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markrosewater · 5 months ago

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Elegance

Here’s my original article for Elegance.

This is a topic I’ve wanted to write about for a long time. Ironically, the words needed to explain the concept kept the column from being elegant. So I did what all artists do. I found a way to say a lot in a little space.

Enjoy,

Mark Rosewater

[NOTE: EACH OF THE ABOVE FIFTY WORDS IS HYPERLINKED. BELOW IS THE FIFTY HYPER LINKS. THE HEADERS SHOULDN’T BE ON THE LINKED PAGE. I’M JUST INCLUDING THEM SO YOU KNOW WHAT EACH LINK IS.]

ELEGANCE

Merriam-Webster’s Collegiate Dictionary has five definitions for elegance:

• refined grace or dignified propriety

• tasteful richness of design or ornamentation

• dignified, gracefulness or restrained beauty of style

• scientific precision, neatness and simplicity

• something that is elegant

The common elements appear to be dignity, simplicity, and taste.

THIS

Elegance requires thinking, but it also requires feeling. Elegant prose is judged by how it makes the reader feel. It needs to generate a sense of calm that puts the reader at ease. Everything in your writing should feel as if it was carefully positioned to create the proper effect.

Pound for pound, the writer’s greatest writing tool is the verb. Nouns add substance and adjectives add flourish, but it’s the verb that drives the sentence. Choose a strong, descriptive verb and the sentence has flair and purpose. Choose a weak one and the sentence lacks any sense of drama.

Here’s a little game to test an elegance relevant skill (based on an old game called Inklings). Randomly choose a noun. Try to convey that noun to the other players using the least number of letters possible. You’ll be surprised how much you can communicate in just a few letters.

TOPIC

One of the greatest stumbling blocks to elegance is the inability to choose a single focus. Elegance requires simplicity. Simplicity requires a single purpose of thought. This means that elegance starts before you write a single word. A good sculptor must know his image before he picks up his chisel.

I’VE

One of the common misconceptions of elegance is that it requires a writer to be fancy. Elegance though is more about familiarity than formality. You shouldn’t be afraid of friendlier language such as slang or contractions, assuming that such language adds an element of ease rather than one of laziness.

WANTED

An important element of elegance is a sense of passion. Brevity does not mean pulling away emotionally from words, but rather the opposite. When you find yourself limited to fewer words, you must pack each individual word with extra emotional punch. You are not reducing your message, simply your messenger.

A good tool in understanding elegance is studying poetry. Poetry is the most concise of all written art forms. It strives to maximize impact while minimizing expression. Each word carries the burden of evoking some essence of the poet’s message. If it cannot carry its own weight, it is excised.

WRITE

To be an elegant writer, you have to become a student of prose. You have to study the mechanics of language to understand how it can be shaped. Once you have learned how to transfer the feeling in your head into meaningful words, you are on the path to elegance.

ABOUT

Be careful not to fall in love with ambiguity. While intoxicating in its beauty, it is the enemy of elegance. Remember, the goal is not to make the reader struggle for comprehension. Rather it is to lead them to the obvious conclusion. Elegance should be used to illuminate, not confuse.

FOR

Elegant prose requires connecting with your reader. To do this, you have to understand who that reader is. Nothing should come before this task. It needs to be done before writing can begin. I like to compare this to planning a trip. Maps are useless until you know your destination.

Another major key to elegance is the understanding of the importance of the tiniest detail. Just as a chain is only as strong as its weakest link, a piece of prose is only as tight as its messiest detail. A good writer doesn’t stop at the nouns, verbs and adjectives.

LONG

Don’t confuse elegance with brevity. Elegant things are short not because they have to be but because the difficulty to craft an elegant piece of prose combined with the limitations of time forces writers to be brief. Elegant novels, for example, do exist, but they are few and far between.

TIME

To quote Roman orator (and letter writer) Marcus T. Cicero, “If I had more time, I would have written a shorter letter.”

Simplicity takes more time not less. Anyone can get a point across with ten thousand words. But a true artist can do it in ten (or possibly fifty).

IRONICALLY

Irony is a potent tool for commentary. Its genius lies in the fact that it comments not on what is, but rather on what isn’t. Like all good humor, irony makes you laugh. But like the best type of humor, it also makes you think. It’s both funny and funny.

THE

Elegance in writing is about more than words. Equally important is how the words are woven together. Tempo, pacing, rhythm – these are the tools that set the mood for the piece. Try reading aloud your text. The natural beat of language is more suited for the ear than the eye.

WORDS

To realize the power of words, you must first understand how they work. Art is expressive; words are connotative. That is, words draw their power from their ability to extract different ideas from different people. A circle is a circle, but the concept of “scary” varies from person to person.

NEEDED

Elegance is not the result of any one attribute. It is the combination of numerous factors coming together in harmony. This is why it’s such a hard skill to master. Most people can pat their head or rub their tummy. But put them together and it’s not quite so easy.

An elegant piece of prose needs to hit the reader at a gut level. Often they won’t know exactly why they like it, but they will recognize that something about the piece moves them. There are many types of writing where subtlety is lost. Elegant writing isn’t one of them.

EXPLAIN

There are many ways for you to explain an idea. The most elegant one though is not through definition but by example. By connecting your idea to one already known by the reader, you’re leaving the work of teaching to someone in the past. Education is hard. Comparison is easy.

THE

If writing is like building a house, the structure is like the foundation. Its design will dictate how the house is built. If it’s faulty, no amount of fancy brickwork will undo the damage. So take the time to ensure your structure is building the kind of prose you want.

CONCEPT

Never underestimate the power of a concept. An important part of elegance is condensing big ideas into little words. This is far from an easy task. It often takes a genius an entire lifetime to create a truly innovative concept. So take advantage of all their hard work and inspiration.

KEPT

A common barrier to elegance is the belief that only one way will work. Often a writer is unable to abandon a beloved piece of prose even when evidence demonstrates otherwise. If something doesn’t add to the larger sense of the piece, you have to learn to let it go.

THE

Readers notice things at a minute level far beyond their mind’s ability to interpret. This means that although they may not consciously notice many of your tiny details, they will do so unconsciously. Aesthetics teach us that it’s this unconscious structure that will determine whether or not it feels “right”.

COLUMN

All communicators, whether through speaking or print, need to find a voice. A voice provides familiarity and it teaches the listener or reader how to more quickly absorb the information. Elegance is all about the conservation of ideas. Having a pre-learned voice to guide you is a very valuable tool.

FROM

I’ve spent some time talking about understanding your reader. But there is one more person who is even more important to understand – yourself. Writing is about sharing your ideas with others. If you haven’t spent the time to figure out what you think, how can you possibly communicate it?

BEING

“A picture is worth a thousand words.”

Or so the saying goes. What the cliché forgets to mention is how many words a single word is worth. For example, take the word “being”. To capture the essence of what “being” represents is tens of thousands of words if not more.

ELEGANT

What is the value of being elegant? Why should you care? Elegance adds aesthetics. It evokes poetry. It grants beauty. Elegant prose draws the reader closer because it gives them something to not just learn but to admire. Good prose stimulates the head, but elegant prose resonates in the heart.

Who, what, where, when, how - all important questions. But for a writer they pale next to why. If you don’t understand the reasoning beneath the surface, the other details are irrelevant. The act of elegance is cementing the why. It’s taking the purpose and engraining it into the piece.

Elegance is a very personal thing. If something doesn’t resonate with you, there’s no way for it to resonate with your reader. Writing is an art, not a science. There is no rulebook for how things must be done. If your instincts are telling you that something isn’t working, listen.

DID

An important tool in your toolbox is time. Elegance cannot be rushed. Mental ruts only get deeper the harder you focus on them. Make sure to work time into your schedule so you are able to walk away from your writing. An hour next week is worth a day today.

WHAT

Don’t let attention to detail pull you away from having a larger sense of what you’re writing. Take this column as an example. While I spent a lot of time fine tuning each entry I never lost sight of the effect they created when all the entries were put together.

ALL

Elegance requires taking a holistic view of writing. Every word, every sentence, every paragraph is a piece in a larger puzzle. It’s not enough to understand the impact of a single element. You must understand how any two elements interact if you want to understand the potency of your text.

ARTISTS

Elegance and art are very intertwined. Both seek to achieve a similar goal: to illuminate and inspire with a conservation of expression. If you’re trying to be elegant, I think it helps to think of yourself as an artist. The instinct for the latter mirrors the needs of the former.

An important part of any writing is understanding the feeling you’re trying to evoke. And then realizing what mechanic tools you have available to evoke that feeling. Diction, verb tense, sentence length, alliteration, word flow, phonetic juxtaposition – each of these will control the mood and tone of your piece.

A writer’s life is the ultimate fodder. Don’t be ashamed to plumb your own experiences. You understand them deeper and more personally than anyone else. No painter would refuse to use his finest paints. And, as a bonus, by using your own experiences, you will become better educated about yourself.

FOUND

Don’t forget that the act of revealing is also an act of exploration. Don’t be afraid if you learn more than the reader you’re trying to educate. Writing is not an exact science. (Or even an exact art.) Often you will find that the road to salvation has a fork.

Your future is paved with your past. If you want to learn how to grow as a writer, you need to look back at what you’ve written. With time and a detached eye, your will find your mistakes become clearer. Remember that it’s failure, not success, that bests drives education.

WAY

The problem with looking for a single solution is that you’ll never find more than one. And the first one isn’t always the best. But if you’re open to the possibility that every problem has an infinite number of answers, you’ll have the freedom of choosing the solution you want.

Sentences are filled with freeloaders. Because writers seem to love overwriting. (I include myself in this camp.) Make sure to create time for the editor side of you to prune unnecessary words. If a word can be excised without any harm to the sentence, it has no right being there.

SAY

I’m spending my time today talking about elegance in prose, but most of what I’m saying is applicable in speech. The key difference is that prose has less defining attributes like appearance or tone. The key to elegant speech is making people focus on the words rather than everything else.

It’s ironic that something designed to be so simple can be so complex. But that, my faithful readers, is the joy (and mystery) of elegance. Like an onion, elegance has numerous layers that reveal themselves as you slowly peel them away. Oh yeah, and it can sometimes make you cry.

LOT

An interesting exercise is to look at each word you’re using and think about how much content is loaded in that word. Then explore what other words exist that fulfill the same role but with added content. Once you’ve found the word you can’t best, move onto the next word.

A good way to get better at understanding elegance is to look for it in every day life. I think you’ll be pleasantly surprised where and how often you find it. Study each example carefully and try to see if you can put your finger on what makes it work.

Writing is a shared endeavor. No one owns the words. If someone uses a technique that works, there’s no shame in borrowing it. Like science, writing creates technology that’s brought back to the group to spur further advancements. Elegance is hard enough to accomplish without refusing to use the toolbox.

LITTLE

How big should a piece of text be if you want it to be elegant? The answer is as big as it needs to be – and not a word more. Just think of it as playing the game Jenga. Keep pulling words out of your prose until it collapses.

SPACE

One of the most important lessons in art is learning the value of negative space, the idea that the eyes are equally drawn to what isn’t there. Prose has a very similar quality. When writing pay careful attention to what you aren’t saying. Often it will speak the loudest volume.

ENJOY

For some reason people tend to equate dignity with seriousness. And as such they come to the false conclusion that elegance has no room for humor. Ironic as humor is one of the most elegant of styles. A good joke is no longer than is necessary to do its job.

MARK

As is always true when I head off the beaten path, I am curious to hear your feedback. What did you think of this article? Was it entertaining? Was it educational? Did you actually read all fifty links? And if not, why not?

Tell me. Inquiring mind wants to know.

ROSEWATER

I couldn’t end this week’s column without my trademark closing. I mean, how inelegant would that be?

Join me next week when I go from being a letter man to a Letterman.

Until then, may you learn to appreciate now just the “what” but the “how” and “why”.

Mark Rosewater

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thewintersoldatt · 8 months ago

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SORRY, NOT SORRY -RAFE CAMERON

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x fem!listener

Summary: Rafe can be a “good” boyfriend when he wants to be… with a sprinkle of manipulation of course.

Warnings: Naughty language, Fluff low-key from our toxic daddy, ft. JJ being a chaotic mess.

notes: This audio is set during 1x05. Instead of it being midsummer's, it's the listeners birthday! I've been working on this all week and I'm tired of listening to it on repeat, so if something doesn't add up, it's because I got lazy. And I wish Rafe told me he loved me. 😭

word count: Its audio, my panties are wet and so are yours.

Scene one

JJ: Ah, would you look at this! It's our birthday girl!

You: What are you doing here?

Our cutie patootie rambles on then walks off with the security guard.

During this pause count to about 6 or 7.

You: What the hell did you guys do to his face?

Rafe: We didn't do anything… his face was like that when he…showed up.

You: Well, why did you guys corner him in here?

Rafe: We were just making sure... he knew his place. And that he's not allowed here. If anything, we were doing you and your parents a favor, I mean, god knows what he already took.

You: You promised me you wouldn’t start anything tonight, Rafe.

Rafe: Can you give us a minute? I'd like to talk to my girlfriend... alone, so get out. Alright, um, can I speak first since you wanna do this right now?

You: Go ahead.

Rafe: How long have you lived here?

You: I was born here.

Rafe: Yes you were born here, but where - where did you grow up?

You: Figure 8.

Rafe: Yes, you grew up on Figure 8. And where did... our pal JJ grow up?

You: The cut.

Rafe: The Cut. and that's exactly my point, baby. We're kooks. And... what is JJ again?

You: Jesus, Rafe don't start-

Rafe: Come on, you wanna talk, let’s talk. What about communication? Isn’t that what we're supposed to be working on?

Count to 3 during this pause.

You: He’s a pouge.

Rafe: See that wasn't so hard, now was it? Now, let me make something clear, and stop me if you get a little confused - you and me. We’re practically royalty on this island. We’re together for a reason. And before you saying, yes I do love you. I always have and I always will. You’re mine. You’re it for me, sweetheart. And… you’re a kook. So, start acting like one before I do something about it, mkay?

You: God, you’re a dick you know that? How about you leave too.

Rafe: Ugh, look I’m sorry, alright? It��s just… it’s just when I saw him on the patio talking to Sarah I lost it. This is supposed to be your day and I didn’t want him ruining it. Kind of like when… uh… we switched out the coke with flour and gave it to Top because he ate your cupcakes.

You: And how is that relevant to this?

Rafe: It’s sorta the same thing. You - you worked hard on those. Uh, he ate them. I was pissed because they were for me. And you were upset because I wanted to punch him in the throat. Tomato, tomahto. Blah, blah, blah. See you’re smiling, I love it when you smile.

You: You’re such a sap.

Rafe: I love you.

You: I love you too.

Rafe: And again, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cause a scene, I just didn’t know how else to get him to leave. You know how JJ and his friends are. All of them are drawn to us like a moth to a flame. Now, uh, can we put this behind us and get back to the party?

You: Thats the smartest thing that’s come out of your fat mouth all night, baby.

Rafe: By the way, I really do think he took something from your bedroom.

You: What?

Rafe: I saw him come down from the hallway, unless he took something from your dad’s office?

You: You’re serious?

Rafe: As a heart attack.

You: But… I’ve never done anything to him.

Rafe: That’s what they do though. You should know this by now. They butter you up, just to take whatever they can right from under our noses. It’s sick, if I’m being honest.

You: So much for trying to be civil.

Rafe: I know, yeah, I’ll talk to your dad, and um, see what we can do. But for now, let’s go celebrate. It’s not everyday someone turns 17.

@rafesapologist @rvfecamerons @sadfury @rafesthroatbaby @rafesaddiction @hockeybabe87 @rafeinterlude @starkeyisthelastname @secretly-tumb1r @kingkylie444 @stayonmars @maybankswhore @barbiiecams @princessmisery666 @ilovebarrykeoghan

If you would like to be tagged, I gotchu sis.

#drew starkey #ai generated #rafe x you #rafe cameron #rafe outer banks #i’m in love #my original post #my original writing #enjoy the audio

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am-i-interrupting · 8 months ago

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Affection | Vox x Fem!Reader

Summary: Vox and Valentino get into it. Vox looks for a way to get payback and stumbles upon you. He didn’t expect you to actually care.

Warnings: sex work, a bit of a mommy kink

He was used to the petty yelling, the constant spats, even the object throwing. What crossed the line was when he had to replace his screen.

Vox and Valentino got into a lot of arguments, normally started by the latter instead of the former. This one was bad though. Vox didn’t even want to think about it but it was all that was on his mind.

He was angry.

He was angry because it was easier to be angry rather than something else, something more vulnerable. He didn’t want to and couldn’t afford to be vulnerable right now. He had to hold onto this anger so he didn’t go crawling back to Valentino.

Currently, he was at his desk, looking through documents about ads that were just waiting for Vox’s stamp of approval. He stumbled upon yours and he paused.

He recognized you. Why?

He copied your name into a search bar and looked at your Sinstagram profile. Flipping through the pictures, he found one of you at a bar and that’s when he remembered.

Valentino tried to contract you and you’d basically laughed at him. You’d tossed back a shot and then turned to Valentino, asking if he needed you to pay for it since he was clearly so desperate for new recruits as he was only preying on people too stupidly drunk to realize how bad of an idea it was to say yes. Oh, he remembered Valentino seething that night.

He approved your ad but he couldn’t get you out of his head. He opened the closed tag again as he actually read through your ad.

You were advertising music. Which, when say side by side with your Sinstagram made sense as he saw a picture of you with Verosika Mayday. There wasn’t really anything interesting on the advert.

He scrolled up to the top of your Sinstagram in order to look at them in order from most to least relevant. That is when he caught sight of a link in your bio. He clicked it.

He was brought to a website. He wasn’t sure what he expected but he did raise an eyebrow nonetheless. It was an escort sight. A home page that had you and several other people scantily dressed with a description of what every person and the services you offered.

Maybe he was being more vindictive than he thought because he immediately clicked on the tab that sent him to your page and booked a time with you.

It was far out, months away in fact. He honestly had forgotten about it until he got an email the week before asking if he was still available and inviting him to a pre-session consultation. Not willing to back out and have it potentially mess with his image, he made the time.

He logged into a video call several days later and was greeted with you in the middle of putting on your makeup.

“Well, hello, Mr. Vox,” you said with a soft purr. He replied with a formal greeting of your name. “You’re a busy guy and I’m a busy gal so I’ll keep this quick. This is just a little meeting for boundaries. I know it bothers some people to make them in person so I’ve found this to be an easier way.

“I’ll go first. No hickies, no bruises, no scratches, no cuts, no burns, just no marks. It might be pretty and fun in the moment but it costs me later. Not everyone enjoys having sex with someone who’s clearly had it with someone else not long before. It may be part of my work but people do like an illusion.

“I don’t do bondage where I’m the one tied up. It’s nothing personal, just a safety issue. On the topic of safety, if you bring in anything that could be used as a weapon. I’m done and you’re leaving. All I need from you is that pretty little body of yours and payment. I’ll provide the rest.

“On the topic of payment, I know you’ve already made your upfront payments for this little consultation. The rest can be brought when you come in cash. Any questions so far?”

He surprised himself by saying, “Not so far, no.”

You we’re far more thorough than he thought. He’d bought time before but it was never this professionally done, even by Valentino’s standards. Granted, with Valentino’s sex workers, there was really only one rule, payment upfront. He didn’t give a fuck about anything else.

You though? You had clearly given this a lot of thought on all parts.

“Good, I’m glad,” you said. “Those are my hard rules. Everything else is a little more flexible. So, tell me, what is it you want from tonight?”

“To have a good time.”

“Of course, we all want to have a good time, Vox, but I’m talking specifics. Don’t be naive,” you said. “I have full confidence you know better. Maybe it’d be easier if I told you what I’m best at.”

The lid of your lipstick clicked closed. You looked at the camera, looking at him directly on his screen by proxy, for the first time.

“I can do just about anything your cold, dead heart desires but I enjoy specific things more than others. I’m a bit of a dominatrix, I’d you will. I enjoy the power and control of giving people what they need instead of what they want. How does that sound to you?”

“It sounds to me like a very overlord thing to do,” he replied.

“Not there yet,” you said. “So, is that the role you prefer to play?”

“It’s one I play often.”

“Yes, I’ve gathered that but do you prefer it?”

Vox didn’t know why he didn’t just say yes. He should have. It went with his image to say yes and that’s why he was still agreeing to do this even though he and Valentino weren’t on the worst of terms right now.

He hadn’t crawled back to Valentino yet. It’d been one of their longer spells away from one another. Five months without even falling back into bed once.

Perhaps that’s why he said what he said. He was pent up. He hadn’t had time to unwind and the person he normally would go to for that he was still upset with. That’s the reason he’d go with anyway.

“It’s the role I play most often,” he said.

“But is it the role you like?” you asked. When he didn’t answer you smiled, a more genuine one than any flirty or sarcastic one you’d shot his way before. “Stubborn, I’ll keep that noted.”

“I am not—“

“You’re proving my point. Now,” you stood up and rummaged through a drawer he couldn’t see, “pick a set for me.”

For the next several hours, Vox felt like he couldn’t focus. He was nervous. He couldn’t even remember the last time he’d been nervous over a one night stand.

He left early, leaving his assistant with double the workload but he didn’t care. He just needed to be out of the building.

He took Vark out on a walk to pass time but it still went by so slowly. It took what felt like days for it to finally be time to leave.

He’d call it considerate that he left without his usual suit jacket, waistcoat, and tie but in reality, he felt so hot, constricted with them on.

He traveled through the cameras and arrived at the address he’d been given, not a single person having seen him.

He knocked on the door and that sense of security was promptly shattered when it opened and he heard someone say, “Holy shit!” in response to seeing him.

He glared at the offending person as he stepped in. He recognized them from being pictured on your website. They quickly spun around and continued doing whatever it was they were in the process of.

He was led to a room which when opened revealed you inside. You were wearing a shear robe that gave him a peak at what was hiding underneath.

“I was promised secrecy,” he said. “Not to be gawked at by the employees.”

“So you don’t want to be gawked at me?” you asked. You smiled at your own joke. “Everyone here is under contracted lock and key to not say a single word about what goes on inside these walls. You’re image will be fine.”

“Contracted?”

“You said I had the makings of an overlord,” you replied. “Why are you suddenly surprised that I have contracts? Don’t worry, I assure you they’re much more ethically sourced than your co-worker’s.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Speaking of,” you said as you took several steps towards him, “why are you here? I’d imagine you could have any of Valentino’s contracted cash free. Why waste it on me? I’m not exactly cheap.”

You held out your hand and he reached into a pocket to retrieve the other part of your payment. You swiftly began counting it.

“You fuck one of Valentino’s pets, you’ve fucked them all,” he said. “They’re all too scared to be any fun after a while.”

“As much as I know that’s a true statement—“ you put the cash in a drawer of the bedside table— “I don’t believe it.”

He felt his eye twitch. “And what exactly would you—“

“Why don’t you take off your shirt and lay on the bed?” You walked towards him and ran your hands up his torso. “Or I could take it off for you.”

You began unbuttoning his shirt and for some reason, it made him drop all his irritation. When you finished, you bent down and licked all the way up his torso. You kissed and nipped at his collar bone.

His hands went to your sides but you spatted them away. The shirt fell to the ground.

You looked up at him, like you were daring him to kiss you. However, when he went to do just that, you stepped away.

“On the bed face down, mister,” you told him.

He huffed. Despite his mind telling him to grab you and pull you in for a kiss, take you and remind you of who exactly you were messing with, his body followed your instructions.

The mattress dipped as you straddled him. Something popped open (he tensed), a bottle clinked as it was set on the table, and then the sound of you rubbing your hands together went through the air.

Your hands, warm against his skin and slick with oil, began to rub up and down his back.

“Why are you here, Vox?” you asked. “I’m not stupid. I keep up with the news. Did you think I wouldn’t notice that the day you made an appointment was the same day you updated your status to single again? It’s still single now so what happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he said.

“Uh-huh, and the fact that you visibly tensed as soon as I mentioned Valentino is just a coincidence,” you said. “Everything you say in these walls stays within them.”

“You’re the one who made the contracts,” he said. “You’re not under them.”

“True, but—“

You began to apply pressure with your thumb, grinding your thumb and hand in circles along his back.

“Oh, fuck.”

“—I also made them,” you said, basically repeating his words. “It means I place value in confidentiality.”

“Or covering you’re own— oh, fuck, right there— your own ass.”

“I could be.”

You leaned down and he felt toy trap his entire torso beneath you. He liked the feeling. He liked the feeling of you over him.

You got close to his face, “But I think we both know I’m not.” You moved back and he mourned the feeling as soon as it was gone. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. You’re just very obviously tense and not just physically.”

You punctuated your sentence by rolling the palm of your hand at the base of his neck before squeezing it lightly. He couldn’t hold back a moan at the feeling of some tension leaving his body.

You continued on like that in silence for a while. You were working out the knots in his muscles and he was basically putty beneath your hands.

He’d never been treated like this before. He had couldn’t remember the last time he felt loose. There was always some kind of feeling of unease he constantly carried.

He didn’t even know he needed this because he’d never known that he could have it.

You leaned to once again lay over him but this time he could feel the entire weight of your body instead of just your warmth. You wrapped your arms underneath his shoulders and placed a kiss to his neck.

“Are you alright to continue?” you asked him as you nuzzled against his shoulder blade.

“I—“ He tried to search for some witty or snarky remark to make but all he could come up with was, “Yes.”

You cooed at him and slipped your hands out from underneath him to rub his back as you got off him. “Using your words, what a good boy,” you said and he hated, hated how that made him feel so warm inside. “Can you turn around for me? Yes, good.”

He closed his eyes and refused to look at you. You laughed but it didn’t feel mean. That didn’t make him feel any less embarrassed, however.

You did a wider, full handed version of the back massage you’d given him to his front as you began to roll your hips against his. He couldn’t hold back a whine.

“Oh, so pretty,” you said. “Such pretty noises from such a pretty boy.”

“Fuck,” it came out weak and pathetic.

Well, it was fitting then because that’s how he felt, weak and pathetic. Such simply praise shouldn’t be so effective.

“How does that feel?” you asked. “Come on, be a good boy. Tell me. Tell me how to make you feel good, baby.”

You were kissing on his neck and shoulders now.

“Good,” he choked out.

You hummed against his skin.

He could feel his fingers flex. His arms moved. He stopped them. He wanted to touch. He should be able to touch. He should be able to do what he wanted. He was the fucking Vox, overlord and creator of the biggest tech company in Hell. He shouldn’t need permission to do something.

You grabbed his hands and brought them up to the knot of your robe.

“You can touch me, baby,” you told him.

A whine forced its way out of his throat no matter how much he tried to keep it at bay.

He opened his eyes and you were so beautiful, grinding against him like you were made to. He could feel his cock straining against his pants. He wanted them off.

He settled for untying your robe. It fell to reveal the deep blue set he’d chosen for you earlier that day. It was sheer enough to show off your nipples through the cross crossed pattern of the bra. There was a silver chain that draped between the cups and further framed your breasts. Some traps went around your torso as part of the garter belt which held up your similarly colored stockings. You looked gorgeous.

You laughed and guided his hands up to your waist. Then up to your tits.

“I love the way you keeping whining for me,” you said. “You’re like a little pup.” Your eyes honed on his neck and your hand followed your gaze. You pressed on his neck, just enough to add some pressure. “That neck of yours looks like it was made to be collared and leashed.”

“Oh fuck.”

You leaned closer to his face. “Would you like that, baby?”

His fingers twitched around your breasts. He rubbed his thumbs over your clothes nipples as a silent apology. “Please.”

“Oh, such good manners.” You applied more pressure to his neck, not enough to cut off his air supply. He arched into your touch. “But not tonight. Some other time, I promise. I’ve got a feeling I’ll be seeing you plenty, baby.”

You went to nip at his neck. His hands wrapped around to your back to hold you in place. Your own traveled down his torso and to his belt.

You undid it. You pulled down his pants but not his underwear. You slipped from his grasp.

You put your hands on either side of his bulge and ran your fingers over it. His legs spread open further as he tried to push up but you quickly put an end to that little action.

Your hands on his hips, you hovered your head over him. You licked a stripe onto the fabric. You began to suck him off with the barrier of his boxers.

He knew he was whining. His eyes wanted to screw shut but he kept them open, too transfixed by the visage before him.

Your own eyes were closed. Your hands, perfectly constraining his boxers, were wrapped around his hips. The tips of your perfectly manicured hands were digging into his skin. Your tongue lulled out and lavished him.

He could cum from just this alone.

However, as soon as the thought came to him, you pulled away.

“No, no, no, please, please, let me come,” he said, words flowing from his mouth before he could stop them.

“Aw,” you said with a chuckle, “begging so soon? How sweet. Don’t worry, baby, you’ll get to come soon. I’ve just got to see that little dick of yours first.”

The small bit of degradation mixed with all the praise made him twitch.

He’d never gotten any negative comments on his dick before. Rather the opposite, Valentino had tried several times before to talk him into at least faceless camera work but he didn’t want to think of the moth right now.

You pulled his underwear down to reveal his cock. It was length, a deep blue like the rest of him except were it was flushed vibrantly at the tip. He was already leaking pre-come. Milky white against his flesh.

You leaned over to lick it up. His eyes rolled back at the simple action.

Your smirked before you took him all your mouth at once. You slowly pulled up and let your teeth pull at the hood of his tip.

“Shit, shit, shit!”

He thrusted up into what was now just air as he twitched, his whole body convulsing but he didn’t come. He was on the verge though.

You shushed him as you stroked his inner thigh with your nails.

“Be a good boy for me and hand me the lube,” you said before you began sucking on the skin above his pelvic bone.

His hand went to your hair as he closed his eyes and moaned. It took him a moment to open them again but you didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t feel rushed.

When was the last time he hadn’t felt rushed while having sex? He couldn’t even remember. It was always about getting back to work as soon as possible or Valentino’s quick hits. It was never really about him. It was about getting rid of his boner or Valentino’s as soon as possible.

He liked this. He liked this feeling of. . . being cared for?

God, he was so fucking pathetic. He could feel tears filling his eyes as he reached for the lube on the bedside table.

“Are you alright, baby?” you asked. “Do you need to stop.”

“Fuck, please don’t.”

“Okay, we don’t have to stop. We can keep on going,” you said as you poured some lube into your hands. “You just keep on being a good boy for me, alright? You can cry if you need to, baby. It’s okay to cry, you know.”

That permission made it worse. He felt his face flush as tears began to stream down his face. This was pathetic. He was pathetic. He shouldn’t be crying. He’d rarely ever cried. Much less during sex, especially sex that he was enjoying.

“Can you bend your— oh, such a good boy,” you said.

You hooked his bent knees over your legs and pulled him into your lap.

You wrapped your hands, covered in warm lube (when was the last time someone had took the time to warm up lube before touching him?), around his cock and began slowly twisting your hands up and down. He couldn’t stop the weak thrusts.

“I’m sorry,” he said, repeating the phrase like a prayer.

“Shhhh, baby, it’s okay,” you told him, petting his thigh. “You take what you need. You’ve been so good for me. So good. You deserve it.”

“Fuck.”

He threw his head back against the pillow and then looked down at you. He immediately met your eyes, so soft and understanding. It made his stomach queazy.

He watched as his dick slowly was covered then revealed by your hand. It curved around him so perfectly, glistening with a mixture of lube and the pre-come he was leaking. You twisted your hand in just the right way.

You covered his cock and then revealed the head. You thumb lingered and smeared the pre-come at his tip. The point of your nail ever so gently grazed his hole and that’s what did it.

The lights flickered in the room as he spasmed and came. His screen went blank as he blacked out.

A few seconds later, he came to with you by his side with a glass. You tilted his head up and cupped your hand under his lips as you forced him to drink, any water that spilled was dropped in your hand.

You grabbed a cloth and wipes at his screen.

“Are you okay, baby? Was that good?” you asked and he could only mutely nod. “Good.”

You went to pull him into an embrace but stopped and looked down at your body. “Do you wanna clean me up or do you want me to do it?”

He followed your gaze and saw his come covering your torso, a bit of it even clinging to your bra. He leaned to lick it off you. You reclined onto the thrown of pillows and let him, stroking his shoulders and arms as he did.

He licked up to your bra and then was met with the rough contrast of the lace-like fabric compared to your smooth skin. He reached around and undid the bra. You let it fall and he licked where the come had been. Then he began sucking on your breasts.

“Oh, fuck,” this time it was you.

Spurred on, he reached down between your thighs and began stroking. You were wet, so fucking wet. His fingers slid through your folds with no hint of resistance.

He rolled your clit between two knuckles.

“Oh, so good for mommy,” you said as you continued petting him. “So good.”

He whined at both the praise and the title you had given yourself.

He began stroking you with a different purpose now. He needed you to come. He looked up at you, still sucking on your tit. He needed to see it.

Your breath quickened. Your pets turned into a tight hold. It was your turn to whine as your head rolled back and your mouth lulled open.

“So good! So good for me, baby, just like that,” you said right before you became incoherent. You groaned and moved up into his touch.

He went back to the tower feeling better than he could ever remember. The set you’d worn tucked into his pant pocket. You insisted, saying you had plenty of other sets. Who was he to refuse?

“Where the fuck have you been?” Velvette asked.

“Out,” he said as he walked passed her, in no mood for her screeching.

“For over two hours with your location turned off? You didn’t even answer your fucking phone,” Valentino said, voice raising to nearly as yell towards the end.

“Yes,” Vox said as he continued walking.

He heard Valentino laugh as he must have seen the lingerie set in his back pocket. “Were you really so busy fucking a hole that you couldn’t answer me? I hope they were good.”

“Better than you ever were,” Vox said before he closed his bedroom door, unwilling to let his lax mood be ruined.

A few months later, Vox was still going to see you. Absolutely hooked and you both knew it but so were you. You didn’t even made him pay but he still slipped money into your pocket or your bra so he wouldn’t have to face the fact that he was getting attached.

That was all thrown out the window when you released a new song. He wasn’t even halfway through watching the music video before he disappeared and found you, pulling you in for a bruising kiss and you knew exactly why.

The imagery in the music video was obvious. Pink smoke trying to creep into your studio only to be blocked, a deep blue body, TV screens everywhere. Then there were the lyrics:

I can give my babe affection without any type of infliction

You were just an intermission but I’m the center of attention

I’ve got him collared and leashed right where he needs to be

He’s down on his knees begging me with please

Better than any of his fantasies

Yeah, I’ve got his attention without infliction

#for the song I’m thinking chrissy chlapecka vibes just FYI #hazbin vox x reader #vox x reader

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giuliettagaltieri · 11 months ago

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Dance of Mutual Seduction

Pairing: Husband!Gojō x Wife!Reader

Chapter Synopsis: Gojō Satoru is only a man.

Warning: pointless overthinking, deflowering, explicit smut, p in v, unprotected sex, hints of dub/con, mild somnophilia, breeding, size kink, corruption kink

Word Count: 1918

6 of 9

Gojō feels like he is being watched.

He turned around as he brushed his teeth but found nobody there.

His eyes narrow, straining to see if someone dared to lay tricks in his own home. But he found none.

Was it you?

The man bent to his right to steal a quick peek at you from the bathroom doorway, but you are exactly where he left you, in your vanity, still staring at nothing in particular with your brows twisted in deep concentration.

Gojō finishes up in the bathroom and joins you in the vanity to snatch his phone from where it rested next to your parfums.

Upon seeing him from the mirror, you hastily grab your hairbrush, just so you would appear to be doing something relevant with your time, and not just staring on the empty space.

“Someone seems distracted today.” Gojō says without looking at you, as he was checking his phone.

Ignoring his statement is the safest path you can follow.

You flinch when a droplet from his arm comes sliding down your neck. “Gojō-sama, let me dry you?” You sigh at him and he nods, his eyes still stuck on his screen.

“Problem?” You ask as you lean back on the vanity to rub his head with a towelette.

“Nah.” He says and you drop the topic.

“Dry yourself right after the moment you step out of the showers next time, please.”

Gojō smiles at you briefly and places his phone by the vanity. “I’ve been doing this since I was a child. I’ll be fine.” He closes his eyes as you wipe his cheekbones and jaw.

You don’t respond, lips only forming the smallest of pouts.

“Fine. I’ll dry myself after showers next time.” He says with his smile bleeding into his voice.

A smile too graces your lips and you proceed to wipe at his torso. Gojō watches you like a bird of prey, watching and waiting for the moment you will hesitate and break. But it does not happen.

Truth be told, your proximity and the unsecured way you tied your robe was doing something to him instead.

Gojō followed the soft jiggle of your bosom and his breath hitches.

“Are you alright, Gojō-sama?” You asked worriedly. Your hands pull at his forearms to bring him closer so you can look at his face.

Much to your surprise, Gojō slips from your hold and heads straight to his closet and you can only tilt your head to the side as he fires curses after curses, you even heard muffled screaming.

He comes out a moment later with his clothing askew and his hair sticking out to every direction, as if it had been gripped with frustration.

“I have to go train the new guards. I’ll be busy the entire day, don’t look for me.” He said in one breath and he saw himself out.

You are left standing there by your vanity, the damp towelette still in your hands.

Have you done something to upset him?

Were you too forward?

Or perhaps…you gasp loudly, almost in indignation.

Does his affections lean not to the opposite sex?

You cup your mouth as you pace around your room.

He formed a really close friendship with the rogue sorcerer in high school. Also, he was not discreet in his interest in a lot of feminine matters.

Oh no. This is not good. What are to become of the heirs that your clans expected you to make?

Should you perhaps try to act more masculine? You fall on the chair with your mind not being able to keep up with your thoughts.

No.

You shall use your feminine wiles.

This is what you were trained to do.

Nevermind your husband not being interested in women. You will entice him to bed you. You swear it!

Oh, but how should you do that? You received lessons but you were never able to put them into practice.

You will die of embarrassment should you fail to succeed in seducing him.

In the planes farthest from you in the estate house, Gojō has his own hand clutching his jaw.

His thoughts were not irrational, he is certain of it. It is expected between a married man and woman. You will have to consummate your marriage with him sooner rather than later.

But you were young, and so bright-eyed, believing like nothing in the world could go wrong.

Will he dare to ruin your innocence?

A fighting dummy to his right receives the blow for the unanswered question, making it crumble to a heap of hardwood on the ground.

The men who were to spar with your husband unconsciously take a step back, a drop of cold sweat seeping from their foreheads.

You were pacing in your shred chambers the entire day.

Fixing any imperfections, adding more aromatic oils that more and more dulls your senses.

You have gotten tired of pacing from where you stand and then to the vanity that you have gone to and started holding a hand mirror to fix a hair that was astray or to wipe at any moisture that dared to ruin the powder of colors on your face.

When the sun started to retire, you had already gone and exhausted yourself, enough to make the bed appear so enticing that you simply had to lie in it.

Your body that was still covered by the robe was sprawled on the bed, your hand finding your husband’s pillow on its own.

And it was how Gojō found you.

In the middle of your matrimonial bed, hair spreading like a curtain under your head, chest peeking out of your robes as you curled around his pillow.

And his resolve melts.

You are woken up with the bed dipping, and immediately you are smothered by the smell of your husband’s sweat and musk.

Your thighs clench involuntarily.

“Gojō-sama?” You ask sleepily but his only response was his nose skimming your cheek while his battle-hardened hands work their way inside your robes, his coarse palms finding the globes of your ass.

Your mewl was swallowed by his lips.

“My name’s fucking Satoru.” He groans against your lips.

It was difficult to comprehend everything when your senses were under an onslaught of stimuli.

His arm snakes under your shoulders, his hand gripping your nape to pull you closer. The heat between your legs flows freely as his large fingers prod at your delicate flower.

“Let me have you.” Gojō groans against your chest.

Your hands rake through his snowy hair as you nod frantically.

“P-please!” It came out more desperate than you would have wanted, but his boyish chuckle made you fall in a trance, you wanted to hear it for eternity.

You cannot believe you have gone through the trouble the entire day, thinking he would not be interested when he is worshiping your body in ways that would make the goddess Aphrodite blush.

Your husband’s mouth was not only adept for spouting quick wit but also in making you reach the highest of heights. It felt like falling and floating at the same time.

When he hovers over you, everything comes to a standstill as his tip catches on your entrance.

Gojō was murmuring apologies after apologies against your shoulder as his length fills your tightness. You were seizing up to him, mouth filled with garbled discomfort as you choke on your sobs.

It was not at all like the heaven his mouth and fingers gave you.

This was painful, and so utterly filling, he had you stretched to your limit around him.

Your tiny hands pound on his broad back, feet kicking up the air by his sides.

Tears stained your pretty cheeks as your hair stuck to the moisture of your face and neck.

Gojō groaned out promises, that it will all feel good, that he will take care of you. And his hands find your hips, his fingers almost bruising your warm supple flesh. Gojō’s mouth parts as he rolls his hips against you. Feeling your twitching walls, like warm wet velvet wrapped around him.

Your breath hitch with every sharp thrust and Gojō falls numb to everything else. His nose flares as he takes the deepest breath as if just surfacing from the clutches of the waters so deep. It almost scares you how his hands cup under your knees and push them till your thighs meet the softness of your belly and chest.

And when Gojō crushes you under his weight from wanting nothing else but to cram his cock into your insides, your eyes cross with your brows scrunched so prettily, lips parting with a choked gasp.

Gojō’s hooded eyes stare at your face as he fills you again and again, the muscles of his thighs rippling with every pound of his thickness inside which almost curves just to force itself to fit. A shiver runs through your spine as your slick spurts out with every thrust, coating his thighs as it meets your swollen lips, dampening the bedding as it drips down when he pulls back just so he can shove it back in.

You were losing your mind, body writhing under the mass that was your husband. You can tell that he too was feeling what it was that is overcoming you. You have never heard him breathe as fast, as ragged, never, not even in the fights you have witnessed. But right now, his eyes were all scrunched up, mouth parted as he almost heaved. He did not look at all different from a man drunk with pleasure.

“N-not deep enough.” He groans out, annoyance marring his face.

You had no idea what he meant, he was as deep as physically possible. You were about to protest when he smacks a palm on your bum, leaving you whimpering before he hikes your legs up until your feet rested on his shoulders and he drops his weight on you, squeezing your thighs in between your bodies.

Your mind cannot comprehend how Gojō was able to fit himself further, filling you so so deep with his girth.

With the lewdest scream that ever graced Gojō’s ears, your orgasm washes over you like a shower of molten gold, lighting every vein aflame. Your eyes rolling to the back of your head as your hands scramble to his arms, searching for something to anchor yourself into in fear that you might explode into little stars. You gasp, clawing at his back as your tiny cunt flutters around him, making it impossibly tight.

Gojō seethes, his own breath hitching as he attempts to roll his hips but his tip starts spewing his thick seed against your plump cervix. The tightness forced his cum to seep from the crevices and leak to your bum.

And exhaustion overwhelms you. Your eyelids feel heavy, it felt like such a burden to keep them open. Your hands lay limp against the mattress, and your thighs, still squashed between your sweaty bodies, your feet still hung on the air as your husband catches his breath against your chest.

It was as if he was breathing you in, like his head rewired itself and was asking for you and had forgotten about air.

You cannot bring yourself to blame him, at this moment, air be damned, all you wanted was to be smothered by your husband. With your hearts and breath in sync, bodies still joined and nectar flowing as sleep slowly carried you away.

Where the Blue Roses Grow

#gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x y/n #gojō satoru #jujutsu kaisen #gojo satoru smut #arranged marriage #where the blue roses grow

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malaierba · 4 months ago

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Thoughts on Toshiro’s eating behavior, restrictive ed/disordered eating habits, and ARFID (obvious warnings apply).

Been thinking about how Toshiro’s eating is described in the manga. Especially when you consider the context within which he snaps — which is jokingly referred to as “he has hangry”. Interestingly enough, emotional deregulation IS a common symptom of EDs. That, alongside all the symptoms that Ryoko Koi chooses to illustrate in him… it’s done too accurately for it to be dismissed as him simply choosing not to eat and starve, as if it were that easy.

Basically, I think Toshiro’s inability to eat is ARFID-coded, and that’s symbolism in itself. I also think food is one of the few areas in his life where he exerts control effectively.

Assuming that he was under the influence of the dungeon (not necessary for this analysis to work tbh), his behavior is a quite accurate depiction of how desire works for people who are chronic ascetics in general, and ED'd in particular:

According to Maizuru, he’s a person who's denied themselves all their life (“saving Falyn was his first selfish request“),

Who seems to only experience a sort of self-agency when it's linked to deprivation (not really eating food from anyone who wasn’t Maizuru as a child, turning down her food as an adult even though he’s otherwise easy to pull around),

Who's actively reaching towards something for the first time in their lives (so he doesn’t know how to work towards it without burning himself out).

A common trigger (perhaps the main one) in EDs is the desire for control. The logic often goes, what's easier to control than what you eat? what do you own more fully than your body? It tracks in Toshiro’s case: when he is picky that's one thing he can fully control, no one could force him to eat not when he was a child nor as an adult. Toshiro's “whims” are most indulged when he restricts or rejects food, rather than when he reaches for it.

The reason why I’m getting ARFID vibes from him is Maizuru’s wording. On the screenshot I shared, she said “he never ate much, but he ate plenty of what I made”, making it sound like he’d try stuff made by other people, but in the end, Maizuru was the only one who could tailor it to his tastes the best (and made it with love). Rather than fighting him or forcing him, he worked with him, which is the best course of action for parents with kids who are being picky eaters.

There’s also the wording used by Maizuru: I think he's ARFID and perhaps ortho coded, or some other restrictive ED. Here we have to note that EDs aren't exclusively or even always about weight, weight is often a secondary effect of the behaviors that are motivated by the ED. In layman terms, they're eating disorders not weight disorders.

With the established, I do see a narrative relevance to giving Toshiro this type of relationship with food:

It sets him in obvious opposition to Laios: You need to eat and take care of yourself to succeed, neglecting yourself equals not taking your goals seriously vs. I’ll sacrifice everything recklessly, myself included, in the pursuit of my goals.

Tangentially related but lol, can’t help but think of Laios getting SO mad when Toshiro’s reaction to his plan (admittedly thought of on the spot) to get back Falyn is “you aren’t even EATING” which, SO fair, you can strategize and make detailed long term plans all you want, but as they say the secret to your future lies within your daily habits.

It makes him a mirror of Falyn, her passiveness reflecting Toshiro’s own. Falyn explicitly says at the end of her adventure, while she’s turning down Toshiro’s marriage proposal, “I’ve always wanted to travel; I’ve always just done what my bother and Marcille want, I want to try doing what I want now”, which is reminiscent of Maizuru saying “He was always such a well-behaved, reasonable boy, so much so that it worried me sometimes. The only time he ever made a personal request was for this task” <- person disconnected from their desires. (More on this idea here, I love it as a narrative choice).

And then (here’s where I get suppositional). It could be an extrapolation of the way his upbringing has permeated so deep within himself that he overtly controls what he eats even under normal circumstances. This extreme exertion of self-control, this constant self-monitoring, would be unsurprising in the guy who’s a little too good at following social scripts and masking (fun fact, did you know that ARFID is often co-morbid with autism?).

I often think of him in this scene, where he seems to be telling Senshi that he’s had enough / he doesn’t want something (featuring the other Weird With Food character, my beloved Kabru, maybe trying to help him? or maybe hassling him too lol):

Looks like some habits are hard to break. But, Laios does get through to him when he kicks his ass, and Falyn seems to have reached him too with his words, so perhaps there’s hope.

Look at him forcing himself to eat a burger while holding so much distaste in his heart. Did he and Laios order for each other? At least Laios seems to like his meal.

#be normal about this please <3 posting it since a few people in the laihsuro server were interested #Toshiro Nakamoto #Nakamoto Toshiro #Shuro #Shuro Dungeon Meshi #Dungeon Meshi #DunMesh Rambles #Laishuro #Shulin #<- tagging bcs of the canon dynamic being discussed not meant to be shippy but maybe interesting to people in the tag #Laishiro #Eating Disorder Mention ////#Disordered Eating Mention /////#ARFID #i alsooo kiiiiinda get orthorexia from him but thats not as easy to explain. i think its just vibes tbh.#his little honest thought of “you will die of food poisoning” lmfao #Rambles #i just don't think it's meaningless that he has to ALLOW himself to eat after the fight. or that he's forcing himself to eat that burger.#(that burger probably has too many textures but honestly that specific thought is just a hc)#eating disorder tw #eating disorder trigger warning #disordered eating tw #disordered eating trigger warning #eating disorders tw

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kjack89 · 22 days ago

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Background Noise

It's been so long I almost don't remember how to do this.

Hiiiii sorry I've been MIA, it's an election year. You know how it goes. Anyway, here's a little something as proof of life. Love you all for sticking with me. I'll be back when I can.

E/R, modern AU, developing relationship. And all of the fluff.

Enjolras finished the sentence he was typing and sat back in his chair, reading through the paragraph he’d just written with a furrowed brow. Well, it wasn’t the best writing he’d ever done, but considering it was a filler paragraph in the middle of a letter to local elected officials that would almost certainly never be read by anyone other than some low level staffer or intern, it would have to do.

He sighed and scrubbed a hand across his face, his hand stilling when he caught what someone was saying nearby. “...Despite the immense popularity of the campaign, sales of Energizer batteries actually went down during the years that the ads ran. Duracell claimed—”

Enjolras lowered his hand to frown at Grantaire, seated at a nearby table in the back room of the Musain and still blithely rambling without looking up from his phone. “What are you doing?” he interrupted, equally parts confused and incredulous.

Grantaire broke off and glanced up at him, and Enjolras noted that he didn’t even have the good grace to look abashed. “Reading the Wikipedia entry for the Energizer Bunny.”

As if that was an even remotely normal thing to be doing. “Why?” Enjolras sighed, rubbing his forehead.

Grantaire shrugged. “Seemed appropriate,” he said cheerfully. “You know, because he—” He broke off, making a face. “It? They?”

“I don’t think the pronouns of a corporate marketing campaign are really relevant,” Enjolras said dryly.

Grantaire raised both eyebrows, amused. “Oh, so respect for pronouns is conditional now. I see how it is.”

Enjolras ground his teeth together. “I didn’t say that—”

“Anyway,” Grantaire continued, ignoring him, “like I said, seemed appropriate because the Energizer Bunny just keeps on going and going and going and going—”

“Yeah, I get the idea,” Enjolras said waspishly. “But why are you reading it out loud?”

Grantaire just shrugged again. “Why not?”

Honestly, Enjolras wasn’t even sure what answer he expected, and he sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Is this something that you do often?”

Grantaire scratched his cheek as he considered it. “Define ‘often’.”

Enjolras gave him a look. “Grantaire.”

Grantaire grinned, that slightly crooked grin that inevitably heralded him saying something that would piss Enjolras off. “Sometimes, when you’re otherwise occupied and slash or completely lost to the world, it’s a fun little thing I like to do.” His grin widened. “Or at least, it’s fun seeing how long it takes for you to notice.”

It spoke volumes that Enjolras wasn’t even remotely surprised. “Of course.”

“It’s a drinking game,” Grantaire added brightly. “Or at least, I drink while I play it, so that counts, right?”

“Of fucking course,” Enjolras sighed, even less surprised by that. “I should point out that by that logic, and I use the word as loosely as the English language allows, any game you drink while playing is a drinking game.”

Grantaire’s grin sharpened into a smirk. “This is exactly what I’ve been saying! I just think—”

But Enjolras cut him off, far too used to Grantaire’s ability to take a tangent and turn it into a diatribe until someone interrupted him or he otherwise got bored. “As fascinating as it always is to learn how you choose to spend your time, you’re going to have to knock it off.”

“Why?”

Enjolras bit back his immediate response that it was because it was annoying as hell. “Because it’s distracting,” he said instead.

“Of course,” Grantaire said, with a wry twist of his lips. “Heaven forbid I distract the Noble Leader from his all-important work.”

He doffed an invisible cap to Enjolras, who felt strangely tongue-tied and wrong-footed, the way only Grantaire ever seemed to be able to make him. “I didn’t mean—” he started, but Grantaire cut him off.

“I suppose it’s about time I head home, anyway.”

Enjolras glanced down at the time on his phone and then back at Grantaire, frowning. “You’re heading home before midnight?”

“Sorry, did I say head home?” Grantaire asked, draining his beer and setting it back down on the table with a thud to shrug his coat on. “I meant to another bar.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and looked back down at his computer. “That sounds more like it,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Goodnight, Grantaire.”

But despite his rather pointed farewell, Grantaire didn’t leave, instead lingering for long enough that Enjolras glanced back up at him, his brow furrowing. Just when he was about to ask what was wrong, Grantaire gave him another smile, smaller and tighter this time. “Goodnight, Enjolras,” he said, finally turning and leaving, dropping his beer bottle in the recycling as he did.

Enjolras stared after him for a long moment before shaking his head to clear it and looking stubbornly back at the letter. Ten minutes of staring at it without adding a single word later, he sighed and shut his laptop with a snap.

Typical Grantaire, he thought sourly to himself as he grabbed his bag to pack up all of his things, somehow finding a way to annoy him without even being physically present.

He’d just have to try to work on it again the following night, ideally without the dulcet sounds of the Energizer Bunny Wikipedia entry.

Of course, knowing Grantaire, he’d find a new way to annoy him anyway.

— — — — —

Just as Enjolras suspected, the next night seemed like a repeat of a thousand nights that preceded it. After the Les Amis meeting wrapped up, Grantaire lingered while everyone else dispersed, leaning back in his chair to prop his feet on the chair next to him, sipping from his beer as he scrolled through his phone.

But at least he was mercifully silent while doing so, which Enjolras would take as a win.

For his own part, Enjolras settled in to finish the letter, all too aware that it needed to go out sometime the next day. He worked better with a deadline, after all, so finishing it up should have been a breeze.

Unfortunately, Enjolras instead found himself unable to concentrate, glancing at his phone and clicking over to Twitter as if it would somehow have updated in the prior thirty seconds. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, and he rubbed his face vigorously with both hands as if that might somehow get him to concentrate.

It didn’t.

Instead, Enjolras sat back in his seat, scowling. He was in his favorite place to do work, he’d had the perfect amount of caffeine so he was alert but not jittery, and yet he couldn’t force himself to actually get anything done. It was almost like something was missing, something in the back of his mind that kept him on task, or—

His head snapped up, his eyes narrowing as he looked over at Grantaire, who was still conspicuously quiet. “That thing you do,” Enjolras said, and Grantaire glanced up at him. “Where you say stupid shit while I’m not paying attention?”

“Yeah?” Grantaire said cautiously.

“I realize I didn’t actually define often,” Enjolras said. “So, uh, would you say that this is a daily occurrence?”

Grantaire looked amused. “Would you say that you ignoring me is a daily occurrence?” he asked, saccharine sweet.

“Yes.”

Grantaire grinned. “Well, there’s your answer.”

Enjolras shook his head slowly. “Fucking Christ,” he muttered, running a hand across his face before straightening his shoulders. “Right. Well, you can do it again.”

Grantaire’s grin faded, just slightly. “Do what again?” he asked.

“Talk, or read out loud, or whatever other stupid shit you try to get away with without me noticing,” Enjolras said, something resigned in his tone.

Grantaire blinked. “Really?” he asked, equal parts amused and skeptical.

Enjolras shrugged helplessly. “What can I say,” he muttered, well aware he was blushing and equally aware that Grantaire would undoubtedly use this against him at some point in the future, “I’ve apparently gotten so good at tuning you out after all these years that you’ve essentially become a really effective white noise machine.”

He half-expected him to feign offense at that, but Grantaire just laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “Well, at least you can no longer say I’m completely useless,” he said, and Enjolras rolled his eyes, even if he couldn’t quite stop his answering smile.

“No, I guess I can’t,” he agreed. He hesitated before asking, “So will you read to me? Whatever nonsense you’ve been reading, or anything you like?”

Grantaire’s expression softened, just slightly. “For you?” he asked, with none of his usual sardonic sharpness. “I think I can manage that.”

He picked his phone up again and cleared his throat before reading out loud, “Neither Kamala Harris nor Donald Trump is campaigning on the coming ‘tax cliff,’ which is rarely mentioned in their paid messaging or stump speeches. In their only debate, Harris talked about taxes far more than Trump, who only mentioned them twice — once to deny that his tariffs amounted to a “tax” on consumers, and once to promise future tax cuts, without much detail.”

Enjolras had been expecting another stupid Wikipedia entry, or maybe something equally inane from Reddit. He hadn’t expected a news article, and even less a news article about politics, one of many things Grantaire always professed not to care about.

He was out of his chair before he even realized it, crossing over to Grantaire. “Let me see that,” he said, reaching for Grantaire’s phone. Grantaire raised both eyebrows but nonetheless handed it over, standing and crossing his arms in front of his chest as Enjolras scrolled through the article in question, his brow furrowing. He glanced back up at Grantaire. “You were really reading this?”

Grantaire shrugged and reached out for his phone. “How else am I supposed to be able to effectively argue with you?” he asked, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Maybe it was.

Maybe it was as obvious as Grantaire saying God only knew what while Enjolras tuned him out.

Enjolras felt a slow smile stretch across his face, and instead of handing Grantaire his phone back, he closed the space between them and kissed him.

For one long moment, Grantaire was perfectly still, but then he kissed Enjolras back, wrapping his arms around Enjolras waist and opening his mouth against Enjolras’s.

Then, without warning, Grantaire pulled away. “What?” Enjolras asked, just this side of breathless.

“You need to finish that by tomorrow,” Grantaire said, nodding toward Enjolras’s laptop.

“Are you really trying to be the responsible one right now?” Enjolras asked, grinning.

“Yes,” Grantaire said, suddenly serious. “I’m not giving you any excuse to blame me, or this, for fucking things up.”

Enjolras scowled. “I wouldn’t—” he started, and when Grantaire just gave him a look, he held his hands up and laughed. “Fine, I probably would.”

Grantaire nodded. “And I definitely don’t want to give you a reason not to do that again,” he said, smiling that crooked smile again, and it took everything in Enjolras not to kiss him again.

“Fine,” he sighed instead, tearing his eyes away. “But I still need you to keep reading something.” He paused and made a face. “Not that article, though, I really don’t need to hear about fucking Trump right now.”

“Fine by me,” Grantaire said, taking his phone back from Enjolras. His thumbs flashed across the keyboard as he typed something and then he settled back down into a chair, one conspicuously closer to Enjolras and farther from his beer.

Again he cleared his throat, only this time, he read, “The Constitution promises liberty to all within its reach, a liberty that includes certain specific rights that allow persons, within a lawful realm, to define and express their identity. The petitioners in these cases seek to find that liberty by marrying someone of the same sex and having their marriages deemed lawful on the same terms and conditions as marriages between persons of the opposite sex.”

Enjolras would’ve recognized those words anywhere. "Obergefell v. Hodges?” he asked, amused, shaking his head fondly. “God, you’re such a nerd."

Grantaire glanced up at him. “Takes one to know one,” he said, sticking his tongue out, and Enjolras barked a laugh and shook his head once more before finally returning to his work as Grantaire continued reading, his voice a soothing background to the sound of Enjolras’s typing, the way it had been for years now without him ever noticing.

But he noticed now.

And since he did notice, he had a brand new motivation to get through his work in a timely manner.

And judging by the grin that Grantaire still wore, he knew it, too.

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjolras #grantaire #enjoltaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #developing relationship #fluff

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bitethedevil · 1 month ago

Note

I swear, I’m minutes away from pulling out a giant bulletin board and covering it in pieces of string that connect Rafael to every single event in the game. I feel like a crazy person, but I know that he basically spiderwebbed most of the plot together.

Goddamn it, anon (said lovingly). Now I feel like making my own too. Because I swear, he pops up all over the place, even just for stuff that’s not even plot relevant.

Spot the Devil: Raphael's Involvement in the plot

I’ll start out with letters and books I’ve found that made me go “hmmmm”.

Letter in the Harpy Nest (Maybe)

When you’ve saved Mirkon he mentions something about a nest nearby. If you get to it there is a ring, a journal, and a letter. The letter is what made me go “hmm”. You can read the full thing here. Basically, a guy named Edmund tells wife/girlfriend that she doesn’t have to worry about someone named Maggie Two-Fingers anymore, because he has settled a debt. To pay off said debt, he makes a deal with a cambion and becomes a warlock:

”[…] I took the deal the cambion offered. I'm not going to say I had no choice, because that would be a lie. But I don't regret it. I'm a new man. I feel strong for the first time in my life. Aside from being awoken in the middle of the night by the smell of sulphur (he likes to drop by to 'see how everything is going') I have no complaints […]”

Now, there was a journal too, but I don’t believe the two things were related, even though the journal talks about a devil too. From what I can see, the journal is an easter egg for a campaign called ‘Tomb of Annihilation’. Besides, Edmund is going to Icewind Dale and the campaign takes place in Chult.

It just makes sense to me if its Raphael. We know he hangs out near the grove because we get jumpscared by him before going to this area. It could be our boy and with how much he pops up constantly it wouldn’t surprise me.

A Pleasurable Deal (Maybe)

You can pry this theory from my cold dead hands: Raphael was involved in making this play. It stinks of him.

So, A Pleasurable Deal is an erotic play. The plot isn’t completely written out, but a cambion, who is named Carlisle in the play, is involved.

“Carlisle: Weep not, young man, though free your wife has fled,

And comfort found in comrade's arms and bed.

She licks her lips and cries his name, oh my!

And now you seek to be the apple of her eye?”

Carlisle basically helps a man named Robert get a bigger dick, or…something along those lines. The ”apple of her eye” line is just so Raphael. The whole thing is, to be honest. In the A Pleasurable Deal: The Shocking Truth, it’s revealed that the author sold her soul to make it:

“Interviewer: So .. what was your deal?

Harp: I beg your pardon?

Interviewer: In fact, this was your directorial debut, wasn't it? You couldn't even get published in the tabloid 'Baldur's Bash' before this play came out. Did you honestly trade your soul for an erotic play?

Harp: I- all right, we're done here.”

I mean, come on. This is so him. It’s right up his alley.

Devil Don’t Rhyme

This is a book you can find in the Devil’s Den. Devil Don’t Rhyme is definitely about him:

“[This is a heroic fantasy in verse form, told in the first person by a bold poet who challenges a devil (clearly modelled on Raphael) to an improvised poetry contest to win back the soul of his lover. The following couplet has been circled in red ink.]

'If the line doesn’t scan,' the devil sneers, 'you forfeit your soul and end in tears.' / 'Ha! I’ll keep my time and make my rhyme, with vim and snap and no "down came the claw" crap.'”

Which is just so fucking funny to me. He has been seething and underlining the parts that prove it’s about him.

Alright, onto actual events: Netheril

Raphael was there when Netheril fell. He told us in the Devil’s Den. He has been searching for the Crown of Karsus ever since. He saw the entirety of Karsus’s fuck-up, but didn’t manage to snatch up the Crown of Karsus itself. We do know, however, that he has other Netherese artifacts (the Archivist says so). The Regalia of Karsus were three objects and Raphael has at least one, meaning that if Raph gets the crown, he has a much bigger chance at actually controlling it and using it like it's supposed to be used. This might also be why Mephistopheles hasn't used it: he doesn't have the other artifacts to properly harness its powers.

There are also theories that he has been skulking about and trying to find it after. There’s a really well written theory by @firlionemoontav that connects him to Lenore from the Arcane Tower in the Underdark. He has left no stone unturned.

Orpheus and Vlaakith

I learned about this from an amazing theory post made by @certifieddilfenjoyer

When you go to the Astral Plane, near Orpheus, there is this Githyanki slate that you can find. It depicts Vlaakith making a deal with a Devil, “his face twisted with wry charm”, for the Astral prism. Yeah, Orpheus’ imprisonment? Raphael helped with that. He even taunts Orpheus while he waits for us to approach him and says something about him looking good in chains or something along those lines (kinky old man yaoi).

And honestly, it makes perfect sense as to why he has the hammer then. The hammer has multiple purposes, but in About Creation of the Orphic Hammer he mentions it as “insurance policy”:

“The Hammer is not a weapon, it is an insurance policy. Its function is specific, but its utility is boundless. No chains forged by infernal hand can withstand its power, for its core is a metalifferous compound combining the purest of essence of all Nine hells. If I should ever need to liberate the prisoners held in the Iron City of Dis, to shatter the vaults of Nargus, or even to free the child of Gith, my hammer will be equal to the task.”

Makes good sense because what he has done with the Astral Prism is a pretty big deal and hard to undo otherwise.

Moonrise Towers, the Gauntlet of Shar and Astarion

So, Raphael makes a deal with the architect of Moonrise Towers, who you also see wandering around the House of Hope. The architect gives up his soul in exchange for Raphael ending Ketheric’s army.

To do that, he sends Yurgir who is tasked with killing every last justiciar. Raphael then makes a deal with one of the justiciars who he then turns into a bunch of rats so that Yurgir can’t fulfill his contract.

We then help Yurgir or kill him, and Raphael helps us with Astarion’s scars. (This is just me theorizing from here) I find it kind of interesting that Raphael seems to know so much about Astarion. You get the feeling that he has obviously done his research on all of the companions, but with Astarion he makes that nasty “you’ve kept your clothes on this entire time? How unlike you” comment. Astarion would be such an easy target to go after, which makes me believe that Raph definitely knew beforehand about Astarion AND Mephistopheles’ deal with Cazador, but he hasn’t been able to pettily do something about it before the things that happen in BG3. But he has kept an eye on it. He can’t be seen defying his father like that directly, after all. I just find it hard to believe that Raph wouldn't jump at the business opportunity of 7000 desperate vampires hiding in Baldur's Gate. Like he definitely knows.

Gortash

Raphael bought Gortash from his parents when he was a kid, and Gortash eventually got out. It’s quite possible that Gortash only knew about the Crown of Karsus because of Raphael. He even went through Raphael’s house to steal the crown (and probably took a portal from there to Cania).

Might also be the only reason that he would ever make a deal with Zariel. He knows the Hells and how they work. In a way its even more of a “fuck you” that he goes to Zariel because she is far above Raphael as she is the Archdevil of Avernus (and thus she is sort of Raph’s boss). We also don't know what Gortash gets in return for handing Karlach to Zariel. It's speculated that it has something to do with the construction of the Steel Watch, but it wouldn't surprise me if peace from Raphael was a part of it too.

A world without Raphael

So, basically: had Raphael not been there, Orpheus would be free and a whole people would have had very different lives under someone else than the Vlaakiths, because Orpheus would have rebelled and told everyone what she did to Gith (his mother). We wouldn’t have had the Astral Prism to protect us, but on the other hand, we might not even have had the whole tadpole business to deal with anyway if Gortash didn’t know where the Crown of Karsus was. The whole thing could literally have been avoided.

(Thank you for the ask <3)

#raphael bg3 #raphael the cambion #bg3 raphael #bg3 #baldur's gate 3

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starsstuddedsky · 7 months ago

Text

Blonde Phase

Renjun x gn reader

summary: spontaneous hair decisions always end in regret. that's what you expect to hear when you tell renjun you're bleaching your hair, but instead you find support, and even his help. you should appreciate his wholehearted support but instead it has you wondering: why doesn't he care?

genre: fluff, minimal angst, technically they're in grad school but that's not particularly relevant, non idol au,

warnings: swearing, mentions of drinking, spontaneous hair decisions (i do not endorse), lmk if I missed any

wc: 4.4k

a/n: in the immortal words of charles boyle, the most intimate thing you can do with a lover is wash their hair. yknow i made fun of him for that until i wrote this. i see it. also its been so long since ive finishing anything, pls forgive me if this is bad. renjun i love u. as always I'd love to hear what you think <3

“I’m bleaching my hair.” If you say it fast enough, Renjun won’t be able to talk you out of it. The plastic bag swings around your wrist as you walk across the parking lot. “I’ve already bought the bleach and gloves and stuff, and I’m going to do it, today.”

He’s quiet for so long you check to make sure the call hasn’t dropped. “Okay.”

You almost drop your phone. “Okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, drawing the word out. “Was I supposed to say something else?”

“Um, yeah?” You say. “You have opinions about literally everything. You talked me out of buying those pants two days ago.” You finally get to your car, tossing the bag onto the passenger seat and half-falling behind the wheel.

“That’s because they were made of polyester, and the thrift store was still charging $15,” he says immediately. “That was a scam.”

“Money is temporary, drip is forever.”

“Those pants would have lasted a year max, before they fell apart, and you still haven’t learned how to sew so you wouldn’t even be able to mend them or upcycle them.”

“You know what, I didn’t buy the pants, so this fight is moot,” you say. You set the phone on speaker, turning the engine on to blast the AC.

“Well, not moot. Technically I won,” Renjun says.

“I’d respect you more if you weren’t insufferable.”

“Here I was thinking you appreciated my insight,” he says. “You even asked for it.”

“I did not!”

“You literally asked about bleaching your hair.”

“I said I was surprised you didn’t have an opinion, not that I wanted to hear it,” you say.

“Semantics,” Renjun says. “So what time do you want to come over?”

You frown. “Tonight?”

“The roommates are out of town for the whole weekend, and I have way better ventilation,” he says. “I’d much rather bleach it without passing out.” He pauses. “You do want help, right?”

“Honestly, I was not expecting support. I was fully ready to fight you on this,” you say.

He snorts. “Come over whenever, I'm not doing anything today.”

“See you in twenty minutes.” You hang up, feeling a strange ball of tension roll around in your gut. That was… too easy? Renjun always has something to say about your admittedly impulsive tendencies. But if he’s going to help you’re not going to reject it—knowing Renjun he’s probably already watching Youtube videos and learning more than you will ever know about bleaching hair.

And it’s Renjun. When have you done anything without his help?

Renjun opens the door wearing a wearied expression. He doesn’t bother to greet you or even smile, just unlocks the door and steps to the side.

“Hi to you, too,” you say, trading your shoes for the spare slippers resting by the doormat. You follow Renjun into the space that serves as kitchen, dining room, living room, and Jaemin’s miniature gym, with weights and mats stacked next to the television.

“Who the hell clogs a toilet and then leaves for the weekend,” Renjun says.

You set down your plastic bag full of hair products and frown. “That’s disgusting.”

Renjun leans against the counter. “And you didn’t have to spend the last forty minutes trying to unclog it.”

“So which of the guys are you going to murder?” You try to guess, running through his roommates: you find it hard to believe Jaemin would do such a thing. Jeno maybe, and Donghyuck would certainly think it’s funny. But, in all honesty, it could have been any of them.

“Don’t know,” Renjun says, “but knowing them, they’ll make a pact to protect each other.”

“Seriously?”

Renjun pauses, gaze sheepish. “It’s what I did when I accidentally killed Jaemin’s little succulent that survived his college dorm.”

You fake a gasp, placing a hand over your chest. “Every day I learn something new about you. That’s devious.”

“I was drunk!” Renjun says, holding up a finger. “And Jeno and Donghyuck pushed me into it, so it was equally their fault.”

“If you say so.” You glance around the apartment. “Where are they all?”

“Jaemin’s visiting family, Jeno has a soccer tournament, and Donghyuck said he’s going camping with Yangyang.” Renjun says, counting off with his fingers.

“Donghyuck and Yangyang are friends?”

“Yeah, according to them they bonded over dealing with me.”

“Those were their exact words?”

“Dealing with my ‘stupid ass,’” Renjun says.

“That’s more on brand.”

Renjun nods.

You think about Yangyang, Renjun’s friend from when he was a kid. You’ve met him a few times now, especially since he’s moved half an hour away from Renjun. He’s fun, always bringing out a chaotic side of Renjun whether it’s dancing on a bar or bringing out angry-Renjun. But Yangyang and Donghyuck?

“That’s a terrible friendship. They’re going to ruin you.”

Renjun nods again, but you see the smile hiding in his eyes. He can rant all he wants, you know he’s excited his friends are getting closer with each other.

You point at the bag. “So where are we doing this?”

You half expect him to lecture you about rash hair decisions but he just gestures to the kitchen. “I figure right here should be fine. The tiles should be pretty easy to clean and probably could use some bleach anyway.”

He drags the chair with a rickety leg from the dining table. You dig through the bag and set everything on the counter. While Renjun cracks a window open, you begin to mix the developer and the bleach, curling your lip at the sharp scent. Renjun joins you, pulling on a pair of gloves.

“Wow that’s strong,” he says, wincing.

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely a good idea to do it here.”

When the powder is finally combined, you sit on the chair, Renjun following behind you. You section off your hair together, then he grabs the bowl and the brush.

He holds the thick paintbrush brush up against your hair, glancing at you, giving you one last chance to back down. You give him the nod of approval and he shifts back to focusing on your hair, brushing the bleach into it as carefully as he spreads paint on a canvas. He works section by section, carefully drenching your hair with the creamy solution.

“So, are you going to tell me why you decided to do this?”

You can’t resist turning and glancing at him. “I thought you approved.”

“I didn’t try to talk you out of it,” he says, “that doesn’t mean I’m not curious about how you came to this decision.”

You nod until Renjun uses his gloved hand to hold your head straight. “I suppose that’s fair.”

You pause, trying to find the right words. But you find yourself drifting back to Renjun. Why didn’t he ask this before the bleach was in your hair? It’s not like him to keep his opinions to himself. When you first met him, he was yelling at Donghyuck for going to a philosophy seminar just to fight with the notorious bigot of a professor (which Donghyuck did and then got kicked out, and proceeded to get the professor suspended). You only knew Mark back then, a friend from another class who invited you to meet some of his other friends in the dining hall. When Renjun turned to ask what you thought, you said Donghyuck should do what he thinks is right. Renjun didn’t hesitate to call you an idiot then. So why isn’t he calling you an idiot now?

To his credit Renjun doesn’t rush you. He continues to paint the bleach into your hair, content to wait for you to figure out an answer. Except you’re thinking about all the wrong questions. Like, seriously, why do you want him to call you an idiot?

“I want a change,” you finally say. “I’m stuck in a degree that will make me absolutely no money when I graduate, I can’t afford to break my lease, and don’t have any major relationships that need upheaving, so, hair.”

“‘A change?’” Renjun repeats. “Like, you woke up this morning and thought, today I’m going blonde?”

“Like, I have this feeling in my chest, this aching feeling that there’s something I need to do, someone I’m supposed to be, something more than the person I see in the mirror but I’ve made my decisions and I’m happy with my decisions and I genuinely like who I am. So, hair.”

You see Renjun’s hand falter out of the corner of your eye, halfway between the bleach mixture and your hair. He freezes for a heartbeat then continues to move, lifting some hair off your ear, careful not to brush the bleach onto your skin.

“‘So, hair,’” he says.

“Are you really going to repeat everything I say?”

This gets a short laugh from him. “I think the fumes are getting to me already.” He pauses, setting down the brush and stepping in front of you. “For what it’s worth, I like who you are, too. I’m really glad we’re friends.”

You smile at him. “Me too,” you say. “I definitely would have fucked up trying to bleach this on my own.”

“There’s still some bleach left,” Renjun says after he finishes with your roots. “You’re sure you don’t want your eyebrows to match?”

“Why don’t we do your eyebrows,” you say. “Better yet, why don’t we shave them off?”

Renjun sets down the brush. “Okay, no eyebrows.”

You grin at him. “That’s what I thought.”

He helps you get a plastic bag wrapped securely over your head, then sets the timer.

“What do you want to do for the next half hour?” You ask. “Preferably something that requires little to no movement.” You gesture to your head. “We’re not winning any frisbee tournaments tonight.”

“It was one time,” Renjun mutters, shaking his head and stepping around you plop down onto the couch. “We can watch something.”

You follow him, sitting on the other side, a cushion between you. The space feels strangely empty. Though you’ve spent plenty of time alone with Renjun, even alone with him at his apartment, the silence is usually interrupted by one of the guys getting bored of playing League, or coming back because they can’t go out to a bar without someone forgetting their ID, or in desperate need of Renjun’s expert advice (read: Jeno never remembers to ask Renjun to look over his submissions until 12 minutes before they’re due). The cushion between you never stays empty for long but the moments stretch on, only making the distance feel greater.

You wonder, not for the first time, how long it’s been since you’ve thought of Renjun as just a friend. If he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much about what he thinks. And if he was just a friend, you wouldn’t care so much that he suddenly doesn’t think.

You sneak a glance at him, fiddling with the remote for a couple seconds before realizing he grabbed the wrong one. He’s certainly always been handsome—that was undeniable from the moment you met him. But more than just being good looking, it’s Renjun himself. Not just those dark eyes, but the way they burn with passion (even when he’s arguing about the proper number of appetizers to order). It’s his perfectly shaped lips, the way they betray how he feels with a slight curve up or down—and his smile. Always, always his smile, beautiful and breathtaking even though you’ve seen it a thousand times.

He turns, a little furrow in his brow. “What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me funny,” he says. “Did I get bleach in my hair or something?”

You turn to face the TV, trying to pay attention to the show Renjun chose. “I wasn’t looking at you funny,” you say. “I wasn’t even looking at you.”

“If you say so,” Renjun says, “but if there’s a blonde spot anywhere in my hair, I’m so making you pay for it.”

You shake your head. Where the hell did those thoughts come from? Renjun, more than a friend? Sure, you’re close with him and sure, he’s objectively attractive, but you’ve never had those thoughts before. Well, at least not sober.

“Um, why are we watching Singles Inferno?”

“Because I asked and you were too busy not staring at me to answer, so I put it on,” Renjun says. “And don’t you dare try to tell me you don’t like it. I saw you rant on your Instagram story the other day.”

“Okay, but you don’t get it,” you say. “This bitch really has the audacity to to—”

“I saw your post,” Renjun says. “Believe me, I get it.”

“If you didn’t want to hear about it you should not have turned it on, because now I can’t stop,” you say. Renjun rolls his eyes but even as you delve into a full on essay about the horrible men particularly common in dating shows, you see the corners of his lips tilt up into a smile.

The timer goes off halfway through an episode.

“Saved by the buzzer,” Renjun says. “I’m putting a ban on anything reality TV related for the next three hours.”

“You’re the one that brought it up,” you mutter without any real annoyance. Despite his banter, Renjun dutifully listened to your rants, and even got mad along with you.

You drag a chair to the sink while Renjun drapes a towel over your shoulders. He puts on gloves and unwraps the bag, letting your hair fall into the empty sink.

“Close your eyes,” Renjun says gently. He tilts your head back, cupping the back of your head for a moment before pulling the head of the sink faucet out. He runs the water, long enough for you to peek your eyes open.

You’ve gotten used to seeing Renjun focused. He gets a little furrow in his brow, always glaring at his work. Before you were friends, you used to think he was actually angry, that his frowns and short tone were real. You’ve learned since then, it’s not his emotions, it’s his passion. The frown only comes out when he’s focused, trying to be perfect. When he cares.

“Unless you want bleach in them, close your eyes,” Renjun mutters, with absolutely no malice behind the words. His eyes shift to meet yours and that’s how you know you’re right. He can glare and bluster all he wants, he can’t hide his eyes, warm and shining. Like when he’s looking at his art, his gaze is a combination of soft and intense, creating something stronger than affection. Except he’s not looking at his art, he’s looking at you.

You squeeze your eyes shut, feeling your heartbeat pick up. Despite every attempt to shut down the thoughts, they race through your head, a stampede grown out of control. Renjun, who you’ve only known a year and a half but who has become one of your closest friends. Renjun, who never fails to share the only opinion you really care about. Renjun, who you can’t imagine life without. Renjun, who you’ve never dared to imagine life with.

He places a hand on your forehead, bringing the faucet closer to rinse your roots while keeping the water from pouring onto your face. You prepare for a cold shock but the water that soaks into your hair is the perfect temperature—not scalding hot, not freezing cold. Some water sprays over his hand, falling onto your eyelids and cheeks.

“Sorry,” Renjun murmurs. He holds the head farther away, running his fingers gently through the roots of your hair. He’s so close you can feel his breath, warm against your temple. You can feel his body, hovering over yours, and maybe it’s just your imagination, but warmth seems to emanate from it.

His friends would laugh at you if you described Renjun as soft to their face, but it’s the only adjective that captures the way he works the water through your hair. Soft and gentle and careful and nothing like the Renjun that has to corral everyone into his car at 3 in the morning. And yet this Renjun doesn’t feel like a stranger to you.

Washing your hair takes a lifetime, but as soon as he steps away and turns off the water, you miss it. You miss him, even though he’s only a couple feet away.

“You can open your eyes now,” he says. As soon as you do, he tosses a towel at you. It hits you in the face before you can get your hands up.

“Hey!”

“Sorry,” Renjun says, not sounding sorry at all. He manages to hold back the laugh but still grins at you, unashamed. He steps forward and pats your face dry, with the same gentleness as before, though there’s still a mischievous glint in his eyes. You yank the towel away before he gets any ideas, drying off your face on your down and wrapping it around your hair. You wring it out a couple times before letting go, doing your best to get it to fall evenly around your head.

You raise your eyebrows at Renjun. “Okay, how bad is it?”

“Okay, first of all, I’m insulted that you think there’s any way I’d fuck up you hair,” Renjun says. “And it looks really good. Blonde suits you.”

You take a deep breath and pull out your phone, studying yourself in the mirror and… he’s right. The color is even, somewhere between blonde and orange that is unavoidable when using bleach. Radical hair changes generally end in tears but looking at yourself in the mirror, you don’t feel the usual dissonance. The hair is different but somehow more familiar than the “normal” you that doesn’t feel right anymore.

“I’m right,” Renjun says.

You smile. “Yeah, you are.” You put down your phone, meeting his eyes. “Thank you, Renjun.”

“For what?”

“Doing all of this for me,” you say.

“It’s the least I could do,” he mumbles. “You’re my friend.”

You shake your head. “Thank you anyways.”

Renjun just shrugs and grabs the bowl, rinsing out the bleach in the sink. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think he’s avoiding your eyes.

You do your best to clean up the bleach from the floor, busying yourself until Renjun finishes. You wonder if you’re imagining the tiles getting a little bit whiter. Finally, he turns off the water and glances at you.

“You’re really happy with it?” He asks, sounding more like he doubts you rather than changing his opinion.

“Yeah,” you say, standing up. “I think it’s the ‘me’ of right now, you know?”

“Not really.”

“Like, I feel disjointed, and blonde hair is definitely not me, but it's the me that feels kind of all over the place, so even though it doesn’t look like me, it looks like me.” You wring your hands together, fingers tinged red.

“That makes no sense,” Renjun says, “but I think I get what you mean.” He smiles. “And I’m glad. I wouldn’t want you to have any regrets.”

So he did think this was a potential mistake? Why didn’t he say anything?

Renjun turns back to the sink, but before he can turn the water on, your voice calls his name. “Renjun?”

“Hm?” He doesn’t turn around.

“Why didn’t you fight me on this?”

He doesn’t move for a long moment. You wish you could see his face. “I have been told by certain people,” he begins, which is code for Donghyuck and Yangyang certified their position as Renjun’s worst nightmare. He turns to face you, wiping his hands on a towel.

“That I have a tendency to be overly opinionated in a generally negative direction. And I thought about it, and I realized I'm never really fully supportive, whether it’s a big decision, or, like, coffee, and I’ve always been this way, but, apparently, it’s especially… apparent with you.” He frowns. “This is all coming out wrong. I’m trying to say that it’s different when I’m around you. I’m different.”

Your eyes jump between his, trying to decipher what he’s saying. “Different?”

“I care a lot about you,” Renjun says, “more than anyone, actually.”

“Oh.” You blink once, twice. “Wait, you like me?”

Renjun’s eyes shift to the floor. “Yeah.”

You can’t help but let out a short laugh, reeling at the absurdity of it all. Renjun likes you? But he’s Renjun. Even though he’s the most common main character in your daydreams, you never once realistically thought he might be fantasizing about you too. But he likes you.

“I really didn’t want to say anything, I mean, before anything else you’re my friend, and I don’t want to ruin that,” Renjun says rapidly. “We’re good friends, and I really didn’t want to be the guy that pretends to be your friend but just wants to date you the whole time, that’s really not what I was trying to do, it’s just—”

“Renjun.” You put a hand on his shoulder and he freezes mid sentence, mouth still hanging open a little. Before he can move, you lean closer, the type of line you’d only dare to cross in your dreams.

“I’d like to kiss you,” you say softly. He blinks, eyes darting between your eyes and your lips.

“I’d like that,” he finally breathes. So you kiss him.

It starts light, his lips exactly as you imagined—soft and warm. His arm works its way around your waist, pulling you closer. The other works its way into your hair, still wet and sticking to your head. Renjun kisses like he’s been planning this for a long time, and maybe he has. Every movement is slow and careful, until he’s stolen all your air and even then you don’t want to pull away.

Your bravery fades the minute you meet his eyes. You bury your face into his chest, your cheek resting against your own hand. Renjun wraps both of his arms around you, holding you snugly in place.

“I like you, too,” you say into his chest. It’s the cowards route but if you look him in the eyes the words will never come out. “If it wasn’t obvious.”

“It wasn’t actually,” he says softly. “I think I drove all of my friends insane trying to figure out whether I should confess or not.”

“They all know?” You groan. “We’re never going to hear the end of this.”

“Yeah.” When Renjun laughs, it shakes your whole body. You can feel the rumbling, overtaking his heartbeat. “It’s okay though. It’s worth it.”

You turn your head, emerging from the sanctuary of his chest and tucking your head so that you can see his face. He smiles at you with the familiar warmth you’ve come to expect.

“Yeah,” you say, “it really is.”

Renjun grins.

“Your hair on the other hand…” He says.

“I thought you liked it!”

“I like it,” Renjun says, “but when has Donghyuck ever liked a single change to anyone’s hair?”

“Since when do you care what Donghyuck thinks?”

“I’m just saying now that we’re officially dating, my friends are going to be extra annoying,” Renjun says.

“Extra annoying? I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Don’t underestimate them.”

You groan, pressing your face back into his chest. “It’s not too late to get some hair dye.”

“You are not changing your hair because of my dumbass friends,” Renjun says.

“You like it?”

“You like it,” he says. “That’s the only opinion that really matters.” He pauses then adds, “But yeah. I like it.”

You grin, lifting your head to kiss his cheek. “Maybe we should dye your hair too.”

Renjun snorts. “Oh yeah?”

“We could have matching couples hair.”

He laughs out loud this time. “Maybe we should just get some shirts.”

“Three minutes of dating and you already want matching shirts? Huang Renjun, be honest.” You push off of him until you can place your hands on his shoulders and look him in the eyes. “Are you obsessed with me?”

“Yes,” he says, layering his voice in sarcasm that still isn’t enough to hide the truth of the admission. “All day every day, all I think about is you.”

“Well, see, that can’t be true because if you were that obsessed and I’m this close, you would already be kissing me because—” You forget whatever you were going to say, but it doesn’t really matter. Not when Renjun is kissing you like this. Your hands at his shoulders slink around his neck, while his wrap around your waist, leaning so close to you, you feel your back begin to dip.

Huang Renjun is poison, the kind that turns into a heart-shaped puff of pink when the bottle is opened. You melt into his kiss and it’s still not enough. You could die, right this instant, and you don’t think you’d notice. Death itself wouldn’t be able to tear you away from this moment.

“Renjun!” Donghyuck’s voice thunders through the kitchen. “How dare you? You bastard, you’re cheating?”

You jump apart, turning to see him looming in the doorway. His glare settles on you, and you see the exact moment he realizes he recognizes you.

“Jesus Christ, you could have knocked or something,” Renjun says.

“I live here too,” Donghyuck says automatically. He squints, then looks at Renjun, then back at you. “YN? Your hair is blonde.”

For some reason, you raise your hand and wave at him. “Hey!”

“Oh my god!” Donghyuck cries. “Yangyang owes me thirty dollars!” He races back out the door, screaming something that’s lost as the door swings shut.

You glance at Renjun. “Cheating?”

He frowns at the door, still a crack open. “Did he… seriously think you were someone else? That I was cheating on my unrequited crush?”

His eyes shift to yours. A heartbeat passes and you burst into laughter. His friends might be annoying, but they’re still endearing. You press a messy, smile-infested kiss to his lips and wonder if you’ll ever get used to the giddy feeling.

There’s plenty messy in your life, plenty to doubt. But watching Yangyang and Donghyuck drag their backpacks in (apparently Donghyuck forgot his power bank and they decided to give up on camping) as they attempt to interrogate Renjun on every detail, you can’t help but feel like it doesn’t really matter. You don’t doubt Renjun. You don’t doubt blonde suits you. And you don’t doubt the power of a last minute hair decision, not anymore.

thank you for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always appreciated

#🌟 stars galaxy #nct #nct dream #nct x reader #nct dream x reader #nct reader #nct fanfic #nct dream fanfic #nct dream fluff #nct fluff #renjun #renjun fluff #huang renjun #nct renjun

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belovedmusings · 8 months ago

Text

Poppy red.

Choso Kamo x You x Suguru Geto

Explicit Themes (🚫Minors DNI🚫)

Part six of the 'Two + One' story. Click for story masterlist.

Guitarist! Choso Kamo is your boyfriend, and today, after having gone no-contact with his bandmate, Suguru, for a month, you have him over at your house while Choso is visiting his brother. The two of you need to discuss your relationship...and hopefully exhibit much-needed self-control.

Relevant tags: sexual tension, thoughts of infidelity, characters with questionable morals, Suguru is hot, but so is Choso, slow burn, no "y/n" for immersion, 2nd POV, reader has no defining characteristics, explicit smut, missionary, oral sex (fem receiving)

Recommended songs to listen to while reading: HENTAI (Rosalía), Animal I Have Become (Three Days Grace)

A/N: Life has still been busy but I still am so in love with this story so I'll continue to update!! Here's a rather spicy chapter, enjoy :)

Read below cut:

The two of you take either side of the couch in the living room once you’re inside with the groceries all put away.

Suguru had been watching television while you restocked the fridge and pantry, so once you join him, he faces you properly, beginning to speak.

“I want you in my life,” Suguru tells you right off the bat, seeming to want to avoid wasting time, “And before I…tell you how I really feel, I need you to know that I don’t want to take you away from Choso. I understand that you two are happy and I have no ill-feelings towards him.”

You nod, waiting for him to continue.

“That being said,” Suguru looks you deeply in the eyes. “I…what I feel for you isn’t like anything I’ve felt for anyone else. You’re constantly on my mind and I…I just want to be near you all the time. I want to hold you and…kiss you. Since I want to be completely blunt, I…I want more than that, too. I’m physically attracted to you, but also, I…I can picture us together.”

Hearing it out loud is a crazy experience, but Suguru is being open and honest with you. You want to meet him halfway.

“I feel the same way, but I haven’t lost any feelings I have for Choso. It’s very confusing.”

“That’s another thing—I don’t want to hurt Choso. I really like him, and I’d never want to betray his trust.”

You sigh, looking down at your hands, which have begun fiddling with each other in your lap. Then, in one fluid motion, you feel Suguru move closer, his hand covering both of yours.

“I…I don’t know how to move forward from here,” Suguru confesses as your eyes meet, your heart fluttering in your chest. “But I can’t say ‘goodbye’ to you.”

”Look…um, I just think it’s a good idea if we only see each other when he’s around,” you tell him, his palm warm over your skin. Your eyes are fixated on the sight. “We…can’t control ourselves when we’re alone together.’

Suguru sighs heavily beside you, giving your hands a small little pulse, his thumb gently running in small strokes. It makes you nervous, filling you with a pulsating warmth that ebbs and flows in rhythm with his touches.

“See?” You say, “Even this…this is intimacy we shouldn’t be sharing. We wouldn’t do this with Choso around.”

He looks into your eyes, nodding minutely. “That’s true. I know what you’re saying is true. I just…have this urge to not keep my hands off of you. If you were my girlfriend…should you want it…I’d have trouble staying off of you.”

You suck in a slow, deep breath. “When you say things like that…”

“I know,” he shakes his head, “I know, I do. Just…why couldn’t I have found you first?”

“Suguru,” you look away, pulling your hand out of his. “I shouldn’t be entertaining you like this, but I just…there’s something about you that I just…”

“Why haven’t you told him about what we’ve done so far?” He asks suddenly, causing you to look at him again. Your lips part for a second in thought before the honest words come pouring out.

“I don’t want to hurt him,” you say, “He has a tough exterior but he’s incredibly soft and vulnerable on the inside. If I told him…it would…grow. Like a weed. Even if I assured him it was nothing to worry about, it’d be there in the back of his mind. It would make him see you differently too, and it might ruin the band. I can’t do that, Suguru.”

“So, your plan is to never tell him how you feel about me?”

“How can I?” You stand up, gesticulating as you speak, “Suguru, I can’t tell my boyfriend, ‘I think I have feelings for your bandmate even though I’m still every bit as in love with you as I was when we first got together.’ If he did that to me, I would be devastated.”

Suguru frowns. “But the longer this goes on…the worse the lie.”

“I can’t hurt him.”

“So tell him the truth. Tell him how you feel about me, but that you have no plans of ever leaving him.”

“Then what? Then he leaves the band and hates you?” You ask, the idea absurd to you.

“Then I talk to him, too,” Suguru says, “I tell him how I feel, and that I have no plans of taking you away.”

“You tried to kiss me the last time we were alone together.”

“I know,” He says, “but maybe if it’s out in the open…”

“He won’t want me ever near you again,” You protest, “it’s better if this stays a secret.”

“I don’t like secrets,” Suguru shakes his head. “What if I dropped hints? Let him figure out that I have feelings for you? And we’ll see what he does.”

“What good would that do?”

“Then he could control the situation. Would that make you feel better?”

If Choso was the one who picked up on it, he could approach you first, and then you could get a read for how he feels about it based off of the way he broaches the subject with you.

You take a breath before nodding. “Yeah…it would.”

“Okay,” Suguru nods. “Then we’ll do that. It’s going to be okay.”

Your heart throbs painfully in your chest, and suddenly those words of comfort have a lump growing in your throat. Why? Do you like Suguru that much? Is it really having such a great effect on you?

His palm touches your cheek, and you look up at him to see his golden eyes staring into yours. His voice is soft as he says, “tell me how I make you feel.”

There’s a flutter in your chest and you breathe out shakily. “I…I feel a pull. You’re always on my mind, and your music is all I play. When I’m with you, I just…I want to do every bad thing in the book with you. I want to know how you kiss, how it feels, how you…”

Your words trail off as you realize how insane it sounds out loud. Still, he presses on.

“How I taste?” He fills in for you, deep voice low and syrupy, just above a whisper. It robs your own voice from you. You nod your affirmation.

His hand soothes your hair back. “What else?”

You inhale slowly to try and gain miniscule composure. “How you’d hold me…what it would be like if we were together…the sort of things we’d say, how we’d act, if we could just be a couple…”

“You like me bad,” he teases you lightly, and it commands a hot flush to your face.

“Don’t…”

“I’m right there with you,” he murmurs, pressing his forehead against yours. “I want to wake up next to you, to see you wearing my clothes, to make meals for you, to go out with you and spoil you…I want to make you happy.”

Your eyes close, and he takes the opportunity to ghost his lips over yours, the metal of his lip rings prompting a hitch in your breath. You begin to pull away, but he chases you, tilting slightly to plant a kiss to your cheek instead. You meet his eyes, and his own hold such an intimate gaze within them that you feel it sear through a layer in your heart. He keeps going; his lips meet the skin of your jaw, hands holding you by your back, and soon he’s trailing a line down your neck, arising goosebumps over the flesh he touches, the soft clicks indicating the cadence of each kiss only heightening your insanity.

Having lost a part of your conscience in his embrace, you return it, holding him close to you and relishing in his affection. You thread your fingers through his hair, pulling it from the tie it had been in, and he breathes out in relief, the warm air brushing over your skin.

His mouth stops at the neckline of your shirt, eyes glancing up at yours.

“I want to keep going,” He states, lowly and softly. You swallow thickly, afraid of the lack of control you might display if you told him what you really wanted to say. Luckily, he doesn’t put you in that position, and he takes a breath, straightening up and putting some distance between you. “I won’t, though.”

Your eyes hold his for a moment, and then you move to speak.

The lock in the front door turns.

Choso.

You hurriedly sit on the couch, an appropriate distance from Suguru, and understanding the situation immediately he follows suit on the other end. The door opens just in time, and your boyfriend walks through the door.

“Chos’,” you greet with a smile, standing and moving to kiss him.

“Hey,” He kisses you back before noticing Suguru on the couch. “Oh, hey. I didn’t know you’d be here.”

“Oh, yeah,” Suguru puts on his signature disarming smile. “We happened to be out at the same grocery store. I had to get more tea for Larue, and the place I usually go was out so I came over here.”

“Yeah, I ran into him and invited him over,” You corroborate. Nothing we said was a lie. Just not the entire truth.

“Cool,” Choso smiles easily, not phased or suspicious in the slightest. He removes his shoes and drops his keys in the basket near the door.

“How was hanging out with Kechizu?”

“Ah, same old,” Choso shrugs, “just played games and had pizza.”

“That’s good,” You say, moving to sit back down on the couch. “I got us restocked for the week with groceries since I got a little bored.”

“Oh, good. We can just use Sunday for a lazy day then,” Choso states, moving to sit where you were sitting on the couch. That leaves one spot; between him and Suguru.

Seeing the turmoil flash behind your eyes, Suguru stands.

“Well, it’s getting pretty late. I should get going home since it’s a little far from here.”

“Oh, you sure? You don’t want to stay for dinner?” Choso asks, “we can just order in and hang out, you’re not imposing.”

You take a breath, and Suguru shakes his head. “I appreciate it, but I gotta run some more errands before I go back. I’ll take you guys up on that on another day if you’ll have me.”

“Sure,” Choso shrugs, “you’re welcome any time.”

“Thanks,” Suguru smiles, then walks to the door. He passes you, and you get another whiff of his jasmine cologne, your last dose for the night. He starts putting his shoes on. “Thanks for having me over.”

Recognizing he’s talking to you, you smile in a way that you hope is convincing. “Sure, it’s no trouble. We’re friends now too, after all.”

Something gleams in his eyes at that. The denial you’d given him last time has been overwritten. “Yeah? Sweet. Hey, would you mind if I got her phone number, Choso? It’s not weird, right?”

What?

You look at your boyfriend, who shakes his head. “No, it’s not weird,” He chuckles lightly. “Go ahead. It’s probably a good idea in case of emergency anyway.”

“You’re right,” You agree, moving over to Suguru to take his phone and put your number in it. You text yourself so you have his.

“Thanks,” He says, taking his phone back. “Well, I’ll see you Monday, Choso! You guys have a good night.”

“You too.”

Choso raises his hand in a wave, and you close the door behind him once he leaves, locking it.

Once you turn around, you see your boyfriend’s eyes traveling over your figure, and it makes you feel warm.

“Chos’?”

“You look really beautiful like that.”

You take a look at yourself. Your hair’s kind of messy, and all you’re wearing is one of his sweatshirts and shorts.

“Thanks,” you laugh, moving to sit beside him. “I’m not wearing anything special.”

“So?”

That catches you by surprise. He’s usually not this bold. He reaches out and puts a hand on your leg, running it up your thigh.

“I’ve been thinking about us…” Choso says, “and…that time when I got a little flustered after you wanted me to choke you.”

Your mouth dries up. “…oh?”

“Do you want me to be rougher?”

Your next breath is uneven. “W-well, I…”

“I need you to tell me what you want,” He says, voice dropping a bit in volume. “You know I’ll give you anything.”

“A-anything?” Your voice is thin. He nods seriously.

“Anything in the world.”

You find yourself nodding. “I want…I want to try it rough.”

His lips are on yours in the next instant, and everything after that is a blur of bruising touches, the hurried removal of clothes, and an insistence in your boyfriend you've never seen before.

He has you laid out on the couch, both of your clothes strung around the room unimportantly, his mouth trailing kisses down your neck. A reminder that Suguru had been there not even an hour ago has you feeling a whirlwind of emotions; the shame gives way to arousal.

Choso’s teeth near your nipple has you gasping right back to the present, and you look to see him sucking marks into the soft flesh of your chest. His hands are on your thighs, spreading them, and without warning you feel the glide of his length against your mound.

He begins grinding against you as he marks your breast up in hickies, pulling noises from you that you don’t recognize.

His tongue runs over your nipple and you cry out, arching your back as he doubles down and continues to run his tongue over the hardened peak, your sexes rubbing intimately together in a way that makes your heart feel close to bursting.

It’s like he’s a new man tonight…he’s never this into it.

His teeth graze the tip of your nipple and you shudder, wrapping your legs around his waist and beginning to move your hips with his. He groans at that, moving to the next breast and giving it the same attention the first one got.

“Chos’,” you moan out, feeling one of his hands find the apex of your thigh. It’s only a second before two of his fingers find their way inside of you, slipping in with no resistance due to the way he’s masterfully turned you on. He starts pumping his fingers at a pace, the long digits reaching deep within you, making you shiver again.

The combination of his mouth and hand are enough to make your head spin.

He adds a third finger and begins moving down, sliding to his knees off the couch and readjusting you so that he supports your legs with his shoulders.

His lips scatter kisses and marks over the insides of your thighs as he continues to finger you, and not wasting any time, his mouth finds exactly where you need him, lips wrapping around your pearl and sucking as he pushes his fingers in deeper.

“Fuck,” is what leaves your mouth in a hiss, your hand gripping the couch tightly as he starts eating you out with gusto. “C-Chos’…”

He hums, tongue working wonders on you, and you think for a moment that you might actually lose sanity.

It’s not like he hasn’t done this before. It’s just that you didn’t think he could be so bold. Usually he goes slower, he never really leaves marks, and he sure as hell doesn’t curl his fingers inside you as he’s doing now—but you’re falling even deeper in love with him.

“Oh my god,” a moan leaves your mouth, and he licks a fat stripe up your swollen bud before attacking it again with a kiss. “Choso…”

His free hand finds your breast again, and it’s over soon after that—the way his fingers pinch and tease at your nipple combined with everything else he’s doing sweeps you over the edge swifter than you’re prepared for, and your orgasm slams into you with a cry of his name.

Or, rather, your first orgasm of the night.

He doesn’t stop there. He straightens up and climbs back between your legs on the couch, kissing you deeply as he lines up. Instead of asking, he takes, driving himself inside of you and making you take him despite the sensitivity of your walls.

You gasp as he begins moving immediately, nails digging into his shoulders. When you clench around him he groans, right in your ear, and you look up at him to see his face flushed prettily, sweat dripping down his forehead.

Another wave of lust for him takes over and you kiss him hard, nails dragging over his back. He mewls into your mouth and picks his pace up, the lewd, wet slap of your skin tell-tale to anyone who may be walking by the front door of your apartment.

That reminds you…the two of you have never done it on the couch before. He couldn’t wait long enough to get to bed.

Another one of your flutters around him causes his hips to stutter, and he ducks down, dragging his teeth over your ear before leaning up on his hands above you.

Then, one of them finds the base of your neck. Your lips part as he squeezes gently, focusing more power on the slam of his hips into yours. You feel him deep inside of you, the dull, harsh stretch of him forcing you to accommodate, and your eyes roll to the back of your head, voice reaching octaves you didn’t think you were capable of.

“I love you,” he breathes, kissing your open mouth, and you shiver from the contrast of his rough-fucking and the gentle declaration of devotion.

“I love you too,” it comes out of your throat like a wrecked sob, and amidst his panting, he reaches down and starts rubbing you in time with his thrusts, doing exactly what you need in order to finish for the second time.

As soon as you do, you feel him twitch, pressing deep into you to give you his load. Your own body shakes at the feeling, a sense of euphoria washing over you akin to the rush of opium.

When you open your eyes, his own mahogany ones are looking at you, a loose, dopey smile on his lips.

“Fuck,” you rasp intelligently, and he chuckles, burying his face in your neck.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, hugging him close.

No one is on your mind but him. What else happened today? You can’t remember. You can’t think at all.

Right now, Choso is your world.

___

A/N: calm before the storm me thinks. Seriously though, if you're sticking with this and still waiting for the updates, thank you so much, I appreciate you. I still plan to post on AO3, I'm just not sure when I'll have the time. Keep your eyes out for the next update!

Please don't copy or repost, but feel free to reblog and share! Taglist (comment here or my masterlist if you want to be added): @jaegerstan222 , @cosmicstarlatte , @dabisdolly , @moonriseoverkyoto , @propheticfire , @bontensbabygirl , @crlyhairedwxtch , @alittlebirdahgaselx , @okkovtsu , @notbellasstuff , @uchihabbynic , @polaroidnana , @childofilluvatar , @shadowfoxy , @jordan-network , @dreamtravelersade , @unmatchxd , @lucyrocks86 , @spineyy , @k3lbade , @xxbuckpoppi , @naughtygobbo , @slammynics , @roseambers , @luvingyouwasreallyhard , @hinachaaan , @redladyrae-blog , @spiteless-xo , @slutforaz , @bellaabee082 , @thedorklingqueen , @delayedrage , @poopwons , @pandisastergod , @username23345 , @sleazymac-n-cheesy , @forest-haven , @midnaamethyste , @bihanspookies , @mysteriouskiller1 , @liyahthings

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shadowkoo · 2 months ago

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I just needed to come here and vent for a moment. As a writer, I put a lot of time and thought into curating my ideas and outlining fics before I even begin writing. So, you can imagine my surprise when I woke up this morning to a tumblr notification that someone had tagged me in a post titled “[My Fic Title] Part 2.”

Naturally, I was a bit shocked. After scrolling through it, I realized that this user had written a second part to one of my fanfics, and they tagged me to credit me for the original story.

While I won’t name the specific fic or the user (they did remove it per my request), I feel the need to address this publicly with a quick PSA.

My characters, storylines, cliffhangers, and everything in between are my intellectual property. Yes, the characters are inspired by real idols, and yes, some of my plots exist within established TV/film/book universes. But the ideas, twists, and execution are mine, and I’m the one who will decide how they unfold. (For clarity, the fic in question isn’t set in another media universe, but I wanted include this line since it is relevant for a couple of my other works).

I appreciate that this person enjoyed my fic enough to be inspired to write something themselves, but to be completely honest, I don’t think what they did was okay. I have some serious issues with this, and I want to share them to hopefully prevent this from happening to me—or anyone else—again.

First off, I find it incredibly rude that they didn’t reach out to ask my permission beforehand. Had they done so, I would’ve immediately told them not to go forward with it. Instead, I found out through a tag after the fic had already been posted, which felt like a slap in the face. To make matters worse, because of time zone differences, the post was live for hours while I was asleep, gaining traction.

I know that in the fanfic community, it’s somewhat common to write alternate endings or continuations for larger works from big-name authors or shows, but that’s not what’s happening here. I’m a hobby kpop fanfic writer. Writing a fanfic of my fanfic just feels out of line.

To be blunt, it felt like they were piggybacking off the success of my story, trying to steal some of the excitement I’d built for an upcoming second part. It also seemed like an attempt to siphon engagement, followers, and interactions from my readers—people who were already invested in the original work.

What bothers me even more is that I’ve publicly mentioned I’m already working on a second part. It left me with a bad taste, like this person was trying to rush out their version before I could post mine. That kind of move creates confusion for readers and, from where I stand, feels calculated and disrespectful.

So let me make this crystal clear: No one has my consent to rewrite my work, create additional parts to my fics whether they’re complete, on hiatus, or in-progress, whether or not i have mentioned that i'm writing another part, or to publish alternate endings, etc.

Thank you for understanding. - Raven

#raven rants #important psa

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rukia-writes · 1 year ago

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could we get headcanons for what jealousy looks like on apollo thor and poseidon??? do gods even feel jealousy?? and would they be possessive??

Most gods don’t feel jealousy, to do so would admit there is some sense of insecurity and we all know the gods aren’t insecure.

However! Apollo is a different breed. Apollo isn’t insecure, Apollo just wants to know who is possibly better looking or who/what dares to take away attention away from him. Like if one is going to be with Apollo you have to be ready to worship him in some fashion and when he doesn’t get that, there’s a problem.

Apollo acts: calm at first but the less attention he gets the more jealous he becomes. So it’s better to nip it in the bud before it worsens. Apollo won’t outright say he’s jealous but he’ll confront his beloved saying:

“Who is this person? I’ve never heard of this friend you speak of.” (It doesn’t matter if his beloved mentioned the friend or not all Apollo knows is himself, family and his beloved. Everything else isn’t relevant.

“Why don’t you stay with me? That friend of yours is nothing to brag about.”

“My sweet (Name), you haven’t been paying much attention to me lately. I haven’t done something to offend you have I? Because I can’t recall anything I’ve done wrong.”

Yes, Apollo feels jealous only because he wants to be the sun (the center of your world) in his beloved’s life and we all know there can only be ONE sun.

Would Apollo be possessive: if his beloved doesn’t clear things up, Apollo can be a little possessive if it goes on long enough.

I’ve said it countless times, but Thor is one of the most chill gods. You have to be really trying him to get under his skin.

Thor isn’t jealous of anyone or anything. Thor is also the one who doesn’t mind it if his partner is out for days on end and even with a friend no less.

To get under Thor’s skin his beloved has to KNOWINGLY (or innocently) flirt with someone and they have to do it in front of Thor. That’s Thor only time when he’ll draw the line and he gets jealous.

Now if his beloved isn’t giving time of any sort then their would be a problem and he would be jealous of whoever/whatever is taking his place.

“You’re spending a lot of time with that friend of yours.”

Thor is quiet but he’s the deadly quiet. When he speaks everyone listens. (Just like his father)

It’s better to nip Thor’s jealousy in the bud too, Thor is silent which means he takes a lot in. Good news is! Thor doesn’t get jealous often but when he is-comfort him…before all of Valhalla knows the the thunder god is not so happy.

Would Thor be possessive: No.

You’re more likely to make him mad than jealous. It’s just not Poseidon. He believes he’s perfect which means there’s no room for jealousy.

The closest Poseidon would get to jealousy is if he’s courting someone and they DONT choose him and chose someone else. That would hurt his pride a bit which would make him jealous for like 0000.00001 second but he’ll get over rather fast.

Another instance would be if this person took Poseidon’s spot, like if Poseidon and his beloved go for morning walks together and this friend is there…he won’t get a warm welcome from Poseidon. Hell, Poseidon might tell the person to leave to their face. Like, whatever Poseidon and his beloved do that is a tradition and someone is taking his spot it’ll just piss him off and then he’ll get a tiny tiny tiny bit jealous because how dare someone take his spot.

“Don’t invite that friend of yours for our walks.”

Poseidon is like Thor, quiet and calm but when he talks everyone listens.

Would Poseidon be possessive: No.

🎀Rukia-Writes🎀

#record of ragnarok headcanons #Apollo headcanons #thor record of ragnarok #record of ragnarok poseidon x reader

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newtonsheffield · 6 months ago

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Molly can we get a snippet of the baby making au and the first sonogram? Or the first pregnancy test? How does Kate tell Anthony that she's pregnant?

Oh imagine how excited they would both be to see their baby for the first time.

“Do you need anything?”

Anthony’s knee was bouncing up and down as he sat beside her in the obstetrician’s waiting room.

“What would I need?” Kate chuckled, filling out the form on the clipboard in front of her.

He’d dressed up. She’d realised that when he’d stepped inside her office, his oxfords shined under his chino’s and sweater and a sports coat on over the top and she’d laughed. “Are you… trying to impress my gynaecologist?”

He’d adjusted the sleeve of his jacket, “I’m trying to look like a responsible future parent.”

“And we feel a tweed sports coat does this?”

“Yes, I also think I’m going to grow my beard in properly. It feels very Dad.”

This was one of the reasons he’d been the only person who’d crossed her mind when she’d decided to pursue this. Apart from the fact that he knew her better than almost anyone, Anthony was so… unexpectedly sweet. He’d be a good father. Gentle, and kind, and supportive. He was a nurturer. She’d loved that about him when they’d been together. She loved it about him now. Even now he was looking after her. Trying to look after the child they’d made together.

“I don’t know, I could get you a water. I have a muesli bar in my jacket in case you’re hungry.”

“I’m fine, Ant. I was only a little sick this morning.” Kate sighed, “Do you have any medical conditions in your immediate family I don’t know about.”

“You said you would call me if you were sick.”

“I was a little sick, that might happen again lot the next nine months.”

Anthony clicked his tongue, “Well, I could have brought you something to help.”

“Ant, medical conditions.” She corrected the spiral she could see he was going down. “I did write your lactose intolerance down.”

“Not sure that’s relevant.” Anthony sighed, “But no, nothing really. Greg’s deafness isn’t hereditary.”

Kate nodded, “All done then.”

“I’ll take it back for you.” Anthony leapt to his feet, taking the clipboard from her and striding back towards the desk. He froze, two steps away from her, his shoulders rising and falling heavily.

“What, did you find out I’ve been lying about my age for years?” She teased, her stomach fluttering nervously.

He shook his head, clearing his throat, “No I um… I actually just saw my name listed as the baby’s father and um…” He trailed off, “That feels nice.”

Tears pricked at her eyes and she swiped them away as he sat back beside her, taking her hand. “Stop, you can’t say shit like that Ant Bee.” She’d been using that name for him for nearly 15 years. “I’m too hormonal now.”

“Sorry, I’ll wait like a good boy.”

“Kate!” The Dr called out, gesturing them inside, the paperwork tucked under her arm. “Come on through.”

“Can I…?” Anthony gestured to himself. “Are Dads welcome for this part?”

“That’s up to Kate.”

“Come on,” She tugged on his hand, following the doctor through.

“Kate, congratulations!” The Dr said, sitting behind their desk and gesturing for her to sit on the exam bed. “And his must be your partner.”

Anthony looked awkwardly at the ceiling, and Kate sighed, “This is Anthony. He’s very excited.”

“Okay, well, first things first,”

It was nice, to have Anthony’s hand squeezing hers tightly as she answered the doctors question, Anthony chiming in occasionally to confirm things he’d found in his research, making notes in the notebook he’d brought with him.

“Okay should we look at baby? That’ll help us confirm a due date.”

“But that’s only a guide, I read.” Anthony said quickly and Kate fought to roll her eyes, “And we’ve been trying so we can’t really pin point it.”

“That’s right. It’s just an approximation.”

“It’s not a test, Ant.” Kate chuckled, pulling up her shirt.

“I’m just trying to show that I’m prepared.”

Kate could feel her heart hammering in her chest as the doctor moved the ultrasound over her abdomen, the gel cold against her skin.

“And there’s baby.”

Kate’s heart stopped. It was tiny, flickering over the screen and the heartbeat filled the room. Exactly what she’d wanted. This. To be a mother, even if she had to do it alone.

Anthony’s hand squeezed hers and his voice cracked, tears welling in his eyes, “You’re a mum, Katie. They’re beautiful.”

Tears welled in her own eyes and her chest felt tight, “And you’re a dad.”

Anthony let out a watery chuckle, “God, I need to get started on that beard.”

“The heartbeat’s really fast.”

“The heart beat’s very strong. Baby looks very healthy.” The Dr hummed, “Should we get some photos?”

Kate nodded, swiping at her tears, “Sorry, I’m just so emotional at the moment.”

“Happens all the time. We’re out of tissues in here, sorry. There’s some in the lounge.”

“I’ll get some tissues.” Anthony breathed, swiping his own tears before he kissed the top of her head. “I’ll be back. God, you’re incredible.”

The door shut quickly and Kate took a deep breath, leaning back against the back of the bed.

“He’ll be a very sweet Dad.” The Dr said conversationally. “How long have the two of you been together?”

They’d agreed there was no need to let the doctor in on their arrangement, it didn’t matter. And Kate shouldn’t have said it, it wasn’t right to claim him. But she couldn’t help herself.

“Um… We met when we were sixteen.”

“That’s so sweet!”

“Yeah, he’s um… he’s a sweetie.”

And he was also the other thing she’d always wanted.

#kathony #anthony x kate #kate sharma #kate sheffield #anthony bridgerton #molly’s asks and answers

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patron-saints · 5 months ago

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on morality & madeleine: interview with the vampire meta (written after s2e6)

so far, i’ve found that trying to process my thoughts on madeleine feels really difficult when everyone online has their own opinions and their own biases. this post is kind of my attempt to sort out how i feel about her, and to refute and explore some arguments i’ve seen pop up in her tag.

i think the people who are pointing out that first and foremost these are fictional characters have it right: they’re not real people, their relative morality is only relevant as it pertains to the story itself. and in a story like interview with the vampire, your baseline is that every main character is a killer. in terms of morality, evaluating whether or not a character is a good person is pretty useless and also just… isn’t the point of the story. all characters are functions of a narrative, all characters are tools that you use to tell a story. their morality should not be judged in the same way as you would a real person’s! now. all that being said, let’s have some fun judging* madeleine anyway!

*doing some of my own biased character analysis on

what we know comes to us from a few sources: claudia’s diary, which daniel can read, (decent primary source, but filtered with her biases), louis’s recollection of madeleine’s memories (secondary source that relies on both of their ability to remember clearly) and presumably, louis and armand’s recollections of their interactions as well, which isn’t a whole lot to begin with.

part 1: the nazi fucking

when madeleine talks about sleeping with a nazi to claudia, she’s extremely casual about it. while she notes he brought her food, and cigarettes, she says in a way that invokes a courtship ritual, rather than a direct bribe. it’s impossible to divorce this from the context though: her neighbors are starving, and she was brought food. it likely was a bribe, but what’s important is that she doesn’t relay it as one. her focus when she starts talking about him is on the connection: “it was the comfort, the proof of life,” as she says. if she had been coerced, or if she felt like she had no choice in the matter, i think she would have presented it a little differently. but her affection for the guy is clear, and she even mocks him a little to claudia. in her own words, “i wasn’t inviting hitler to stay in france, i was inviting a frightened boy to cradle my tits.”

which. let’s be real here: to claudia, she is downplaying it. she slept with an occupying soldier during an occupation. watching this scene for the first time, you could even reasonably assume she doesn’t get how serious that is. but once you see the degree of punishment she faced, and continues to face for her actions, you realize her framing here is a learned defense against genuine violence. she feels she has to downplay it to herself and to claudia because there is an imbalance here. it becomes harder to admit to your wrongdoings when the punishments you face for them feel wildly disproportionate.

madeleine did something she never should have done, something she doesn’t feel remorse for, but something that she’s being punished for in a way that far exceeds what any person deserves.

when she talks about it to armand, her framing changes again. she calls it a love, still, so the affection is still present, but she places a greater emphasis on doing what it takes to survive, implying more so that sleeping with a nazi was an act of self-preservation. regardless of whether this is more true than how she presents things to claudia, she has a motivation here too.

when she shares her experiences with claudia, she’s flirting, trying to make her laugh, trying to make a connection, and this part might be subconsciously, but she is certainly trying to get claudia to like her. when she talks to armand, however, she’s actively trying to convince him to grant her the dark gift. she has to portray herself as capable, as self-sufficient, and discerning, and it works! even though he denies her based on his own biases, armand is visibly impressed by all of madeleine’s answers to his questions.

and all we get from louis was that the experience was sweet. and let’s be real, it did look pretty sweet.

i don’t believe madeleine has any hatred for the boy she slept with. i don’t think there’s any evidence she has any hatred for jewish people either, or for her country, which her neighbors believe she betrayed. i think she chose to prioritize a moment of human connection (and possibly food) over the greater consequences of her actions.

i have been looking for the post again since i saw it, so if anyone sees it lmk! but! the op talked about the fact that madeleine as a collaborator isn’t changing her behavior in any meaningful way now: she watched claudia kill in front of her, and instead of running, she once again invited the danger in, joined up with it. i believe the post said something like: once a collaborator, always a collaborator.

this has really stuck with me and i really wish i could reference it properly.

cuz i think there is something there—i think madeleine’s self-preservation instinct is a little screwed on wrong, i think she is acting similarly with claudia as she did with the nazi, but i think it’s not just about the danger. portraying her choice to follow claudia as a cold moment of choosing survival takes away from her complexity, and from the veracity of her feelings for claudia. so, not just the danger. i think it’s about the connection again.

the connection she has with claudia is real, the love she has for claudia is incredibly real. but madeleine is once again prioritizing an interpersonal connection over anything else, and that is the pattern she’s repeating here.

part 2: the apparent age gap issues

every single person who says their relationship is problematic because claudia is a child owes me and claudia fifty bucks.

i don’t really even want to get into that because i don’t think it’s worth my time. the show has put a lot of effort into demonstrating that claudia is an adult trapped in the body of a teenager, and that experience is hard enough on her without all you people insisting she’s still a kid anyway.

however, there’s a secondary argument i’ve seen which i do want to address, which is madeleine’s perception of her.

in their first meeting in the shop, it’s clear that madeleine is seeing claudia as a teenager. she calls her one directly, and references her “body about to bloom” when they meet again two years later. however, when they do meet two years later, claudia has not grown. we know madeleine has noticed this by the dress fitting scene for certain, but it wouldn’t be unreasonable to assume she noticed that sooner. additionally, in the same breath, madeleine also references claudia’s “mind of a sophisticate.” by the time claudia tells her that her growth was stunted due to the war, it’s extremely likely that madeleine had already reached a similar conclusion. she doesn’t look surprised at all when claudia says it, and it’s because claudia seems like an adult. even if she doesn’t look like one, she carries herself like one, she makes conversation like one, and it’s very easy for madeleine to accept the reality that she is one, because she may have suspected as much already.

the reason i say all of this is because i’ve seen multiple people saying it’s inappropriate for her to flirt with claudia before she knows she’s an adult.

is their interaction at the shop window flirting? are they flirting outside the theatre, just after the play? both of these scenes are before claudia says her growth was stunted. i think it’s impossible to say they were definitively flirtatious, but i will certainly say there was a vibe. and i think that’s… kind of fine actually ? two people can have chemistry and it doesn’t have to mean anything about them morally. and my coworker andy said it would have been weirder if they had no chemistry and then did suddenly after madeleine realizes she’s an adult, which made me laugh, and which i think is correct. i like the way they get along before the dress fitting, i think those scenes are fun, and the ambiguity of the flavor adds to it.

i did see at least one post that said it was inappropriate for madeleine to talk about sex frankly with claudia if she thinks she’s a teenager, and to that i say. you can talk to teens about sex. even if she didn’t suspect claudia was older, it’s still fine. they are friends, and she’s sharing an experience she had because claudia asked her about it.

additionally, it’s both a very contemporary & a very american idea that People Under 18 need to be kept from conversations about sex. frankness about sexuality is in fact, very french lol.

i did originally think that this was after the conversation about claudia not growing, but i just watched the scene again to be sure and it was, in fact, also before, but i think my point stands.

i don’t know for certain if she intended to come across as flirtatious in these scenes, but i know something clicked for her right around her confession. you can see it, when they lock eyes in the mirror, that whatever the vibe is, they’ve both clocked it. and she finds out claudia’s older than she looks only seconds later, because she’s the one pointing out that claudia hasn’t grown. (but, yes, i’ll add anyway: after claudia says her growth was stunted, and after that moment of connection, madeleine’s expressions do seem a lot more… Interested too, lol).

i understand and i empathize so much with people’s criticisms of madeleine’s past. i have no intention to exonerate her in that regard (other than her previously mentioned narrative tool status) but i will jump to her defense when it comes to her relationship with claudia.

madeleine sees claudia as an adult, because claudia is an adult.

if they weren’t vampires, and if they weren’t queer in the 1940s, maybe she’d be worried about how others saw their relationship. or maybe it would be weird if she didn’t care how it looked. but given that the only people who will know they’re romantically together are other vampires, i don’t see her lack of concern for the optics being that much of an issue either.

and the reason she’s not concerned is because she knows what claudia is to her. which brings us to:

part 3: the sister stuff

once again i think the show does a pretty good job of refuting this one on its own, but i’d like to get all my arguments in the same place.

so. i see “don’t worry about the blood, it’s the blood that made you,” getting thrown around a lot as proof that madeleine is replacing claudia as her sister.

why would they have a scene that directly refutes this if they were true? when louis asks if that’s what’s going on, claudia says they already “had it out,” and madeleine clarifies that claudia is nothing like her sister, and cannot be a replacement.

“don’t worry about the blood, it’s the blood that made you,” is something that madeleine says because she loves claudia, because she loves the person and the vampire that she is. because she wants claudia to know that her past does not define her. because she wants her to know she doesn’t feel tainted by it, and that claudia doesn’t have to either.

and yeah, it’s not that there’s zero incestuous tones to it! or to the whole arrangement, certainly. but i think any that are there pretty neatly fall under the “iwtv typical wire crossings” flavor rather than the “you’re my dead sister’s replacement” flavor.

so, yeah. despite saying fictional character morality doesn’t matter, i’ve just written several paragraphs trying to figure out if madeleine is a good person or not. really, though, that’s not the question iwtv wants us to ask, or the question i really want to ask its viewers either. is madeleine a good person? eh, probably not. is madeleine a good person for claudia? absolutely.

on this, iwtv is extremely clear. madeleine is an ideal partner. she’s not scared, she’s not surrounded by friends and family she’d grieve, she’s weirdly suited to vampirism, and she loves claudia so much. they share a morbid sense of humor, they’re comfortable teasing each other, they communicate in an extremely healthy way, and every single step of their relationship is based on consent.

the entire time i was watching her scene with armand, i just kept whispering, “oh my god, she’s perfect.” she nailed absolutely every question because she’s perfect for what she’s supposed to do as character, as a function of the narrative she is a part of. madeleine is perfect because she is perfect for claudia.

#i am going to be DEVASTATED if the ep comes out and i’m wrong about any of this #but mostly i’m going to be devastated if it goes the way it seems like it will #iwtv #madeleine iwtv #madeleine eparvier #madeleine éparvier #claudia iwtv #claudeleine #interview with the vampire #thank you to violet mo amsel andy bee and also bee #for helping me get my thoughts out and clear!#if you've seen s2e7 don't talk to me about it yet <3 im gonna watch it tonight #claudia de pointe du lac #claudia de lioncourt #claudia éparvier

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