged on the outcome of your labour. The smallfolk crowded near the walls of the castle, eager to call out prayers in hopes that the rich old lions felt generous after the birth.

Tyrion paced just outside of the room you were in, and every time a maid went in with fresh, boiled water and clean linen or came out with bloodstained cloths and empty bowls, he asked urgently how you were doing, but no one gave him an answer.

The septa left the birthing room, walking straight past the father of your child to… the grandfather. They talked in quick, hushed voices, that could not be heard over your pained cries, but Tyrion caught the two of them looking over their shoulder at him several times.

As the septa went back into the birthing room, Tywin walked over to Tyrion. He seemed to be in no apparent rush, his steps stately. Tyrion resisted the urge to scream at his father, to curse him for tormenting him while you laboured.

“When you were brought into the world,” he began, voice level and low, so Tyrion had to strain to hear what he was saying. “You were born, for lack of a better term, arse first. But then your shoulders got stuck inside the womb, and when you finally emerged, you dragged half of your mother’s womb out with you,”

Both men paled. Not only were they weak stomached when it came to the secretive world of a birthing chamber, but Tywin was plagued with memories from twenty or so years before, and Tyrion was plagued with guilt for killing his mother when he was a newborn, and fear that his child would do the same to you.

Tywin continued. “But the Septa has reported that the child is being born head first, as it should,” Tyrion nodded slowly. Tywin was about to continue when the door opened again.

“Pardon, Milords,” a maid carrying an armful of bloodied linen said. “Lady YN has asked for Lord Tyrion to… support her. The maester has permitted it, so long as Milord stays at the top end of the bed,”

Tyrion was frozen for a moment.

“Go,” Tywin said lowly, giving his son a small shove. “Your lady wife needs you now,”

Tyrion looked over his shoulder, and he was sure he could see a small glimmer of… sympathy in his father’s eye. Kindness even. And it was this look, paired with the shift in the way you screamed that had him running into the birthing chamber.

“Tyrion!” You sobbed, one hand reaching for him, the other reaching above you to grasp at the headboard. One of your trusted hand maids, who you had brought with you from Riverrun was at your other side, pressing a cool cloth to your forehead. Tyrion hurried to your other side, just in time for the maester to tell you to push, and the child was at last parted with your body.

All was silent for a tense few moments, until sharp cries filled the room. You could hear the cheering from the corridors.

“A boy, my lady,” the maester called out, and you sobbed for joy. “A healthy son. A little on the delicate side-”

“Is he-”

“No. He is not like you, my Lord. I delivered you and your siblings, and your son is exactly the size your brother was when he was born,”

“Can I hold him?” You whispered, your arms reaching out.

“Of course, my lady. He is your son,”

The child was handed to you, nuzzled against the bare skin of your breasts, his little cries soon petering out to soft snuffles of sleep. The maester left to deliver the good news to the Lord of Casterly Rock, but your world consisted only of Tyrion and your son.

“He’s perfect,” he said, letting out a relieved laugh. “And he’s going to tower over me when he’s a man grown,” You gave a laugh, happy tears streaming down your cheeks as you rested your head on his shoulder. Tyrion pressed his lips to your temple. “You wonderful, wonderful woman, I love you,” he murmured. “I swear to you on the old gods and the new that I will protect you and my son from all harm,”

You rubbed your son’s back gently, not wanted to disturb his sleep and you looked up to your husband. “Thank you,” you whispered. Tyrion, my Lord husband. My love,”

Tags: @sociallyawkward-princess @lazyotakujen @janelongxox @honeyofthegods @lxoxtxtxi @fullmoonshadowwrites

[infernalrevenge]

Hello, hello! I was wondering if I could possibly request your take on Reader and each of the Dimitrescu Daughters with how they show affection? Nuzzles, kisses, hugs/snuggles, terms of endearment, gifts, nsfw, etc. One big fluff-ball. Just bury me in the warm fuzzy. Thank you!

This is excellent timing, anon friendo because I had been thinking of making a Love Languages Headcanon List for some time now, so this is a great way to start on that! I hope this satisfies your mushy fluffy warm fuzzball desires (that I kept relatively PG) :P

------------

Bela Dimitrescu

Bela felt that she had a reputation to uphold as the eldest daughter of the Dimitrescu family, ever so meticulous yet also eager to please. But she does know her boundaries.

More often than not, she finds herself busy with her mother in helping run the business, hoping to one day become a proper heir. I mention all this so you know her situation -- she's a working gal and you gotta respect that.

However, she is not one to leave her loved ones hanging. The best way she shows her love is by spending quality time with you, doing things that you might enjoy. It gives her a chance to better get to know her love.

Of course she would have her way as well, doing activities she liked such as art, music, and more. You two might even try something new to the both of you, just for some added thrill.

It doesn't always have to be "something" to do though, she's more than happy to just simply be in the same space as you while you do your own thing. That counts as "doing something together", right?

You could be reading a book on one corner of the room and she could be reviewing some important notes on the bed, but you two are just so comfortable in the quiet space you've made for yourselves that it feels like you two are side-by-side.

She just likes to know you're there, your presence alone is a great source of comfort to her. She loves to see you happy and content, especially knowing it's because she's around. Once you get into it, there is no such thing as an awkward silence between the two of you.

I imagine she's not that big on initiating physical affection, but she would be hard pressed to deny you anything. From something as simple as holding her hand, to spooning and cuddling, to a full-on make out session -- all you have to do is ask. She's more than happy to deliver.

Her favorite position is being the big spoon in bed, finding a lot of comfort in knowing that you are in her grasp, safe and sound. She also enjoys planting a few kisses on your shoulder and neck in an attempt to rouse you from slumber.

While she was still courting you (because I like to imagine she's a bit of an old-fashioned romantic, but she would have courted you regardless of your gender), she would often bring you gifts. They weren't extravagant, but they were definitely meaningful, and often related to things you two had talked about in the past.

She didn't use pet names very often but she will call you "love" on occasion, especially if there was a chance you would call her that in return. She may not openly admit it but she just melts every time you call her that -- made it feel like having a crush on you all over again.

Even though she may seem distant on the outside, Bela is truly a woman who makes the most of her time with people she cares about. You are no exception to that, and she wants that to be known to you as much and as often as possible.

Cassandra Dimitrescu

Cassandra, much like her older sister, believes she too has a reputation to uphold within the family. Can't have her be seen going soft for just anyone.

But uh, plot twist: Girl just wants to be loved, and she doesn't even know it.

In private, she really really loves physical affection. She shows her love by clinging onto you as tightly as possible, melding so closely to you that it becomes hard to tell where her body ended and yours began.

She loves pressing her cheek and ear against your chest to hear the calming beat of your heart, the warmth of your skin just under her fingertips, and her head tucked right under your chin while you two lay in bed together.

Truthfully, she started doing this when you first got together because she enjoyed how flustered you seemed when she basically had herself wrapped around you. But over time, the both of you realized just how much she liked being this close to you too. You teased her for it once and she shut you out of your own room for a while. (She only let you back in because she suddenly missed cuddling you.)

This was a trait that kind of carried over from her hunting instincts, but she was very observant of others -- their tics, habits, routines, and all the like. She took notice of a lot of things other people did, didn't do, and couldn't do. It made her very attentive to her loved ones.

This manifested in the form of performing acts of service. Toward you, it ranged from simple things like keeping objects that were usually out of your reach to a more manageable height (either by her own action or an order to a servant) to helping you relax after a long and tiring day, to even performing your chores for you if she knew you were having a hard time with them.

Anything that she could help with to make herself useful, she would do. She wanted her loved ones to move around comfortably and without much worry, and she would take on that burden if that was what it took.

Granted it didn't necessarily mean she did well in these endeavors, but the effort did not go unnoticed. And you would never see the girl try to half-ass anything -- once she started on a task, you bet your sweet ass she was going to get it done too.

Her terms of "endearment" were very teasing and, out of context, could be downright insulting. You would never hear anything so generic as "baby" or "sweetie" (unless she was being condescending.) "Little shit" (affectionate) was more her speed.

If you also called her nicknames with a similar amount of creativity, she would return it with the same enthusiasm. She didn't take those things to heart anyway. If insults were a love language, this would be one of hers.

Cassandra is a little rough around the edges when it comes to love and intimacy, but she loves so fiercely. It's like a fire, raging on the more you feed its maw -- the only difference is that this fire would never die out.

Daniela Dimitrescu

Daniela is the most affectionate and most likely to be a hopeless romantic in the family. She always daydreamed of having a "knight in shining armor" of her own, but honestly she'll take anyone who would love her for herself.

Definitely the type to show off her wonderful significant other, either "subtly" through a bit of PDA, or more overtly through a lot of PDA and more grand gestures of love. Just let her do this, she has so much love to give and she needs that energy to go somewhere.

Even in private spaces, she would never let go of your hand if she had her way. Trying to separate from her when she wasn't in the mood would get you the "kicked puppy dog" treatment from her. It's not her fault you were so warm and nice to be around.

She loves being the little spoon in bed. There's just something reassuring about having a warm presence right behind her, your arms wrapped around her middle. You could even kick a leg on top of her waist -- all she wants is to get as close to you as she possibly can.

When you're working on a desk and sitting on a chair, she will inevitably sit on your lap and snuggle up against you while you try to do whatever it is you're doing. No matter how many times she promises that "you won't even know she's there", it's kind of hard to ignore the way she just buries her face into your neck and the little snores coming out of her if she falls asleep like this.

Calls you very cheesy and almost strange pet names like "honey pie" and "sweetie baby boo". You're never sure if she actually meant them or was messing with you because of her tone, but you can tell she was always amused by your reaction to them, which was part of the reason she kept saying them.

She did also have an inner poet though, so she may suddenly pull lines like "the moon to my night" that would make you stumble and wonder what had possessed your girlfriend. And then you would remember how much she enjoyed reading romance novels, so it made more sense.

Sometimes she'll pull them out early in the morning right as you two were just waking up, limbs entangled with the other's. Then you'd hear her call you "light of my life" in her deep sleepy voice, and you just have to hide the big goofy smile on your face behind a pillow or something.

She also loves to give you gifts, mostly because she liked how your face would light up whenever you received one. Oftentimes, they are little trinkets that remind her of you that she spotted one day and thought to give to you. Kind of like a cat presenting a dead mouse or bird to its owner, but not as gross.

She says "I love you" and any similar declarations pretty often, but the words never lose their meaning. Just know that she always says them with her whole heart, regardless of the tone she takes on when she does.

She also enjoys doing random acts of affection because she likes seeing how you react to them, whether you get all blushy and a little embarrassed, or you return them in kind. Either way, she is very happy and it gives her the warm fuzzies when you play along.

Like I said, Daniela just has so much love to give, and she would be so happy to see that energy enthusiastically returned. Just give her a chance and you'll never have to doubt her feelings for you.

[hockeyforthefirsttime]

The Art of Not Falling in Love- Roope Hintz

AN: This is a piece that is very self indulgent BUT it has a plot despite being like 80% smut. I am thinking of making more parts if people like this 

Word count: 5k 

TW: like its smut.. so like what do you expect. (Wrap it before you tap it) spanking light dom!Roope female reader 

You could never quite understand how you got into this situation. You’d sworn to never fall in love ever. The pain of watching the gruesome divorce of your parents, the way your friends seemed to find “the one” left and right, only to be heartbroken, was simply too much. So you decided to simply don’t fall in love ever. 

And you’d kept that promise to yourself, ever since 15. Sure a few crushes came up now and then, but you never acted on them, and you made sure no one knew about the feeling. The only person in your life that knew about this promise to yourself was your best friend Jamie.

The first person you’d met in Dallas when you’d first moved there. You had been a freshman in college and he had been, ironically so, the first person to hit on you in Dallas, and you hadn’t even officially gotten there yet.  It happened on the plane ride. He was seated beside you and you couldn’t for the life of you remember the pick up line he used. You just know it was bad, cause you remember laughing at it and the way he tried to manage his long limbs into the airplane seat. It had gone uphill from there on, and you were glad he didn’t get offended by you laughing at him. 

Now, however, you were sitting in the stands of the American Airlines Center, watching him and his team scramble across the ice in a turnover, passing the puck up the ice. Roope Hintz picks it up and flicks it into the goal, just over the left shoulder of the Blackhawks goalie, making the Stars take the lead with three minutes left in the third period. The stands erupt in wild cheers and the team celebrates on ice. You jump with the rest of the crowd, and clap enthusiastically. Knowing that it’s gonna be an insufferable team to meet afterwards. After all, athletes tend to be after winning a game like this. 

The buzzer goes off and the Dallas Stars have officially ended their losing streak. The crowd is going wild, jumping up and down, making the stands shake just a little. Thats when you decide to sneak out of the stands and find your way to the outside of the locker room, where Jamie had promised he would meet you. 

You have been around a few times, and sure enough you find your way. Jamie had made sure to let the security staff know that you would be around after the game. There is a soccer ball laying around so you pick it up and start bouncing it on your jeans clad thigh, then dropping it down onto your foot and up again, alway in control. You lose yourself to the ball, concentrating on keeping it in the air, so much so that you don’t notice the door slamming open until the boom of it makes you drop the ball. 

“Jesus fuck.” 

You whisper as you look up to find the source of the noise. What you find shouldn’t surprise you, but seeing a shirtless Roope Hintz standing there with a frown on his face, makes heat rush up your neck regardless. 

“Who are you?” 

He looks suspiciously at you, taking in the skinny jeans and the absence of a jersey. As well as the forgotten soccer ball. 

“Sorry, just here for Oleksiak.” 

You try to shrug it off, looking for the ball again. His eyes squint suspiciously at you, but his head tilts backwards as he calls for Jamie. He comes bounding out of the locker room, shirtless, but fresh out of the shower. He’s in the middle of zipping up his game day slacks, and the smile already on his lips gets wider.  

“You could have waited with the others you know?” 

Jamie says cheekily to you. The heat to your face returns, but not in full force. You look at his tall stature and the smaller man beside him. And for some reason, the blonde star of the night is the one to make you look away. You shoot daggers at Jamie instead. 

“You know, you could have told me where they were, so I didn’t have to stand here like some other crazed fan.” 

Roope slowly turns around and walks away, closing the door with one last curious look directed at you. 

“Oh come on, we all know you’re crazy for me.” 

Finally you can feel yourself relax a little, with a sigh you take a step closer to him. 

“Yeah, crazy for you to leave me alone.” 

He wraps you up in his arms and lifts you up in the air, laughing as you gasp at the surprise of being lifted up. 

“Congrats by the way, you played well today.” 

You say to him, as he lets you back down on the ground again.  

“Thank you Sparks.” 

“Now go get dressed completely, I suppose you want to celebrate tonight?” 

His signature, tooth lacking smile is on full display as he slings an arm around your shoulders. Jamie looks at you with a mischievous look. 

“We really want to celebrate this, and besides, we really need to get you laid.” 

You wrench your way out of his grip and scowl at him, pushing him in the direction of the door to the locker room. 

“Get dressed you idiot.” 

You say with a flat voice, trying to remain serious, and failing when you see Jamie wink at you last minute. You immediately go back to juggling the soccer ball, as the door slams shut. 

A couple of girls are walking towards you, and you suspect they’re here looking for their boyfriends or husbands. That’s until you see the flustered cheeks and whispers of “I can’t believe we made it all the way here.” and the agreements that follow. 

Their eyes land on you and your soccer ball, and their expressions instantly sour. You try to shrug it off, but when the whispering starts again, you look up from the ball. You start getting suspicious when one of the three girls flicks her long, perfectly curled, brunette hair over her shoulder and opens her immaculately painted lips to say something. 

“You shouldn’t be here you know.” 

The confidence in her voice almost has you fooled for someone who belongs there. Almost. You’ve never seen her close to any of them ever, even if you had managed to stay out of the public eye yourself. Something about this trio didn’t feel right. You stop juggling the ball and drop it to your foot, catching it without bounce and then placing your foot on top of it.  

“Why not?” 

You ask out of curiosity of what the answer would be.

“Well, it’s reserved for the wags, you know, so you don’t belong here.” 

You tilt your head and raise a brow, questioningly. 

“Isn’t that what the owner's box is for? you know with reserved seats, food and really comfortable sitting options?” 

A blush seems to rise through her make- up and you restrain yourself a little, you really don’t want to make her an enemy. Just in case. 

“Yeah.. I just need to see my man before we head home.”

She stutters out, looking at her two friends who nod encouragingly at her. 

“Okay, just remind me who it is again?” 

You play dumb, knowing that the media is about to get out of the room in a minute. 

“Jamie ofcourse.” 

And her voice is so confident as she says it, you let a smile show before chuckling. They really thought they could fool anyone with that. Just in that moment, the door opens and cameras and notepads or tape recorders start filing out of the door. 

You walk over to the door, holding it open for the stream of reporters and crew. Then you duck a head in and yell for Jamie. 

“Oleksiak, your girlfriend is here…” 

It isn’t intentional all the way, but it comes out in a sing- song voice.  

The entirety of the team turns to face you. Briefly you meet the eyes of Roope, who’s still shirtless. Just as Jamie passes you by with a confused look, you tap his now clothed arm to make him bend down just a little.

“Ehh, so someone somehow got past security, apparently you’re her boyfriend.” 

You say to him, loud enough for the closest teammates to hear. 

“Jesus Christ, not again.” 

Jamie mutters. Stephen Johns is closest and has his phone in seconds calling someone. You let a glance out the door and see the girls huddled together, suddenly looking unsure. Jamie takes a look over your shoulder and sighs. 

“Guess I should distract them until security gets here, just stay here.”

You roll your eyes, but stay put. Then suddenly you realise where you are, feeling like an intruder. 

“Sorry guys, didn’t mean to intrude, just thought you should know about the girls outside.” 

You say, trying to not look too closely at anyone. You can feel the heat rising up your neck. 

“‘S alright, not everyday we get to know a girl from Jamie's side.”

Tyler Seguin says from his seat by his gear. 

“Oh I know, he has a hard time finding decent ones.” 

You say it absentmindedly, but the entire team seems to crack up at that. You feel a little bad, but you also know it as true and it's already said, so you can’t take it back. 

“Seems like he did alright with you.” 

Roope says as he pulls his button up over his arms and starts pushing the buttons through the holes.

“Ahh, a common mistake. Not a girlfriend and not sleeping with him either.” 

His brows raise and a cheeky smile forms on his face. But he doesn’t say anything else. You feel off, of sorts. He doesn’t irk you like the girls did. And it was kind of scaring you. It’s the feeling you get when you start being intrigued, and you don ‘t need that now.

-------

You’re sitting at the bar, alone, not that you mind it, because the girl who finally got Jamie had been ogling him all night and talking too loud, and it was a relief when you saw them walk out the door. He had asked multiple times if it was okay for him to leave, so much so that you almost drove the uber back to her place yourself. 

Staring down at the drink in your hand, you realised you were too sober and too far behind on studying (not really) to be sitting here, in a place you didn’t want to be. So you got up, turned around and immediately crashed into a hard chest. Looking up, you find a wild head of blonde curls and a heavenly cologne. Roope Hintz.

“Can I help you you mr. Star?” 

You said ask as he leans closer, if that was even possible, without touching you. He at least has the decency to chuckle and look a little bashful as you address him that way. 

“You sure you’re not even a little infatuated with Oleksiak?” 

Rolling your eyes, you lean back onto the bar and cross your ankles. 

“Why? Are you jealous?” 

You give him a flirty smile, just for the hell of it. Roope steps forward so his feet are planted on either side of yours, not touching this time either, and leans an arm beside you, making him come impossibly close to you. 

“What if I am?” 

He asks, and his eyes are roaming all over your face, ignited with a desire you haven’t seen in far too long. It makes a heat pool in your stomach, and a little in your cheeks. Just purely out of the close proximity. 

“Then you’re gonna be sorely disappointed.” 

You try to sound casual, but Roope leans a little closer.

“And why is that?” 

You can tell he is curious, and your judgement is compromised from the closeness of him. Maybe one night wouldn’t hurt, right?

“I’m a one time offer, an-” 

Roope doesn’t even let you finish your sentence, before he has your hand in his. Just as you touch it feels like a wave of something indescribable washes over you. You’d never felt anything like it. 

“I can do that. Come along now, we haven’t got all night.” 

Roope drags you away from the bar and you scramble to keep up the first few steps. When you catch up, he laces his fingers through yours, and heads out the door. It’s cold out, and since you haven’t really been outside today, all you have is the sweater you came to the rink in. You hadn’t been dressed for a club at all, but he didn’t seem to mind. You wrap your arms around yourself, to try to preserve some of the heat from the inside. Roope has a keen eye and steps behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“One time offer, remember?” 

“Oh yeah, that doesn’t mean I can’t be nice, or no?” 

And as he pulls you closer to him, you can feel in your bones (and your lower back) that he isn’t nearly as nice as he’s pretending to be. And you catch yourself thinking that you can’t wait to see what this turns into. 

“Just, doubting what you define as nice, that’s all.” 

At that Roope, let out a little chuckle, before leaning down a little and placing small kisses on your exposed neck. He works his way up to your ear. 

“I can be very nice, it all depends on you though.” 

With a final kiss to your cheek, he steps away from your heated face, and looks at the uber that’s now in front of you, double checking that it’s the right one. How in the hell had you missed the car pulling up to the curb? Roope opened the door to the back seat and let you enter first. Then he entered shortly after you, told the lady driving the car his address and turned to face you. 

“Didn’t think you were that shy, sweetheat.” 

He gestured to the entire middle seat between the two of you. You just shake your head, with a coy smile on your lips. 

“Just been a while.” 

You say quietly, not wanting the driver to hear. Regardless, she looks at you, very discreetly, through the rearview mirror. You give her a reassuring smile trying to convey that you feel safe and that you’re okay. She gives you a wink in return. 

“I’ll make it worth your time.” 

Roope leads you into an elevator and punches one of the higher numbers, all the while his eyes are roaming you, mentally undressing you. Most definitely wondering what he would find underneath the sweater and jeans. You are absolutely feeling a little shy with the way he looks at you. However, at the same time you’re looking at him, wondering what he is going to do, if he will be soft or hard in demeanor, if he’s gonna be rough or boring, but somehow something in his eyes tells you, it’s gonna be anything but boring. 

The elevator stops, and he steps closer, taking your hand in his, entwining your fingers and leading the way out of the elevator. Just two doors down he pulls some keys out of his back pocket and steadily unlocks the door, no fumbling. You take it as a good sign even if you already knew that he wasn’t even close to being drunk. The lock clicks in place and the door slides open, revealing a dark hallway. Roope steps in first and flicks on the light. It’s neat, considering what you had been expecting. The door shuts behind you, and you hear the lock clicking. 

Toeing off your shoes you turn and find Roope already staring at you. His eyes are considerably darker. He drops the jacket he had been wearing to the floor and beckons you with a finger to follow him, all silent and a little domineering, half a smile on his lips. You see the light flicker on in the hallway as you follow him down to the left and then the first door on the right hand side it’s the only open door, but it’s not fully lit inside. Carefully you step inside, when nothing happens, you take one more step in and the room is suddenly full of tension. 

The light here is turned on low, and Roope is standing in front of you taking slow steps towards you. Determined to stand your ground you remain unmoving, but your eyes roam him, and he seems to notice. With a smirk he takes a hand behind his neck and promptly yanks the shirt off of his upper body. You feel your jaw dropping just a little as you scan him over. 

“Look at me in the eyes babe.” 

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you remain in your spot steadily holding his gaze. He takes a step closer, and then another, until he’s standing mere inches from you. A devious smile is playing on his lips, when one of his hands lands on your waist. His thumb rubs circles on your hip, just underneath the emerald sweater of yours. 

“Are you sure about this?” 

He asks, taking his other hand up and caressing your cheek. You nod your head yes. 

“I’m gonna need you to use your words for me.” 

The hand that’s on your cheek is suddenly forcing your face upwards to meet his eyes. 

“I’m sure about this.” 

You whisper, again meeting his eyes. Just as the sentence leaves your mouth, he immediately goes to kiss you, but you pull back just slightly, just to tease, and maybe test him a little. He sees the mischievous glint in your eyes, and his smile widens.

“Oh you wanna play like that, huh?” 

Roope’s hands slip from your body, before meeting again behind your thighs, lifting you up into his arms. You stare down into his darkened eyes, and lean into him. He lets you kiss him for a couple of seconds, before he deepens it. You let him, not really feeling like fighting him. His lips move from yours and down your neck, as he walks towards the bed, you can feel him leaving a few hickies before dropping you onto the bed. 

“Off with the sweater, kaunis.” 

You look up at him, while crossing your arms and gripping the bottom of the sweater, letting him take in all of you as the green top comes off. Underneath is a simple black bra and you can see his pupils dilate at the sight of you. 

“That one I’m gonna take off myself.” 

He leans over you, until you’ve laid down flat on the bed. He’s hovering over you, resting on his forearms, yet his hips have already settled between your legs. You can feel him there hard and heavy. His breath playing across your collarbones, makes you feel the anticipation building in your entire body. 

He presses a quick kiss to your lips before he starts leaving open mouth kisses down the valley of your breasts, he shifts his weight so he is leaning more on one arm and slides the other underneath your back, and makes quick work of unfastening your bra. The tension leaves the straps and you let them fall off. Then with his teeth he bites the middle of the bra, lifting it off your body and chucking it away with his free hand. 

“Upea.” 

You don’t question his words, honestly feeling a little more turned on as he speaks to you in a language you don’t understand. With a wink he kisses each of your tits a few times, before moving further down. 

“Still good?” 

He asks, and you feel your heart ache a little at it, and immediately shove the feeling aside.

“Yes, so good.”

You say, all out of breath as his fingers pop open the button, and slowly pull down the zipper of your jeans. In a swift motion he has his fingers in what you assume is the belt loops and has pulled down your jeans along with the black underwear you had been wearing. Instinctively you try to close your legs, but two calloused hands on either of your knees stops that motion. 

“I’ve got you.” 

Roope says as he leans into your right thigh and starts leaving kisses again. Closer and closer to your core, and when he finally is there, he switches to the other tigh, repeating the process. Your hands, which have been clenching the sheets, finally go to his long hair, tugging a little. Roope lets out a little groan and you swear you can feel it in your entire body.

“Aww, look how wet you are, all for me?” 

He asks in a husky voice. 

“All for you, all for you.” 

Roope seems to revel in the admittance rolling off your tongue, before he lets himself have a taste. At least that’s what you think is happening. You feel his hot breath fan over your core, and he is painfully close, you lift your hips just slightly to meet his mouth, just as he pulls away. 

“My bed, my rules. Now, you’re gonna have to ask really nicely to cum, before I let you. Got it?” 

You’re so lost in desperation for his mouth that you can only nod. You both hear and feel the sigh escaping him, before he lands a little smack on the inside of your thigh. It causes you to let out a strangled moan and clench around nothing. 

“Didn’t I tell you? Words.” 

“I’m sorry, I’ll ask to cum.” 

And then he’s all over you. The pent up feeling you have in your body only seems to grow as he spends his time licking and lapping at your folds. With his arms around your thighs and eyes firmly set on yours, your body's working overtime trying to feel everything. You feel your grip on his hair tighten as his mouth finds you clit and a finger easily slides inside you. 

“Fuuuck, feels so good.” 

You draw out the vocals as he hums against you. Your breathing went uneven a long time ago, but now you’re struggling to control anything that comes out of your mouth. Especially as the second finger enters you and he makes a “come here” motion with his fingers, finally finding that one particular spot. It nearly sends you over the edge.

“Ah ah, ask first.” 

Your brain feels like mush as he continues his assault on your pussy. 

“Please may I cum?” 

Roope hums against you, before leaning away a little. 

“No, I want you to beg.” 

He goes back in, feeling the way your body is wound so tightly you don’t know where to turn, not being able to think clearly. 

“Please, I’ll be so good, just please please let me cum.” 

Again Roope hums. 

“Okay, only if you’re a good girl though.” 

He says looking up at you, with that smirk of his, before he dives back in.  You can feel the tension in your body tightening, and when his tongue does a particularly intense stroke over your clit you can’t hold it anymore. Your legs clamp around his head and you let out a drawn out moan of pleasure as he lets you ride out the high on his face. 

When you can’t take it anymore, you gently guide his face away from your core. Roope has this cocky grin on his face and you can’t help but like it being directed at you. You pull him up towards you and kiss him deeply, not really caring if you can taste yourself on his lips. Finally he lets your hands wander over the planes of his upper body, feeling the muscles tense and flex as your fingers trace every ridge of his body. He seems to really like kissing you, but he does notice that your hands go lower and lift his hips up a little to make room so you can pop the button of his jeans. As soon as the zipper is down, your hand traces the waistband of his boxers. 

“You gonna play with me like this all night, rakas?” 

He asks with a playful tone of voice. 

“Maybe.” 

You tease, pulling on the waistband of the boxers, before releasing it, making it snap against his skin. He leans away from you completely, getting up so he’s on his knees, but otherwise full height. Your legs are caught between his, so you can only sit up as far. Not that you mind though, with the way he towers over you, giving you perfect access to the bulge that’s now in your direct line of vision. Without really meaning to your jaw goes slack. His pointer finger is under your chin, making you look up at him.  

“Eyes up here, yeah?” 

You nod innocently at him, making him groan at the sight of you. 

“Good girl. Now let’s see if we can put that mouth of yours to good use.” 

You blush at his words and the smirk on his lips. Regardless, you start peeling the boxers and jeans down his legs. Slowly. Since this is going to be a one time thing, you think, you’re gonna savour this moment. His skin is hot beneath your fingers, but not as hot as your cheeks the moment his cock springs free of it’s confinement. You’re definitely not complaining about any aspect of it. 

Without a second thought you put your lips around the angry red tip, letting your tongue explore every inch of his dick. Roope seems to like what you’re doing, judging by the groaning and panting above you. One of his hands is in your hair, doing a makeshift ponytail as you continue to suck him off. Suddenly, he all but pulls you off his cock, which now seems even more red than it was before. With strings of saliva hanging from your mouth, connected to his dick. Roope lets out a groan that makes your inside tingle before he slides back off the bed.

“I’m going to ruin you so good, rakas.” 

He kicks off his jeans and boxers before he is over you again. You look him in the eyes nodding, before spreading your legs, letting him settle between them. He cages you in with his arms, and for some reason, even with his dark gaze upon you, you feel safe. And when he grabs your arms, pinning them beside your head you let out a content sigh. Not only because you’re completely letting go, but because you can feel his cock brushing against your stomach. The anticipation is almost killing you. 

Roope, kisses up and down your neck, whispering dirty somethings in your ear, because they aren’t nothing. They are all his fantasies, of what he has come up with that he wants to do with you. As well as to you. Most of all though, you think he just enjoys watching you squirm in need of him. When he lets go of your right hand, it traces your throat.

��Now, put my cock inside yourself.” 

It’s a demand, and you follow through, out of desperation to feel him inside. You wrap your hand around his dick, carefully tugging at him, running your thumb over the tip, teasing. With a little smile on your lips. Roope is quick to kiss it away, delving into you, with a passion you’ve never felt before. “Inside, now. Or this teasing of yours is gonna have some serious consequences.” 

He mumbles against your lips, so you do as told, guiding him to your entrance. You both let out content sighs as he finally sinks into you. He is going slow at first. Letting you adjust to having him inside you. 

“Look so good for me like this.” 

You can only nod as he starts moving his hips in slow, deep thrusts. He finds a pace and as soon as you start clenching around him, when he hits that part of you. His pace picks up. The hand that’s still holding onto yours, they are now intertwined in each other. His other hand is caressing your hip. You’re pretty much just a blubbering mess of his name and curses as he hits all the right parts. 

With a final kiss to your lips, he leans up a bit, so his thighs are resting on his calves creating a steep angle, so you almost slip off him. Almost. He pulls you closer by the hips, making you yelp out, before your legs are planted on either side of him, giving yourself a little more leverage as he hits deep inside of you. The moan that escapes you is genuine, and you squeeze your eyes shut in pleasure. At that you feel a sharp sting on your thigh again. 

“Eyes on me.” 

In the fog of pleasure all you manage to get out is a weak. “Yes, sir.” 

Opening your eyes, you see Roope straining a little as well. His cheeks are tinted and his breathing is really uneven. But his eyes are blown with pleasure, and as you guide his hand to your lower stomach where you can vaguely feel him moving in and out of you. It looks like a new fire has been ignited inside him. 

His hand slips from yours as he lets it go to rub at your clit again. The pleasure almost becomes too much, and your eyes roll a little at the feeling. 

“May I please cum, sir?” 

You manage to moan out, barely remembering his demand from before. 

“Hold it for like three seconds, I’m gonna count you down.” 

So you look him in the eyes and let him blow out your back for a few more thrusts, and then he starts counting down. 

“3”

His rhythm changes as he slows down and goes harder, deeper. 

“2” 

He moans as you clench around him. 

“1, cum for me.” 

And you do. It starts in your stomach, and like a warm tide it washes over your entire body. Roope fucks you through it, before he finally pulls out and with a loud groan he is jerking himself off, letting go in hot spurts all over your torso. He finishes and stares down at his personal masterpiece. With your rapidly raising stomach and chest covered in his cum, you can tell by the smirk on his lips. He’s satisfied.

“I’ll be right back.” 

Roope says with a wink, and you just nod. Because even though you just had the best sex to date, you were trying to gather your thoughts. On how to get home. You don’t see where he goes, but you hear water running from a sink. When he’s back from the bathroom, you assume, he has a wet  washcloth in hand and is wearing a fresh pair of boxers. Gently he wipes his cum from your chest and stomach, and a little in between your legs. 

And you’re almost completely ruined by how gentle he is. But you have a promise to keep, and you’re not planning on betraying yourself. He leaves again to toss the cloth into the hamper. When he comes back, you have gathered your underwear and bra, and are standing on the floor on slightly shaky legs. 

“You’re leaving?” 

And that was really the first sign. 

“Yeah, one time offer. Remember?” 

You answer, looking for your jeans. Roope sweeps them off of the floor and hands them to you. 

“Yeah, right.” 

You get dressed in silence, and when your last sock is on. You straighten up. 

“I’ll just find the way out myself.” 

It’s meant to be casual, but Roope immediately refuses. 

“No no, I’ll walk you out.” 

And he does, following close behind you. You’ve just gotten your shoes on, when your phone pings. It’s a notification from uber that your ride is here. You’ve put your hand on the door knob and opened the door, when Roope, who was leaning against the wall, pulls you back and kisses you deeply. 

“Next time you need an orgasm, give me a call.”

He says with a wink. 

In the car back to your apartment, you can feel it. You’re not gonna get rid of Roope after what just went down in his bedroom. The worst part of it is that you’re not sure you want it to be a one time thing. Fuck.