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inkskinned · 2 years ago

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you know, the light that fades at the end of Goncharov isn't light.

i am not a very good person to talk to about movies. i haven't seen most of the "official" american canon - jaws, psycho, citizen kane. i have seen sharknado, though. like so much in my childhood, what i knew was a little jar on a long shelf of gallons; my world was a catholic desert in new england weather.

my father had gotten his snout up about something; so we had to watch it. he was mad we hadn't seen it, the way people are going to be mad i haven't seen those three up i named there, as if i me having-not-seen-the-movie was because i was making some kind of political statement or argument. i just haven't seen them yet, i have no opinion about it. i'll eventually get around to it, god be willing.

during that time, i was doing bad in school and worse in taking care of my body. i sat on the floor on this green pillow, one of the ones my dog eventually tears up. my dad typed g-o-n into the DVR with that slow methodical passion, the remote tilted so the "rays" or whatever would somehow find the ever-smaller input.

he was excited. "you need to understand the light." he didn't look at me while he did it, focused.

"are you spelling gonorrhea." my brother, the eldest, was 17 in this memory. he was sitting on the chair in the corner, playing a game i can't remember the name of. (starfleet? star invaders? it was online, i know that. lots of clicking.)

my dad is used to this. we talk over each other all the time. "when they made it, scorsese wanted this specific hue over everything." my father looks over his shoulder at me, but i'm on the floor, stretching. i don't have a smart phone yet. i'm just watching with the anxious-restless feeling we all get when your father is painstakingly typing something into a virtual keyboard at an eighth of the speed you could have managed. "you'd like this, raquel. what color do you think he wanted?"

my mom comes in from the kitchen. "do we want salt or butter on the popcorn?" she has a handful she pops into her mouth. "wait for your sister to come upstairs. she'll be mad if she misses a part."

"salt," i say, while my brother says "butter."

"spruce." my dad is undeterred. he finally clicks the v, and then navigates over the red tiles to enter. "Spruce."

"okay?" i like dark green too. to be honest, i have no idea who Scorsese is or why he is important. (this is, by the way, still true.)

"here's the thing." my father doesn't actually click the "enter." he just looks at me, adjusting his glasses. "it doesn't exist."

okay. he's right. i do like this. i squint up at him, the signal to go on.

"it came to him in a dream. it's not a real color." my brother monotones, flat. he's heard this story before, and he's 17.

"i still say it's green," my mother says. she comes in holding the salt-and-buttered popcorn, fluffy in an orange bowl. "he just never painted a house, is all."

"it's a candle smell," i say.

"a tree." i don't know when my little sister came upstairs. she's braiding her hair, frowning. "i thought we were going to watch psych."

"it's old movie night," my mother answers. there's something there, in the cant of her smile, which i won't understand until i am much older. if you are over 25, you know what i saw. my mother, seeing her family settle like tired birds around a movie screen, for the moment placid, not-fighting. none of the children are happy about the selection - why would we be?

"Scorsese says it's not green." my father finally clicks rent for 2.99. "he was looking for this specific color, the one from his dreams. the color he had been told was called spruce, through someone in the dream." he looks to me again, his poet. "you know how dreams always feel... different. when you look back on them in your memories, they don't color in all the way. and he wanted that dream tinge."

the memories of my dreams are covered in colored static. sometimes i nightmare in black and white. i did not share this information, thinking it was too private. (forgive me. i was 14. everything was too-private for me.)

"a regular hitchcock," my mom mutters. we don't know, yet, not really, about what hitchcock did.

"he revolutionized the lighting industry. raquel, you have to look for the light in this thing. it's only in a few frames per scene. he didn't want it to be overwhelming."

"he fired like 10 people while he was doing it." my brother doesn't look up from his screen, clicking feverishly. "in order to get the color, he had to develop a software to switch lighting past human speed." he sends a glance towards the TV, kind of relenting. "it was cool, actually. he didn't actually light the room with that speed, he used one set of colors on the set and then another set specifically over the film. we're basically seeing two films: one that has the regular lighting, and then just this lighting track playing on top."

"like a sound list - ah, what's that called?" my father's remote hovers over play. i am trying to figure out what color i think spruce is going to be. "soundtrack," he amends. "are we all ready?"

"i still don't think it's real," my mother says. "i think he made it up for PR." my mother is good at colors. my mother would be right about that kind of thing.

"hon, he spent thousands of dollars on this." my father isn't angry, for once, he's smiling. "i'm telling you, it happens."

she shrugs. "i'll believe it when i see it."

we are not ready. we have to each find places to sit. i've been lying about how bad my eyesight is getting, so i keep my seat on the floor, close to the television. my mother, father, and sister take the couch. i make sure i am within reaching distance of the popcorn. my brother even kind-of closes his monstrosity of a laptop. then my mother has to use the bathroom, so we all do, so we won't have to pause later. then my sister remembers her homework, so i get mine too, spreading it uselessly in front of me. i slide open my verizon sidekick keyboard phone to text Dean who the fuck is scorkayze? [sic] and then we are ready.

my mom falls asleep by the end of the first 15 minutes. my father misses most of it, since he's already seen it, going downstairs to play World Civ instead. my sister doesn't get it, so she ends up at the dining room table, doing homework instead. my brother goes back to the video game.

i stare really, really, really hard at the film, trying to figure out where the spruce happens. a few frames per scene.

i don't like the film. like most movies i saw at the time, i found it boring. i had undiagnosed adhd. i spend most of my time stretching and texting and not-doing my homework. again, i'm sorry - i was 14.

when the "gun" finally goes off - if you've seen the movie, you know the scene, and i won't spoil it here for other readers - i looked back over my shoulder towards my family. all of us, quiet in our own little seats. satellites. did i want this memory to be different? that i would turn and see my family, happily crowded chickadees, our wings brushing? or is this just the real-life, the type of love where we are not nesting birds, but foxes. prowling the edges of our comfort with our jaws open. snapping at the shadows, wishing for the closeness we don't allow ourselves to get. tomorrow we will watch psych. this is the last year of my life that all of us will live under the same roof. my brother goes off to college, and my sister and i follow suit. it is the last year my grades don't matter. it is my sister's first year of middle school. it is 2007; and in 2008, in the recession, we will no longer be able to afford to turn on the heat.

behind me, on the television, the light was fading.

sometimes, when i think back to it, shifting through the memory: it appears out of the thin air. a frame of spruce. it's never around the movie. my father's hands on the remote. my brother's low voice. the sound of my sister walking up the stairs. the popcorn smell hanging in the air. for a moment, the sense - everything is easy. and you know? i think i see it, mr. scorsese.

#how far do we go for a meme?#haha :)#what if i just write about the death of childhood by accident #this was supposed to be 3 paragraphs but i just finished disco elysium #so i am too full up on words #ps most of this is true #i still haven't seen those movies lmafo

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amnevitahwritesstuff · 4 months ago

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The Pretty Woman AU no one asked for.

Fandom: A Court of Thorns and Roses

Pairing: Feyre/Rhysand

Rating: Explicit

Triggers: Prostitution, Older Man/Younger Woman

Chapters: 2, 3, 4 (WIP)

AO3 Link

For @whatishowedyouinthedark because she wondered when we were going to get a Pretty Woman AU. Well, my dear, that day is today.

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Chapter One: Day One

Feyre tried not to let the dread and panic choke her as she walked down the street.

Everything had been fine until that text. The one from her landlord informing her that no, she could not extend her late payment any later, and yes, she would be facing eviction if she didn’t cough up the now three thousand dollars she owed for both this month’s and last month’s rent.

And, at any other time, this might’ve been doable. Difficult, but doable. Normally her sisters were there to help pay their fair share of the rent and cover for each other any time one of them was a little short. But now that Elain had moved out to live with her boyfriend, and Nesta had disappeared to lord knew where again, their little sister had suddenly found herself on the hook to cover everything herself.

And she was struggling.

She was already working two jobs and even then she was just barely getting by. Even if she managed to fit in a third job somehow and started today, by the time she received her first paycheck she would’ve already been booted onto the streets.

How did one even make that kind of money in a few days? Become a hit man? Did she need to become John Wick for a night? She briefly considered drug dealing…until she realized that she didn’t actually know any illegal drug suppliers. Which was, you know, probably important.

She ended up going with the next best (and illegal) thing.

Which was how she ended up here, on the street corner on the bad side of town, wearing the shortest, sluttiest thing she could find in Nesta’s closet. After all, how difficult could it be for a nineteen year old to find some horny old men to pay her for sex?

Rather difficult it turned out.

Three hours in and she was now beginning to regret her hasty decision. Three hours and she hadn’t seen a single man wander past and give her so much as a creepy stare. Instead, she’d had the local corner shop owner ask her four times in the last hour if she wanted to come inside.

“You look cold dear,” the woman insisted for the fifth time as she closed up shop for the night. Feyre suppressed a shiver as the early spring air gusted over her bare legs.

“I’m alright,” she said while trying not to let her teeth chatter. That probably would’ve been a dead giveaway that she was not, in fact, alright. God, why hadn’t she thought to bring a coat?

Because coats hide the goods, that infuriatingly rational part of her brain supplied.

Not that anyone besides Mrs. Nosy had seen the goods the entire time she’s been out here.

“It’s fine,” Feyre continued. “Really. I’m just waiting for a friend.”

This might’ve been convincing if it hadn’t been the exact same story she’d given this woman every time she’d asked. Said woman looked at her disapprovingly, but seemed to sense she wouldn’t be winning this battle and so left with a parting, “If you say so dear.”

Forty-five minutes later, Feyre wondered where she’d gone wrong in her life. If it hadn’t been apparent before that she was ill-dressed for the weather, then it certainly was now that the sun had set. It had to be near freezing.

And still she hadn’t seen hide or hair of a single horny man ready to throw money at her. She’d barely seen anyone out here really, save for passing cars and the odd homeless person muttering to themselves. God, had she picked the wrong day or something? Did she miss the memo? Was there a prostitute group chat she wasn’t a part of that told everyone which street corner was the busiest? Did prostitutes even have group chats?

These were the questions she was asking herself when he appeared.

“Excuse me, do you know the way to the Four Seasons?”

Feyre startled.

A man had joined her under the flickering street light. A man who was talking to her. And asking for directions.

A handsome man.

…Maybe even too handsome.

“Oh, umm…” she blinked at him stupidly.

“I’m sorry to ask, but I seem to be a bit lost. I swear I was downtown an hour ago but now I’m not really sure how I ended up here. I’d just call an Uber but unfortunately I left my phone at the hotel so…” He smiled at her sheepishly as if to say, ‘what can you do?’.

Feyre studied him thoughtfully. He was tall and impeccably dressed. He certainly looked like someone who could afford to stay at the Four Seasons so that part of his story was likely true.

Which also meant…the wheels started turning in her head.

“…And what’s that worth to you?”

It was cruel. Normally Feyre would’ve just walked the poor man to his hotel herself or offered for him to use her phone….but she was desperate. And from the looks of his shiny shoes and expensive peacoat…he could afford it.

The man looked at her then. Really looked at her, with her ill-fitting cheap dress and haphazard attempt at gaudy makeup…and something suddenly seemed to click in his brain.

“I see.” And he did. His entire demeanor had changed. Where once he had seen a young college student who could give him directions now he clearly saw her for what she truly was.

A whore.

Even if only for the night.

“Do you?” Feyre lowered her voice as she straightened her spine a little. Anything to make herself appear older. Sultry. Unconcerned. As if she weren’t about to be homeless in five fucking days.

“How much do you charge?”

The question caught her completely off guard when it absolutely shouldn’t have. This was exactly why she was here. And yet, when actually faced down with a living, breathing man ready to pay for her services she couldn’t think of a single fucking number. What did sex workers usually charge? It’s not like she knew a lot of prostitutes she could ask. And what if this was the only man she managed to snag in the next five days? She needed to get as much out of him as she could. She needed…she needed…

“Three-thousand dollars.”

As soon as the words were out of her mouth she desperately wanted to take them back. Was she fucking insane? Nobody was going to pay three-thousand dollars for her!

“Three-thousand,” the man repeated. His face was infuriatingly blank. Was he angry? Upset? Convinced this was all a joke?

“Yep,” Feyre confirmed, figuring she was already in too deep. Might as well commit.

After all, the worst thing he could say was no…and then she would have to go ask that nice homeless man who’d been circling the block for tips on how best to survive on the streets.

“Per?”

She blinked. “…Purr?”

Like…like a cat? Was that something he was into? Was he seriously asking if she would be willing to purr in his lap like a kitten for three grand? Because if so, the answer was definitely-

“Per hour? Per night? Per week?” The man clarified, face still blank.

“Oh…” She suddenly wished lightning would strike her dead right then and there. “Umm, per night?” It came off as a question even though she hadn’t meant it to.

“Three-thousand dollars for the entire night.”

Feyre was deeply annoyed by his ability to make his questions not sound like questions. As if question marks didn’t even exist in his vocabulary.

“That’s…what I said.”

Maybe she needed to revisit the drug dealing idea again. Surely that was easier than standing in front of this stranger and negotiating her worth like she’d never done it before. Which…she hadn’t. But still.

He stared at her for a moment with those intense dark eyes of his. She couldn’t really tell under the flickering light, but she thought they looked almost…purple? Violet maybe? Which was stupid because neither of those were actually a real eye color.

“Tell you what,” the man said pulling his hands out of his pockets. In his right he held a leather wallet that looked as if it were brand new. He plucked several bills out and held them out to her. Her heart stuttered when she saw the number 100 on each of them. “I’m afraid I don’t have three thousand dollars on me at the moment, but I do back at my hotel. I’ll give you five-hundred now if you agree to take me there and the rest when we get back to my rooms. Do we have a deal?”

Feyre felt faint.

She hadn’t actually believed he’d give her three-thousand dollars! That was just…a Hail Mary! A dumb, impulsive shout into the void!

“Just to get you back to your hotel?” She asked, eyeing the bills greedily.

“Just to get me back to my hotel,” he confirmed.

She took the money.

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As they made their way downtown, Feyre thanked her past self for having the foresight to wear her ratty converse instead of squeezing her feet into Nesta’s too-small heels. Not exactly the sexiest shoes ever, but they were saving her from the blisters she likely would’ve had by now after walking the last six blocks so she wasn’t about to complain. And it wasn’t like men were going to be staring at her feet all that much anyway. Or, at least, that’s what she had assumed.

Because he was staring at them.

She’d caught her strange companion (Rhys, he had introduced himself as shortly after she’d snatched the money out of his hand) staring at her shoes at least three times now. If she were anywhere else, doing anything else she might’ve confronted him about it, but he had also just paid her five-hundred dollars and was planning to pay her another two and a half grand more once she got his ass back to his ritzy hotel so she was willing to bite her tongue.

“Are you sure you don’t want to borrow my coat?” He asked her for the second time in the last twenty minutes.

And even though she was freezing her tits off she was just stubborn enough to give him the same answer she had last time.

“I’m sure.”

He kept doing that. Offering her things. Asking her questions. Normal questions. Like how old she was and how long she’d lived here.

It was kind of freaking her out.

She had lied of course. She couldn’t exactly have some strange man knowing who she was or where she lived. This was only temporary after all. What would Nesta think if she knew her baby sister had dressed up like a hooker and propositioned a man on the street corner? What would Elain think? No, better none of this got back to them. Better she got her money from him as soon as she deposited him at his destination and then went home and forgot all about this hare-brained adventure of hers.

Thankfully they wouldn’t have to travel much further. The buildings had gone from old and neglected to shiny and new rather quickly. Once upon a time Feyre used to come here often to visit her father in his swanky office in the financial district, but those days had come to a very sudden close after the market crash. Now she was lucky to come here whenever her job at the local bistro needed extra help on the weekends.

She spied a passerbyer give her a judgmental look as if to illustrate just how much she no longer fit in here anymore. Or, you know, it was probably the skimpy dress she was wearing in freezing temperatures. Who could say really?

The entrance to the Four Seasons wasn’t all that difficult to find amongst the busy streets of downtown. Honestly, Feyre sort of wondered how on earth Rhys had managed to get lost when all he’d really done was walk in a straight line away from his hotel for about a mile. It almost felt a little unfair to be taking so much money from him over something he could’ve easily figured out himself but, then again, any man willing to throw three-thousand dollars away over something so minor probably deserved to get scammed.

The man in question stared up at the entrance and then back at her curiously, as if surprised she had actually kept her word and done what he had asked. Then, without a word, he opened the door and waltzed inside.

She stood there for a moment, not sure what she was supposed to do now. Did he expect her to follow him up to his room? Or did she wait outside and hope he returned with the money? Thankfully, he saved her from fretting for too long because she saw him reappear, holding the door open for her.

“Aren’t you coming?” He arched an eyebrow at her as if to say ‘well?’.

She supposed that was as good an invitation as any and followed him inside.

The lobby was enormous. That was her first thought. Her second thought was that she absolutely did not belong here. Everything looked so…expensive. And white. Spotlessly white. White walls. White marble floors. White furniture and decor. White, white, white. Rhys, however, seemed completely unfazed by all the luxury around him and headed straight for the gold elevator, Feyre scrambled after him and desperately hoping her grubby shoes weren’t leaving dirty shoe prints on the pristine floor (they were).

They were quiet on the ride up and she watched the number slowly rise and rise and rise the higher they went. Just how far up was his room? When she saw the number go past forty her mind really started to boggle. What on earth was past the fortieth floor?

The fucking Presidential Suite, it turned out.

No wonder he was willing to throw thousands of dollars around for some directions. This place had to cost at least three times that just for a single night!

Rhys, oblivious to her inner turmoil over his clearly considerable wealth, wandered in almost aimlessly, dropping his coat on the back of a chair and loosening his tie as if returning home after a long day at work.

“Make yourself comfortable. Give me a moment and I’ll grab the rest of your money.”

Your money. As if it were already hers and he was just returning it to her.

She just nodded dumbly, but he was already disappearing around the corner into what she assumed was the bedroom. She tried to do as he said and briefly sat down on the couch…only to shoot back up moments later, afraid to sully the spotless brocade with her…with her what? The miasma of poverty she carried with her?

“Here,” Rhys reappeared carrying a large stack of crisp hundred dollar bills and handed them to her without fanfare. “That should be twenty-five hundred but feel free to double check. I wouldn’t want to cheat you out of what you’re owed.”

He was right. She should count the money just to be safe. She needed it to keep the roof over her head after all.

She didn’t.

Because it suddenly occurred to her…she had the money now to pay this and last month’s rent…but what about next month’s rent? And the one after that? She still had to cover Elain’s portion of the rent now that she had moved out. And Nesta was still M.I.A. and thus unavailable to pay her half. So where did that leave Feyre? Stuck covering the entirety of their fifteen-hundred dollar rent bill all by herself for the foreseeable future, that’s what. She needed some sort of buffer to fall back on while she waited out the last few months on her rental agreement and Nesta figured her shit out.

She needed more money.

And, she thought as she looked up at the handsome man before her, it looked like she might just have someone willing to give it to her.

“Is that all you want?” She tried to sound sultry but Feyre had a feeling she sounded less like Jessica Rabbit and more like Velma from Scooby Doo. Awkward. And incredibly young.

Rhys gave her a strange look. It wasn’t turned off exactly, but it also wasn’t exactly turned on. He seemed…searching. Like he was trying to figure her out.

“Isn’t that all you want?” He asked, turning the question around on her.

“I could…do more,” she said clumsily. “For a price of course…”

He didn’t answer her, just hummed thoughtfully. She pressed forward, hoping he just needed more convincing.

“You could have me for the whole night this time. I can do whatever you like…”

“How old are you?”

The question caught her completely off guard. He had already asked this on their walk and she had already given him an answer. She’d told him that she was twenty-four but it was clear now that he hadn’t believed a word she’d said. And, looking up at his inflexible features, it was even more clear that this time he wanted a real answer. A truthful one.

Feyre glanced down nervously. Would he continue if he knew her real age? Her real name? Her real reason for being here? Or would he kick her to the curb?

She really, really needed the money.

“Nineteen.”

He nodded, as if this were what he’d been expecting.

“And is your real name Vivian?”

“…No.”

“And would you rather I called you Vivian?”

“Yes, please,” she whispered meekly.

“Why were you on that street corner Vivian?”

She hesitated. Did she tell him the truth? She’d already divulged more than she likely should have…but he was being strangely sweet to a random stray he’d found on the side of the road. So what was the harm in giving him at least a little more? Not all of it though. She wasn’t that stupid.

“I was going to be evicted and needed the money. I still need the money.”

“I see,” and just like before, he did. He wasn’t pitying exactly, but he had a look of understanding. “And do you want to have sex Vivian?”

The answer to that question should’ve been ‘no’. She absolutely should not have wanted to have sex with a much older man just so she could pay her rent. It was wrong. It was illegal.

And he was really hot.

And nice to her.

“Yes.”

Shockingly, he didn’t immediately turn her down. He just said, “Are you sure?”

“Will you be paying me?” This was, after all, why she was here. Even if she also selfishly wanted to know what he looked like without his clothes on. If she had to earn her paycheck on her back, at least it was underneath somebody who wasn’t a completele asshole and looked like he stepped out of a perfume commercial.

“If that’s what you want.”

“Then I’d rather earn my money, if you don’t mind.”

He just nodded.

And that was that.

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They didn’t immediately jump into bed, as it turned out.

As she soon discovered, there were negotiations to be made. Prices to agree upon. And limits to discuss. Honestly it felt a lot like that Fifty Shades movie she had guiltily watched on her laptop and then told everyone she hadn’t seen.

“Is there anything you don’t want me to do?”

Truthfully, her sexual experience was rather limited so it was hard for her to answer that question. She’d only ever had sex with two people a handful of times before deciding that maybe she just wasn’t that into it. But he was also paying to use her body so it really didn’t matter what she was into. Just what she absolutely wouldn’t be able to stomach.

“Just…no kissing.”

In hindsight, it seemed like a stupid rule but it felt right to her. Sex was sex. But kissing made it…real. Like feelings were involved.

He didn’t argue. Only gave her a curious look before moving on.

Finally, he handed her an even larger stack of bills than before.

Five-thousand dollars.

Between that and the money he had given her previously, she was officially eight-thousand dollars richer. It was enough to make anyone feel a little faint.

“So you just…have this kind of cash on hand?” Feyre blurted out, a little breathless.

It was still mind boggling to her that anyone would throw this sort of money around willy nilly, as if it weren’t life-changing. Because that’s what this was for her. It was a life preserver. He was saving her and he didn’t even seem to know it.

Rhys raised his eyebrows.

“Not always. Usually I just use credit cards.” She noticed he hadn’t actually answered her question but knew better than to push. He probably thought she was planning to rob him or something.

As if you aren’t already? Her brain screeched, still unable to process that anyone was willing to spend this kind of money just to get inside of her. If you asked her, she was worth like…a hundred bucks and maybe a pizza. Maybe. Not…eight-thousand fucking dollars. And for only the one night!

Feyre took the money and held it in her hands like a live grenade. It felt wrong to just stash this in her purse instead of immediately dashing to a bank or ATM to deposit it but she’d made an agreement and, damn it, she was going to stick to it.

“So…how do you wanna do this?”

By now, Rhys was lounging on the couch in the living area, watching her intently as if she were a fascinating creature and not a very broke and awkward teenager.

He patted his lap. “Come here.”

Whelp. In for a penny, in for a pound.

She sat on his knee and shifted clumsily, trying to find a more comfortable position, but Rhys fixed that quickly by pulling her against his chest so she could hear his heart beating against her ear.

“Can I touch you?” He asked, as if they hadn’t just spent the last forty-five minutes discussing exactly that.

“Of course.”

He could’ve touched her anywhere. Her breasts. Her ass. Between her legs. And yet it caught her completely off guard when he went for, not any of those, but for her hair.

He was…stroking her hair.

She went still.

Bit by bit she felt her muscles go lax and limp. She felt a bit like a cat being stroked into a nice, long nap. It was…nice. Soothing.

“Good girl.”

They were such simple words. So normal. A little condescending even. But god, they lit up her brain like a fucking Christmas tree.

Oh, she thought as gooseflesh broke out along her arms. So it’s like that then?

Feyre pressed her nose to his throat and filled her lungs with the scent of salt and citrus and expensive cologne as she tried to suppress the shiver that suddenly took hold of her.

She felt…restless.

Squirmy.

That hand kept stroking her hair, unconcerned with the bomb he had set off in her brain.

“Look at you,” Rhys murmured into her ear. “I knew there was a sweet girl under all that bravado.”

She felt his other hand skim down the length of her, the slope of her shoulders and the curve of her waist, before coming to rub innocent circles into her thigh.

“Are you going to be my good girl?” He whispered, petting her hair with one hand while his other finally began to sneak under the hem of her skirt. “Are you soft and wet for me?”

Her heart thumped against her ribcage like a hummingbird trying to fly free.

Oh she was certainly wet alright, a fact he soon discovered when she heard his pleased groan as his fingers made contact with the gusset of her panties.

“My good sweet girl. You need this don’t you?”

Feyre shivered as lust crawled through her veins like fire. He hadn’t even really touched her yet and she could already feel her heartbeat throbbing away in her cunt.

“Please,” she begged against his neck.

Those fingers petted her over her panties. Softly. Gently. Like she were a wild animal that needed taming. Her clitoris felt flush with blood and heat. Jesus, this was already hotter than anything she’d ever done and he’d barely even touched her.

“That’s it…”

She just sighed.

Between one moment and the next she felt his fingers slip under her panties and brush against the curls there. Self consciousness suddenly gripped her. Should she have shaved?Didn’t men hate pubic hair? Her last two partners had. Perhaps there was still time to make an excuse and then go find a razor in the bathroom and-

“So soft for me here.”

Okay. So maybe he didn’t mind it so much.

His fingers sifted through her pubic hair until they found the burning seam of her. They dipped inside and she tried hard not to gasp when they brushed over the pulsing little bead of her clitoris.

“And so soft for me here too…” She felt ready to combust when two of his fingers burrowed their way inside of her.

His erection pulsed underneath her, hot and hard, but shockingly Rhys, unlike every man she’d ever met, seemed in no hurry to attend to it. Perfectly content to whisper in her ear and plunder her insides while he ground his palm against her clit.

“Don’t…don’t you want to have sex?” Feyre gasped against his throat.

She felt a gust of laughter against her skin. “My sweet girl, what do you think we’re doing?”

And then, just as if to prove his point, he curled his fingers inside of her.

In theory, Feyre knew what the g-spot was. She’d heard it spoken about in whispers in the girl’s locker room, as if it were a myth. She’d read about it in the romance novels she told Nesta she totally didn’t steal from her. And yet, none of that could’ve prepared her for what it felt like to actually find out that it was very real and ohJesusohGodohfuck-

Her body seized. Her legs kicked out. Her toes curled.

“There you go,” Rhys crooned sweetly, petting her through her orgasm. “Such a good girl. You’re so pretty when you come.”

She was shivering.

Why couldn’t she stop shivering?

Rhys lifted her as if she weighed no more than a kitten. Only moments later she found herself laid down upon a plush white bedspread. His room. He had taken her to his room.

“Are you going to fuck me now?” She whispered, suddenly sleepy.

“Is my sweet girl so desperate for my cock already?” He asked, amused. He pulled the covers out from under her and then laid them over her, cocooning her in a cloud of warmth.

“Why don’t you come over here and…uh…find out,” Feyre replied with a yawn.

“We have all night for that,” he pointed out as her eyes began to droop.

“Yeah…that’s true…”

Maybe he was going to let her nap and then wake her up later? It was getting late after all. And his bed was so very comfortable…maybe just a quick power nap first…

She was asleep long before he kissed her on the forehead goodnight.

#take care of business for me #my fanfiction #my fanfics #acotar fanfiction #feysand fanfiction #acotar #a court of thorns and roses #feysand #fanfiction #fanfic #pretty woman au

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unfortunatetheorist · 3 months ago

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What happened to the statue of The Bombinating Beast? - Part 1: ATWQ to ASOUE

This theory is dedicated to @ven10, whose post depicting the statue in the episode of The End (https://www.tumblr.com/unfortunatetheorist/758594891663212544/it-certainly-is-ven10-it-certainly-is?source=share), inspired my thoughts. There are also inferences made by @snicketsleuth (and @snicketstrange) which are used.

So, by the end of WITNDFAON (which I admit I haven't read yet but will get round to), we know that The Bombinating Beast statue is of great importance, as well as:

"Snicket fed Armstrong to the creature, and then wandered into the Clusterous Forest with the statue. It is unknown what he did with the statue and what happened to that beast, or its siblings, after this" ~ Snicket Wiki.

The only hint we have of The Bombinating Beast is that Lemony wanders into the Clusterous Forest with it's statue. Therefore it is important to take into consideration an extra detail about the Clusterous Forest, which links the ATWQ universe to ASOUE:

Lucky Smells Lumbermill gets its green timber from The Clusterous Forest.

This is my line of reasoning as to what happened:

1. Despite being an agent of VFD, Lemony is still a child, so there is a chance he feels some remorse for killing Armstrong Feint/Hangfire.

2. It is out of said remorse that Lemony decides to have nothing to do with the Beast again, burying the statue of the Beast deep in the forest... or so he thinks.

3. During ASOUE (just before TMM) a worker (e.g. Evander) chopping trees for Lucky Smells Lumbermill comes across the statue.

4. Not knowing what to do with it, and being under hypnotic influence, the worker promptly hands it to the foreman, who gives it to Sir.

5. It is extremely likely that Sir (The Miserable Mill) and Wiley Smogface (FU:13SI, ATWQ) are in fact the same person; however, there is no reference of any connection whatsoever between Sir/Smogface and The Bombinating Beast's statue. This implies that he knows nothing about the Beast, which makes little sense given that he is from Stain'd-by-the-Sea.

This logical gap can be filled: if Sir/Smogface had a "very terrible childhood" as Charles has clearly stated during TMM, this could refer to his parents bouncing around from town to town as they seek different jobs with more and more money. Hence, Wiley is left by himself in his parents' latest job-stop - Stain'd-by-the-Sea - unaware of the legend of The Bombinating Beast.

6. Sir has no idea of the power he holds... but apparently, neither does Georgina! There's also no reference to Georgina knowing anything about the statue - she's just a VFD optometrist with a bad reputation who lives in Paltryville, even during the events of ATWQ.

This implies that the statue... well... just stood there, as an ornament, in Sir's office.

7. Someone took the statue from Sir's office at Lucky Smells Lumbermill. But who? Well, whoever it was must have known two things:

a) The importance of the statue

b) It's location

There are only 3 people who seem to fit the bill perfectly - Lemony, Ellington and Moxie.

We know that each of them have their reasons:

Lemony: To use its power to somehow help the Baudelaires.

Ellington: To end it all after falling into a depression from the loss of her father OR to claim revenge on Lemony after having gone through the grief mentioned above.

Moxie: For a great story and the Mallahan legacy; after all, Lady Mallahan allegedly slew the Original Bombinating Beast.

@snicketsleuth's post, 'What is The Great Unknown?' (Full post here: The Snicket Sleuth — What is “The Great Unknown”? (tumblr.com)), says the following:

"Following the events of “All The Wrong Questions”, Ellington eventually escaped from the prison cell with Kit Snicket thanks to the skeleton key in Ellington’s bag. Kit and Ellington, before going their own ways, exchanged a good deal of information. Kit Snicket could not help noticing Ellington acted extremely angry towards Lemony and VFD in general.

In the following years, Ellington worked tirelessly to recover her father’s remaining assets as well as uncovering the secrets of Inhumane Society. Though the book Caviar: Salty Jewel of the Tasty Sea was destroyed, she had had the opportunity to read some chapters Lemony hadn’t. No one knew about the CBB more than her. With some effort, she managed to find the animal hiding in the Clusterous Forest, as well as the Bombinating Beast statue that Lemony had buried there. With the statue, she was now in control of the CBB. Eventually she managed to track down an octopus-shaped submarine which used to belong to Hangfire, only to lose it to Count Olaf.

As Olaf escaped with the submarine (now rebaptized the Carmelita), Ellington pursued him. She used the statue to control the CBB, ordering it to seize the Carmelita. The CBB first encountered the Queequeg in close vicinity to the Queequeg. Unsure whether these two crafts were allied with each other, Ellington ordered the CBB to stand down. Captain Widdershins mistook the question-mark shape on their radar for an enemy submarine. Later, Ellington witnessed the Queequeg being attacked by the Carmelita, and decided to approach the CBB to scare Count Olaf and help the crew of the Queequeg. Count Olaf also assumed the mysterious entity was an enemy submarine."

I agree with Ellington being the one who takes the statue...

...but I don't think she found it in the Clusterous Forest. Sorry, @snicketsleuth.

8. If Georgina's reputation was really as bad as Moxie made it out to be, there is a chance that Ellington would have visited the Lumbermill in disbelief - I think it is here that she stumbles upon the statue.

9. This happens:

"With the statue, she was now in control of the CBB. Eventually she managed to track down an octopus-shaped submarine which used to belong to Hangfire, only to lose it to Count Olaf.

The Queequeg eventually escaped from the clutches of the Carmelita. While making their way to the Hotel Denouement, Olaf, Esme and Carmelita Spats realized the Baudelaire orphans’ absence and were betrayed by Fernald and Fiona who let the imprisoned youngsters start a mutiny. Ellington followed the entire mutiny from afar. The youngsters were released. Esme, Olaf and Carmelita fled. The octopus-shaped submarine was eventually given back to Ellington Feint who promised to help Fernald and Fiona if they were ever in trouble."

10. Ellington had no further use for the CBB (as she already gained her father's submarine, which was the intention) so she [presumably, most likely] discarded the statue in the sea, before it washed up on the island, as @ven10 describes.

Part 2 (Post-ASOUE) coming soon,

~ Th3r3534rch1ngr4ph, Unfortunate Theorist/Snicketologist

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yellowbluemoonshine · 8 months ago

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I just can't wrap my head around the narrative purpose of Nina. Her characterisation was lacking, she didn't leave any memorable impression I even forgot what she was about other than a leverage for Johan or a refuge in a way.

Her motives were not really mapped out well I feel like the author could've expanded on that more. It overall left a bad taste in my mouth.

What do you think?

About Nina;

I agree with you. I read a lot of Nina metas and i understand what she was supposed to symoblize (Nina; human, Tenma; God, Johan; Devil) but i think Tenma fits the role of human anyway and it doesnt work in Nina's case because she is not some random victim whom Johan killed her parents. She is her brother so her forgiving him at the end (especially when she already forgave other villains) doesnt work out as 'act of love'.

So the reason I think she isnt much memorable to you, thats because she is too similar to Tenma during the series.

They are good people who helps others

They investigate Johan separately but somehow at the same time.

They both project their inner monster on Johan so they think killing him will solve everything

Both use guns

Their interaction with Dieter is same

Everyone loves them

They are the only people Johan cares about and only people he lets them live Though Nina is different, her personality is more expressive and extrovert but this side of Nina is barely seen. Only at the beginning and ending. Tenma's character and ideals makes sense for his character because he is a doctor, also why he is obsessed with Johan but Nina as Johans sister, she couldve been different. More personal, more obsessive.

This is the problem with writing "good people". Her place in story is also mess and kinda replacable....yes, even though she is Johans sister. When i said replacable, i mean a lot of scenes were just there. Even if she wasnt there, nothing would change.

After not being able to meet her, Johan never go after her. He is more obsessed with Tenma, not Nina.

After escaping from her brother, she didnt need to meet Neonazis. Another character would stop the bomb and Tenma would see Johans writing anyway.

Her training from sugar man is just side character story, couldve been Tenma and same with meeting old cop. It couldve been Tenma who met the guy and nothing would change.

Even if Nina didnt come library, Tenma still wouldnt shot Johan. Her "dont shot him" scene with Nina has no build up and cringe. Johan didnt even interact with her at all in that scene and Nina also doesnt attempt to talk with her brother. She literally acts like random cop who suddenly appeared in the scene.

Other characters learnt "nameless monster" book, or 511 or the mansion etc on their own.

Nina remembering her flashbacks, or learning other book stories etc was important information only she knew but she never shared those informations with other characters. Its almost as its just written for audience to learn, to understand Johan.

Her interaction with Johan at broken house, that was meaningfull. That was only them after all but that scene didnt change anything for Johans plans. Johan was already remembering his memories and planning his suicide anyway. Only usefull information is that Nina found out Johan will kill himself but neither Nina and Tenma cared that information enough to do something different. Then at the end everyone find a way to find Franz's town.

At the end, another usefull and important flashback we get with Nina. Only Dr Gilleun heard this but its not like he did anything about it. Then Nina ran to Johan and told him she forgave him. Of course. Of course, it is important but its not impactfull (for audience) if Nina can forgave other characters. And once again, this doesnt stop Johan.

And no, Tenma wouldnt shot Johan even Nina didnt come. Even Nina didnt tell him to save Johan later, he would still save Johan. Literally any other character could say that.

And at the end, Nina lives her life again just a normal girl. Tenma is the one who is with Johan and his words 'You had a name' is what saves Johan at the end.

I am not saying she isnt important character. She is but as character, she didnt change things much, even though she shouldve as main heroine. She shouldve played more role that affects things around her, especially her interaction with Johan. But it didnt.

We could maybe say the same thing for Tenma or other characters but not really. There is already a certain role Tenma symbolize, humanity, saving lifes and most other characters are just side characters. But thats the thing. Nina isnt meant to be side character. She was supposed to be main heroine but even characters like Lunge and Eva, even they mess up or dont do much, they are still more memorable because their invidiuality shows itself. They affect the storyline in their own way.

I think we shouldve seen her inviduality more rather than her just going after on her own. I mean, on her own way, different than Tenma. Most importantly, i wish we shouldve seen her love for her brother, her family (Fortners) but her connection with them, our connection with people shows us who we are. Maybe she shouldve traveled with Tenma, then their connection would makes sense. And definitely we shouldve seen more about the her connection with Johan and her memories as Anna and after remembering, it does affect her so she shouldve done something to affect things around her as Nina, as heroine but none of these happenned.

So i understand why she can be forgotten because we dont see much of her really. And thats a shame. I wish she has done more, and more on her own way, more different than Tenma, more personal because its her brother but she acts like they are strangers so well. I think she isnt well written.

#anon ask #writing criticism #monster meta #monster analysis #monster naoki urasawa #monster #naoki urasawa's monster #nina fortner #anna liebert #johan liebert #tenma kenzo

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ghosts-of-love · 1 year ago

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My thoughts about the Captain (and especially the scenes in episode 5) under the cut. Not spoiler-free, obviously. it's also...over 1000 words

I have a lot of thoughts and feelings about the way his story was handled. I’ve never been a Havers girlie and to an extent I’m still not, for reasons I would probably have to explain in a different post. I’ve always known the Captain loved Havers, but I will admit that I did always think it was quite one-sided and, given what we were shown in Redding Weddy, I had previously thought that the Captain didn’t know he loved Havers until after his death.

I didn’t mind being proven wrong about that. There was always the chance that we would be given more information about the Captain’s life that would make me rethink things. I suppose I would now see Redding Weddy less as the Captain realising his feelings for Havers too late, and more him coming to terms with it on another level. Or even just realising that you don’t have to bury everything, some emotions and memories can be brought to the forefront and considered in a healthy way.

I still didn’t get the impression that they were ever together. I think there’s a whole depth to the relationship that we were never privy to. A lot unsaid between them and the audience but also between each other. More could always be revealed in the Ghosts Book that’s coming out soon though.

There could have been mutual feelings and love and even an actual romantic relationship there but I personally believe that the raw desperation in the Captain fighting his way into the event shows that they were not in contact (eg. writing letters to each other) in the way that two people in a secret relationship might have been.

I think that they were something that ‘could have been’. They were each other’s ‘what ifs’. If it weren’t war time, if Havers (sorry, Anthony) hadn��t gone to the front, if it weren’t quite literally illegal.

Or maybe it wasn’t even mutual. I find it hard to parse Havers’ expression. His ‘I know�� isn’t even an agreement or a confession, so much as it is an acknowledgment that he understands the Captain’s feelings, even if they’re not reciprocated.

And the Captain says ‘I had to find you’. It was a desire to know he’s alive. To know he survived. He may as well have said “I had to see you in the flesh”.

I don’t think they were together back then. I think they could have both wanted to be. I think they could have ended up together in the future if the Captain hadn’t died. If he had just waited and found a way to reach out to him a different way.

I didn’t have any problems with any of that bit actually. I thought it was beautifully acted by Ben – I could feel everything so deeply. The panic of it all. The desperation. The deep yearning to get closer to Havers, however possible.

My one gripe (which is perhaps becoming less of a gripe as time passes, but might resurface when I rewatch) was actually with what happened afterwards – the apparent lack of reaction to the story by the ghosts. Or at least, the lack of time dedicated to their reactions. He didn’t say the words aloud, and neither did they.

I flip-flop between being annoyed and thinking it works, somehow. I suppose we get to fill in the gaps ourselves – there’s no, ‘he wouldn’t have said it like that’ arguments because we don’t know what he said, we just know the bare bones of what he revealed.

And they all knew anyway.

I enjoyed (you get what I mean) the mirroring of of his stuttering in season 4 ‘I – I -’. Maybe there wasn’t anything to merit sharing with the group then because he lost his nerve but also because he knew they all knew, even if he couldn’t say it aloud. And with Havers – he can’t get the words out. That doesn’t matter. Havers knew too.

It would have been disappointing to me if they’d joked or said ‘we knew’. It would have detracted from the importance, I think. I would have felt the same if they’d fumbled around to say something he didn’t actually need to hear. For example. I don’t think he actually needed anyone to tell him that ‘it’s okay to be gay’. He’s known this for years by this point, since Sam and Claire’s wedding.

But what did he need to hear?

The man who survived the war but saw no action, who sneaked into a ‘decorated officer’s only’ celebration, who crawled through a window, who stole someone’s medals – just to find, not even necessarily talk to the man he loves – the man who died of a heart attack after the war was won.

He needed to hear that he’s brave. And that’s what he’s told, and by Fanny no less (I don’t have the power to unpack all of the meanings behind that; their friendship, her previous attitudes, her husband). I don’t think anything else they could have said would have sat right with me. Considering it was a group setting, I think it was done under the right conditions – i.e. he wasn’t put on the spot like in season 4, he made the decision to say something himself, he didn’t want to move on still regretting, still believing he wasn’t brave, still thinking he’d done something terrible. I think them telling him he was brave – and all being in agreement, all letting him get his story out with no interruptions too, unlike with Thomas, Kitty, Humphrey talking about their deaths/Kitty’s ball – demonstrated a level of attention and respect they don’t normally give to each other too.

I just wish there had been a bit more. Just something. But I can’t even figure out what it is that I wanted them to say in addition, that’s the funny thing!

I suppose I had also hoped that Alison might be there when he finally admitted something about his life/sexuality. She was the one who introduced him to the idea that homosexuality is legal now and specifically welcome in Button House, after all. I think he deserved to feel that she was proud of him. But maybe she was the one who gave him the strength in season 4 to know he wanted to wait until he was ready.

But also, the knowledge that Ben has had this planned in his head from the beginning comforts me, as does the fact that he has always tried to handle the Captain’s story/arc with respect and dignity (as much as these ghosts are ever given, you know?).

Those are my thoughts, slightly untangled but still not exactly coherent. I’d love to hear what you all think too!

#bbc ghosts #bbc ghosts spoilers #bbc ghosts season 5

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marygih · 2 months ago

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My Stlaker

I think one of my most traumatic experiences on the internet was having a Stlaker for years.

I met him on the damned Amino app. At first he introduced himself as a friend who would give me art tips, and I, at 13, thought that was amazing. But obviously I didn't give him any important personal information about myself. We used to chat in a Telegram group. The group had 3 people, me, him and another boy who I later found out was another account of his, he pretended to be two people to talk to me. He would say strange things sometimes, but I took it as a joke. Things started to get weird when he told me: "I wish I had twin sisters like you." At first I laughed and said that my sisters weren't twins, they just had very similar names because my dad isn't very creative. But then I realized that I had never told him I had sisters. I had never shared my art account on Instagram, we only talked on Telegram and sometimes on Amino. I should have distanced myself from him after the first incident. But I already had some attachment to this guy.

His second mistake was when he randomly called me "my white" and that chilled me to the core. The only person who called me that was my father. I decided to analyze my sisters' social media to see if I could find him among their followers. He was somehow discovering things about my personal life. I didn't find him, but I found an old story of my sister's in a very old highlight where I appeared in the background and you could hear my father calling "my white, come here" and I would get up and walk out of view in the video. My "friend" had been spying on my sisters' social media a lot. I thought it was really weird and decided to nip it in the bud and deleted both Telegram and Amino. I just didn't know it was going to get much worse. He actually found my Instagram and for weeks fake accounts would send me messages. At first the messages would ask what had happened, then they would apologize, and then the next messages would be strange and aggressive. In some of them, he blamed my best friend for "poisoning me against him" and said he would make her pay dearly for it. In others, he literally harassed me, in others he said that I must be a lesbian and that's why I didn't like him, and that he could become trans to please me (this was getting so absurd that I was already scared). I didn't respond to any of the messages, I just read them and blocked the account. I made my Instagram private and removed strange followers to try to get rid of it, and he kept bothering me, he found my Pinterest account, sent me text messages, found my YouTube channel, I even received emails from this obsessed motherfucker. I created new social networks without photos and with completely different nicknames to get rid of him. But I didn't get rid of him.

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niicevibe · 2 years ago

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𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 | 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 -> kunikuzushi x fem!reader

𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 ✦ it's finally here!! i'm so excited to finally share this story with you. as a reminder before we begin, unfortunately, updates won't be regular, but i'll do my best to keep you all updated on progress. you're welcome to check out/follow the official 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 tag (★・・・heartstrings) to see if anything new has come up :) ✦ at the end of each chapter, should any be used, you'll find a glossary of terms & definitions. you'll also likely see information answering any questions for the canon lore and the non-canon story lore. if there's something unanswered, don't hesitate to ask about it! :)

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 ✦ not beta'ed (i'm a coward); kunikuzushi is not mentioned in this chapter; canon & non-canon lore pertaining to kannazuka island & inazuma (see end notes); mentions of blood & death, mild description of corpses; implied (but not explicitly mentioned) reader death.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 ✦ baal (mikoto), beelzebub (ei), murata, orobashi

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 ✦ 3.8k words

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Your lungs empty, the sight before you horrid enough to steal your breath away in an instant. You're not usually this swayed-- after all that you've seen over the past few months, it's rare for even the cruelest of scenes to get such an expressive reaction out of you, the numerous horrors personally faced quick to numb you in such a short time. Somehow, you manage to surprise yourself today.

Because you've never seen so much red in one place before.

You manage to stumble, the scent of iron overwhelming enough to dizzy you into tripping over a piece of the upturned landscape. What you stand on used to be a shrine for one of the gods, not one so prominent that their presence or the construction of said shrine would impact the people of Inazuma, but the disrespect in its destruction is obvious. Whatever former glory it might've held existed as a memory to those who crossed its path-- now, crumbled and decaying megaliths sit scattered about Kannazuka's highest hill, mingling with the carnage.

Something wet squelches beneath your waraji. You freeze, and allow your gaze to flit down to your feet, lips parting in abject horror as more red appears, soaking into the white cloth of your tabi. You knew the liquid hadn't been from the absurd amount of rain that often plagued the island; the clouds above you were not weather clouds, after all. Your head snaps back up, and as hard as you try, it's almost too difficult now to convince yourself it's anything other than blood. So, you begin to collect the facts rather than collect yourself.

What happened here, exactly? This temple of the gods, likely abandoned before its desecration, had always been quiet, according to the rumours. You'd forgotten who its patron was; which tutelary deity was it again, who had taken up the mantle of being Kannazuka's protector, a fealty pledged to the Electro Archon, herself, in exchange for a place to call one's own? For some reason, despite of your learned nature of Inazuma's recorded history, you can't seem to recall it. A lesser god of little importance, you'd supposed, though you wouldn't dare say this aloud.

If this god was tasked with protecting one of Inazuma's islands and its people, why in Teyvat were their corpses scattered at its highest peak? Why is it so difficult for you to find a foothold on this bloodstained terrain that doesn't already have a disfigured body, nor a severed limb, in its place? Where is this patron god?

You press forward. As much as you wish it weren't necessary, the only way for you to reach the fragmented shrine is to step on the fallen. You swallow, your throat suddenly tightening when your heel meets a smaller object. You don't have to look down to know what it is. Eventually, you reach a safe place to pause, though the earth still pools with red when you step down onto it. You look up at the shrine of this forgotten god, your frown only deepening when you realize that only the front porch and entryway are what remain. The rest of it, by some extreme means, had been blown away.

Care killed the cat, you think as you round the shrine's mantle, tiptoeing toward the edge of the hill. With one leg extended to safety, you peer over the edge to find the rest of the shrine far at the base of the hill, hundreds of meters away from its original home.

"Be careful," a voice suddenly calls. You nearly leap out of your chilled skin, fear lighting a fire beneath you to move you away from the edge as fast as possible and whirl you around to face who spoke. Perched on the top of one of the large stone monoliths sits a skinny, bloodied man, dark-skinned and red-haired, knees tucked up into his chest with his cheek resting against them. He blinks at you. "You might've fallen."

"A..." Your voice catches in your throat; you quickly clear it. "Are you the one that did all of this?"

While appearing impassive, his tone is hesitant. "Not directly." With an unnoticeable twitch of your finger, a dark metaled sphere rises from your hip and joins you to float at your side. The man's head lifts. "Wait. Stop. I am not a threat."

"We live in a time where knowing who is a friend and who is a foe matters not," you argue, approaching him slowly. "Having had to raise my hand to people I have called "family", I have no qualms over doing so against a stranger. Explain yourself, or let your crypticity be your final act."

The man's eyebrows turn down, not in anger, but in displeasure; exhaustion.

"... please," he murmurs, placing his chin back between his knees, seemingly hugging his legs even closer to him. "No more fighting."

No more fighting? your thoughts echo. This man is covered in blood that clearly does not belong to him, and yet he does not wish to fight?

"Who are you," you demand, and while your catalyst no longer spins in battle anticipation, it awaits your command from next to your elbow. "Speak, or there will be a fight whether you wish for one or not."

Eyes lidded, he glances at you from his lap.

"I am a god," he says. He huffs dryly. "Was a god. This was my temple. My shrine. My home."

"You are the deity who was supposed to protect this place?"

"Hm. I did good, didn't I." Your lips part at him, but no words leave you. "All of these people... trusted in me to protect them. I swore to them that I would. "Join me in the shrine," I told them. I made them gather here... so I could protect them all together."

"You corralled them into their deaths," you surmise.

"I suppose that I did." He turns to you once more. "You are of Inazuma, are you not?"

"... I am," you admit.

"Yet you do not know who I am, or rather, you have forgotten me, yes?"

"If I had to ask of you your identity, then I suppose that could be correct."

"Or maybe it is that you do not believe in the gods," he assumes. His dark eyes narrow toward the bright red Vision hanging off of your belt. "And yet, you wield the potential to become one, dearest allogene."

"... how is it you came to the conclusion that I am a non-believer?" you ask. "That's rather blasphemous to suggest considering what kind of land we now live in."

"Potentially, yes." He makes an expression of amusement, but it is stale. Half-hearted. "But we have given humanity little reason to keep believing, haven't we. We've failed your kind too many times."

"People still revere the Archons," you point out.

"Revery is only steps away from fear. Did the history of the Archon War teach you nothing?"

"Well, clearly you survived it, when it had been said gods were being slaughtered left and right. Is that fealty you pledged still serving you? Or are you only able to cower while on the shores of this island? Of Inazuma?"

"... I don't dare travel to Liyue nor Fontaine, if this is what you are asking of me." You refrain from laughing. Not the time, not the place. "And I cannot return to Natlan, either. Though, I think I may dare to make a request to return to Celestia before the day's end."

"Since you have bothered to mention this to me, dare I assume I can ask why?"

"For repentance. Or punishment. Nowadays, they are one in the same. I welcome either. After all, aside from you and from I, there is no one left on Kannazuka to defend. I don't dare trespass onto Yashiori or Watatsumi. That Orobashi and I... never got along."

An unnameable sensation passes through your chest, a trigger for you to send your catalyst back to your hip. The nameless god notices this and sighs.

"Have I been deemed non-threatening enough that I no longer warrant you having your weapon drawn?" he inquires.

"... that's not the word I would use," you mumble. "For a god, well, speaking candidly, you are quite pathetic."

"You are a brave one, dearest allogene. No wonder you received Murata's Vision. I suppose this is how you have survived this long."

"No. I only received this Vision a fortnight ago. It would have spared me from a great injury if it arrived a day prior to that, and a great headache two months before then."

He hadn't noticed it before, the bandages crawling up from the tips of your fingers and up and into your shirtsleeve. Under his fiery gaze, you begin to feel unsettled, and so, the subject is changed.

"How did this happen?" The nameless god returns his gaze to his own person. "And why are you covered in blood?"

He swallows thickly. "Have you been made aware, the cause of this sudden calamity?" You shake your head.

"No one in Inazuma knows much of anything anymore, other than how to pick up a weapon and fight."

"That certainly is going around Teyvat in plentiful supply, I am afraid to inform you. Inazuma is not the only nation under attack by these strange beings." Once more, the breath from your lungs is quickly filtered out.

"These strange creatures are all over the continent? It isn't just attacking us?" For the nameless god, it is difficult to tell whether you are relieved or in despair at this news. "Where did they come from?"

"The godless nation of Khaenri'ah," he answers before falling silent. You wait for him to continue, until it becomes clear that these had been his final words on the topic.

"Why are you covered in blood, nameless god?"

From his perch atop the shattered stone, he extends his thin legs in a stretch on his way to the ground. He doesn't land in a normal fashion, either, instead appearing to have floated onto the blood-soaked hill, his first step feather-light. Perhaps this explains his bird-like features, you allow yourself to muse.

"Unlike the Archons of Teyvat, lesser gods such as I or Orobashi often rely on reverence and the faith of you humans to draw on our power. I cannot speak for that slithering beast; however, I tend to require more than average. I do not normally possess the physical strength necessary to protect my people. That is not where my true powers lie."

He moves from the entrance of his former temple, feet wading through the puddles of red, the grass beneath him flicking specks of blood onto the hemming of his white hakama.

"I gathered them atop this hill to pray for me so I might save them from the calamity of Khaenri'ah. I knew that this plan could turn on its head; I only made it easier for those beasts to harm them, and... I... could do nothing."

"Did their prayers not reach you?" you ask, while already sure of that impossibility.

"... no, they were received. I simply became... complacent. What is that new age term you humans use? ... ah. I "let myself go". This vessel of mine could not control the power they blessed me with, and along with the devils from Khaenri'ah, I destroyed my own people." He crouches down to shut the eyes of a young woman lying at his feet. "Perhaps I... am a calamity all on my own."

You open your mouth to speak, but only a broken sigh escapes you. At the very least, you had hoped it had been the creatures who were solely at fault. What are you to do with this knowledge? It's not like a human can punish a god. Can the Electro Archon judge him? Or does Celestia take care of godly affairs? Who is to absolve and avenge these poor humans who put their faith in some... false deity?

"... I think you're right," you say lowly. "All of you gods are just... one great, big, calamitous force. Somehow, we allowed you to rule over us in exchange for a half-hearted promise of protection and a bit of your power. Case and point, a majority of you have yet to deliver or have failed to deliver on that promise. I also think that if not for this grave mistake that Khaenri'ah allowed to happen, they would be right in not relying on the gods to take care of them, or, at the very least, smart."

The nameless god releases a dry, humourless laugh.

"The salt you rub in these wounds of mine are coarse, dearest allogene."

"Of yours?" A laugh of your own escapes you, choked and disbelieving. "That's not the blood of a god I see soaked into your hakama, you nameless fool."

He rises, onto his feet, and above the grass line on his way to you. Your chest heaves, a heavy breath passing through your lungs, but you stand your ground.

"Forget bravery," he says. "Your misplaced bravado, or whichever delusion fuels your cruel ejaculate, might have been the death of you should those creatures have any sentience. But I, a god, have indulged your insults twice over now." He looms over you by an easy two feet, and by looking up at him and seeing him as up close as you do, you realize, perhaps, he isn't as herbivorous nor bird-like as you once thought. "I am not so benevolent as one might think. Would you care to try for a third insult?"

No, the sharp teeth lining the entirety of his melancholy grimace suggest something far more vicious.

"By all means," you hiss at him. "Allow Celestia and the Electro Archon, herself, to judge you once more. One more death shouldn't matter."

"Death?" he repeats, sounding almost amused now. "No, no, what I would elect to do to you is far more harsh. Death would be only too easy for such a smart aleck human. And I warned you... that this "nameless god" is tired of fighting, dearest allogene."

Before the sudden movement can register, the man has plucked you off the ground with his hand curled around your chin. A sharp gasp escapes you, the pain of his grip and the dead weight dangling beneath you causing a fiery ache to spread everywhere above your jaw. Your arms raise in your defence, fingers grabbing at his immortal flesh, nails fruitlessly digging away at his wrists-- he's a god! He's a god! He's a god! your thoughts, quick to race through your mind, scream at you. Nothing you do will harm him, after all.

Something behind him flickers, and you just barely catch it through watering eyes. Orange, almost like a flame, and it flaps like a wing, startling you in your state of hyperarousal. Much of your air gone from your lungs, filtering in bubbles of oxygen that only barely keep your consciousness afloat, you fear delirium.

The nameless god's eyes narrow at you, in the same moment an uncomfortable heat swirls around your body. It has you go limp, your fingers slipping from prying at his knuckles, the intensity of it too much to withstand on sheer willpower alone.

"You are the first human to have expressed such blatant disrespect to not only me, but to the Archons and Celestia, itself," he murmurs. "How arrogant. Being so battled-hardened has turned dissolved all common sense in these humans. A grand reset for Teyvat would not be such a bad venture-- maybe Khaenri'ah is correct, as you so deludedly suggested."

A grand... reset?

"Death really would be much too easy for you, little genshin, but, I will offer you one chance to escape my hand."

His grip on you falters enough that you're dropped several feet back down to the blood-soaked grass, the hilltop squelching beneath your weight. If the lack of air hadn't been awful enough, the smell of iron makes the space beneath your tongue tingle and the back of your throat burn. In your discomfort, you squint up at him, massaging your rapidly bruising jawline, to find that he scarcely looks as he had before.

The strange orange object you had seen only moments ago belongs to a great, big pair of wings, each pennon the length of a fully grown man, if not wider when they preen outward and away from him. Their colour shifts along a spectrum of flames, orange to red to yellow, and cast almost a sickening glow upon your fast-paling skin,

"If you can answer my next question, I will allow you to leave this place unharmed, and with the blessing of a god. Refuse to answer, against my better judgment, your life will end by my hand. But answer incorrectly, and you'll find that your life will have just begun."

"You're mad," you wheeze, your chest tight with fear. "You are insane!! Spare me your cryptic words, I already said! Just be done with me already!"

"And I said it would be too easy. You are at my mercy. You do not get to make demands." You let out a seething breath, his sudden willingness for a purposeless murder sending wave after wave of nausea rippling across your blood-soaked body. "Simply answer... one question." You swallow something sharp. "What is my name?"

Your lips part in the same moment your heart sinks into your stomach.

"Y-You already full well know that I do not know your name!" you cry. "How in the world is this a fair question to ask?!"

"It is not," the nameless god sneers, "but I never claimed it would be." A choked sob escapes you, and in your sorrow, you collapse your face into your bloodied hands, numb to the strong scent of iron. After everything you've endured, after this distance you travelled in an attempt to achieve solace through all of your losses, and through your achievements, and this is the way it's going to end for-- "You would be wise to answer quickly, dearest allogene. All this fighting... truly drains away one's benevolence."

"I-I..."

Your head pounds with each incessant tap of his foot into the wet grass, every squelch into the earth sending your stomach reeling. Red rain, not blood, you attempt to delude yourself; not blood. Of course, when you open your eyes to try and glare at the painfully ethereal man hovering over you, it is all you see.

You were blessed with having parents who thought it important to have a learned daughter, and in turn, you swore to them to learn all you possibly could from them. Arithmetic, the arts, the languages of Teyvat, Inazuma's grand history of war and of the gods-- your land was rich with knowledge and beauty; you never stopped learning, never desired to stop learning.

Most of the gods you studied died off long ago during the events of the Archon War, but the few that remained were quick to align themselves with those who took the throne of each nation. It would appear that this cruel god pledged himself loyal to the Electro Archon of Inazuma, though by his appearance, you could only suppose that he originated from Natlan prior to his ascension. Naturally, this is less than helpful for you. There have been so many gods that have come and gone from Natlan, not only by means of the war, but by its ruler's own fiery temper, a indication to her being the Pyro Archon.

It is not that you do not believe in the gods. Of course they exist. The Archon War hadn't been the only proof of this, naturally. But you do not believe in them. There is no faith to be held in their regard; no honour in praying to them nor worshipping them from the earth they scarcely walk on. Why bother, when they have never answered your cries? Why, when all they could do in spite of their great powers, was deliver you an ornament of flame with the message, "Go. Fight."

What even is there to revere if you are doing their job and protecting humanity?

It's how you arrived on Kannazuka, after all. Knowing it to be mainly desolate with the exception of a small Inazuman tribe and the one misplaced god who should have never settled there to begin with, and thinking it relatively small enough that not many of those creatures would bother to linger. The god would protect his small population, and you, when you arrived. You wouldn't have to fight for your life... not anymore.

"Y... You useless, nameless god," you seethe into your lap. He does not speak, he does not laugh; there is no noise between you besides the distant lapping of waves against the shores of the island and the shudder of leaves on barren, decaying trees.

"I have no possible or fathomable clue of what your name could be. So, before my death, or my life, I shall name you "Devil", for that is what you are. All of your glory as a god-- what could even you do for your people besides mercifully suiciding them to guard them from those horrors? Let me join them in their freedom-- finally. I refuse to remain on the same land as you a minute longer."

The winged god peruses you for the entirety of that minute.

""Devil" is a fitting alternative," he says. "Beel and Beelzebub would approve of such a moniker. I have not been well-liked nor received warmly by many in over a millennia, even by my adoptive progenitors. Yes, "Devil" is a good guess. But it is not a correct one."

Your muscles give out, and your spine suddenly lacks the strength to keep you sitting upright. There is that heat again, you dare to whine. I am... truly about to die.

When the nameless god crouches before you, his wings curl over your form, shielding you from the unnatural violet light swirling in the skies over Kannazuka. It's dark beneath them, the only light coming from the dim glow of his feathers, and it makes you tremble. Being so close to such a being frightens you more than any of those beasts from Khaenri'ah did.

"It is ironic, me coming to this land," he suddenly muses. Looking up at him, you realize this is the first expression other than melancholy that he has worn since meeting him. You wish he hadn't smiled just now. Somehow, the pain in your chest worsens. "Godless before, and it will be godless again. Upon my return to Celestia, perhaps I will inquire as to why they thought it fitting to have granted you a Vision, you weak little genshin."

His hand lowers slowly to hover in front your face. Your heavy breathing, loud and filled with whimpers, is the first to come in contact with it before each of the pads of his fingers press like a five-pointed star against you, and almost instantaneously, you fall silent, and your Pyro Vision fades to black.

The nameless god draws his hand away, collapsing back off of his haunches when your lifeless body collides against his, sighing deeply.

"Do not be so foolish in your next life, little genshin. It is as you say... we are useless gods."

𝐄𝐍𝐃 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒

According to the lore surrounding Kannazuka Island, the prefix "Kan" can translate to "no gods". In this story, consider the island to have been named long ago, prior to this nameless god presiding over it. As this nameless god ends up forgotten when the only people to have ever worshipped him were killed, this is why he mentions the "irony" of his situation. Raiden Mikoto and Raiden Ei were called "Baal" and "Beelzebub", respectively, as a reference to the Ars Goetia, of whom a majority of the gods in Genshin Impact are inspired from. When y/n called the nameless god "Devil", this is in homage to his origin. Try and guess which one the nameless god might be!

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐆𝐋𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐀𝐑𝐘

waraji -> japanese bamboo sandals tabi -> the socks worn with waraji; fends off blisters and chafing fortnight -> fourteen days ago. hakama -> a ceremonial garment, but is also worn by nobility. in modern times, those who practice kendo wear them as part of the official uniform. hyperarousal -> a term for the "fight-flight-or-freeze" response. allogene/genshin -> vision-bearers.

masterlist | next chapter

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

@rvisn, @plinkuro, @vcvoxu, @minty-vxnilla, @ChaoticHearts-19, @stygianoir, @imeanwatever, @7rkx, @n-akaharachuuya, @katelynwithpaint, @sadflightlessbirds, @sunnyf4lls, @mydickisbigger, @endlessmari, @chocogi, @hunterluv, @dottores, @violeash, @hearteyes4scaramouche69420, @night-shadowblood-writes2, @vikcore, @gyros-cum-sock, @b0scuit, @onekei, @smol-mimi, @ditzydais, @littleunredacted00, @dynalite

if you see your name bolded purple, it means i couldn't tag you :(

#★・・・heartstrings #kunikuzushi x yn #kunikuzushi x you #kunikuzushi x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x yn #scaramouche x you #wanderer x yn #wanderer x you #wanderer x reader #kunikuzushi #scaramouche #wanderer #gi wanderer #genshin scara #genshin impact #genshin impact smut #kunikuzushi smut #scaramouche smut

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lokorum · 1 year ago

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headcanons my brain came up with after 2 days crying over the dark murrrge story

mb i'll add ketheric's "but can you call it teenage angst when you're 250 yo" thorn and gortrash's hcs at the end, as "from: me | to: me" bonus but who knows??

beware - spoilersss!! (｢• ω •)｢

btw durge's name is isa (he\they, ~78yo, high-elf (ignore the horns phphph)

before events of bg3:

● loves: snow, spicy-milk tea, sleeping in the high, secluded spaces. hates: shoes

● bad, just purely evil combination of being taciturn and looking directly at people’s eyes (quickly became one of gortash’s “favorite last resorts” to speed up negotiations)

● cosplaying seagulls - moves through the city over the rooftops only, eats trash, steals fish and vegetables for fun. probably definitely took enver’s “it’s much easier to find beauty in something, when you’re looking at it from the above” advice too close to the heart

● most people in the bhaal church are used to isa leaving and returning in secret. (they tried to ask them about hiddens paths (with zero success); they tried to convince sceleritas fel to ask them about hidden paths (with zero success); they tried to spy on them to learn locations themselves (with zero success and couple of too bold adepts lost to the undisclosed accidents);

● it’s “you get what you deserve, not what you want” kinda church, mate

● braids corpse’s hair, hums lullabies to fading fireplaces, carves bhaal’s runes on the walls and makes stone bleed

● wild bitch attitude - can appear in the middle of an important ceremony, take the priest's place and kill sacrificed person slowly and meticulously just because

● ketheric - depressed enthusiasm; isa - violent enthusiasm; gortash - my enthusiasm is way better than yours and deserves all of the attention but okay, i’ll give you like 5 minutes

● traveled a lot before settling at baldur’s gate just to be disappointed in 20 different languages

● crawls back to his beloved underground temple like a defeated cockroach because its +25°С outside

● "behind closed doors they perform rituals that make wind howl and ground shudder. after that, for a long while, the air is cold and knives are somehow feels sated"

● refuses to show enver location of the church, but not because of how sacred it is

● warm lights, buzzing streets, cheerful, unsuspecting, delightfully naive people - when isa first time visited baldur’s gate - the city was almost welcoming. when years after orin threw them away like a useless toy, disposed of them, broke them - (cheerful, unsuspecting, stupidly naive) part of them couldn’t believe that it’s really happening

● “you are the flesh maggots adore” vibes all over this stinky place

enver's hc before bg:

● “NO. no! No. No. No-o-o. no-no. no. No.” - starts tapping his finger on the table - “Well, maybe…”

● has two sides, one of them is in a dire need of bible, and the other one is responsible for that damn wardrobe

● "my work schedule is too tight for you and your nonsense” @ spends all evening crying into a cup of wine

● sometimes his selfcare routine is to make other people feel miserable in the most spectacular way. sometimes he just wants to be left alone in his evil-scientist laboratory. and sometimes - restless hands, red cheeks from too much wine, voice like he is about to share a secret - it's something different

● can come up with 10 ways to orchestrate someone’s downfall in 10 seconds and it's not even his best results

● “i have no idea where you’re receiving your information from, darling, but it’s inaccurate” - smiles and stealthy kicks body back under the table

● uses etiquette as a weapon. can't be scared by ten different knives, forks and spoons at the dinner table (when alone - eats using a single fork that he fetched from gods knows where)

● if he knows that a peaceful solution is not an option - deliberately creates an especially scandalous scene, just to feel what it's like, to stand above a pile of dead bodies of someone who dared to threaten him

● having loyal bhaal child looming nearby, ready to protect - spoiled him rotten

● im like 99,9% sure he is an adrenaline junkie (and during events of bg 3 he is either deeply addicted to having an "illusion of control" or trying to outrun 10 different ways to die horribly is his new hobby, idk)

#the dark urge #enver gortash #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #baldur's gate 3 #reposting it because for some reason it just dissapeared from the tags #sorry!!#i love how on screenshots durge always have this puzzled face expression #like they cant 1000% believe this is actually their “dearest and nearest”#but in the same time they like #yeah #thats my type #lord gortrash my beloved

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discretocincel · 5 months ago

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Before we float off in the wind

The title of this story (read on AO3!!) comes from the song ‘Here with me’ by d4vd.

For RadioApple Week, today’s prompt that I went with was ‘Domestic’. Cooking lesson, pt. 2!

All stories in this series are part of the same universe, and this one references something that happened in the third one, 'Watching the world keep changing', but I tried to make it so you wouldn't need to read it to understand this one. Just know that Lucifer and Alastor are already together, and that Alastor used to give Charlie cooking lessons. When Lucifer found out, he wanted to participate, but things didn't go the way they expected.

Minutes before starting, Lucifer was certain that it was a bad idea. He had thought so too the minute Alastor informed him, for the sinner didn’t ask before making plans with Charlie, knowing that Lucifer wouldn’t want to say no to her. When she had approached him, stars in her eyes and a nervous grin splitting her face, Lucifer didn’t stand a chance. He had agreed without a second’s hesitation.

That was why he was there, standing awkwardly in the kitchen of the hotel, not quite knowing what to do with his hands, waiting for Charlie to arrive and acutely aware of the presence lurking in the shadows. His lover knew better than to step out of them yet.

The last—and only—time Lucifer had attempted to cook with Charlie and Alastor had been… eventful. They hadn’t been together yet at the time, but Lucifer was already falling, and he embarrassed himself spectacularly after Alastor got a tiny cut in his hand, one Lucifer decided to lick clean, for some inane reason. No one had suggested a second cooking lesson; all three of them choosing to pretend none of it ever happened. Lucifer would’ve liked to continue that way. He didn’t need cooking lessons. His lover was a fantastic cook! As for bonding time with his daughter, well, there were other activities they could enjoy together, preferably ones who didn’t involve Alastor.

He just knew that he would mess up somehow. He’d done it before they were even together, how was he supposed to maintain the secret nature of their relationship from his daughter while spending an unreasonably long time just the three of them, interacting closely?

Lucifer was a tactile person. It was just his nature. Whereas Alastor, decidedly was not. Rumor has it that he had killed lesser demons for daring to brush their arms together on the street. Even with the oldest residents of the hotel, Alastor kept a strict distance, only broken on special occasions, and very briefly. Lucifer was the exception. When they were alone, just the two of them, Alastor didn’t mind indulging Lucifer’s cuddly side. They would press their limbs together while sitting together or lying down, drop chaste kisses in each other’s shoulders or hands, and generally exist together, always in contact.

Of course, he would like to extend that kind of interaction to other parts of their daily life, outside of their—secretly—shared bedroom. But it wasn’t yet time for that. Alastor had been very clear when they crossed the line that nobody could know, and Lucifer would respect that. They hadn’t made a deal, not an official one, but to Lucifer, his word was just as sacred as a divine contract.

Besides, he had seen in his lover’s eyes the importance of his request. He didn’t quite understand it, but that wasn’t necessary to respect it. Even if he wanted to brag to all of Hell, he would take the secret to his grave if that was what his lover wanted.

That didn’t mean it would be easy. He adored his daughter, she was a part of him, and while he constantly tried to show her a more put together side of him, he kept failing, because he wasn’t good at lying to her. Never to her. But he would have to try. For Alastor.

“Dad!” Charlie greeted him with her usual enthusiasm, and he nearly jumped out of his skin. “You’re already here, good! Did Alastor tell you what he’s planning to teach us today?”

“Nope. I haven’t seen him,” he lied, forcing his eyes to stay on his daughter and not the corner of the room where the shadows were.

“Oh, okay.” Her expression showed her confusion at that, like she had been expecting that they would’ve discussed their lesson beforehand. Should they have? Did they give the impression that they talked? When? Lucifer made sure to stay away from Alastor whenever there were others around! They only interacted publicly during meals! And they sat very far from each other!

“Greetings, Princess, Your Majesty! How are you two this fine evening?”

“Hi Al,” Charlie gifted him a more subdued smile. Lucifer wanted to believe her more enthusiastic greeting meant she liked her father better, but the realistic, hurtful voice inside him reminded him that it likely meant that she was more relaxed with the sinner, felt more at ease.

Even if he loved the man, that still hurt. He took a deep breath.

“Hey, how’s it going,” he mumbled through a grimace. He intended to come off as annoyed, but he probably just ended up sounding depressed. His lover no doubt noticed; Lucifer saw it in the way his brow subtly furrowed. “So.” He cleared his throat, willing his dumb heart to slow down. “What are we doing today?”

“I was thinking something simpler than our last endeavor. How does apple pie sound?”

Lucifer loved apple pie. Alastor knew that Lucifer loved apple pie. Alastor also should’ve known better than to make him swoon in front of his daughter!

“That sounds great!” Charlie said, searching for Lucifer’s gaze to gift him a beautiful smile, eyes turning into halfmoons and all. “Will there be enough for all the staff?”

“We’ll make three small ones first, and if those come out okay, we’ll make enough for the entire hotel.”

“Wonderful!”

Lucifer hoped his lover would feed him with his fingers the fruit of their conjoined labor. Again, he was reminded that this was a terrible idea.

“We will make the dough from scratch. We’re going to pour the flour and salt in the bowl first, go ahead, grab a fork…”

Alastor placed himself in between father and daughter, to lead from example and correct them when necessary. He wasn’t inappropriately close, but it still made Lucifer’s heart race, and he wished he could just turn his face and drop a kiss on his cheek, for being such a good instructor. Whenever he had any advice to give, he would gently pose a hand on Lucifer’s forearm to get his attention, his voice devoid of his usual radio filter even while his microphone played lively jazz softly in the background. It was clear the change caught Charlie off guard at first, but she didn’t comment on it. The lack of static coming from Alastor’s voice made it easier to understand his words, conveyed the message better, and also, once Lucifer had discovered that he was capable of turning it off, he kept asking him to hear his unadulterated voice whenever he could. Not that he didn’t find his lover charming when he used it, together with his transatlantic accent, but Alastor had a remarkably pleasant voice, and the filter opaqued it. His southern accent, from the two, maybe three occasions he had slipped, was also lovely, but he knew better than to expect it where others could hear. The lack of filter was already a marvelous gift, one he would make sure to reward—or was it an apology, a peace offering? Lucifer kept forgetting to stay mad at him.

“Now we need to put this in the refrigerator for a little while. Let’s start peeling the apples, shall we? Take one, each of you.”

Lucifer didn’t need any help with that, but he considered holding the knife wrong just to see what Alastor would do—he definitely would know he was bullshitting, and the mere idea of the way his expression would morph, how he would criticize him for his lack of professionalism nearly made him laugh out loud. However, before he could attempt it, Charlie grabbed his attention.

“Dad? Do you remember how you used to shape them like bunnies when I was younger? Do you think you could teach me how?”

“Of course!” He beamed, chest filling with excitement and he nearly tripped over his own feet as he hurried to stand next to his daughter. “Here, let me show you…”

♪

Lucifer didn’t notice the way the Radio Demon stopped what he was doing to watch him intently, his own smile softer and tenderer than Charlie had ever seen it. She had jumped at the opportunity when Alastor suggested it, mostly because she wanted to take a closer look at the way her father would act around the sinner. She knew she could be oblivious, but she had stopped by her father’s room enough times now to know that the man simply wasn’t sleeping there. She had worried herself sick imagining the man went back to the palace or to his workshop, still suffering from insomnia, keeping his weaker side from her, but then Angel had proposed, jokingly, that her dad was just spending his nights on somebody else’s bed. She didn’t believe it at first, but once the idea got into her head, she just couldn’t stop thinking about it. Eventually, some things about the way her father would exaggeratedly antagonize Alastor, how he would act normal only to suddenly put more distance between them and aggravate him, as if remembering that they were supposed to be fighting, started to resonate with her.

Could it be? No. It was impossible. Ludicrous.

But then again… what if she was right?

Thus, the idea of an afternoon alone with the pair sounded like the perfect opportunity for some observation. She still believed she was nuts, like Vaggie had said. She wasn’t expecting to actually see anything.

She’d imagined that any confirmation that her father was interested in another, any proof that he was moving on from her mother, would hurt her, even if she only wanted him to be happy. But when she saw the way he kept stealing looks at Alastor, as if wanting the man to notice his work and praise him, when he saw the way they moved around each other so naturally and effortlessly, as if they were dancing…

She merely felt happy.

#hazbin hotel #ao3 #fanfic #writing #appleradio #radioapple #radioapple week #alastor #hazbin lucifer #charlie morningstar #father and daughter #domestic fluff

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themetalvirus · 1 year ago

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I just can't find information anywhere but knowledgeable people. I'm asking any person who can help me. You see, I am writing a story in which one of the main characters is autistic. There is very little information on the internet about autistics, or it is unreliable.

I want to ask about you have with the world around you. I mean, I've read that some autistic people have an unusual imagination, a vision of events.

i want to give you the benefit of the doubt on this, but it is difficult. just searching "what is it like to have autism" brings up several videos.

make sure to not watch one person and think you get the whole story. one issue i see with a lot of autistic people talking about their experiences is that they assume the way they see the world is THE way autistic people see the world, which is not true - autism is a spectrum, a very diverse experience. if you really want to represent us faithfully, you have to understand more than one perspective. it seems you haven't done even basic research into this, which is disappointing.

this, this, this, this, this (this guy's whole channel seems to be a good resource from the glance i took), this (another great person, familiar with her stuff), this, this, this, and that's literally just the tip of the iceberg on the WEALTH OF INFORMATION on this subject.

most of what came up in that initial search was white people, but DO NOT FORGET TO LISTEN TO AUTISTIC PEOPLE OF COLOR. pay attention to whose voices you are missing in your research. platforms do not make it easy to find creators of color. seek them out. listen to them. videos here, here, here, here, here, here, here.

articles, not videos, here, here, here (ASAN is an excellent resource), here (suspicious website but good quotes), here (seems to be a good website for articles), here, here

book recommendations: the reason i jump and any other book by naoki higashida, literally any book or article from devon price. haven't read many more but literally just googling "books by autistic people" brings up a lot of good stuff

important note for research: ONLY WATCH OR READ THINGS MADE BY AUTISTIC PEOPLE. any "simulators", any "how to cope with autistic family members", any anecdotes from people who are not autistic but claim to be close with autistic people, THROW. THOSE. OUT. throw out anything related to autism speaks, throw out anything related to puzzle piece imagery, throw out anything advocating for ABA therapy, throw out any autism mom blogs. you'll need to skip over half or more of what you see. ONLY listen to words coming DIRECTLY from autistic people.

other things to avoid: "asperger's" (was a nazi, the term is outdated, any place still using it is suspect), functioning labels (high functioning, low functioning), anything about trying to cure or "change" (dogwhistle for cure) autism

i should not have had to do this for you. i don't know how you were looking for information, but the idea that you somehow couldn't find ANY resources from autistic people voluntarily sharing their experiences is deeply suspect.

do not just use the links i have provided. do more research. there is, in fact, a wealth of information on the autistic experience on the internet.

i should not have had to do this for you.

#exoticbutterstxt

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gamerdog1 · 1 year ago

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Baccano Review

Since the early days of humanity, we humans have been fascinated with storytelling. From cave paintings, to oral storytelling, to the invention of the printing press and beyond, stories have been a staple of how we share experiences, lessons, or histories with subsequent generations.

When it comes to the recounting of events, though, therein lies a problem: from which perspective is the story told? Who are history's main characters? How can we possibly get a complete look at an event (or events) from only one person's perspective?

While most stories take a singular perspective, linear approach to storytelling, some attempt the daunting task of rounding up as many perspectives as possible, showing that there is always more than one side to every story.

One such series is Baccano (2007), an anime based on the light novel series of the same name, written by Ryohgo Narita. Unlike most historical anime, Baccano's story is told from a dozen or so perspectives, creating a unique viewing experience that rewards audiences' close attention with a satisfying thrill ride.

Describing Baccano's plot is a bit difficult, simply because of how much goes on in it. Its a gangster story about various crime families in New York, and their endless cycle of violence against one another. Its a horror story, about a train hi-jacking that goes wrong after a murderous monster climbs aboard. Its also a comedy about a pair of goofy criminals who mess up their plans all the time, yet still somehow get away with them.

Yet, all these separate plot threads are interwoven in a such a way where each is essential to the overall story. Characters encounter each other in key moments of the plot, and their stories are changed because of each other. In one episode, we see a major character watching a fire break out at a factory, where he bumps into a mysterious woman. In the next episode, we see what the woman was doing before she got to the fire, and where she went afterwards. By doing this, Baccano weaves a complex story where dozens of 'main characters' can shine to their own degrees.

Where this comes most in handy is with how the series doles out scenes and important information. Instead of showing scenes in a linear fashion, Baccano cuts up events and scatters them to the four winds, forcing audiences to put together a timeline as best they can. One minute you could be seeing a gunfight in 1932, then the next you're seeing people board a train in 1931, seemingly unrelated. I found myself trying to plot each scene on a timeline as I watched, but by episode 4, I didn't need it anymore.

The non-linear storytelling of this anime can be tricky to anyone not accustomed to it, having a keen eye and keeping track of the three major events of the story is all you really need to understand the order of events. Each scene is book-ended with something shown in a previous episode, or relates to something that is revealed in the next episode, showing you exactly when each event takes place in the overall narrative. Its not rocket science to understand the story: it just takes a keen eye, and a basic understanding of cause and effect.

Beyond the story itself, I really enjoyed this series, especially because of its atmosphere and setting. Its a rare treat to see an anime set outside of Japan, especially a historical series like this one. Much like Black Butler (2008), another historical anime set outside of Japan, the English dub is a treat, featuring all the old-timey accents that you'd expect for the time period. That, combined with the occasional use of slang (such as using 'giggle juice' to refer to alcohol) and references to 30's pop culture, made the dialogue flow smoothly, and feel natural for the setting.

While taking place in the 1930's, Baccano is in no way a realistic depiction of history, something which isn't helped by it's fantasy plotline. The fantasy element of Baccano's plot doesn't ruin the show (I believe it actually makes the story cooler, though I feel like it could've been integrated more smoothly into the setting, or at least given more time to develop.

That, unfortunately, is the main issue with this series: it really needed more time. With a plot as dense and complex as this, you'd think it would get more time to stretch out and get comfortable. 13 episodes is shockingly little, especially for an adaptation of a light novel series with over 20 books in it. It baffles me that Brain's Base (the studio behind this anime) didn't give this series a longer run, or even a second season. It certainly could do with it.

Still, this series makes the most of its short stay, like a tourist who insists on 'doing everything' on their weekend vacation to New York City. Every character gets a decent amount of screen time and a clear goal, and that goal is either reached or missed tragically. For a show with such a short run, its quite impressive just how much information and story is packed into its 13 episodes. By the end, I felt a connection to the key players, like we'd spent a whole afternoon together (which may or may not be related to me watching most of this anime in one afternoon).

All in all, I quite enjoyed Baccano, though I wish it was longer. The non-linear storytelling was a bit jarring at first, but didn't take me too long to understand. The characters ranged from hilariously stupid to genuinely cool, and each was entertaining to watch. At the end of the day, though, I only wish this series was longer. Characters like Ennis didn't feel like they got the time they deserved, and could've brought this series up from 'great' to 'excellent' if they had gotten more time to develop and explore.

I definitely recommend this series to anyone who hasn't seen it. Sure, its violent, bloody, confusing, weird, and ridiculously short, but it makes the most of what it has. We can only hope for a surprise second season announcement in the near future.

(Also this guy is the best character. I will not apologize.)

#anime and manga #anime review #review #anime #film critic #anime critique #animation #baccano!#claire stanfield

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avengerscompound · 2 years ago

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The Recruit - 2. You

The Recruit - An Avengers Fanfiction

Series Masterlist PREVIOUS //

Buy me a ☕ Character Pairing: Clint Barton x Bucky Barnes x Sharon Carter x Steve Rogers x Natasha Romanoff x Sam Wilson x F!Reader

Word Count: 3124

Warnings: None this chapter

Synopsis: When Sam Wilson is set up on a blind date, he doesn’t expect anything to come from it. He is already in a relationship after all, and not just with one other person, but a whole group of them. You never expected to end up working for the Avengers let alone be dating six of them at the same time. Now you’re balancing a new job, a new romance, new friends, and a secret that could destroy a lot of lives if it got out. It’s a tricky balance to get right at the best of times, but when something happens to Steve Rogers it’s up to the people who love him most to get him back.

2. You

There had been a lot of different dates you’d had in your life. Good dates. Bad dates. Fun dates. Boring dates. You’d done everything from the old-fashioned dinner and movie to taking a hot air balloon ride through the countryside. Yet even with all the different dates, you’d been on with people you barely knew or knew really well, you had never felt such a strong connection with someone as you had Sam Wilson.

The date hadn’t even been that outstanding. If you’d described the date to someone and only said the things you did, you were sure they’d tell you it sounded horrible. Sitting outside Madison Square Garden with an ice cream listening to a band neither of you had paid to see sounded cheap and lazy. Yet it had been fun, and relaxed, and you had loved talking to him. He had somehow managed to both listen to you in a way that made you feel like you were the most important person in the world and to be able to hold your attention with every story he told.

The date was so good when Sam called you, you weren’t at all surprised. Delighted - but not surprised.

“I was hoping you might like to come around,” Sam said. “I’m a decent cook and my sister always said cooking for someone was the best way to share a part of you.”

“Aren’t you an old romantic?” you teased. Normally you would be a little hesitant about being invited to a homemade dinner so early. They always seemed to come with the expectation of sex. You weren’t opposed to having sex early on, but you liked to come to these things naturally without added pressure. You trusted Sam though. Not just because you had gotten along so well, but also because he was also an Avenger. The fact he hadn’t gone in for a goodnight kiss was encouraging too. He didn’t seem like the kind of person to pressure you. Besides - you could handle yourself if your instincts were completely off. “I’d love that.”

“There’s just one thing - and I get it if it’s a deal-breaker - but the tower has a lot of hush-hush stuff in it. Plus, you know, the Avengers all kind of want to keep their private lives private, so coming here needs you to sign an NDA,” he explained, sounding about as nervous as he had when you’d shown up to the restaurant. “It’s standard and I can send it to you if you want a lawyer to look it over - and I get if you’re not comfortable, we can do something else…”

“No, it’s fine,” you laughed, interrupting him. “Send it over. I’m ex-special-ops, remember? I get the need for Non-Disclosure Agreements.”

“Great,” Sam said with a sigh of relief. “I’ll email it to you now. If you read it over and change your mind, let me know. We can go catch a game or something.”

The NDA had been fine in the end. Nothing out of the ordinary, just a promise not to share sensitive information about the Avengers’ business or the private lives of the residents of the tower. You signed it and sent it back, and the following Friday you arrived at the tower at six to meet with Sam.

You had to pass through security when you got to the tower and you were directed to an elevator and told to just get on and it would take you to the correct floor.

The doors opened to a large open area with an open kitchen, a large glass dining table, and several couches along one side of the room, each paired with a small table. Behind them were frosted glass windows that seemed to lead into various offices. There was a selection of art on the walls and sculptures scattered here and there, but your eyes were drawn to the people sitting on the couches by the window that looked out over the city.

You froze when you saw them. It had been nerve-wracking first meeting Sam. He wasn’t just famous for being Falcon of the Avengers, he was legendary in special ops, and the date Joaquín had set up seemed too good to be true. You had needed to work up to it and practice not saying something dumb. It was Sam’s nerves that set yours at ease. Yet here was a whole group of Avengers you hadn’t been expecting to see at all. Not just any Avengers either. Most of them were big names.

Steve Rogers sat sandwiched between Bucky Barnes and a blond woman you didn’t recognize, while Natasha Romanoff and Clint Barton were stretched out on the couch opposite them.

Not even when Steve Rogers stood quickly to greet you and the others slowly got up with him, could you make yourself unstuck from the floor. “Hi!” Steve said, warmly approaching you. “You must be Sam’s date. He’s just stuck in a meeting that’s gone two hours over so far. He asked that we keep you entertained. He shouldn’t be much longer.”

You took his hand and shook it and he gestured to the chairs. You managed to move, though you hadn’t said anything yet. “This is Clint, Natasha, Sharon, and Bucky,” Steve said, indicating from right to left.

You nodded and introduced yourself and Clint moved over to make room beside him on the couch.

“Can I get you a drink?” Steve asked when everyone except him was sitting again.

“Oh god yes,” you said, looking around at what everyone else was nursing. Clint and Steve both seemed to have beers, while Bucky had a glass with two fingers of whiskey in it. Sharon had a glass of red wine and Natasha had a bright red cocktail in a champagne croup. “A beer would be great.”

Steve grabbed one from the fridge and handed it to you as he took his seat between Sharon and Bucky again. “Sorry that you had to meet the friends after only one date,” Sharon said. “That’s a lot of pressure.”

“Could be worse. Could be his sister grilling me about his intentions,” you joked.

“Oh god, that’d be the worst,” Clint said. “But I guess at least Sarah’s nice. When I met this one’s sister, she tried to kill me.”

“Harsh,” you said. You laughed along with the lightness of the comment, but the way he made it sound, you had a feeling that it was a factual story and not a joke. It was also your first sign that Clint and Natasha were a couple. You wondered why they kept it a big secret from the public.

“I mean, to be fair, your brother has tried to kill all of us,” Natasha said.

“Yeah, but that’s just because he’s like that, not because he has beef with you guys specifically,” Clint argued.

“What about the rest of you? Any other siblings trying to kill any of you?” you asked.

“No, I got on pretty well with Bucky’s sister when she was alive, and Sharon and I are only children,” Steve answered.

“He did date my great-aunt though, so that was a little weird,” Sharon answered.

Which meant that Sharon and Steve were a couple. That was interesting because of the way Bucky was sitting so close, you had thought for a second that he and Steve were together.

Steve held up his hands. “I didn’t know she was your aunt when I first asked you out. And it’s not my fault that the Carter family tree has such amazing women on it.”

“Well, when you say things like that how am I supposed to resist you?” Sharon said and nudged him.

“I mean we all have eyes, it’s already pretty hard to resist him,” Clint teased.

“When have you been able to resist anyone, birdbrain?” Bucky said, raising his eyebrow.

Clint fell back laughing. “Wow. I am definitely going to get you for that later.”

As you sipped your beer and listened to them banter you were surprised by how easy it was to get along with them. They were funny and not pretentious and they seemed kind, even behind the sarcasm. A trait that was not always easy to find in people. The other thing that slowly dawned on you was that your initial assumption that two couples were sitting with you was wrong. Sam’s friends were in a five-person polycule. You weren’t sure if they were all dating each other or not, but there was definitely some crossing between them.

As you finished your beer, Sam arrived. You stood as he approached and he kissed your cheek in greeting. “Hey, sorry I was so late. I hope they weren’t too annoying.”

“They were really lovely actually,” you said. “Maybe I don’t want to go with you anymore.”

Sam put his hand over his heart. “I’m wounded.”

“That’s what you get for standing her up,” Clint teased. “We swoop in and steal her.”

“I’m the only one who does any swooping here,” Sam countered as you hooked your arm around his.

“I’m ready when you are,” you said. “It was really nice meeting you all. Thank you for keeping me company.”

“Anytime,” Steve said.

“We should all get dinner together,” Natasha added.

“Hey now, lady,” Sam teased. “Let’s see how this date goes before we start planning weddings.”

You waved goodbye to them as you followed Sam back into the elevator. “Your friends are really nice,” you said as you stood beside him facing the door.

“Yeah, they’re good people,” Sam agreed. “And they must have taken to you if they’re inviting you around for dinner.”

You laughed and nudged him with your shoulder. “Hey, I am awesome.”

Sam looked at you with soft eyes and smiled. “I’m starting to see that.”

You could feel your face heat up and you stared up at the numbers on the elevator watching them countdown. The doors opened and you followed Sam to his apartment. It was a clean space, but with the kind of clutter that you expect in a home that’s lived in. He had a wine rack attached to the wall half filled with different bottles and a large glass bowl under it that held a ludicrous amount of corks. There was both a CD and a record player in the hall with a huge stack of vinyls and CDs. The walls were decorated with a mixture of photography and art and there were random sports trophies, model planes, jars filled with feathers, and loose golf balls and tees decorating the place. You followed him into the kitchen and took a seat at the bench.

“I hope you like seafood,” he said. “My folks had a fishing boat when I was growing up. We still own it - but my sister runs it now. You don’t grow up in New Orleans on a fishing boat without picking up a thing or two. If I had more time I’d do a gumbo, but as you can see - “ he waved his hands around a little frantically as he went to the fridge. “I did pick up some fresh shrimp and halibut at the market this morning. I thought I’d blacken the halibut, and do some cajun shrimp and rice. What do you think?”

“I think a girl could get used to this,” you said, making Sam laugh. “Can I help out at least?”

“Of course,” he said, getting a chopping board and the knife block and putting it in front of you. “If you could cut up the vegetables, we’ll take it from there.”

You began to cut up the onion, garlic, peppers, and corn as Sam buzzed around the kitchen getting different things out and starting to prep the seafood. “You okay with spice?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, go crazy,” you agreed. “Make me regret being born.”

Sam burst into laughter and nudged you. “That’s what I like to hear. Steve is a complete pussy when it comes to spice. The guy can lift a car full of people over his head but put pepper in his mashed potatoes and you’d think he was dying.”

You couldn’t help but laugh at the mental image. “Poor Steve - he grew up in the 20s.”

“And he’s Irish, don’t forget that,” he said.

“I would never,” you agreed. “I mean, it’s pretty impressive how much he’s adapted to though. All the tech, and changes in the way people think. The guy’s polyamorous, you have to give him a little leeway on his baby palate.”

Sam looked over at you with his eyebrow raised. “You picked up on that, huh?”

“Well - I am an expert on reconnaissance,” you said. “I’m good at noticing things.”

“How do you feel about that?” Sam asked. The tone in his voice made you think this was important to him and that he wanted an honest answer and not for you to just go along with it out of politeness.

You shrugged. “Love is love, right? I don’t think love should be just limited to two people. As long as everyone is on the same page and consenting adults. I think I’d even be open to it myself if I felt that strongly about more than one person. Why limit yourself? I think mostly I’m impressed he and Bucky were open to it given the time they’re from. There must have been a lot of internal prejudices to get past to allow themselves to be open to that kind of love.”

Sam’s smile seemed to soften more as he gazed at you. “You’d be open to it?”

“I mean - I’ve never tried it, but - yeah? I think so. I’ve thought about it in the past and how if someone brought it up with me or if I’d be open to falling in love with more than one person. I don’t think I need it, but I’d be open to it,” you explained.

Sam made a relieved-sounding sigh and looked down at the fish he was preparing and then back at you. “I’m really happy to hear that. See I need to admit to something. I wanted you to come here so you’d meet them. The date we were set up on? I had been turning it down for a long time. You see Joaquín didn’t know that I’m already seeing someone. Five someones. I’m part of that group too. But I had so much fun with you… if you’re open to it, we’d like to date you too.”

You looked at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“I know it’s a lot to take in, and you don’t have to decide now. I don’t even really know how it would work. I guess we’d have to get together and discuss the details of that,” Sam said. “All I know for sure is - I’ve felt the kind of instant connection we have before once. And I’m now completely head over heels in love with that man. I know for a fact that love can be shared between more than two people at a time. That’s the lifestyle I’m part of. It’d be a damn shame to miss out on that kind of love again because it’s not conventional.”

You shook your head like you were trying to clear it. “I think I need a drink.”

Sam laughed softly. “There should be white wine in the fridge. There’s some beer for sure. If you check the freezer there’s Vodka.

You went to the freezer and took out the vodka. Sam pointed to a cabinet behind him where he kept his glasses. “They’re all open to this?” you asked.

“They said they wanted to meet you,” he said. “But we’re very much about grabbing happiness where we can find it. A lot of us don’t get that very much. Our jobs are isolating and dangerous. We lose people we love. Back before I met them I was seeing a guy and he died in a firefight. I mean - I don’t have to tell you how dangerous our jobs are. You’ve been there. If they think that dating you will make me happy, they’re open to it. But we do have a lot to think about. I mean if you’re just happy to go along with whatever we suggest we don’t want to blow up what we already have. And you’re not just going to go along with what we want. You have to protect yourself too.”

You poured yourself a shot and downed it. “Okay -” you said shaking yourself off. “This is a lot to think about.”

“I know,” he said, pausing what he was doing with his skillet and looking at you. “Look, maybe what works for us is just you and me dating, while you’re aware that I’m with other people. That will mean you have to realize my time will be limited. But - whatever works, works right? Just - think about it. What do you want? What are you willing to try? What are straight-up no deals for you? I guess, just remember - we have to be secretive. The public wouldn’t like the idea of Captain America being bisexual and polyamorous. Other than that - you’ll be the new person in an established group. It won’t always be easy to be in that position. But - you have to admit - we had a connection.”

You let out a breath and poured yourself another drink. “This is a lot. I mean - we haven’t even kissed.”

Sam smirked. “I can change that,” he said.

You looked at him and took a step forward. He took your hand and pulled you towards him. When your body was pressed against his you, he leaned in. You bridged the difference bringing your lips to his. His lips were soft and he grazed them over yours. You had read about the spark people felt when they kissed someone before, but you’d never felt it before. Not until now. As you kissed Sam Wilson it felt like a current ran through you, setting every one of your nerve endings alight. He was smiling when he pulled back and your mouth chased his for just a moment.

“How about this,” he said, caressing your jaw with your thumb. “Let’s have a nice dinner together. We can see how we fit. You can go home tonight and think about it. Call me when you know what you want to do.”

You nodded and let out a breath. “Yeah. I think that is a good idea,” you agreed.

He pecked your lips again and went back to cooking. There was definitely a spark between you. It was a connection you hadn’t felt with anyone in a long time. The question was; could you handle any of this?

// NEXT

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