#im going to be a tour guide but I have to know the history of the city

[ultraviollettt]

I'm going to pretend to write a fanfiction so I can actually get myself to research something

[rafeandonlyrafe]

mexico

words: 1.2k

warnings: 18+ only, smut, p in v sex, soft!rafe, established relationship, overbearing/annoying parents, proposal, marriage talk

“and why would i not want to come?” rafe questions, a soft smile on his face as he looks over to you.

“my family can be… a lot sometimes. i wouldn't blame you if you couldn't be around them for a whole two weeks.” you explain softly.

“but then i would have to be away from you for two whole weeks.” rafe hums. “i can put up with them if it means being with you.”

“stop it.” you whine out. “you're gonna make me all blushy.”

“i love how easily i get you all flustered.” rafe laughs, pulling you onto his lap.

you've purposely only let rafe around your parents in small doses. they can be overwhelming, intense, and if they get on your nerves, they'll certainly get on rafes.

rafe holds you closer to his chest, his mouth finding yours. you allow him to kiss you for a minute before you pull away, much to rafes dismay as he frowns.

“okay, so to prepare you for them-”

“kiss first.” rafe interrupts. “prepare later.”

you can't argue with that logic.

--

“rafe, did you remember your socks and underwear?”

“mom!” you gasp. “he's a grown man, oh my god. you don't need to announce that in a crowded airport.” you hiss out the last part, a warning against any of her antics, not that it does anything to dull her.

“oh, relax sweetie.” she laughs. “i just don't want your boyfriend to have to get to mexico only to have to buy a pack of undies.”

“oh my god.” you grab rafe, pulling him a bit farther away from your parents, hopefully meaning they won't talk to either of you as much. “im so sorry about them.”

“hey, it's fine.” rafe presses a kiss to the top of your head. “just think about mexico. we're going to get there and lay out on the beach just the two of us. ill take you shopping and we'll spend all our money on tourist traps.”

“yeah, when my dad isn't forcing us to go to museums or cultural sites and my mom isn't snapping 1,000 pictures of us.” you look over at your parents only to realize your mom is taking a picture of you at this very moment.

your groan is drowned out by rafes laughter.

--

“mama, we are going out to the beach!” you call.

“oh, goodness!” she quickly rushes into the living room, the back patio opening up right onto the sand.

“be back in time for dinner, dears!” she says, grabbing a bottle of sunscreen and adding it to your bag.

“we'll be just outside, mom.” you say, allowing her to kiss both your cheeks. despite finding your parents overwhelming at times, you love them and know they love you too.

“rafe, she burns easily. make sure you reapply for her.” your mom says, pressing a kiss to his cheek as well.

“yes ma'am.” rafe nods.

you make your way outside before she can say anything else, walking until you're closer to shore.

“let me know when you need more sunscreen.” rafe smirks at you as you both lay out towels. “im always down to get my hands on your body.” 

“perv.” you laugh, making rafe growl and reach over to tickle your sides, ending up lying on the same towel in a heap.

--

your hand in rafes is the biggest solace as your dad continues on about the history of the town, deigning himself an honorary tour guide.

“sorry about this.” you squeeze rafes hand. it was interesting at first, but now that you're on the third hour of explanation about the architecture of one building or how the streets were made, it's becoming boring and manatonis.

“no problem.” rafe hums. “seriously you gotta stop apologizing, baby. your parents aren't that bad, plus, they made you, so i kinda have to thank them for that.”

“oh you're so sweet.” you whine, leaning in to turn your voice into a whisper. “you are absolutely getting laid tonight.”

“and you are absolutely getting treated to a beautiful and private dinner. i already talked to your mom about it. she called me a little romantic.” rafe smirks.

--

“you are a little romantic.” you giggle, reaching across the table to hold rafes hand, the flame of the candle flickering in between the two of you, appetizers and entrees finished, waiting for a dessert to split to be brought out to you.

“have to tell your mom she was right.” 

“hopefully they're asleep when we get back.” you can't help the smirk that stretches over your cheeks.

“oh, you are desperate for it, huh?” rafe laughs, sitting back as the waiter brings you out a chocolate cake dripping in fudge.

“it's been like four whole days, of course im desperate.”

--

“oh fuck.” you whisper, head tilted back against the sheets, rafe between your legs, thrusting mercilessly inside of you.

“god, you're so warm.” rafe hums out, burying his cock inside of you repeatedly.

“to-touch me.” you whine out, rafe instantly knowing what you're really asking for. “i need it.”

rafe drops his hand to your clit, rubbing it as he feels you pulsing around him as your high builds.

“nice and tight for me baby. and so wet.” rafe hums out, struggling to keep his voice low since your parents are asleep not far away.

“gonna cum- rafe!” you let out a gasp. “gonna cum, please.”

rafe moves as fast as his tired legs will allow, wishing he wasn't so worn out from the very long walk around the city with your father.

he makes up for his lack of pace with his thumb on your clit, rubbing and flicking over your bud until your high breaks.

your back arches off the bed with a moan as you cum probably a little too loud, rafe releasing inside of you only a moment later with a moan of his own.

--

“some mama and me time would be nice.” you smile, looking at the spa package your mom laid out in front of you.

“mhm. and your dad has something planned for him and rafe.” she says, looking over to your boyfriend.

“are you okay with that?” you ask, looking over at him as he eats his bacon.

“sure.” he nods. “would be nice to get to know him. one on one, ya know.”

--

“where are we going?” rafe questions, looking out the taxi window as it takes him further into the city.

“a shop.” your father just hums out, leaving it at that.

“okay.” rafe allows the silence to settle until they reach the store. he understands exactly why he's been brought here as he sees the storefront, advertising glittering bracelets and diamond rings.

“sir, i should let you know-” rafe clears his throat, reaching into his pocket to pull out the velvet box. “i already have what i think you brought me here to influence me to buy.”

your father's eyebrows raise in surprise as rafe continues.

“i haven't asked your permission yet, but i know i want to marry your daughter. i love her very much.”

“we would be honored to have you become part of our family, son.” your dad says, clearing his throat as tears well in his eyes.

--

“last night.” you hum, looking out onto the the water, the moonlight glittering over the waves.

“actually-” rafe smiles, tucking you further into his side. “we are extending our trip by a week. your parents are going home, though.”

“really?” your eyes widen.

“they insisted, actually.” he chuckles. “on one condition.”

“what's the condition?” you question as rafe sinks to his knees pulling out a box.

“that you say yes.”

[tikosblogg]

Best friends.

Summary: y/n and Noah are bestfriends/house mates and y/n is an INNOCENT virgin, but she has been so horny for days, but can’t seem to satisfy the urge. So Noah offers his help.

Warning: guided masturbation, fingering, oral (f receiving), soft dom Noah, praise. Nothing crazy, actually kind of sweet, talk about growing up religious.

A/N: I’ve had this thought for DAYS. I finally decided to write it all out. Kind of short, sorry about that. Please enjoy!

“FUCK THIS” I groaned, pulling my hand out of underwear. I’ve been at this for an hour and half now. Nothing is working. My fingers, my brand new vibrator, porn. NOTHING is getting me off. Probably because I haven’t really done this before a week ago.

I am a 25 year old woman…and virgin. Now before you judge, it’s not all my fault. I grew up in a super religious family. Church every Monday, Wednesday, and Sunday. My parents were so extremely strict, I never had freedom. I was never able to do anything, or go anywhere. I never had friends, unless they were from church. Then there was the number one rule “NO BOYS.”

As soon as I turned 18, I fled that house. I went to college. I never went back. I don’t have a great relationship with my parents because of that. So as a result of growing up the way I did..even at college I didn’t really have the social skills to make friends, or meet any guys…

I just stuck to studying, and eventually graduated. Then I started working as a full time producers assistant. That’s how I met Noah. He was in the studio one week, working on some tracks. I was there the whole time. We talked a lot, got to know each other. We became great friends. I met the rest of the band, we got a long really well.

Now here we are 2 years later, I moved in with Noah and the guys. I ended becoming Noah’s personal assistant, and the rest is history. I groaned rolling over to check the time on my phone. 11:30pm. I sat up kicking my comforter off, and sliding out of my soaked panties making my way to the kitchen. The whole house is dark, and quiet.

The boys just got done with the tour, so all the guys went home to see their families. It’s just me, and Noah. He’s definitely probably passed out in bed by now. I padded across the cold tile, grabbing a cup from the cabinet. I filled it up with water, and hopped onto the kitchen island. I chugged the water down, placing the empty glass beside me. Dropping my face into my hands, I let out another sigh.

I couldn’t stop the tears of frustration from falling down my cheeks. I have all this pent up frustration that I can’t do anything about it. Probably because I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know why I didn’t start trying to get to know myself sooner. Growing up the way I did, and then going without as long as I did…I just never had the urge.

Ever since I moved in with Noah, I’ve experienced all these different feelings. Im not blind, Noah is my best friend, but he’s hot. Probably the sexiest man to walk this earth. Like when he walks through the house without a shirt on? It feels like my entire body is on fire. When he calls me sweetheart, angel? Instant butterflies. One time he hugged me, and his hands were just above the top of my ass and I almost lost my mind.

I continued to let silent sobs escape, until a soft voice made me freeze. “Angel?” My head shot up, looking towards the hallway. Noah stood there in his joggers, his hair a mess. He wore a concerned look on his face, as he walked over to me. “What’s going on sweetheart?” He cupped my cheeks in his hands, wiping my tears with his thumbs.

I shake my head, giving him a small smile. “It’s nothing Noah. I’m fine, I promise.” There is no way I’m telling him. Oh you know, just can’t make myself cum. So I decided to come in here and cry about it. “You’re obviously not fine. Please, tell me.” He spoke so softly. He readjusted to stand between my thighs. He was so close, I could feel my heart speed up, and my face flush. I’m not wearing panties. Noah and I have always been able to be honest with each other, but this is humiliating.

He knows I’m virgin, but the idea of telling him I can’t even get myself off is next level embarrassment. “Everything is okay. I’m just…” the words caught in my throat. One of his hands left my cheek, landing high up on my thigh. “Just what?..” His hand felt hot to the touch. I could feel my pussy throbbing. He has no idea what he does to me. God I really need to stop thinking about him this way. It doesn’t help when he’s the close to me.

I closed my eyes, letting out a soft sigh. Nuzzling deeper into his hand, I continued. “I’m just frustrated.” He lifted my face up towards his, sliding his hand up and down my thigh, in a comforting way. Only it didn’t feel too comforting. “Frustrated about wha-“ he stopped mid sentence, as I tried squeezing my thighs together only to be stopped by his body still standing between them.

I quickly squeezed my eyes shut in embarrassment. He eyes moved from my thighs, back to my closed lids with a stern look. I was caught. He is about to laugh in my face, and walk out. I slowly opened my eyes, to Noah’s looking straight at me. They looked two shades darker. I decided to try explain myself.

“I can’t….i tried to ..” I dropped my head in shame. I know I can trust him. I don’t know why this is so hard. He pulled me closer until my head was against his chest. “You tried to what?” His voice was just above a whisper, as he ran his fingers through the side of my hair. “I tried to..to touch myself and….” He nodded his head encouraging me to continue. “I’ve tried for a week straight, but it’s not working. I’m getting frustrated. I can’t take it anymore.”

I let out a loud sob shoving my face deeper in his chest, wishing I could shrink myself so small I’d disappear. I realize I’m probably being very dramatic, but I just don’t care anymore at this point. I’m going insane. After a few seconds of silence, Noah finally pulled away bringing us face to face. He wiped the rest of my tears before softly speaking. “What have you tried?”

I shook my head between his hands with a soft laugh. “Everything Noah. My toys, my hands. Nothing is working.” He stood silently, still watching me. Clearly battling himself with what he was gonna say next. “Y/n…I can help you…I mean if you me to.” My eyes widened into saucers. Help me? He wants to help me get myself off?

He noticed the panic on my face, quickly speaking up. “Only if you’re comfortable with it. I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I just wanna help you.” Before I could even give it a second thought, my head was already nodding yes. He gave me a soft reassuring smile, before helping me off the counter. “C’mon we’ll go to your room so you’re comfortable.”

I grabbed his hand that he held out for me, and quietly followed him back to my room. When we walked in, he led me straight to my bed. He climbed onto it, and settled up against the headboard patting the spot between his thighs. I hesitated before finally crawling on to the bed, and situated myself in front of him. He pulled me back against his chest, before placing my legs over each of his. Spreading mine apart as far as they could go.

“Okay, just relax angel. Show me what you’ve been doing.” His hushed voice was right by my ear, sending shivers down my spine. He reached around me, slowly pulling my shirt up. I felt his breath hitch when he realized I wasn’t wearing anything underneath. I nodded my head, reaching down to play with my clit. After a few minutes some soft moans left my lips, but I still wasn’t getting anywhere with it.

I huffed, pulling my fingers away. “I can’t Noah…it doesn’t feel right.” He ran his hands down my thighs, putting his lips to shell of my ear. “You gotta focus on the feeling sweetheart.” I groaned at his gruff voice right in my ear. His hand was creeping closer, and closer to my soaked pussy. I bucked my hips up slightly, to finally get his fingers where I needed them most. But he kept them still.

I’m losing my patience, and I don’t care anymore. I need him to touch me. “You have to be turned on enough before touch yourself baby.” Baby….that did it. I finally grabbed his hand, sliding it a half an inch over to finally touch my poor neglected clit. “Please Noah…just please touch me…please make me cum.” I was a whining mess.

He groaned, when his fingers met my soaked cunt. “Fuck baby, you’re so fucking desperate for it huh?” I quickly nodded, letting out the most feral moan as he finally sunk a finger into me. “Oh my god Noah..” he pumped his finger a few more times, pulling out to softly rub my clit with the wetness leaking out of me. “You’re so fucking wet angel…what made you like this?”

He asked rubbing my clit with a little more pressure. I threw my head back onto his shoulder before moaning out. “You..fuck Noah you did.” He placed soft kisses against my neck, now shoving two fingers inside my pussy. “Yeah baby?” I whined at the slight stretch. I’ve never felt so good. He pumped them deep, crooking his fingers up, causing me to buck my hips at the amazing new feeling.

“You like when I do that baby?” He asked, doing it faster. I moaned nodding my head, not being able to get any words out. I jumped when a smack landed on the inside of my thigh. “Use your words angel.” I let out a breathy yes, as his other hand joined in rubbing my clit. “Oh fuck Noah please, don’t stop.” He pumped his fingers faster, while rubbing my clit, making me see stars.

“C’mon baby cum for me. Cum on my fingers.” That’s all it took, before I was screaming his name finally reaching my orgasm. His hand left my clit, before grabbing my jaw, and bringing my lips to his. We shared a heated, messy kiss while his fingers continued fucking me through my high. “Fuck you’re such a good girl y/n.”

He finally slid his fingers out of me, placing one more gentle kiss against my lips. “Fuck….thank you Noah.” He smiled, before shoving his fingers into his mouth. I watched in pure shock. That had to be the hottest thing I’ve ever witnessed. “You taste so sweet baby.” He gently pushed me forward, before turning me around shoving me down on my back.

“Noah what are you doing?” He hovered above me, before sliding down until he was face to face with my pussy. “You said you’ve been trying for a week…you can give me one more right?” I was speechless. He wants to eat me out? All I could do was nod my head, as he slowly lowered down until his tongue was on my now sensitive clit. “Oh fuck!” My hands went straight to hair, tugging it. He groaned against me, sending vibrations through my core.

He swirled his tongue in quick circles around my clit, before shoving it as deep inside me as he could fucking me with it. I bucked my hips, quite literally riding his face. He pulled it away, licking from my hole, back up to my clit. “Fuck Noah I’m gonna cum.” He pulled away replacing his tongue with his thumb, rubbing in achingly slow circles.

“Yeah? Are you gonna be good girl, and cum on my tongue this time?” I whined, nodding my head pulling his face back to my pussy. He ate me like a starved man, until I was coming apart for the second time tonight on his tongue. He pulled away, slumping down onto the bed beside me. We sat quietly, both breathing heavily. I looked over at Noah, and we both had goofy smiles on our faces.

I couldn’t help but notice the large bulge in his pants. Maybe I could learn another thing or two before the nights over, what are best friends for….right?

Part 2????

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

GUILTY AS SIN...? - PART II

summary: one summer with the man you can't have, but can't stop thinking about.

pairing: cillian murphy x popstar!reader

word count: 9.1k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). explicit sex. angst. cussing, slight age gap, mentions of alcohol and divorce. no use of y/n, heavily inspired by ts and ttpd. if i missed something please let me know. (also this is a work of fiction, none of it reflects how i feel about the people mentioned in this, most importantly cillian's wife, who im sure is a sweetheart irl. it's fiction, just relax and enjoy it, and if not, move along, friends.)

a/n: hi everyone! here's the second part, finally. i had lots of fun writing this one, happy reading <3

part one

After staying at Cillian's for awhile, you decided to go to the place you had rented. The truth is, you didn't want to leave, but you had already extended your stay longer than planned, and you wanted to give him space with his kids. And you also wanted to give him time to process the event that took place four nights ago in his bathroom. Or you wanted to give yourself time to process it.

At this point, you weren't sure who needed the space more.

It was all very confusing because, yes, you've had feelings for him for God knows how long, but you've squashed them down like a stubborn bug for the sake of your friendship and, most importantly, his family. Those two things were always at the forefront of your mind, guiding every action and decision. But now that his family is no longer a factor and the two of you almost crossed a line, it's hard to ignore those feelings.

Those feelings that crawl up your spine every time he smiles at you or brushes against your hand accidentally. Those feelings also make you feel like the worst person in the world, as if you're betraying his ex-wife and their children by even entertaining the idea of something more with him.

It's all so delicate.

The cottage is nestled between rolling green hills and the glimmering blue of a distant sea. The place is like a warm embrace. The floors are laid with wide, honey-colored wooden planks, their surface worn smooth by generations of footsteps. Exposed wooden beams crisscross the ceiling, their rich, dark wood adding a sense of history and sturdiness to the space. The walls are painted in a soft, creamy white. The master bedroom is a haven of tranquility, with white linen curtains billowing softly in the breeze from the open window. The bed, with its wrought iron frame, is piled high with quilts and pillows in soft shades of blue and green. It's the best sleep you've had in months.

It rained earlier today. You've stayed inside all day, not wanting to venture out into the wet weather. The gentle pitter-patter of raindrops against the window was a soothing backdrop to your day, but it stopped around mid-afternoon, leaving behind a fresh, clean scent in the air.

Now you’re sitting at the rustic wooden table beneath the pergola, one leg tucked under you, grapevines overhead casting dappled shadows on the weathered wood. The garden around you is alive with color—wildflowers in every shade imaginable sway gently in the soft breeze, and the lavender and rosemary release their fragrant scent into the air.

Bon Iver’s voice drifts softly from your phone, which lies next to your notepad on the table. The music is haunting, its melancholy tones matching the weight in your chest. You’ve been here for hours, or maybe it’s only been minutes—time seems to blur together lately.

The notepad lies open beside you, filled with half-written lyrics, fragments of thoughts and emotions that you can’t quite bring yourself to finish. The pages are messy, scribbled lines crossed out, some words barely legible, as if your hand couldn’t keep up with the rush of thoughts.

You’ve been chasing this dream for so long—touring, recording, performing in front of thousands of people—but somewhere along the way, you’ve lost sight of why you started. The music that once brought you so much joy now feels like a burden; the words that once flowed effortlessly are now tangled up in doubt and frustration. The applause, the fame, the success—it’s all there, but it feels hollow. It feels lonely.

The sun is beginning to dip lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the water, but you’re too tired to move. You prop one leg up the chair and rest your chin on your hand. You focus on the water, trying to find some solace in its steady flow. But all you can feel is a deep, gnawing sense of unfulfillment, a yearning for something you can’t even name.

How pathetic.

You’re tired, so tired, and the dream that once seemed so bright now feels like a chore.

The door creaks open behind you, and you catch the faint sound of footsteps on the stone path. You don’t need to turn around to know it’s him. Cillian moves with a certain quietness, a soft presence that you’ve come to recognize. The footsteps grow closer until they stop just to your left.

"You should lock your door," he says, his voice low, carrying a hint of amusement but also concern.

You let out a small, tired laugh, not bothering to look up. "Didn’t think anyone would come by," you reply, your gaze still fixed on the stream; its gentle flow is the only thing that seems to make sense right now.

He doesn’t say anything for a moment, just stands there, his shadow blending with yours. Then he pulls out the chair next to you, the wood scraping softly against the stone, and sits down. You can feel his eyes on you, but he doesn’t press, just lets the silence settle around you both.

You hear him shift beside you, and from the corner of your eye, you see him glance down at the notepad on the table. His gaze lingers on the unfinished words, but he doesn’t say anything about them. Instead, he just leans back in his chair, looking out at the water with you.

After what feels like an eternity, he finally speaks, his voice softer, almost reflective. "I know that look. The one that says you’re miles away, stuck in your own head."

You don't respond, knowing that he understands you more than most people. The music on your phone shifts to another Bon Iver song, this time Beach Baby.

He continues. "You know, sometimes I think about all of it—this life, the fame, the roles I play. It’s bizarre, isn’t it? I spend so much time being someone else, living in someone else’s skin, that it’s easy to forget who I am when the cameras stop rolling."

His words hang in the air, and you turn your head slightly to look at him. His expression is thoughtful, his blue eyes distant, like he’s lost in his own memories. "It’s like… sometimes, I feel more like myself when I’m acting, when I’m being someone else. That's what made me fall in love with it in the first place. I just loved being somebody else. It’s easier, somehow. But then there are those moments, when the lights go out, and I’m just… me. And that’s when the loneliness creeps in."

You nod, understanding more than you’d like to admit. "It’s the same with music, I guess," you say quietly. "There’s this rush, this high, when you’re on stage, when everyone’s looking at you and you’re giving them everything you’ve got. But then it’s over, and you’re left with the silence, the emptiness. It’s like… who am I when it stops?"

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and you can see the shared understanding in his eyes. It’s a strange comfort knowing that someone else gets it, that you’re not alone in this feeling of being lost.

You take a deep breath, the weight of the words you’ve been holding back suddenly becomes too heavy to keep inside. "I guess that's why I'm here. To escape. To escape the pressure, the expectations and…just be," you say, your voice barely above a whisper. "Everything is a performance. Everything. When we're out in the world, we're expected to act a certain way, to fit into a mold. We have to edit ourselves. As honest as we try to be, there's always a part of us that remains hidden. And it's exhausting."

Cillian nods, his gaze never leaving yours. "And when you’re alone, you can let go of that and let your mind just be still," he says, his voice carrying the weight of someone who’s thought about this a lot. "It’s quite peaceful, isn’t it? But it’s also… terrifying. Being alone with your thoughts, with no distractions, no one to perform for. It’s like staring into a void sometimes."

You swallow hard, the truth of his words hitting you square in the chest. "Yeah, it is. But it’s also when I feel the most myself. When it’s just me, and I don’t have to be anything for anyone. Just… here, in the quiet, letting my mind rest."

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The garden around you is alive with the soft sounds of nature—the rustling of leaves, the gentle murmur of the stream, the distant call of a bird. Bon Iver’s music still plays from your phone—Holocene.

You break the silence. "Sometimes I think about it. I think about letting go of it." It's a terrifying thought but also strangely liberating. You don't know what it means completely yet, but just saying it out loud brings relief. Cillian just looks at you, his eyes reflecting understanding and empathy.

It was so easy, existing with him.

In this moment, you feel a little less lost, a little more understood. And as the sun dips lower in the sky, a mix of orange and pink hues, you realize that maybe, just maybe, you’re not as alone as you thought.

The next day dawns softer, brighter. You wake up with a sense of calm that had been missing for a while. There’s a lingering warmth from yesterday, the conversation with Cillian still playing in the back of your mind. As you sat at the same wooden table this morning, you found yourself scribbling lyrics that flowed easier, more naturally. They’re different—slower, more deliberate. There’s a depth to them that feels right, as if you’re finally tapping into something real, something honest.

Last night had ended quietly. After that heavy talk in the garden, Cillian stayed for dinner. The two of you kept the conversation light, avoiding the unspoken tension. It was there, hovering between you, but neither of you brought it up. Instead, you talked about mundane things and watched Punch-Drunk Love in the quaint living room. He pointed out every little detail he liked in it, and you listened, soaking in the emotion in his voice.

When the movie ended, he promised to see you the next day, and you reassured him it was fine, that you understood his absence. You meant it, even though a part of you always ached for more of his presence.

Today, with that newfound energy, you decided to venture out. An early morning walk turned into a drive to the nearby town. You pulled on a cap and sunglasses—a funny and somewhat ineffective disguise, but it was something. The town was charming, with narrow cobblestone streets, quaint shops, and a relaxed pace. Most people didn’t give you a second glance, and for that you were grateful. It was nice to blend in, to be just another person out enjoying the day.

You wandered through the market, admired the local crafts, and even picked up a few things—a handmade bracelet, a small painting of the Irish countryside. Lunch was at a cozy little café, tucked away from the main street. You ordered a hearty bowl of seafood chowder, rich and warming, with fresh bread on the side. As you sat there savoring the meal, your phone buzzed. It was Cillian, asking if you wanted to grab drinks tonight. You hesitated, your mind running through a dozen reasons to say no, but in the end, you agreed. You wanted to see him again, even if you couldn’t quite admit how much.

Back at the cottage, you took your time getting ready. You set the atmosphere, lighting a few candles, playing some soft music in the background. It felt good to take care of yourself and put a little effort into how you looked. You chose a pair of jeans that fit just right, a black top, and your favorite leather jacket. Casual but confident. A swipe of red lipstick added a touch of boldness.

You didn’t know where the night would take you, but you felt ready.

Cillian arrived right on time, his car rolling up the gravel drive just as you slipped on your jacket. When you stepped outside, he was already out of the car, leaning casually against the door. He smiled when he saw you—a warm, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat.

“Ready?” he asked, his eyes flicking over your outfit with an appreciative glance.

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied, a hint of nerves bubbling up but quickly pushed aside.

The drive to the pub was easy, the conversation flowing effortlessly. You talked about your day, the town, the little things you’d picked up. He told you about his new movie coming out later this year, based on a novella set in the mid-1980s in a small Irish village. There was a comfort in the exchange, in the way your words mingled with the sound of the tires on the road.

When he pulled up outside the pub, you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. It was a small, unassuming place, the kind of spot that felt like a well-kept secret. The sign above the door was weathered, the windows glowing warmly from the inside. It looked cozy, inviting.

“Do I need to bring out my disguise?” you asked, amused, as you glanced at him.

He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, you’re safe here. No one’s going to bother us. I’ve been coming here for years. They don't give a shit about me.”

He was right. The pub was perfect—dimly lit, with a mix of old and new music playing in the background. The crowd was relaxed, more interested in their conversations than in who might be sitting at the next table. You found two empty stools at the bar and settled in.

Close to the drinks. Perfect.

You ordered beers—the kind that tasted awful but somehow fit the atmosphere. Cillian took a sip of his beer, and the reaction was immediate. He groaned, his head falling back as if in defeat, eyes closed as he savored—or perhaps endured—the taste. The dim light from the pub’s old-fashioned fixtures cast a warm glow on his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jawline and the shadow of stubble that had begun to form. His lips, still wet from the beer, parted in a wry smile that spoke volumes of his disdain for the drink. His brow furrowed slightly as he kept his eyes closed, letting out a deep, exaggerated sigh as if the beer was the worst thing he’d ever tasted.

It was a dramatic performance, and you couldn’t help but laugh at how absurdly handsome he looked even in that moment. There was something endearing about it—the way he could make something so ordinary seem so intense. His dark hair, slightly tousled, fell over his forehead, and you found yourself staring longer than you meant to.

“Bloody hell, that’s awful,” he muttered, finally opening his eyes and giving you a side glance. His blue eyes sparkled with trouble, the corners crinkling as he caught the expression on your face. “You should’ve seen yourself, though. Looked like you were trying to swallow glass.”

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the smile tugging at your lips. “Oh, please. You looked like you were about to keel over from one sip,” you shot back, sarcasm lacing your voice.

He chuckled, the sound low and rich, and the amusement in his eyes deepened. “Can’t argue with that,” he admitted, taking another sip with a grimace. “Piss beer, this is. I’d almost prefer water.”

“Almost,” you teased, lifting your glass to take another drink. The foam clung to the rim as you sipped, and you made a point to keep your expression neutral, though you could feel the bitterness spreading across your tongue.

Cillian leaned in a bit closer, his Irish accent growing thicker with each drink. “But then, what would we have to complain about, eh? I think the shite beer is half the charm of this place.” His voice was smoother, more relaxed, and you noticed the way his words seemed to roll off his tongue, rich with the lilting cadence of his heritage. It was endearing, undeniably so, and you found it increasingly hard to focus on anything else.

“Is that what they call charm here? I must’ve missed the memo,” you quipped, smirking as you met his gaze. The clever back-and-forth felt natural, easy, and it warmed you more than the alcohol ever could.

“You’re lucky I’m here to explain it to ya,” he said, leaning in just a bit more, his voice dropping to a playful murmur. “Otherwise, you might’ve gone your whole life without knowing the joys of terrible Irish beer.”

“Oh, I’m so grateful,” you shot back, sarcasm dripping from your words, but your smile gave you away. “I’ll add it to the list of things you’ve taught me.”

He grinned, clearly enjoying the banter, and you noticed how close he had gotten. His arm was now resting casually on the back of your seat, and every so often, your knees would brush, those accidental touches sending a small, electric thrill through you. The pub’s atmosphere, once filled with distant conversations and the clinking of glasses, now seemed to narrow down to just the two of you. The world outside the booth blurred away, and all that was left was Cillian’s presence, the sound of his voice, and the faint, intoxicating scent of him that mixed with the pub’s woody, earthy aroma.

The more you drank, the closer you both seemed to get, each sip loosening the barriers that had been in place. His laughter grew louder, more infectious, and his accent, more pronounced with every word, sent a shiver down your spine. It was more than just the alcohol—there was an ease between you that you hadn’t felt before, a sense of connection that went beyond the usual playful exchanges.

“Y’know,” he said, his voice dropping to a husky whisper as he leaned in even closer. “I think I’m starting to like this beer.”

You raised an eyebrow, your lips curving into a smirk, feeling a little more brave. “Is that so? Or is it just the company?”

He chuckled, his breath warm against your ear as he replied, “Maybe a bit of both.”

A familiar flutter stirred in your chest—the undeniable pull that you’d been trying to ignore for days. But tonight, in this pub, with its terrible beer and terrible lighting, you decided you didn’t want to fight it anymore. Not here, not with him.

You moved on to something stronger, whiskey that burned going down but left a warmth spreading through your chest that felt as intoxicating as the alcohol itself. With each sip, the edges of your nerves smoothed out, and you felt looser, braver, and a little sexier. You sat on the bar stool with your body angled slightly toward Cillian. The leather of your jacket creaked as you shifted, the red of your lipstick standing out against the dim light. You felt his gaze on you, not just looking, but really seeing you, his eyes tracing the curve of your neck down to where your top dipped, lingering just a moment longer than usual.

His look was hungry, but it wasn’t just that—it was curious, intrigued. He rested his elbow on the bar, leaning closer, his knee brushing against yours as he picked up his glass, watching you over the rim as he took a sip. The whiskey seemed to bring out the blue in his eyes, making them sharp and piercing, but there was softness there too, an openness that had grown.

“You know,” you began, a small, knowing smile playing on your lips. “I was just thinking about the first time we met.”

His eyebrow arched in curiosity, and he leaned in a little closer, his interest piqued. “Oh yeah? That was… what, 7 years ago? At the Globes, wasn’t it?”

You nodded, taking another sip of your drink, the liquid courage giving you the confidence to broach the subject. “Yeah, that’s right. And you… well, let’s just say you weren’t exactly my biggest fan.”

Cillian looked taken aback, a surprised smile curving his lips. “What? I don’t remember it like that.”

“Oh, come on, Cill,” you said, playfully nudging his shoulder. “You kind of hated me."

He laughed, shaking his head. “I didn’t hate you. I just… I guess I had some preconceived notions about you."

“Preconceived notions?” you asked, a teasing glint in your eyes.

He hesitated, looking almost sheepish as he ran a hand through his hair. “Honestly? I thought you were this… I don’t know, shallow, self-absorbed person. Just someone who was there for the attention, you know?”

You let out a mock gasp, placing a hand over your heart in faux offense. “I’m wounded! I can’t believe you thought that about me, really.”

He chuckled, but there was a hint of regret in his voice as he added, “But I was wrong. I figured that out pretty quickly.”

“Oh, really?” you asked, leaning in a little closer, your voice dropping to a flirtatious whisper. “When exactly did you figure that out?”

“The first time we really talked,” he said, his voice equally soft, the words carrying a weight they hadn’t before. “After I saw you in the hall, crying. I don't know. You were so real, and I realized you weren’t what I thought. Not even close.”

You raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. “Wow, so I had to have a full-on breakdown just to convince you I wasn’t a shallow, self-absorbed diva? Good to know, Cill. I’ll make sure to cry more often around you.”

He laughed, bringing his fingertips to his lips, his eyes crinkling at the edges. “Not quite what I meant, but I guess it did the trick, didn’t it?”

You remembered that night vividly, how everything had seemed to spiral downward so quickly. “I was having the worst night,” you said laughing, a slight bitterness creeping into your tone as the memories resurfaced. “I’d just been dumped by the world’s biggest asshole that morning, and then there you were, tearing down everything I said with some esoteric joke.”

Cillian winced slightly, the regret more pronounced now. “Yeah… I wasn’t exactly charming, was I?”

“You were a bit of a jerk,” you admitted, but there was no malice in your words. “But you made up for it with that burger offer.”

A grin spread across his face as he remembered. “I wasn’t sure you’d say yes.”

“Well, I figured a burger with you was better than sulking alone,” you replied, smiling at the memory. “And it was. I didn’t realize it at the time, but it was exactly what I needed.”

His expression softened. “I’m glad I asked, then.”

The bartender interrupted your conversation to ask if you wanted another round, and without a second thought, you both nodded in agreement. It seemed neither of you were ready to call it a night. The place was warmer now. As you waited for your drinks, your eyes drifted to the ceiling. Neil Young's "Harvest Moon" played softly in the background, the gentle melody weaving through the low murmur of conversation.

You glanced over your shoulder and noticed that a few couples had begun to dance, swaying gently to the music. There was something so natural, so easy about it, that you couldn’t resist the urge that bubbled up inside you. Turning back to Cillian, who was taking a sip of his drink, you couldn’t help but smile. “Come on,” you said, nudging him playfully with your elbow. “Dance with me.”

Cillian raised an eyebrow, looking at you with a mix of amusement and skepticism. He muttered something in reply but you couldn’t quite make it out. It only made you more determined.

“I didn’t catch that,” you teased, leaning in closer as if trying to decipher his words. “But I know what you’re going to say.”

“Oh, do you, piano woman?” he shot back, his tone light but with a challenging edge.

“Yes,” you said, grinning. “You’re going to say that you don’t dance.”

Cillian chuckled, shaking his head slightly. “You’re right about that. I don’t.”

You leaned in closer, your voice dropping to a low, persuasive tone. “I know, but you’ll indulge me anyway.”

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes searching yours as if weighing his options. Then, with a small, resigned sigh, he downed the rest of his drink in one go and set the glass back on the bar with a decisive thud. Before you could react, he grabbed your hand and stood up, pulling you along with him.

It caught you by surprise, the suddenness of it, especially considering he had just insisted he wasn’t the dancing type. As he led you toward the makeshift dance floor, he leaned in and said with a grin, “You’re lucky I like you.”

You laughed, a loud, genuine sound that felt as freeing as the night itself. “Oh, am I now?”

He smirked, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, because otherwise, there’s no way I’d be making a fool of myself like this.”

You shot back with a playful, “Well, let’s see just how much of a fool you really are, then.”

As you reached the space where others were already swaying to the music, Cillian took your hand and pulled you in close. You could feel the warmth of his body, the solidity of his frame as he moved with you, the two of you finding a rhythm that was surprisingly in sync. It wasn’t anything fancy—just simple, slow movements to match the easy tempo of the song—but it felt intimate, like you were the only two people in the room.

Cillian leaned in, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispered, “Did you know I'm a failed musician?”

You couldn’t help but smirk, the alcohol loosening your tongue.

“Failed, huh? So, what happened? Couldn’t hack it with the rest of us rockstars?”

He chuckled, the sound deep and rich, sending a shiver down your spine. "Something like that. I was in a band, actually."

You leaned back slightly, raising an eyebrow in mock disbelief. “You? In a band? Color me shocked.”

It was kind of hot, imagining him on stage with a guitar in hand.

"We even had a record deal and everything."

"What happened?"

Cillian’s expression softened as he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of nostalgia. “My brother was still in school at the time, and my parents basically told me I could fuck up my life if I wanted, but I couldn’t take him down with me. So, it fell through.”

As you continued to sway together, the story of his past unraveled between you, each word carrying a hint of regret mixed with fond memories. “Those were great times, though,” he continued, his eyes distant as if he were seeing it all again. “I’d be out late, drinking, playing music in small pubs, thinking we were going to make it big. It was a bit of a rush, you know?”

You could imagine him there, young and reckless, with that same intensity in his eyes that he carried now, but wilder, untamed by the years. “So music was your first love, then?” you asked, your voice soft, genuinely curious.

He nodded, a wistful smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, I suppose it was. I had been playing instruments since I was little. There’s something about it that just… gets into your blood. But then, acting came along."

“When exactly did you know that's what you wanted?” you asked, wanting to peel back more layers of him.

His smile turned almost bashful, as if recalling a secret he hadn’t shared in a while. “There was this guy who ran the Cork theater company—had a huge man crush on him. He was brilliant, and I ended up doing a workshop with him. After that, I just pestered him for an audition until he gave in.”

You chuckled softly at the thought of a young Cillian, determined and probably a bit of a nuisance, chasing after something he wanted so badly. “And that was it?”

“Well, there was a drama module in school when I was about 16, 17—during the transition year. That’s when I first got the bug. Ended up starring in A Clockwork Orange. It was sexy, dangerous, unlike anything I’d ever seen. I loved playing someone else, losing myself in the character.”

He paused, then flashed a self-deprecating grin. “There’s not much to look at, but if you give me a minute…"

You couldn’t help but laugh, shaking your head at his modesty. “You’re selling yourself short,” you teased, leaning in closer, your bodies moving in sync to the music. "Cill, you literally have an Oscar."

“Ah, the Oscar... just a glorified doorstop, really,” he quipped, his tone light but with that familiar undercurrent of humility.

"It's the work that matters, blah blah blah," you joked, rolling your eyes playfully. His eyes were crinkling at the corners with genuine amusement. "Exactly," he agreed, before pulling you into a twirl.

"Do you miss it? you ask, hands circling his neck as you sway. "Music, I mean."

Cillian blew out a slow breath, his eyes growing thoughtful as he considered your question. “Sometimes,” he admitted. "But life has a way of taking you where you need to be, not where you want to be.”

His words settled over you like a blanket, warm and heavy, as you mulled them over. Is this where I need to be? The question echoed in your mind, reverberating through the deeper corners of your thoughts. You weren’t sure you had an answer. You were a successful artist, living the dream so many could only imagine, but there was always that lingering sense of something missing, a quiet ache that you couldn’t quite place.

Where do I need to be?

The thought spiraled, unfurling like an endless thread, pulling at the edges of your consciousness. You started questioning everything—your choices, your path, the very essence of who you were. Those words seemed to tap into something deep inside, a reservoir of doubts and desires that you hadn’t fully acknowledged until now.

“Yeah,” you replied softly, almost like you were talking to yourself more than to him.

You rested your head on his shoulder, and he wrapped his arm around you, swaying slowly. See, this is the thing about Cillian, he had a way of making you feel seen and understood, even when you didn't fully understand yourself, even without saying a single word.

The warmth of Cillian's arm around you, the subtle way he moved—it all felt so natural, like this was where you were supposed to be. But then, the memory of four nights ago crept in—the way his breath had hitched as you said you weren't going to stop him from going further, the tension that crackled between you both like a live wire.

The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Heat flushed through your body, a dizzying sensation that made it hard to focus on anything other than the way he was looking at you. A knot formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard, trying to steady your racing pulse.

The memory was like a current running through you, making you hyper-aware of every point of contact with him. The room suddenly felt too small, too warm. Your mind was swirling with thoughts, the alcohol making you bolder, more aware of the things left unsaid.

"I can't stop thinking about what almost happened the other day."

“What almost happened?”

He let out a low, almost inaudible chuckle, his lips dangerously nuzzled in your hair. “Don’t play coy with me, love. You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

You swallowed hard, trying to ignore the heat pooling in your stomach, the way your body reacted to his nearness. “I’ve tried to stop thinking about it,” he continued, his voice a hushed murmur that only you could hear, “but I can’t.”

His words hung in the air between you, heavy with unspoken desire. You wanted to let go of the restraint you’d been holding onto all night, but you were still aware of where you were, of the people around you—even if they weren’t paying you any attention. The thought of crossing that line, right here in the middle of the pub, was both thrilling and terrifying.

But Cillian, sensing your hesitation, didn’t push.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes, his expression serious but laced with that familiar smirk. “Wanna head out of here?” he asked, his voice low but with a note of urgency.

You didn’t need to think twice. “Yes,” you breathed, the word escaping your lips before you could stop it.

The night air hit you like a shock to the system as you stepped outside, the cool breeze carrying with it the faint scent of rain. The streets were quieter now, the lively noise of the pub fading into the background. You were drunk, the world tilting slightly with each step, and neither of you could drive.

Cillian pulled out his phone, his fingers deftly dialing the number for a cab. You watched him as he made the call, the way his jaw tensed slightly as he spoke, his voice low and calm despite the alcohol humming through his veins. There was something undeniably attractive about the way he carried himself, even in this moment of mundane practicality.

“What about your car?” you asked, your words slightly slurred but still coherent.

He glanced over at you, a small, reassuring smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll pick it up in the morning,” he replied smoothly, his accent curling around the words in that familiar, endearing way. “Don’t worry, love.”

The cab arrived not long after, the headlights cutting through the night as it pulled up to the curb. Cillian opened the door for you, and the two of you slid into the backseat, sitting close together but not touching. Not yet. The space between you crackled with unspoken tension, the thrill of anticipation hanging heavy in the air.

You found yourself playing with your ring-clad fingers, the cool metal a small distraction as the silence stretched out between you. The driver turned up the music a bit, and the opening chords of Inhaler’s "Dublin in Ecstasy" filled the car. The song was somehow fitting, its pulsing beat and haunting lyrics adding to the electric atmosphere.

It started to rain, the droplets tapping against the windows and turning them foggy, adding a sense of intimacy to the small, enclosed space. The outside world became a blur of lights and shadows, the city fading away as the cab sped through the streets. You could feel Cillian’s gaze on you, the weight of it almost tangible as you sat there, both of you lost in your own thoughts.

You turned to look at him, and for a moment, the world seemed to hold its breath. The music became more intoxicating, the beat syncing with the rapid thudding of your heart. He noticed you bopping your head slightly to the rhythm, and a small, surprised smile crossed his face.

“You know this?” he asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

You smirked, leaning back against the seat as you replied with playful confidence, “I know every song ever made, actually.”

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Is that so? A human jukebox, then?”

“Something like that,” you teased, the conversation light but charged with something more, something neither of you could ignore any longer.

The cab’s interior felt smaller, more suffocating as you neared your destination. When you finally arrived at his place, Cillian paid the driver, and the two of you got out, raising your jackets over your heads to shield from the rain, which had grown heavier. You both ran to the entrance, your footsteps echoing in the quiet night as you giggled like teenagers, the spontaneity of it all making you feel light, carefree.

He fumbled with his keys for a moment, the sound of metal clinking against metal filling the air before he managed to unlock the door. You stepped inside, the warmth of the house a stark contrast to the chill of the rain outside. The living room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the faint glow of the night sky through the large windows. The shadows played across the walls, casting everything in a soft, almost ethereal light.

You tossed off your jacket, letting it fall to the floor, your clothes clinging to your skin from the rain. You could feel the fabric sticking to your body, the dampness making you shiver slightly, but the heat in the room—and the heat between the two of you—kept you from feeling cold. Cillian wandered off somewhere for a moment, leaving you standing there, your heart pounding in your chest as you waited, the anticipation almost unbearable.

When he returned, his eyes locked onto yours, a predatory glint in his gaze that made your breath hitch. He took a step closer, the distance between you shrinking to almost nothing as he asked, his voice low and laced with a hint of something dangerous, “What should we do now?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with suggestion, and you felt a rush of heat flood through you, your pulse quickening. You moved toward him, your steps slow and deliberate, closing the gap until you were inches away. “I’m sure you’ll think of something,” you murmured, your voice trembling slightly despite the bravado in your words.

His hand reached up, fingers brushing against your cheek before trailing down to remove a stray piece of hair stuck to your face. His touch was light, almost reverent, but it sent sparks of electricity through your skin, making you feel like you were on fire. His hand continued its path down your arm, and you followed it with your eyes, watching as his fingers traced the outline of your veins, the simple action making your breath catch in your throat.

He moved his hand up to your shoulder, his fingers ghosting over the strap of your top before slowly sliding it down, his touch leaving a trail of heat in its wake. Your skin burned under his touch, a mix of desire and something else—something that felt like shame, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It felt too good, too right.

His hand slid up to your neck, his grip firm but not painful as he held you there, your breathing coming in short, ragged gasps. You clung to his black t-shirt, your fingers digging into the fabric as you tried to steady yourself, but the room seemed to spin around you, the intensity of the moment making you dizzy.

Cillian’s eyes bore into yours, his expression dark and filled with an unspoken promise as he whispered, his voice rough and filled with desire, “Tell me what you want.”

You wanted him—every part of him. You wanted to forget everything else, to lose yourself in this moment, to give in to the desire that had been simmering between you for days. And as his grip tightened slightly on your neck, pulling you closer until your lips were just a breath away from his, you knew there was no turning back.

"Kiss me," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

So he did. He kissed you, long and slow. His lips were soft yet urgent, and you melted into his touch. Your hands found their way to his damp hair, tangling in the strands as you deepened the kiss, savoring every moment. His breath mingled with yours, warm and laced with the faint taste of whiskey, his hands still cradling your face as if you were something fragile, something to be cherished.

But then the kiss deepened, the restraint unraveling as the need between you grew too powerful to contain. His hands slid from your face down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies. The kiss became more urgent, more demanding, as if he was trying to consume you, to lose himself in you. You responded in kind, your own hands gripping his t-shirt, pulling him closer, wanting more—needing more. The heat between you intensified, the tenderness giving way to something hotter, something that felt like it had been a long time coming.

The rain continued to patter softly against the windows, a distant sound that seemed to fade into the background as your focus narrowed to just him—to the way his hands gripped your waist, to the way his breath hitched when you bit down softly on his lower lip.

You started moving backward, the need to feel him against you overwhelming any thought of where this might be going. Your feet stumbled slightly as you both moved toward the couch, the dim light from the windows casting your entwined shadows across the floor. He guided you, his hands firm and sure, but there was a tenderness in the way he led you, as if he was still holding back, still trying to keep a grasp on the control that was slipping away.

You reached the edge of the couch, and he paused for a moment, his gaze intense as he looked at you, his chest heaving with the effort to catch his breath. “You're in control here,” he said, his voice barely more than a whisper, thick with the weight of the question, with the possibility of what was about to happen. "We stop whenever you want to, okay?"

Ever so polite, you thought. You answered him by pulling him down with you, your lips finding his again with a renewed urgency. The cushions gave way beneath you, the soft fabric enveloping you both as you sank into it. His body pressed against yours, the weight of him grounding you.

As the kiss deepened, became more frantic, more desperate, you could feel the tension in him—the barely restrained control he was struggling to maintain. His hands roamed over your body, landing on your jeans and slowly playing with the button, a silent request for permission.

"Don't stop now," you teased, your voice barely audible against his lips. He responded by deepening the kiss even further, his hands moving with purpose as he unbuttoned your jeans. He stopped for a moment, lowering himself to his knees in front of you, his hands taking off your shoes before sliding your jeans down your legs. He positioned himself between your legs once again, kissing you rough this time.

The couch was vast and soft underneath you as one of his hands traveled up your thigh—still not as high as you wanted it. You let out a needy moan, encouraging him. When his fingers brushed against the edge of your already wet panties, you couldn't help but arch your back in anticipation. He pushed them aside, his eyes never leaving yours. When his fingertips made contact with the wetness of your folds, he groaned too, in a way you found very satisfying.

"I've thought about this…a lot," he murmured, slipping a finger inside you, making you gasp with pleasure. "What you might sound like. What you might taste like. What you might feel like."

He pulled away from you swiftly, and you moaned at the loss. He kneeled down in front of you, his gaze intense as he leaned in to kiss your inner thigh, sending shivers down your spine. He pulled down your panties. You went stiff, suddenly aware of how exposed you were. He opened your thighs a little more, as if he wanted to see more. "I want to make you feel good," he whispered. "Let me taste you."

"Yes," you breathed out.

You couldn't stop looking at him as he pleasured you, his touch sending waves of pleasure through your body. Each flick of his tongue and gentle bite made you arch your back in ecstasy, completely lost in the moment. His hands tightened around your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. He groaned in pleasure, and you opened your thighs wider. His tongue was thorough and deliberate, exploring every inch of you with precision. Your hands grabbed the couch cushions, trying to ground yourself as you felt yourself spiraling into pure bliss. And just when you started to roll your hips, he slid two fingers inside you, hitting that perfect spot that made you gasp and moan uncontrollably.

It was too much. Pleasure consumed you as you arched your back violently against his touch and you moaned his name over and over again, letting go. You were drunk on him— his touch, his mouth, his scent—lost in the euphoria of the moment.

"Fuckin' incredible."

Well, yes, fucking incredible indeed. But not as incredible as it would feel to have him inside you completely, filling every inch of you. To reduce him to the whimpering mess he had just turned you into.

Before Cillian could do anything, you sat up and pushed him flat to the floor. You were both drunk and too eager to make it to the bedroom, so you might as well just do it right there on the living room rug.

He grunted in surprise, but his hands quickly found their way to your hips as you straddled him, pulling you closer. You removed your top, your breasts spilling out as you leaned down to capture his lips in a hungry kiss. His fingers gently tangle in your hair as you pull away from his mouth, pulling his black t-shirt over his head and tossing it aside.

He stopped breathing as you worked your way down his chest, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles until you reached the waistband of his jeans. Your hands made quick work of the button and zipper, and you eagerly slid them down his legs, revealing his growing arousal.

When your fingers wrapped around it—fuck—his skin felt hot and smooth against your touch, his breath hitching. You positioned yourself to take him in your mouth, savoring the taste of his desire as you licked a slow, teasing path along his cock. Cillian let out a ragged moan, his hands tangling in your hair.

You lifted your eyes. He had propped himself up on his elbows, watching you with his lips parted, pupils blown.

You had him.

You took him deeper, relishing the way he arched into your mouth, his groans spurring you on. With each flick of your tongue, you could feel him losing control, surrendering to the pleasure you were giving him. "Fuck, stop," he gasped, his voice strained with need. "I need to be inside you."

“Condom?” you asked, the question hanging in the thick air between you.

“Upstairs,” he said, his voice rough, almost pleading.

You hesitated for just a second. “I don’t mind… if you don’t.”

For a moment, he froze, his blue eyes darkening as they searched yours, as if to make sure he’d heard you right. Then, with a low growl that sent shivers down your spine, he nodded.

You released him with a smirk and sat up, swung over him. You positioned yourself so that his hands were on your hips, guiding you down onto him. The anticipation was electric, every nerve in your body alive with the need to be closer to him, to feel him, completely and without anything between you.

As you sank onto him, his eyes rolled back in ecstasy, a low moan escaping from both of you. The feeling of being filled by him sent a shiver down your spine, igniting a fire between you that burned hotter with each thrust. Your hands clutched at his shoulders, nails digging into his skin as you matched his rhythm, lost in the intensity of the moment.

This was going to end you.

His movements became more urgent, his breath hot against your skin as he whispered your name. The room was filled with the sound of your mingled gasps and moans, a symphony of pleasure that seemed to echo off the walls. He felt so good, so right. His thrusts became more deep and harsh—you wanted even more. As if he read your mind, he sat up against the couch and kissed you deeply, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

"Bloody hell," he murmured against your lips, both his hands grabbed your face as he looked deeply into your eyes, and you circled your arms around his neck, pulling him closer and circling your hips in rhythm with his. Your breasts pressed against his chest, the heat between you both rising as your bodies moved in perfect synchronization. He was close—you were close. His hands roamed your back, your ass, and your breasts, and you threw your head back when his mouth found its way to your nipples.

"Oh fuck," you gasped, "Yes, oh—" you screamed as white-hot pleasure shot through your body, causing you both to reach the peak of ecstasy together. You felt his cock swell, filling you completely as he released with a guttural groan.

The intensity of the moment left you both breathless, bodies entwined in a tangled mess of limbs and sweat. He had leaned back to the floor, and you had gone with him. He was rubbing your back, and your face was pressed to his chest.

"You okay, love?" he asked softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns on your skin. You hummed, feeling content and safe in his arms, basking in the afterglow of your shared pleasure.

You stayed like that for a moment, feeling his chest rise and fall beneath you, the quiet rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours. His fingers kept tracing those gentle patterns on your back, grounding you, reminding you that you were still here, still connected. The afterglow wrapped around you both, a warmth that made you feel safe, cherished. You could still feel him inside you.

“How bad would it be if we just stayed here?” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper, as if speaking louder might shatter the moment. There was a part of you that didn’t want to move, didn’t want to break the spell.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through his chest, and you could feel the rumble against your cheek. “Well, love,” he said, his voice laced with amusement, “I’m not sure how comfortable the floor will be in about twenty minutes, but I’d say it’s worth a try if you are.”

You laughed, the sound light and free. “Fair point,” you conceded, shifting slightly to look up at him. His eyes were warm, a little teasing, but there was an underlying tenderness that made your heart skip a beat.

“Come on,” he said gently, his hands sliding down your sides as he carefully helped you up. “Let’s get cleaned up. I promise the bed is much more inviting.”

He rose to his feet, extending a hand to help you up. You accepted, your legs feeling a little shaky as you stood, still a bit lightheaded from everything that had just happened. His hands lingered on your hips, steadying you, and you couldn’t help but smile at the care in his touch.

Together, you made your way upstairs, his arm draped around your shoulders as he guided you toward his bedroom. The space was warm, cozy, with a lived-in feel that made it undeniably his. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled, as if he’d just gotten out of it before coming to find you.

He led you to the bathroom, where the soft glow of a single light illuminated the space. He turned on the shower, testing the water temperature before gesturing for you to step inside. You did, letting the hot water cascade over you, washing away the remnants of the night, though the memory of it clung to your skin. He joined you a moment later, his hands gentle as he helped you rinse off, his touch tender, almost reverent. You stood under the water together, letting the steam envelope you both.

When you were both clean, he handed you a towel, wrapping another around his waist. He left the bathroom for a moment and returned with a t-shirt and a pair of boxers, offering them to you.

“Here,” he said with a soft smile. “This will do.”

You took the clothes, slipping them on. The fabric was soft, worn in, and it smelled like him—woodsy, with a hint of something earthy and warm. You found yourself breathing it in, the scent comforting in a way you hadn’t expected.

When you were both dressed, he led you to the bed, pulling back the covers and slipping in beside you. He held the blanket up for you, and you slid in next to him, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warmth of his body. He immediately pulled you close, his arm wrapping around your waist as you nestled into his side, your head resting on his chest once more.

The room was dark, but the faint light from outside filtered in through the curtains, casting soft shadows across the walls. You could hear the rain still pattering against the window, a soothing backdrop to the quiet intimacy between you. His hand found yours under the covers, fingers intertwining as he held you close, his breath warm against your forehead. You could feel his heartbeat under your palm, steady and reassuring, and it lulled you into a state of deep relaxation.

“Thank you,” you whispered, your voice barely audible, but you knew he heard you. You don't know for what exactly you were thanking him, but it felt like the right thing to say in that moment.

He responded with a gentle squeeze of your hand, his lips pressing a soft kiss to your hair.

You didn’t need to say anything more. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with unspoken understanding. You both knew that tonight had changed something between you, something profound and unnameable, but for now, it was enough to just be here, together.

a/n: there you have it, i hope you guys liked it!! please like, reblog and comment. i wanna hear your thoughts! and as always, thank you for the support <3

[wosowrites]

Greece and Wives (Patri Guijarro x Reader)

warnings: none

a/n: based off this request here

prompt: little moments on vacation with your wife Patri.

Vacation with Patri meant different things. It meant some late, late nights walking the streets of Greece, and some early, early nights cuddling in bed and watching a movie on of the limited channels on the hotel TV. But it mostly meant just feeling good. You both shopped together, having fashion shows and figuring out what to buy. You would bicker on where to have lunch and eventually, you would win because she just could not say no to you. You would swap shoes with her when she decided mid walk that the ones you were wearing worked better with her outfit. Everything was perfect.

Day one:

Patri woke you up bright and early by opening the blinds with one big movement and then jumping on top of you in the bed. By bright and early, it meant more like 9:00, but it felt like 7:00 am and you most definitely were not an early bird. "Wake up, mi amor," Patri said to you, brushing hair out of your face and kissing you. "Mhm im awake, i’m awake," you groaned. She smiled down at you and before she knew it, you had thrown your arms around her and pulled her back down onto you. "We should just stay like this all day," you said to her, playing with the hair on the nape of her neck with one hand and dragging your nails up her back with the other. "We’ll get hungry," Patri laughed. "Room service," you said to her. "Baby… it’s Greece! I love you but-" your spanish girlfriend started saying. "I know, I know. Let’s go," you groaned.

Eventually you guys managed to leave the hotel and head out to a little café. Your hotel was a ten minute walk from the water, and the terrasse you ate at looked upon the ocean. You had planned out you four day trip perfectly, only having a small amount of time before needing to return to Barcelona to pack to leave for your individual training camps in preparation for the World Cup. The first day would be spent doing guided tours, looking at architecture and parks. The second day you would do traditionally fun things, like go to arcades and have a picnic. The third day would be a beach day and then the last day would be spent shopping.

"I knew Athens was old, but this old? And this… historic. It’s weird," you told Patri, hand in hand as you listened to a guide tell you about the history behind the Acropolis of Athens. "Barcelona is pretty historic, you know?" Patri said to you, smiling at you. "I know, I know. But i’m Canadian! Seeing cities with ruins and the ocean and cool architecture is always shocking to me. The most historical thing we have in Canada is like… the parliament," you sighed. "Hey, don’t hate on your country now, gotta represent them at the World Cup soon," she said, squeezing your hand. "I love Canada! It’s just boring," you defended yourself, pointing absentmindedly to one particularly well kept piece of the Acropolis.

After that tour, you walked around the city with no specific goal in mind. "Ooh! Gelato!" Patri said, pointing at a cute little shop with a pink gelato sign. "Woah… gelato before lunch? I like this version of you baby," you said to her, jokingly running your hand up her abs and kissing her quickly. "Oh shush. What harm will it do? The season is over, we’ll be under so many rules before the cup… let loose mi amor!" she said to you.

And so you did. That day, you had gelato three times.

Day two:

Needless to say, you and Patri were extremely competitive... which only made arcade games more fun. Once you arrived to a popular but pretty empty arcade due to the fact that it was Monday, you had an idea. "How about we make this interesting?" you said after choosing your first game. "Hmm... what do you have in mind mi amor?" Patri asked. "The person with the most tickets at the end of two hours has to pay for anything the other wants when we go shopping," you proposed. "Oh easy!" Patri exclaimed.

She was so wrong. Growing up with four brothers made you extremely good at video games, and somehow, luck was always on your side. By the hour and a half mark, you had almost twice as many tickets as Patri. "How the hell are you doing this?" she groaned, pulling out ten tickets from the machine as you watched about 60 pour out and into your hands. "You shouldn't have underestimated me," you shrugged. "Okay. I give up, you win! Im calling it quits," she groaned. "YES! I WINNNN!" you exclaimed as your girlfriend watched you throw your hands up in the air. "Yeah yeah," she said, rolling her eyes. "How about we put our tickets together and buy the rainbow monkey," you said, pointing at a pretty big prize hanging from the ceiling. "Hmm... okay. Do we have enough?" she asked you, pulling out a couple tickets. "Well with your 300 and my 1300, yeah, we do," you winked at her.

You bought the monkey and then headed outside. Patri swung her arm around your waist and then pulled out her phone. She asked a woman if she would take a picture, and your spanish girlfriend kissed you and held you close to her as the woman smiled and took pictures. "You guys are beautiful," she smiled at you both kindly. You both thanked her multiple times before continuing your walk. The next stop for the day was a picnic. You stopped at a deli to get cheese, bread, charcuteries, pastries, fruit and drinks for the picnic. When you arrived at a park with blossoming trees and tall green grass, you set up your meal and ate, laughed and drank, all underneath the watchful eye of an old oak, and the monkey you had named Zeus.

Day three: Beach day! This was easily the day you were most excited for. You had already gotten a tan from just walking around the warm city, but you couldn't wait to even it out on the beach. That morning, you woke up at 8:00, quickly put on a black bikini and white beach pants, did some light makeup and put on gold jewelry before taking your turn to pull Patri out of bed. You had smoothie bowls for breakfast along with coffee and a danish and then you headed to the beach. The day could not have been better. Patri took hundreds of pictures of you, and you took thousands of Patri. She looked so cute in her bikini, you felt as though you would melt.

After an hour of tanning on the surprisingly quiet beach, Patri sat up and placed her hand on your back. She gently rubbed her hand up and down your spine, making you smile. "You want to go swim don’t you?" you laughed. You turned around to face her and she smiled at you with puppy eyes. "Okay, let’s go baby," you said, jumping up and grabbing her hand. You both started running madly. Sand flew up, your laughs were heard throughout the beach and your smiled were so bright. But when you reached the water, you had to uphold your girlfriend duties, which meant stopping your run and pushing Patri into the water. Your girlfriend fell forward with a huge splash. The water got strangely deep very quickly so she stayed under for a couple seconds.

The spaniard came back up, spluttering and coughing. "Y/n!" she yelled, looking at you with a shocked look as you smiled innocently. "Yeah?" you smiled.

Before you knew it, Patri had grabbed your waist and lifted you over her shoulder. You kicked your legs and screamed all while laughing but the spaniard was strong, and your efforts did nothing as seconds later, you were submerged in the water. When you came back up, you wiped the hair off of your face and laughed loudly. You pushed against the current to stand in front of your girlfriend, your body pressed to hers. Her hands lay lazily on your hip bones as yours wrapped around her neck. "Truce?" you asked gently. "Mhm… how could I say no to that face," she said, kissing you lovingly.

Day four:

Shopping. You had been so excited to shop, it having always been something you loved to do. And so, after sleeping in until 9:00 and leaving the hotel at around 10:00, you had a quick breakfast and then headed to the busiest street in Athens. The whole day was spent walking into shops and buying souvenirs for your friends and family as well as trying on hundreds of different pieces, mostly payed by Patri. But she didn’t mind, some of the things you bought she would have killed to see you wear every day, so she didn’t have a care in the world about paying.

You were currently in a small boutique that sold very original and colourful suits, and as you would both be attending an award ceremony soon enough, you thought that there was no better place to buy an outfit. Patri chose a purple suit to represent barcelona, and to match with her you chose an off the shoulder silk purple dress. You were excited to wear it with her.

By the time you returned to the hotel, you both had five bags of clothes and souvenirs.

You dropped the bags into a corner of the room and plopped down on the bed. "This was the best vacation ever. Thank you baby. Thank you," you said to her, turning your head and smiling at her. She was laying down next to you and her smile was wide. Her eyes traced your features and then she close the gab between the both of you. You kissed her lovingly, slipping your hand under her shirt and passing your hand on her abs. "Cant believe I need to leave you for two months now," she said sadly. "I’ll call you every day my love. Deal?" you said gently. "Deal, mi amor," she said sweetly.

[beesmygod]

What are some of your favorite pieces of art/ art that has made you think a lot?

this is such a cheesy cop-out answer, but there's a lot of things that im going to struggle remembering because of 1. how situational the experience was (as in, the context in which i experienced the piece) 2. how wide the word "art piece" is. 3. the great fortune to have been born to parents with strong artistic sensibilities and a love of travel/education. so these are like. really weird and specific but maybe thats the way it should be:

let's start with the most overly dramatic: st. paul's cathedral in london has guided tours where they take you into rooms and let you mill around before moving to the next one. my family took a trip overseas as a really, really big special vacation to celebrate my sister and i graduating from high school (we're not twins, we just combo'd it after she graduated) that i was too brain-broken and teenage to fully appreciate. its a beautiful cathedral but i was in my edgy internet atheist stage and refused to be impressed by it until i stood over a grate in the floor. through the grates you can see the crypt that you visit next. but standing over the grate, someone below started to sing something hymnal and very catholic. and i realized i was the only one who could hear it because of the crowd chatter. and it made me feel, in the moment, so special and so lonely in a way that i still think about, a lot. it was for me only. divine providence.

a date with adam to a place i had no idea existed but he had been to before: the bad art museum, which is split over like 3 different buildings in a bizarre way. we only went to the one where you have to buy a ticket to a movie as entry and it was some truly lovely bad art and made me sad how inaccessible it was but resolute about my love of the nuances of uncelebrated anti-art masterpieces. then we watched "assassination nation" and it was fucking terrible. great date.

reading the theory regarding the "venus of willendorf" being a self portrait as a 20-something year old and running into the bathroom to take my clothes off and look down at myself and having my mind blown. not just by how much i instantly understood it, but because of the tugging feeling on my heart when i feel that strand of history connecting women artists driven by that unknown compulsion to create for creations sake!

similarly, seeing artemisia gentileschi's work next to her fathers and realizing how much she outclassed him in every single way and feeling the tugging feeling again, but this time with a dark woe of realization of how history minimizes achievement and talent when it eases a narrative

reading jane erye's descriptions of herself and her approaches to her plights and for the first time feeling like someone had walked a path that i currently found myself lost on.

reading 1984 as a middle schooler and becoming so angry at the ending i threw the book across the room (something i had never done before and never did again in my life) and stormed out of my room to complain to my mom lol. IT REALLY UPSET ME!!!

reading les miserables for the first time and weeping piteously for days after the ending and having it impact my brain so hard it re-wired how i think about the concept of "legacy" and what it means to matter in the world and how love is nothing without the courage to stand up for it. and that mercy should, and will, always supersede unwavering justice (hard lesson to remember, maybe im due for a re-read)

sneaking into my parents room to read the books i wasnt supposed to yet as a really little kid lol. my mom used to get "dykes to watch out for" in a newsletter she was subscribed to! but i didnt read those bc they were dumb relationship comics for grown-ups. i wanted to read about opus the penguin and lee iacocca, as if i knew who that was. my mother's comic collection was the single most influential constant in my life. knowing that i was exposed to bill watterson's commentary about his own work via the big collections my mom owned probably explains a lot about what's wrong with me. but she also had a lot of berke breathed before he fully wussed out

the general experience of playing a video game that you arent supposed to/when you arent supposed to is probably one of the most freeing means of meaningless rebellion as a kid that everyone should experience. i used to be up playing pokemon past my bedtime under my covers with a huge heavy rubber flashlight i stole from the kitchen and had to replace every morning without getting caught once i was done with it. god, the days before backlit screens we had to get really fucking wild with it. in high school i would wake up at 5:00am, sneak into the computer room where the ps2 was and play an hour of FFX bc its the longest fucking non-persona game in the world, stop playing before my mom woke up at 6:00am and sneak back into bed. if i hit a part where i couldnt save i would just turn the screen off and come back to it tomorrow lol. secrets......

reading the "pictures for sad children" arc about paul, who is a ghost, finally losing it and going on a rant about how it has never mattered how thin a computer screen is. they were right and reading it helped me articulate and understand a growing feeling of restless frustration at the world around me that i felt singular and alone in. im glad that last i heard that artist is doing ok. i hope they recognize the incredible value in their work as imperfect as they perceived it to be. i do not think they would be happy to know that their old work was impactful, but i hope they realize that what people are able to tease out of their work is meaningful, at least to me it is. ill transcribe the comic rather than repost it i think: paul [while smashing electronics]: "have i told you about [bam] how nerds destroy the world take conspicuous consumption as a lifestyle choice and combine it with early hardware adoption and you have great swaths of gadgetry out of stock because they're incrementally better than the last model and there are landfills full of functioning electronics wasted time, resources, money, etc. the best part is that these things were never necessary it has never mattered how thing a computer is." [smash]

this is too long. i like art.

[otrtbs]

hi! could you explain a little bit what you studied and if you did any apprenticeship before you got a job ? a little summary to how you got there ? i’m so curious (and i admire you a lot)

hiya!! sure!!

so back in high school i actually started volunteering at my local art museum when i was 16 (up until i graduated at 18). they had a program specifically designed for teens to volunteer at the museum (i gave guided tours, and helped plan events at the museum, and worked with kids 3-12 in a drop-in studio every saturday where they could make art of their own after looking in the gallery) <- not a lot of museums do this, but you can call and ask if they need volunteer docents for the weekends !! they’ll train you!!

then i majored in art history in undergrad (making sure to focus my courses in modern and contemporary art towards the end of my studies bc that’s what i wanted to do! also i took a LOT of french classes. as in i only needed a few credits to have a minor but the last class was so hard i dropped it) to give yourself a leg up, i recommend studying a language (italian, french, spanish, german) most jobs in ARH require at least a minimal reading knowledge of another language.

while i was in school, i got a job at my university’s art museum as a gallery assistant! (<- fancy way of saying i walked around the galleries and told people not to touch the paintings and answered their questions if they asked and made sure no one was trying to steal the art)

during the summer, i got a summer internship at an art gallery in the biggest city close to my house (bc i moved back home w my parents in the summertime. uni housing was crazy expensive) and that was the *most* instrumental. i learned how to write wall texts, how to install artworks, i made studio visits to artists, updated the gallery website, handled artist contracts, you name it! it was great experience!!

i also got involved in art history/fine arts clubs at my university! i was on the fine arts council at my uni which represented the art and art history department to the student senate and the university at large. and the art historical society.

then i got my master’s degree in history of art theory and display, joined the art historical society at that university, got a degree and entered my FLOP ERA OF THE CENTURY

and by that i mean, i was 6 months unemployed and moved back home w my parents flop era. no one would hire me ,, no one would even give me a call back to tell me they didn’t wanna hire me ,,, and then one day someone did !! rahhh!!!! and i got some of my research approved 4 publishing and now im here!!!! (i say this not to discourage you but to let you know that the job market for art history ppl is tough,, it has always been tough,, but if you love it, it’s never a waste to pursue!)

i would do a few things differently if i had a second go at it, just to get a leg up so here’s some advice that im giving but i DIDNT DO myself:

1) try to minor in something to give you a leg up! a language is good, marketing is good, public relations… something to make you stand out!

2) try to get things published as an undergrad or a grad student! get your research out there if you can (way easier said than done ik ik) have some things you can list under your publications tab on your CV

3) if you find yourself in a 6+ month jobless, flop era period like me, volunteer somewhere at a museum or gallery if you are able. i was bitter as fuck that i had a masters degree and would be working at a museum for free when i needed money so i didn’t do it ,, but when someone finally calls back and you get an interview and they ask what you’ve been up to recently ,,, telling them you spend your time volunteering in museum spaces and working in your desired environment looks so much better than saying “i’ve been job searching” i promise !! (<- also just recognizing the extreme privilege i had to just stay at home and look for jobs in my desired field instead of immediately having to get a job somewhere. but im not gonna lie to you. i put out applications at olive garden and einstein’s bagels and they both rejected me. so. i was scrambling bc my student loans were due and i had zero dollars 2 my name 🧍‍♀️)

okay i rambled on for entirely tooooooo long. but i hope this was helpful somewhat !!! 💗💗

[ksharoly]

The History Repeats Itself

"my queen im afraid that we are not allowed to go in here" jorah told dany as they face the room of the great queen.

"is this the room of the great queen of the North"

"and the 7 kingdoms my queen" missandie corrected her as the servants of Stark guided them and tour them around the place.

"welcome to the room of y/n stark the great queen of the North and the seven kingdoms" Catelyn said as they open the door through the room many portraits of y/n and her painting in the middle of the room is the crown and Dress of y/n there were also jewelry of her.

"even now the history of the gueen is not erasable" Olenna said as she admire the portrait of y/n

" i im not gonna lie i kinda see her in you the hair the eyes the way you speak for your people and the way you reign" Catelyn said as she looks at Daenerys up and down.

"but I am afraid i did not conquer the seven kingdoms like her or aegon the first" dany said as fidgets with her hands.

"oh my queen the king aegon conquered the 7 kingdoms while the 7 kingdoms bowed to her as she who ruled with dignity and loyalty to her people she did not rule just for power but she ruled as its mother you see a hundred years ago before the dance of dragon she prepared for the best of her people she helps the children give them education and help the people with foods and shelter" Olenna said as she explained the history of y/n

"may i know on what she ruled over?" Daenerys question them.

"the north, the westeros the winter and the dorne" missandie said.

as they talk about the past the sound of loud roar was heard in the entire of the land of north they quickly closed the door of the room and get outside as they locate the creature suddenly an dragon was flying in the sky as it land's far away to them.

"is that the dragon of y/n?" Daenerys asked.

"no my queen thats the dragon of Queen y/n 6th grandson its quite big for its Year's old.

the dragon roar as it releases fire upwards wanting to find their rider.

"Sagon gīda" Daenerys said as the dragon calm down

( be calm ).

"you know king viserys once said that The idea that we control the dragons is an illusion. They're a power men should never have trifled with. One that brought Valyria it's doom. If we don't mind our own histories, it will do the same to us.” jorah said while staring at the big dragon.

"you must know how to rule an Kingdoms without any power or title's" cersie said competing with dany.

"then i will"

"rule like y/n the queen who fights without or with an dragon an queen who fights with dignity and loyalty serves its people with great heart" Daenerys said.

"then you will die too as giving birth to an heir" cersie said as the people around her began to get angry of what she said.

"she died giving birth to an heir who was there to continue her dreams and too also complete his dream rule as its king, strong as it's father cregan Stark and loyal as it's mother y/n targaryen, cael stark was the hope of his people king of the north and king of the targaryens as he died with pride and glory while his children continue the blood of dragon and wolf" Daenerys said to her as she walk passed her.

" I will take what's mine with fire and blood"

"watch me rule as its queen and let the people know that history repeats itself" dany said.

"History Doesn't Remember Blood, It Remembers Names"

[scrunkalicious]

MARTOR LORE DROP??????

I was like zaymn I should prolly share some shiz

First time sharing this much,, pleab b nice 2 me,,, 🥺

The two met before the time that the Arcane show started,,

Marly is an art student at Piltover’s Academy, but also specializes in History, Writing, and Genetics (SCIENCE MENTION?? 🤯🧬🧪)

Originally met Viktor via having to show him around the school when he walked in and became Heimerdinger’s assistant enrolled,, a friendly tour guide pretty much!!

With Marly being easygoing as well as easy to talk to, the two got along quickly

She’s fast to accommodate for others without saying anything. Keeping a nice walking pace for Viktor, avoiding crowded areas, never making any rude comments and being open minded (to which was heavily appreciated by Viktor)

Offered for him to have lunch in the school library with her, so he wouldn’t be lonely

Blud took the offer up, and they had a great time getting to know each other better!!

As time passed they grew closer omgg

Marly could now also be considered somewhat of a scientist, due to spending so much time with Viktor,, bro made her more of a nerd

But she’s still mainly an artist!! She would often draw him and even gift him drawings (Viktor has a lil drawer filled with things from her)

Marly doesn’t care that he’s from the Undercity, and doesn’t mind him limp. She’s very mindful of the latter, and does her best to help him out.

Fun fact she helped design his cane,, when he first arrived he still had some heavy duty sticks he tied together, but soon enough Marly helped get him a new one, practically hand made by her and some friends

Marly is VERY persistent when it came to defending Viktor when other students were unkind to him (she WILL beat their ass and WILL use her words no mercy)

MWHAHA THEN A SCHOOL DANCE HAPPENED? Whaaatt no way,,

Marly definitely went, dressed in a brightly colored dress, ready to party

She spotted Viktor in the corner and went to go over and talk to him

With enough convincing,, they danced together, with Marly being extremely mindful of his leg and all that,,, very happy close intimacy wooaaahhh, then they got juice bc they don’t drink LMAO,,, ooohhh that dance brought them much closer together HOLAY MOLAY

Erm Heimerdinger is catching onto smth,,, encourages Viktor to make a move lmao

SO HE DOES WHHAAAATTT (she said yea)

OOOHHH MAN ESTABLISHED RELATIONSHIP GO CRAYZEE

TONZ of physical affection,,, cuddlez for DAYZ (Marly is big spoon jsyk v important info mhm)

Oohhhh they are so in love

Old fashioned datez, quality time,,,, picnicz n librariez ouuugghgg

Sleeping in each other’s arms after a long work day AARGH

MARLY KISSING VIKTOR ON HIS BEAUTY MARKZ?? CRADLING HIS FACE IN HER HANDZ AND KISSING HIS FOREHEAD??? LORD TAKE ME NOWWW AAAAAATRGFHCHFG

THE MARTOR BRAINROT IS REAL

okok im done yapping my bad y’all 🤗🤗

[pompadourpink]

Bonjour! I just saw the ask of the lost 17 year old and I cant help but feel like Im in a similar position. I'm 28 years old and I feel like I shouldve figured out what I want to do in life. I feel like I wasted my 20s on simply going with the flow and "ill figure it out later" mentality. I've also recently been fired from a job I should love but after three months I found so boring. I stayed there for a year just to get some exeprience. Now that Im unemployed again I get rejected over and over again and feel so useless. Even for jobs Im excited about the passion fizzles, and I dont even know what I want to do. Or what I'm even good at anymore.

Hello dear,

Dr Write too much, PhD, is back in the office, woohoo!

One, you're not supposed to have an epiphany one night and find out what your calling is. You don't have one. You're not a machine. You're a brain in a meat suit and you came without instructions, which means you don't have a function. Capitalism put us in this position. Existing is enough, and work is a human invention - food and shelter originally didn't have a price tag. We tend to think of the Ancient Greeks as the most advanced, wisest civilisation there's ever been. Do you think they wondered about what their manager is going to say if they dodged their phone call at 9pm on Friday or lost sleep over getting ghosted on Tinder? No, they had a lot of wine, a lot of bread, a lot of sex, and walked around in beautiful gardens with their companions. And they didn't feel bad about it. Why would they?

Two, you can reinvent yourself as many times as you want. Storytime!

When I went to Rome for my birthday back in 2018, I bumped into a Colosseo guide named Tahar who was around my boomer father's age and so happy to make a friend he started telling me about his life over breakfast, how he had studied physics, loved the stars, never had a family so he travelled a lot, had been in Rome for about a month, and gotten the job by hanging out around the Colosseo and having little talks with other guides in French, English, Arabic and broken Italian until their boss decided to hire him just because he was friendly. He even confessed that at night, he would go and have a drink in fancy bars to try and find tourists to sell tours to at a higher price so he could pocket the difference.

At the time, I was nearly 26, ten days away from leaving a terrible minimum-wage job, had lived in the same area of the country my whole life and the same city for 8 years, had a recently broken heart and was still recovering from a severe case of mononucleosis that is still to this day the worst pain I've ever felt.

I didn't stay in touch with Tahar because he got flirty and started insinuating that it wasn't too late for him to settle down and have a kid or two while holding my hands and that was not going to happen. However, I still think about him once in a while, when I catch myself being paralysed by fear of the unknown.

My guy had nothing, no house, furniture, wife, kids, local friends, parents, savings, was paid to ramble about history and make jokes in the sunshine, lived paycheck to paycheck; and he was happy, tanned, eating fruit and drinking wine with a huge smile on his face nella bella Roma, kilometres away from thinking of himself as a failure. He was doing exactly what he wanted, and where, and when, and with whom, and while he clearly wasn't a role model, he is the one person I have ever met who lived life on his own terms and is 100% going to die without regrets.

Three, take a step back. I talked about it recently but it is vital that we calm down and stop chasing numbers and short-lived adrenaline. Go spend a day outside, at the beach, in the countryside, the mountains - it doesn't matter, just away from home, and lay down, relax, and listen to what the world has to say to you. We all love to think that happiness is our number one priority, but it is rarely the case - I hinted about it in the 17-year-old post: if you think of your perfect day and compare it to your current circumstances, those two lists would be very different. We keep talking to people who make us miserable, eating stuff that gives us tumtum aches, wearing shoes that hurt our feet, and wonder why we are upset and can't sleep well.

And I'm guilty of that too. I have always had that mental image of the seaside, a walk on the beach, the sun, a dog, lavender ice cream, a man and a couple of kids running around, and then home, a movie, a blanket, the fire. I don't have any of that. I live in a very grey city, alone with my geriatric cat, working all day long, not knowing where to go, changing my mind constantly, thinking maybe I should just stay here and keep saving money for a house, drowning in my routines like a little hamster on a wheel. I love my life, but I'm not satisfied yet, because like you, my 20s were spent differently, and now I'm trying to catch up a little.

The truth is that I'll never be where my former classmates who took a different path are, but they will also never be where I am. They have more regrets than me. They look at my life, my freedom, my absence of morning alarm, my joy, my projects, my head full of dreams, and they envy me. I am *that girl* who spent an hour this morning looking up how to move to Barcelona as an entrepreneur within the Schengen space. You are her too, people just won't tell you.

So what do you do now? You find a part-time job you're not going to hate and won't have to take home at night so you can pay bills, you look for your joy until you find it, you explore your interests, figure out your goals, maybe see if you have a (current or potential future) skill you could use to start a side-business, alone or with another person, whether it's baking or tailoring, that you could do routinely without hating yourself after a while, and spend your free time doing exactly what you want. If it fails, the end of the road is very far away and you can always try again.

It won't be a waste of time. That's not how time works.

Love,

Mum

[pendraegon]

omg!! I’m looking into phd programs in/around chicago and planning a visit there soon! you’ll have to let me know the “must-see” spots!

ooohhh dude if there's one thing that i fucking love doing it's [1] talking (just in general) and [2] specifically talking about my city, my sweet mistress, the love of my life chicago<3

first of all i wish u luck in ur phd endeavors!! im also like..shopping around for future phd programs and im also hoping that i can snag a place somewhere back home in the city instead of being out of state like i currently am with my masters lol (literally DREADING apps though i tried making headway on my statement and like. i have to do this again??? after my MA sop?? kms)

anyways here are some attractions<3

the riverwalk! it's basically like this giant strip of area along the chicago river with restaurants and bars and stuff<3 there's always music playing and people milling about and so many things to catch your eye! honestly i really like it at night, i think it's prettiest during sunset lol

the architectural boat tour. you literally just sit on a boat and some guy points out different buildings and tells you about its history and then you briefly go on the lake. i LOVEEEE taking people out on this, it's really really fun and you get good pics out of it. make sure to bring a jacket bc lake michigan. she is gorgeous and she is WINDY even in the summertime<3

obligatory millennium park/the bean mention. it's really fucking swarmed on the weekends so if ur not good with crowds avoid this area during that time but a good place to mill around! also to make fun of the bean. she is so ugly but she is a part of the city you know. (also it's right next to michigan avenue if you need to get a gift for someone/want to go shopping!)

wait obvi the sears tower + observational deck. if anyone calls it the willis tower you can spit on them. legally.

okay let's get into the museums. they're all cloistered around the same area (a bit past millennium park) so like. i guess you COULD try to see a bunch of them in one day but like. there's so much that you really can't feasibly do that lol

the art institute of chicago. MY FAVORITE PLACEEEEEEEE. i personally really like the medieval art exhibits + on the bottom floor is a really cool miniature exhibit where they showcast different rooms from different eras and theyre all SO tiny and SO cute. the food here's pretty good? lol

there's also the museum of contemporary art but the art institute has a pretty damn good modern art section but if ur really into that kind of stuff go here instead.

the poetry foundation!

field museum. LOVEEE this place. you can see sue the dinosaur<3 i once got in trouble here as a kid on a field trip bc i asked the guide how much of the shit there was stolen and they did not let me ask another question ):

adler planetarium + shedd aquarium + museum of science and industry -> these are also all in the same area. for all the museums they have days with discount prices so check that out before u go!

there's two zoos, lincoln park zoo and brooklyn. lincoln park is superior and also it's free and there's OKAPIS. GO SAY HI TO THEM FOR ME.

if you dont mind driving out a bit, there's the chicago botanic gardens around wilmette/glencoe (tied w the art institute as my fave place) and if you drive a bit further out to lisle there's the arboretum as well. they also do discount days!

if u drive out to the suburbs -> woodfield mall in schaumburg

for the museums and stuff i would really rec getting one of those city passes bc you get admission into a bunch of stuff either at a discount rate or it's included and it's WAY cheaper than getting individual tickets imo

ALSO. lake michigan. just in general. THE best of the great lakes and the truest love of my life.

if there's anything you wanna see u might check out the aragon before u come! same with ravinia. i fucking love ravinia it's great to sit on the lawn and listen to music during summer nights<3

EDIT: fucking forgot navy pier. if you come during august there's the air + water show. but also there's a ferris wheel there and that's fun. there's always something happening there on the weekends so you can always dip in just to see what's up

EDIT 2: there's some stupid fucking nascar thing happening in chicago rn that's blocking the roads so as long as u avoid that, you will be fine 👍

OKAY FOOD TIME<3

deep dish pizza is a must here. i dont care what people say about it, it's pizza. anyways my favorite place is lou malnati's (the lou especially) but giordano's is also really good. uno's is...whatever to me don't go there.

chicago hot dogs: SOOO many good ones. portillo's is a classic, superdawg, charcoal delights, byron's hot dogs..my personal fave is gene and jude's but it's a bit out of the city (it IS around o'hare the airport so if u can stop by then that would be best lol)

for korean food, you cannot beat cho sun ok. go and get their chadolbaegi and their mulnaengmyeon. killer combo. don't wear your best clothes here bc you will have to wash it bc of the (good!) smells. additionally you can go to joongbooshijang/joongboo market and outside there's a mandu/dumpling stand. their kimchi mandu and their red bean mandu. chef's fucking KISS.

for kabobs, noon-o-kabab or kabobi is my favorite! if you go for kabobi make sure you get their bamiyeh as dessert (^:

okay. im putting eataly on this list only because i like their dessert section on the first floor lol their tiny cakes + gelato always hits the spot

i looooveee goddess and the baker. bestttttt place for matcha/coffee and a sandwich. hero coffee bar is also pretty good but that one is a grab and go. oromo cafe is sooo good if ur into turkish coffee and pistachio and rose flavors. lots of vegan options there if you're into that. there's another one i love but i CANNOT remember the name of it for the life of me.

wait one last thing. frontera grill is like......really good. i went with my parents and it was nice, really fucking good flan lol

night life is an entirely different situation and if u want i can tell u about it later but for now i um. think maybe i talked too much. anyways fellow chicagoans i know youre there if i missed anything let me know lol

[juliets-obsession-corner]

Chapter One; Should I Touch It?

Note; I'm shitting bricks right now cause I've never done anything like this before, and it's been ages since I've written anything AND let people see it, so 🧍🏻‍♀️ im fine, everything is fine, no one panic

Warnings; no warnings but no Uhtred and the pretty boys :( just an opportunity to meet the charity and set the scene!

Word Count; 1175

🦢 🦊 🦢 🦊

"Before the stronghold at Dunholm was recaptured by King Guthred of Northumbria's army, it was in the hands of Vikings for some years. The lord there was Kjartan the Cruel, and as you can imagine, he wasn’t a kind man." The tour guide smiled thinly, "He had a son, Sven, who likely died at the battle of Dunholm alongside his father. And, as far as we know, that is where Kjartan's bloodline ended."

The tour guide took a quick glance at his watch, “Before we move on to the main attraction, I’ll give everyone a few minutes to look at the trinkets and tools that were found beneath our very feet!”

The moment the tour guide stopped recounting the history around them, Erin linked arms with her childhood best friend, Ivy. She pulled the redhead along, pointing at every object with some explanation or theory as to what everything was. Ivy held no interest in this subject, but Erin’s excited and non-stop babbling had Ivy smiling so wide, her cheeks hurt.

“This is so cool!” Erin said, “Isn’t this so cool? Do you see how old everything is! People held these things! Vikings! Saxons!” Erin pointed at some sort of handle, “Maybe a Saxon dog played fetch with that!”

“What makes you think a Saxon dog was doing that?” She laughed.

“Could have been a Viking dog, I don’t know Ivy, I just know that,” She pointed at the handle, “would have been perfect for mediaeval fetch.”

After several minutes of squabbling, the tour guide interrupted them with a clap of his hands and a knowing smile that uplifted his mouth, “Now for the main attraction…a piece of the stronghold itself!”

Ivy untangled herself from Erin, took a few steps backwards towards the rest of the tourists. “Uh huh, okay, well while you’re contemplating about mediaeval dog toys, I’m gonna go see that super special rock you keep going on about.” She teased.

The gloomy inside of the small museum was a whole different world compared to the warm comfort of the sun. It beamed down on Ivy and for just a moment, it was lovely to be out of the darkness of the museum. Unfortunately, English weather wasn't nice weather. The air turned muggy and the heat amped up and up and up until small beads of sweat gathered at her hairline. Ivy grunted.

She felt someone's arm draped around her shoulders. Already knowing who it was, she tilted her head up several inches and was met with Erin's dark eyes.

"It's too hot for contact." Ivy mumbled.

Erin ignored her as she said, “You realise that ‘super special rock’ you keep teasing me about is an actual piece of the fortress that actually stood here a thousand odd years ago.” Erin bent down to whisper as to not disturb the tour guide, “It was one of the best defended fortresses!”

Ivy hummed.

Erin squinted.

“And you know what else?”

“I’m sure you’re gonna tell me anyway.” Ivy said.

Erin grinned, “Well, Mr Tour Guide here says King Guthred defeated the Vikings but there was never any evidence he was even at the battle, he just ordered it.”

“So? Aren’t kings just supposed to sit back, relax, grow fat and commit sins?”

“Well, Alfred The Great used to go into battle, most kings did. So, why didn't Guthred?”

Ivy shrugged.

The brunette let out a long, defeated, overly dramatic sigh, “So…aren’t you curious as to the whys, the whens, the hows, the whos?”

“I’m more interested in cutting people up and making their insides better.”

“People actually believe you’re some kind of saint,” Erin muttered, “you check all the boxes: trainee doctor, freckles, big eyes, soft spoken but you know what?”

Ivy shrugged, faux innocence in her eyes.

“You’re fucking nuts.”

Ivy laughed, and immediately covered her mouth when several tourists turned to glare. She apologised softly and made an over enthusiastic attempt to listen to the guide. The girls decided to continue their walk in silence, to avoid any more deadly stares. They walked along a large expanse of greenery. Trees loomed large in the distance, and hills dipped and curved like waves.

The tour guide stopped and the group followed suit.

“This here is the remaining stone from what is believed to be the Dunholm Fort.”

Erin squealed and dragged Ivy to the front.

And just as Ivy expected…it was rather unexceptional. It was a big lump of degraded smooth, grey stone. It was nothing to call home about, and Ivy felt guilty when she didn’t share the same awe as her history obsessed friend.

“Well?” Erin grinned.

Ivy nodded. “It’s a, uh, nice rock.”

Erin rolled her eyes. She looked back at the (seemingly) unimportant rock. If you were anyone else, no one would blink an eye to it. But Erin knew. Erin became obsessed with Viking history the moment she was told her family had connections to Ragnar the Fearless. Little five years old Erin ran around her garden, pretending she was a Viking. She screamed fierce battle cries and swung a sturdy stick at trees as if they were the enemy. She would pretend, in that imaginary world of hers, that all the kids on the playground would have been afraid if she were a Viking.

Erin stared at the stronghold piece. She kept staring even as the tour guide made it known it was time to move on. Even when Ivy made a move to join them, Erin kept staring.

Ivy turned to see if her friend had followed. Her face softened at the awe on Erin’s face. She walked back over to her side.

“It’s like if you saw the first ever notes of the bloke who invented penicillin.”

Ivy couldn’t help but laugh, “Alexander Fleming but I get your point.”

Ivy took her friend’s hand and gave it a squeeze.

A shy smile lifted the corners of Erin’s mouth.

“Let’s sit here and appreciate this super cool rock.” Ivy said, and brought Erin to sit with her before Erin could protest that Ivy didn’t need to do this.

Silence passed between the friends comfortably. Neither needing or wanting to say anything, simply appreciating the quiet bond that passed between them. It had taken Erin a long time to realise there didn’t have to be awkwardness in silence, although she could never muster it for long.

“Should I touch it?”

“Excuse me?”

Erin pointed at the rock. “I think I should touch it.”

Ivy examined the rock, and cocked her head. “There isn’t a sign saying you can’t touch it.”

A slow, mischievous smile slid its way up Erin’s lips. “It feels scandalous.”

“Erin.” Ivy took a breath, “Touching a rock isn’t scandalous.”

“It’s a famous rock.”

“It’s not that famous.”

“I’m gonna touch it.”

Their hands still intertwined, Erin used her free one to reach out to the rock. There was no buzz or feeling or wrongness in the action. There was nothing at all. She’d barely grazed the rock’s smooth surface when everything turned upside down.

[natikoko]

Your neo/new 3's

Their designs are super appealing I want to know them a bit more

Sure!!! I love talking about these two

Ian: Ian is a quiet person, but don’t mistake his quietness for timidity, he’s anything but. he’s a go with the flow type of person, but occasionally takes the reigns if he feels it doesn’t benefit him. he’s a rather chill and friendly guy, but his resting face and flat, almost demeaning tone of voice is mistaken for standoffishness or even aggression at times. He’s exceptionally charming and his dependability is unrivaled. His effectiveness at most everything he does makes him one of the NSS most reliable agents…

he loves rap! and collecting clothes. he’s really into street fashion. he’s actually a model with a up in coming company called Bluefin, and he advises their signature tracksuits. He’s been in the monthly battle catalogs before! It’s his greatest accomplishment. he sketches as a hobby and is an astounding cook

he takes pride in his appearance! ask this guy and he believes he’s the most handsomest guy in existence. he takes the utmost care of his afro to keep it voluptuous and shining and has great hygiene. his smile can light up the whole city (if he ever fucking smiles idk)

he’s considered certified fresh! Ian is hip. he’s cool he’s… fresh! gets along with anyone easily and integrated into inkling society seamlessly. is well liked amongst people

his brother(little buddy) is named Shrump and he eventually grows into a Horrorboros… Ian can proudly say that he’s brothers with a king salmonid

Okay,.. Shelbie!! she’s technically not mine but under things happened so I’m taking her. anyways!

shelbie: shelbie is aggressively friendly to everyone that it almost comes across as annoying. endlessly happy and always smiling. seriously… she never stops smiling. shelbie comes from a family of abusive, wealthy salespeople that tried to kill her! that’s for another time though. Shelbie makes friends effortlessly, her appealing personality and outrageous stories of…. ripping herself out of king salmonids(?) causes people to flock to her. her ability to think on her feet and devise a well-thought out strategy In minutes make her a fantastic addition to the NSS.

Shelbie is an artist! and a history bluff. she’s an exceptional painter and studies the history of Splatsville’s cultural heritage and mass migration. a natural scholar, she volunteers as a tour guide for various museums around Splatsville to share her love of history to everyone…!!! her research and dedication actually landed her own section in the National history museum…. she definitely didn’t have a breakdown hearing this news…….

people sometimes think she’s intimidating…!! she’s like 5’11 (WAY taller than average!) and wears sunglasses constantly (she has bad vision……) and her canines are sharper than average. if she isn’t smiling she admittedly does look a little off putting but the intimidation usually wears off quickly

she’s into fashion but not as much as Ian….. ian usually picks her outfit for her… “shelbs you have the potential to dress so well and yet you don’t… sad.” “what. what are you saying. do you not like how I dress now……”

Ian is her best friend! and vice versa. these two are so close! they’re in a QPR and they can’t live without one another (Im joking)(lie)

her little buddy is named Chicken and she’s a menace.

[francebaby]

you know when i started this research project, i didnt expect to find out there was a wholeass art history project covering what im doing and like. how did i not know about it at all.... it happened in like 2021 wtf. it's making me feel really fake because ive been saying im kind of a part of this community.... not enough to know about this huh 😭

actually i guess all these videos give my lazyass some sources to cite.... why set up an interview with one of the OGs when i can just find a video he's probably in and just quote that lol.

i think i got a solid B paper in terms of the sources i got. newspapers... some maps.... photographs.... I GUESS these videos of short interviews and stuff.... um.... more photographs... this tour guide book... my dead brain might just churn out a C paper but C's get Degrees as i always say (young followers reading this, aim for Bs and As get a good gpa and work ethic lol but dont get pressed about it)

i still have no idea what my argument is going to be tbh. to steal a quote from the pinoytown mural opening.... diversity before the concept of diversity? my prof kind of gave me this idea of something to do with multi-cultural communities.... i was supposed to have this figured out by last week btw lol

[bat-luun]

tell me about ur comic character right neow!!!!!!

you will fucking regret this hell yea

okay- literally no one talks to me about anything ever but imma try my best to explain it all even with the uber instincts of my uber autism- sorry about the crazy rambling your about to hear

tw: old art and my old @

this is a wip comic i started thinking about back in like 2018? when i first drew the (then) mc on paper! my beloved Bonnie!!

the concept for her then was: a film/photography student goes looking for her missing gf and lovecraftian horrors ensue!! the main inspiration was the three friends diner and the horrifying hijinks were mostly inspired by the 2017 horror game among the sleep!!! the MOST IMPORTANT gimmick of the whole thing was the photos i planned that Bonnie would take! inspired by this legendary creepypasta.

(old 2021 and 2022 art)↴

speaking of among the sleep - inspired by the bear character i did plan to maybe add a sidekick that would basically be a tour guide of some sort so bonnie doesnt get frame one killed. this was scrapped cuz its cringe and i didnt like it. now i just use them as a dnd npc.

(old 2022 art)↴

now mind you- i was working on this whole project whenever i really felt like it and this is around the time where i went from my dsmp hyperfixation to jrwi and didnt make much oc art so the work was very slow and minimal..

but when bitb dropped? oh my lord did i eat that shit up for this comic. obviously i dont wanna just rip off bitb (if i wanted to do that i would just write fanfiction) so i did a reboot of the whole series!

now i have four main characters: Kat (she/her) Bonnie (she/they) Dough (they/them) Vinny (he/him)

with Kat being the main main character as most of the story is told through her pov. the story is now set in the 70s/80s in a town literally called Small Town somewhere in florida (yes the shitty and simple names are intentional shut up). i wanted to explore more of the human nature of horror - that its not always the evil shadow monster hiding in the woods thats gonna hurt you, but that it can be the people you are closest to or even society at large.

but i also dont wanna go the ooOoOooOOOO it was a [insert mental illness here] metaphor all along!!! route since i feel like its really overdone and can heavily demonize mental illness. instead its more found family focused as a team of four homosexuals try to solve the towns seemingly simple mystery that drives them down the path of experiencing unspeakable horrors!

so basically gayer scooby-doo but theres heavy gore and autism

i can definitely rant about this way more but i feel like ive been talking for too long so hope you enjoyed that very brief history lol - let me know if you wanna hear about the remake characters!!!! :D

heres a kat piece im working on rn as a treat :]

[momo-de-avis]

Im gonna be real here. The food tour is fun and our partners are extremely good establishments, they have an incredible history and the staff is super nice. Except one. Every single guide hates this one, and we've been having problems with it for a while. I've had the owner scream at me, I've had a french dude scream at me, I've seen some really fucking disgusting things I disguised or did my best to solve without the tourists seeing, I've nearly had tourists beaten up by other customers there, it's how trashy that fucking place is. And for some reason i cannot explain, a lot of tourists love the food there and especially the wine (the wine is Pias, I cannot tell you how much I hate Pias). But lately there have been a few really negative reviews on the tour and some of it has to do with this place. Clients have complained that the guides ditched them at the table for half an hour, and I can tell you the reason why is that we, from our company, are treated as a nuisance, so much it takes us an average of 15 minutes of standing there waiting to pay. Today I had yet another person complaining about the staff and the service and I honestly did not know what to say bc I agree with all of you, but it's my goddamn job to try and sell this shit as an amazing place with awesome food even though I have even stepping through the front door, considering the staff rolls their eyes at us and speak to us like we're ruining their day every day. It just pains me that we have such a nice tour, things go so smoothly, right until that point.