#shift de perception

[unetherian]

✿Beaucoup de types de shifts et leur définition✿

Même si certains semblent plus communs que d'autres, il existe vraiment BEAUCOUP de types de shifts dans nos communautés alterhumaines, nonhumaines, otherhumaines, ect. Je vais citer tout ceux que je connais, mais n'hésitez pas à en rajouter à ma liste !

Bonne lecture !𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼𓋼𖤣𖥧𓋼𓍊𖡼𖤣𖥧𖡼

le shift mental

est un des shifts les plus connus dans nos communauté. Pendant un shift mental, la mentalité de l'individu devient plus ou moins comme celle de son type.

Si le type de l'individu est un animal, par exemple, il se mettra peut être à penser d'une manière plus animale, en se fiant encore plus à ses instincts.

le shift fantôme

fait également partie des shifts les plus connus. Pendant ce shift, l'individu ressens une ou plusieurs parties du corps de son type, en plus de ou en superposition de son corps. Ces membres peuvent être queues, vibrisses, museau, nageoires, plumes, bec, coussinets, carapaces, pattes supplémentaires ou différentes, ect. Cette sensation peux varier selon l'individu.

Certains la décrirai comme avoir la sensation que le membre est réellement là, et certains ressentiront ça comme une énergie, comme si leur âme "dépassait" de leur corps.

Cette partie du corps n'est pas visible.

Certains ressentent de la "douleur fantome", en se coinçant ses ailes fantômes dans une porte, par exemple.

le shift de perception

change la perception de l'individu pour la rapprocher de celle de son type. Ça peut influencer la manière dont il se voit soit même, ou la manière dont il voit le monde autour de lui.(À ne pas confondre avec le shift mental !)

le shift sensoriel

modifie la perception d'un ou de plusieurs sens (ouïe, odorat, vue, toucher, ou/et même goût), pour se rapprocher de ceux de son type. Cela ne donne pas vraiment de super pouvoirs, mais concentre plutôt le shifteur sur certains de ses sens, en le distrayant de certains autres.

Il existe plusieurs sous catégorie du shift sensoriel, comme le shift auditif, olfactif, ect.

le cameo shift prononcer "caméo"

peux être assez étrange, surtout pour ceux qui ne sont pas habitués à celui ci. Un cameo shift, c'est quand on shift en quelque chose, quelqu'un, une créature, ect mais que l'on ne s'identifie pas comme celui ci/ceci. Un cameo shift peux apparaître en n'importe quelle forme de shift. Exemple: un otherkith licorne expérimente un shift fantome de licorne, ce shift est un cameo shift fantome, car cet individu ne s'identifie pas comme une licorne. Un humain lambda peut expérimenter ce type de shift.

le koita shift

est souvent considéré comme une sous catégorie du cameo shift (le peu de fois qu'on en parle). Un koita shift est quand on shift en un animal auquel on ne s'identifie pas, car on observe un individu de cette espèce

Ce shift peut être provoqué en regardant un média visuel (une image, une vidéo), ou en regardant directement celui-ci. Comme le cameo shift, il peut apparaître sous toutes les formes de shift possible.

le shift émotionnel

est un shift de n'importe quel type provoqué par une émotion (souvent intense).

le space shift

est un shift assez connu des concepkins, voidkins, elementkins, ou même musickins. Pendant un space shift, l'individu à la sensation de remplir un espace, au même titre que son type.

Exemple : un elementkin eau nage dans l'océan, il a l'impression de s'étendre à perte de vue comme l'eau autour de lui.

le shift d'aura

L'aura d'un individu change pour se rapprocher de celle de son type. Ce shift est souvent spirituel, mais peut également être expliqué/expérimenté de manière psychologique.

le shift de bilocation

L'individu à l'impression de se trouver à deux endroits à la fois. Il verra la vision de son type en même temps que celle de son corps, et/ou ressentira l'environnement de ses deux emplacements en même temps.

le shift astral

est le plus souvent volontaire, et difficile à déclencher. C'est un shift souvent considéré comme spirituel, mais peut être expliqué de manière psychologique. Pendant ce shift, l'âme de l'individu sort de son corps physique, puis se transforme en ou est son type. C'est un genre de voyage astral.

le shift onirique/dream shift

est un shift vécu dans un rêve, un rêve où l'on est son type ou un rêve où on se transforme en son type. Ce shift peut être un souvenir d'une vie antérieure.

le shift feral

C'est un shift expérimenté la plupart du temps par les zooantropes clinique où ils perdent involontairement le contrôle de leur corps, et se comporte complètement comme un animal nonhumain. Ces shifts peuvent être dangereux car l'individu peut être effrayé par le monde humain qui l'entoure et agir en se mettant en danger, ou peut tenter de faire des choses que son corps humain ne peut pas faire. Certains ne se souviennent plus de ce qu'il c'est passé pendant ce shift après l'avoir expérimenté.

le shift basercal

est la même chose que le shift feral, mais volontaire.

le shadow shift

est un shift causé le plus souvent par une illusion d'optique ou de la fatigue oculaire, et est souvent vécu dans un environnement faiblement éclairé. C'est quand un individu apperçois sa forme en temps que son type comme un mirage ou une apparition transparente. Dans certains cas, ça peut être l'ombre de l'individu qui semble changer pour devenir partiellement ou entièrement comme celle de son type.

le miror shift

est un shift pouvant faire penser à certains shadow shifts, mais avec un miroir. C'est quand le reflet d'un individu change pour devenir plus ou moins comme celui de son type.

le shift physique

est un shift causé par des délire et/ou hallucinations. C'est quand un individu pense être ou pense pouvoir se transformer en son type. La transformation peux être complète ou partielle, et est pour certains douloureuse.

[emmarousil]

Ma transidentité

Je me suis toujours beaucoup questionné sur mon genre. C'est pas facile de poser un mot là-dessus, n'est-ce pas ?

Déjà, je pense que le concept de genre ne devrait pas exister. Ce serait bien plus simple XD

Mais je trouve ça sérieusement logique. Le genre à la base, c'est juste un ensemble de stéréotypes : les filles ça aime le rose et c'est délicat, les gars ça aime le foot et c'est brusque etc... Pourtant, il paraît évident aujourd'hui que c'est pas à cause de ce qu'on a entre les jambes qu'on préfère telle couleur ou jouet. Le genre n'a pas de rapport avec le sexe biologique, et c'est bien pour ça qu'il y a la fameuse citation "on ne naît pas femme, on le devient" : quand on naît la société ne nous a pas encore influencé, mais quand on grandit on finit par correspondre aux attentes sociales et c'est cela être une femme ou un homme.

Pourtant ce concept subsiste, alors que les personnes s'affranchissent de plus en plus de ces stéréotypes. De plus chaque individu est unique, les personnalités de tout le monde ne peuvent pas rentrer dans ces deux cases. alors les différents genres se multiplient... deviennent compliqués et innombrables, suffit de regarder le wiki lgbt pour le voir (alors que je me considère comme quelqu'un de renseigné sur le sujet). Ce n'est pas quelque chose de mal, c'est pour pouvoir désigner tout le monde, mais c'est juste impossible. Même moi qui souhaite être respectueux envers tout le monde, je finis par m'emmêler les pinceaux.

Chacun a une expérience identitaire unique. Il y a les traits de caractères pour définir ça, le genre c'est juste des stéréotypes. Arrêtez de vous embêter avec ça, à définir les gens par leur genre.

Je pense qu'on devrait juste voir des êtres humains, et que le sexe est une caractéristique comme les autres. Ça ne définit pas une personne.

Malgré cela, j'ai un genre. Je trouve que je correspond à ce genre, même si j'aurais préféré que le genre en général n'existe pas. Mais si on me le demande, je suis bien de genre masculin. Ma dysphorie de genre est en partie liée à cela, que je suis masculin et que je suis né fille. Mes pronoms sont il/lui, et j'aimerais que l'on me traite comme un homme tant que le concept de genre existe.

Je m'en fiche très littéralement de la façon dont les personnes me voient et me parlent, et ça ne me fait ni chaud ni froid d'être mégenré, excepté par mes proches. Cependant je n'apprécie pas quand des personnes me mégenre "volontairement", ou à répétition en étant totalement au courant que je suis transgenre, car j'ai l'impression qu'on se fout de ma gueule, ce qui est malheureusement rarement juste une impression.

Cependant en dehors du genre, je ressent un profond mal-être physique, pas à cause du fait que je sois beau ou non, ou même trop maigre (même si j'ai longtemps trouvé que c'était le cas) mais à cause de ma poitrine. Ce n'est pas que je veux ressembler à un homme (même si cette idée me plaît) mais que juste grandir avec des caractéristiques physiques féminins m'insupporte au point d'avoir envie de vomir. Je veux faire des opérations dans ma transition principalement parce que mon corps, en dehors du contexte de mon genre, m'est insupportable. J'en suis presque à me demander si mon genre masculin est issu de ce mal-être physique plutôt que l'inverse.

Pour le reste, les cheveux longs sont désagréables pas au point d'être insupportables, et mon sexe ne me dérange pas spécialement même si je préférerais être né garçon.

Je sens mon corps entièrement masculin, comme quand je sens les membres fantômes de loup lorsque je shift car je suis wolf-hearted. Par contre dans le cas du shift, avoir un corps de loup n'est pas quelque chose que je souhaite voir réalisé sauf temporairement ou en rêve, alors qu'avoir un corps masculin est quelque chose que j'aurais aimé voir se réaliser réellement de façon définitive.

Pendant longtemps, je ne comprenais pas pourquoi j'ai ce mal-être par rapport à mon corps. Se sentir appartenir au genre masculin par rapport à son vécu et caractère ça je comprend. Mais le fait que je sois transgenre vient principalement de ce mal-être physique je ne le comprend absolument pas, et j'ai d'ailleurs longtemps rejeté ce mal-être.

Je trouvais en effet que ce mal-être physique et souhait d'avoir un corps masculin ne soit pas logique par rapport à mes croyances (j'ai pas de religion je vais m'expliquer), même si je dois bien me rendre à l'évidence que c'est ce que je ressent, je ne peux pas changer ça. En fait j'aime l'hypothèse des vies antérieures, même si je pense ne pas détenir la vérité et que personne ne puisse dire si les vies antérieures existent ou non. Cependant en partant du principe des vies antérieures à laquelle j'adhère, on peut s'incarner en toute forme de vie tant qu'elle est dans le cycle de notre planète (je vulgarise un peu car je n'ai pas les termes et je ne suis pas expert). Donc en animal que ce soit de sexe mâle ou femelle (en n'oubliant pas que l'humain est un animal, très con, mais c'est tout de même un animal). Donc le mal-être physique que j'ai n'a pas de sens, car on peur s'incarner en homme ou femme… Notre âme n'a pas de sexe ou de genre.

Ça m'embêtais mais je suis du parti qu'il faut écouter ce qu'on ressent, même si on trouve que ça n'a pas vraiment de sens. On est pas obligé de tout savoir et expliquer, et je pense que c'est tant mieux dans la plupart des cas, même si dans ce cas c'est quand même très embêtant.

Il y a peu de temps j'ai posé la question à ma mère (subtilement car elle n'est pas au courant que je suis trans) car elle a beaucoup de connaissances à ce sujet. Elle m'a expliqué que de ce qu'elle a compris, avant chaque incarnations son âme se "prépare". En quelque sorte on lui annonce sa prochaine forme, famille etc. Cependant si l'âme s'incarne dans le sexe opposé à celui annonce, il y a un décalage avec ce à quoi il s'est préparé et donc... dysphorie. Encore une fois il n'y a rien de prouvé là-dedans, mais j'adhère au concept de vies antérieures. Ça me donne une explication à ma transidentité, mais aussi à d'autres choses même en dehors de mon cas comme pour les thérians (qui s'explique généralement par les vies antérieures plutôt que par une incarnation "ratée") etc.

Juste ce pavé pour poser ça à l'écrit, et mettre ça en ordre dans ma tête aussi. Mais plus j'ai écrit ce texte, plus je me suis senti sûr de ce que je suis. Et ça, ça fait du bien.

[taintandviolent]

Le coup de foudre ; Gambit x Reader

summary: THIS IS PART 3 OF THE TACO TUESDAY SERIES! PART ONE HERE / PART TWO HERE! Reader is suffering, big time. She wants Remy, but he hasn't called. Post-Void, everyone got out alive and everything is fine.

word count & w a r n i n g s: 3.1K | some angst to start things off, smut with some plot (we've got an established relationship, huzzah), French and typing out accents/dialects, pet names (chere, mon ami, mon coeur, etc.), shower sex, dirty talk, fingering, unprotected sex, p in v, no use of y/n, and some fluff at the end, because I went and broke y'all's hearts in the last chapter.

a/n: praying that the gambit fandom hasn't completely died out.... i'm so sorry this took me so long. banner by @/strangergraphics!

↓ full fic under cut! ↓ / ao3 link here! / I don’t have a taglist anymore, but please turn on post notifications if you’d like to be notified of future fics!

The first day is the hardest. 

The first day is the hardest because by 1:30 PM, you realize that you’re in love with Remy Lebeau. You cry on the couch he kissed you on. Why are you crying? Because you can’t remember the last time you’ve been in love with someone, and you know what comes with love. None of it is good. 

The second day sucks too because you go to work, and come home to an apartment that, for the first time since you’ve lived there, really felt empty. There’s nowhere you can sit that he hasn’t touched. His memory lingers everywhere and try as you might, you can’t escape it. You aren’t sure you want to, either, which is troubling in and of itself. 

By the third day, your heart is aching, but it’s a dull ache. Something like anger has started to roil in your system, and you’re wondering why he hasn’t called, or stopped by. You can justify it by saying that you don’t know what mutant superheroes go through or what their daily life looks like, but you’re still sour that there’s been nothing but radio silence on his end. 

Day four comes and goes, and nothing changes. You’re still sad. You’re still angry. But most of all, you’re still lonely. 

Day five… however. Day five comes, you’ve cycled through all the stages of grief and landed somewhere on the spectrum of desperation. 

So, after work, you march across the hall to Wade’s, and knock three times in a little melody. After a few moments, the door flies open, revealing a very casual looking Wade. He’s wearing a Hawaiian shirt and grey sweats. You avert your eyes from his groin, out of respect. 

“Wade,” you stammer, scratching a non-existent itch on your arm. “Hey.”

“Pookie! How nice of you to stop by. Blind Al and I were just about to partake in some Colombian party powder, care to join us?” 

Your pupils dilate. Was he being serious? You couldn’t tell. “Uh… no. No, I’m good.” 

You shift uneasily. You aren’t sure how to start this, so you just blurt whatever comes out. 

“Wade… um. Look, I’m sorry to ask this of you. I just…. I can’t take it anymore. He doesn’t seem like the type to ghost someone, and I just… I really want to talk to him.” 

“You want Gambit’s number?”

You perk up, relieved that you didn’t have to ask the question yourself. Wade was more perceptive than you thought. 

“Y-yeah, if you have it.” 

“I don’t. Womp-womp. But I gave him yours.” 

“Oh…” A beat. “...wait. How did you get my number?” 

“Remember that package that was misdelivered?” 

“No….” 

“Yikes. Well, I do. It had your name and phone number on it. I figured it’d be useful to have so…” He taps the side of his head.

“Why did you… did he ask for it?” 

“Boy, did he.” 

You frown, feeling an overwhelming flurry of emotions. On one hand, he’s had your number and hasn’t called. On the other hand, he wanted your number. But he hadn’t done a damn thing with it. Your shoulders sink, unconsciously. 

“Oh, sweet cheeks. Someone play some Cigarettes After Sex, this is getting emotional.” Wade mock frowns, looking off to the left for a moment before his eyes dart back to you. “He’s probably saving lives or something heroic. Undisclosed mutant drama.”

“Thanks,” you murmur, choosing to ignore his weird commentary. “I appreciate it.” 

“What’re you gonna’ do now? Cue the depressed drinking montage.” 

“That’s a great idea, actually…” 

“No, no… let’s not.” 

You interject with a finger in his face. “Yeah, let’s.” 

“If you’re going to do that, let’s do it inside. C’mon.”  Wade doesn’t give you a moment to reject him, and plants both of his hands on your shoulders, yanking you forward. 

Turns out, Wade does have alcohol. He makes you a drink, something that tastes like whiskey. Maybe it's your whiskey, left over. You bring the glass to your lips, sucking the liquid down. It’s strong, but you aren’t complaining. 

“Oooohohoh, you’ve got it bad, huh? Heart eyes and all that mushy-gushy shit?”

You throw a glare his way, and take another sip. The liquor burns better than any remark you could’ve come up with.

“It’s okay,” he says, nodding. “I can’t say I blame you. It’s that Southern charm he’s got. Handsome, slick, and he can do magic tricks.” His eyes widen, excitedly. “How could you not fall in love with him?”

“Wade, you’re not helping.” 

“Sure I am,” he retorts. 

You take a seat on Wade’s couch, looking distraught. You’re thankful that Blind Al is in fact… blind because she can’t see the way that the tears are welling up in your eyes. You look at the chairs that you two sat on, flirting with each other.

“Oh,” Wade says, looking somewhat surprised. “Oh no.”

“She cryin’?” Blind Al asks. Great, she’s perceptive. You swallow back a sob, and bring the glass to your lips again. 

“Almost… almost… c’mon, give us a cinematic, single tear.” 

You shake your head and suck it up as best you can. You don’t want acknowledgement, that’ll only make it worse, possibly sending you into a fit of sobs. You don’t even know why you’re so upset – it’s not like he told you he never wanted to see you again. He just hadn’t… well, done anything and that was somehow worse.

“Je-sus…!” Wade says suddenly, leaning over to angrily look through the peephole. He stays there for a moment, before leaning back, a sly smile on his face. 

And that’s when you hear the dull thudding that has Wade’s attention. It sounds like a knock – a heavy handed one. 

You straighten your spine, curious. 

“Oh, this is too perfect.” He says under his breath, before taking one step towards you. “Save the waterworks, your Cajun Prince has returned.” 

You set the glass on the floor and scramble off the couch, practically on all fours as you run towards the door, pushing Wade out of the way. Standing on your tiptoes to look through the peephole for only a split second, you get a visual. Hurriedly, you twist the knob and throw the door open, wanting to rip it off its hinges. It bumps into the wall behind it, and your breath rushes out.  

Remy stands there, facing your door, his fist raised to knock again. He has a duffel bag on his shoulder, which slides off the second he hears your voice. 

“Remy?” you call, your voice quivering slightly. He turns abruptly, his coat flaring out behind him. He’s wearing armor now, and looks like he’s just come back from something serious.

“Chere? What’re you –” 

You don’t need to answer again, instead, just run across the hall, rushing into his arms. Your body hits him so hard that you let out a little vocalization, a delicate oomph, as you compress yourself to him. He immediately responds by wrapping one arm around your waist, and the other around the back of your head, hand petting your hair gently. 

He smells like blood, sweat and ash, but you nuzzle your cheek into the rigid plate of his purple chestplate anyway, wrapping your arms tightly around his torso in a desperate hug. 

After a moment, you pull away, just enough to look up at him. He looks down at you, his eyes burning with such an adoration that you can’t help but clench your stomach. He looks like he missed you as much as you missed him. 

“Is this your superhero outfit?” Your fingers stroke the ridges in his cowl, admiring it. Slowly, they trail down the length of it, and begin to make their way over his smooth chestplate. 

He laughs, looking down at you. “ ‘Spose so.”

“I like it.” 

Two smiles later, he pulls you in for a bruising kiss, lifting you up off the ground slightly. You’re on your tiptoes again, smashing your lips against his and tasting him as hungrily as you did the first time – if not hungrier. There’s something extremely erotic about kissing a costumed hero, something to do with uniforms and all that, you assume, but the butterflies in your stomach go wild at the feeling of his armor against you. This time, you don’t try to suppress anything and give into the feeling of it all. 

Someone sighs dreamily behind you and Remy breaks the kiss to look knowingly over the top of your head. Wade is leaning against his door frame, hands clasped in front of his chest. Short of having hearts bursting over his head, he’s silently gushing, his brows pulled together in a sappy expression, with a dorky smile curling around his lips.

“Oh, c’mon! Just a peek? Where’s your sense of fan service?!” 

“No, Wade.” Remy croons, opening your door and pulling you in with him. He shuts the door with one hand.

“Now before we get to the good stuff, I wanna’ wash this day offa’ me.” 

You nod your head, understanding, and reach for his hand. The bathroom is adjacent to your bedroom, so you lead him down the hall.

You flick on the light; it’s all dark tile and cool tones. You head to the sizable shower, and open the glass door, leaning in just enough to turn the knob. The water splashes to life, and steam fills the bathroom quickly. 

Watching Remy undress himself is like a strip tease that has you biting your lip. He’s determinate and meticulous, like he knows you’re watching. The jacket and armor pieces come off first, and get set on the edge of the bathroom counter. Then comes the shirt, revealing that delicious torso again, the one that you’ve been longing to run your hands over for almost a week. He quickly unzips his pants and drags them down his legs before setting them atop the rest of the items. The briefs are last – the perfect ending to reveal his heavy, flaccid cock before he turns, and walks into the shower. He’s got a perfect ass, too; muscular and round. You’re pretty sure you could bounce a quarter off of it. The water splashes against the roundness of his freckled shoulders, spattering against the muscle and onto the tile. 

“Chere, c’mere…” He reaches for your hand, pulling it inside the shower. 

“Wait, wait,” you laugh, and retract your hand. “I’m not coming in there fully dressed.” 

“Then get naked, mon amour. We know we done been waitin’ long enough to feel each other again.” 

You pull your shirt over your head, and reach around back to undo your bra. Your jean shorts are next, joining the pile on the floor.

The water is warm, but Remy’s naked body is even warmer. 

There’s a beautiful, tender familiarity in the way you touch each other, coupled with a hunger that can only be fueled by absence. He hasn’t had you in days, you haven’t had him; the desire has reached a boiling point, and needs to be expelled. He presses you against the tile of the shower, watching as the water pitter-patters against your skin, over your decollete, over your breasts and down the gentle curve of your stomach. He leans down and kisses the hollow of your throat, his hands cupping your hips forcefully.

“I missed you,” he murmurs against your skin. 

“I missed you too… maybe more.” 

“Ooh, doubt that.” 

As his fingers trail along your body with an air of ownership, Remy kisses your wet shoulders, nipping at the warm, slick flesh. Despite the heat, you shiver. He has a real knack for making your body shudder. Your knees feel like jell-o, so you wrap your hands around his strong neck, interlacing your fingers behind it for some support. 

His fingers dip down between your legs and teasingly splay out over your folds. His middle finger slips between them, glossing over your center, and slides all the way down, teasing your entrance with the pad of his finger. Everything is wet, but he can feel the slickness that meets his finger. His cock twitches against your thigh. 

“‘Dat’s my girl,” he says, low. “Y’know, I’ve been thinkin’ ‘bout ‘dis way too much.” His hand cups your cunt, as if to punctuate his sentence and you bite your lip, looking into his eyes. You shift, forcing more friction against his wet palm, the warm water pooling between your legs. “The thought of you been distractin’ me. You a dangerous woman, cher…” 

“I’m dangerous? Says the guy who has fucked me in every room, on almost every surface in my apartment…” 

Remy chuckles and the sound fills your heart. There it is again – that unyielding feeling of adoration. You’re horny as all get out, but somehow, you still have the capacity to swoon over tiny things like his laugh. This isn’t you, this isn’t what you’re used to. Frustrated, you bump your head against the tile, letting out a small groan. 

He notices this, and brings his other hand – still leaving one situated between your legs – up behind your head. 

“What’re you doin’? What’s wrong, chere?”

“Nothing...” you huff, looking over at the shower head. It doesn’t sound very convincing, but you aren’t ready to spill your guts to him yet… you’d rather have him rearrange your guts and not think about the feelings. 

He smirks, devilishly, like he already knows. If he does, he’s not letting you off the hook. 

“Guess I just gon’ have to fuck it outta’ you, huh?” 

You avert your gaze back to him, pupils dilating. You know him well enough now that he means what says.  

With that, he places a kiss on your forehead, and turns his body towards the stream of water. He begins washing himself, and you watch as the suds slowly trail down the ample curve of his back. You reach forward, spreading them over the indentation of his spine, washing him gently. 

“Hoo, the way you touch me…” he murmurs just loud enough for you to hear it. 

The shower is intimate and everything is mutual, cue the montage. For the… what? Tenth time that week? You realize that you're in way too deep with Remy. Way too deep, and there’s nothing you can do to change it. 

Drying his feet off on the mat and allowing you space to do the same, Gambit then pulls a towel from the rack, and wraps it around your naked body. The droplets absorb into the fibers, and you’re a little less drippy. Well, your body is. The hungry, whining void between your legs isn’t. 

When Gambit turns, you catch a glimpse of his half-hard cock and blush. Even though you’ve fucked it, sucked it and everything else, the sight of is still enough to send butterflies erupting in your stomach. 

He can’t get you to the bedroom fast enough. His hands are on your hips, directing you towards the bed and you let out a little vocalization, much to his delight. 

“C’mere, mon ami… get up on ‘dat bed.” 

You obey. Why wouldn’t you? You’ve been waiting for this for almost a week now. 

Before he has a chance to stop you, you’re reaching forward to take his cock in your hand. It’s heavy and hot and the feeling of it against your palm makes you clench painfully, twinging with heat. You take your time in stroking him to full hardness, swiping your thumb over the leaking tip and smearing the pre-cum down his veiny length. 

Once he’s there, he’s like a freight train. Unstoppable and panting hard. He fucks you hard over the edge of the bed, hard enough to make your breasts bounce back and forth with each bullying thrust, withdrawing it to the tip and bottoming out each time. Your bedroom is filled with the sounds of bodies slapping together, flesh against flesh. 

“Tell me,” he grunts. “Ain’t no place for secrets up in here.”

“It’s not important – uuhhh!” Another thrust, deep as he can go. 

“Cher,” he growls and thrusts again. “I ain’t gonna’ let you cum ‘till you tell me.” 

“No,” you moan, bringing your hands to your tits as they move. “Please, I’m so close, we can — uhhh god!”

He’s relentless. 

“Fuck, fuck-fuck, oh my god…!” 

With a slick pop, he pulls his cock all the way out. You lift your head up, gazing distraught between your legs; he’s centimeters away from you. The tip is red, glistening and angry as it twitches up, pre-cum leaking from the slit.

“Tell me, cher, or you ain’t gonna’ get ‘dis cock again.” He bucks his hips forward, dragging the fat, wet tip against your swollen cunt. You cry out at the sensation, your clit buzzing with electricity. Despite all that, he doesn’t penetrate you again, and you whimper at the empty sensation. Every time you try to move your hips to get his cock to slip in again, he pulls back just enough to put distance between you two. You whine through gritted teeth. 

“Okay!” 

He presses the head of his cock against your clit. Waiting. Patiently. So patiently. For a moment, you marvel at the control he has considering that his cock looks red and angry, aching to empty itself inside of you. 

“Fine. I think…” You pause to catch your breath. “I think I love you.” 

Remy closes his eyes for a second, reveling in the sound of you saying it. He’d wanted to say it to you at breakfast, and he’d wanted to say it before he left. 

“Mm.” 

“Mm?”

“Mmm-mm. ‘Dat’s what I wanted to hear, chere. An’ it sounds so good comin’ outta’ ‘dat mouth of yours.”

He lines the cockhead up, and bottoms out with another word. He’s said enough, apparently. When he takes hold of your hips, lifting them up slightly to give himself a deeper angle, you wrap your hands around your sheets until the fibers squeak. Your nails dig into the fabric, nearly puncturing holes in them. It’s only a few more earth-shattering thrusts before you cum, and before he fills you with white hot heat, the two of you calling and moaning each other’s names in ecstasy. 

After softening inside of you, which is somehow extremely sweet, he withdraws himself from your cunt, and uses the sheet to clean up the mess that leaks out. He carefully lifts you up onto the bed fully, and then crawls next to you, nestling into the same space he did last night. 

It’s like he never left. 

“I really do, you know. I love you. I know we just met and fucked and that’s all, but I love you.”

“You keep sayin’ ‘dat’s all’ as if what we have is somethin’ casual, cher. You’re gonna’ hurt Remy’s feelings if you keep ‘dat up. So, knock it off, ah?” 

“It’s… it’s not casual?” 

He shakes his head. “I love you too, mon coeur. I have since I first saw you…” 

You hum happily, and nuzzle yourself against his bare chest. “I finally understand that French phrase I learned… C’etait le coup de foudre?” (It was love at first sight.)

“Oui… oui.” 

[tulipatheticee]

Hi! I had an idea of Eloise x fem reader, reader being Queen Charlotte’s daughter. They get caught together, and readers mother suggests marriage. With that Eloise and reader start the acceptance of the same sex love/marriage.

love story e.b

eloise bridgerton x queen charlottes daughter! reader

synopsis; In the heart of Regency London, Princess Y/N, daughter of Queen Charlotte, and Eloise Bridgerton find themselves entangled in a clandestine romance amidst the glittering balls and gossip of high society. Their love defies conventions and faces scrutiny, ultimately prompting Queen Charlotte to propose a marriage that could change society's perception of same-sex love forever.

word count; 5.3k

master list

a/n; i went a little ham on this one, i was not joking when i said wlw unlocks something inside of me

as always, kinda proof read, kinda not :p

So I sneak out to the garden to see you

We keep quiet, 'cause we're dead if they knew

So close your eyes

Escape this town for a little while, oh oh

In the bustling midst of London’s social season, Queen Charlotte's daughter, Princess y/n, found herself at the centre of attention. Raised amidst the pomp and protocol of high society, she was no stranger to the expectations placed upon her. Attending debutante events was simply another facet of her role as the queen's daughter—a duty performed with grace and an impeccably polished facade.

It was at one such event, a gathering of debutantes adorned in their finest, where y/n first noticed her. Eloise Bridgerton, amidst the sea of hopefuls vying for attention, stood out not just for her striking beauty but for an air of defiance that seemed to hover around her like an invisible shield. Eloise, with her quick wit and sharp tongue, had garnered a reputation as the most outspoken and unconventional of the Bridgerton siblings—a title she wore proudly, much to her mother Violet's simultaneous exasperation and admiration.

From across the room, y/n observed as Eloise engaged in animated conversation with other debutantes. There was a sparkle in her eye and a hint of mischief in her smile that drew y/n's attention irresistibly. Eloise's laughter, free and unbridled, cut through the polite chatter of the event like a breath of fresh air in a stuffy room. For a moment, y/n found herself captivated, her gaze lingering longer than was strictly polite.

Meanwhile, Eloise, amidst the whirl of introductions and compliments, couldn't help but notice the queen's daughter. Elegant and composed, y/n exuded a quiet confidence that commanded attention without demanding it. Unlike the other debutantes who fluttered around Eloise, y/n stood apart, observing with an intensity that hinted at a keen intellect beneath her composed exterior.

Their eyes met briefly across the room—a fleeting moment charged with unspoken curiosity and intrigue. It was a simple exchange, unnoticed by the swirling crowd around them but leaving an indelible impression on both Eloise and y/n. In that brief encounter, something stirred, a silent recognition that hinted at possibilities yet unexplored.

The grand presentation at the Palace was a spectacle to behold. The ballroom was adorned with glittering chandeliers and opulent decorations, filled with the crème de la crème of London society. Eloise stood in line, fidgeting with her gloves as she prepared to be introduced. Her mother gave her a reassuring smile.

“Stand tall, Eloise,” Violet whispered. “This is your moment.”

As Eloise stepped forward, she caught a clearer sight of Princess Y/N, standing beside her mother. Their eyes met once again across the room, and for a moment, the world seemed to stop. Y/N’s gaze was warm and inviting, a stark contrast to the intimidating grandeur of the palace. Eloise felt an inexplicable pull towards her, something she couldn’t quite understand.

Just as Eloise was about to be presented, the attention of the room shifted abruptly. The queens guards charging through the doors, whispers of “Lady Whistledown '' spread like wildfire, next thing you know, the queen is declaring she's seen enough and everyone is dismissed and Eloise found herself relieved of the spotlight as gossip overtook the ceremony. The mysterious writer had once again stolen the show, and Eloise couldn’t help but feel a sense of gratitude for the diversion.

'Cause you were Romeo, I was a scarlet letter

And my daddy said, "Stay away from Juliet"

But you were everything to me

I was beggin' you, "Please don't go, " and I said

The opulent ballroom of Lady Danbury's estate shimmered with the flicker of candlelight and the murmur of polite conversation. Eloise Bridgerton, dressed in an exquisite gown of deep emerald silk that Lady Danbury had insisted upon, moved gracefully amidst the crowd, her gaze sweeping over the assembly of London's elite.

The event was a dazzling affair, attended by the highest echelons of society, each guest meticulously adorned in their finest attire. Yet amidst the glittering array of guests, Eloise's eyes sought out a familiar figure—Princess y/n, who stood with Queen Charlotte, radiating an air of quiet elegance that set her apart from the throng of debutantes.

Eloise couldn't deny the flutter of anticipation in her chest as she made her way towards y/n, navigating the maze of guests with practiced ease. Her heart raced with a mixture of nerves and excitement, unsure of how their conversation at Queen Charlotte's debutante event would influence their interaction tonight.

Meanwhile, y/n observed the revelry with a regal composure, her gaze occasionally drifting towards Eloise amidst the swirl of dancers and the lilting strains of the orchestra. The princess was acutely aware of the scrutiny she faced as Queen Charlotte’s daughter—the expectations of duty and decorum that shadowed her every move. Yet amidst the splendour of the ballroom, y/n found herself drawn to Eloise’s spirited presence and unguarded authenticity. 

Violet Bridgerton, determined to secure another diamond among her brood, guided Eloise through the throng of guests towards the queen and y/n. Eloise, begrudgingly adorned in an elegant gown befitting her station, maintained a facade of polite disinterest as Violet introduced her to the queen and her daughter.

"Your Majestys, may I present my daughter, Eloise Bridgerton," Violet announced with practised grace.

Y/n, acknowledging the introduction with a nod, offered a polite smile that barely concealed her curiosity. "A pleasure to meet you, Miss Bridgerton," she greeted eloquently, her voice carrying a warmth that belied her royal stature.

Eloise, though outwardly composed, felt a rush of nerves mingled with an unexpected flutter of excitement. She had anticipated the formality of the introduction, yet y/n's presence seemed to alter the air around her, making her acutely aware of every gesture and fleeting expression.

"Likewise, Your Highness," Eloise replied with a hint of her trademark wit, a small smirk playing at the corner of her lips. "Though I must admit, I am more accustomed to lively debates than royal audiences."

Y/n's smile widened subtly, a glint of amusement in her eyes. "I look forward to those debates, Miss Bridgerton," she replied in kind, a gentle challenge underlying her words.

The exchange, though brief, left an impression on both women. For Eloise, accustomed to the constraints of societal expectations, y/n represented a refreshing departure—an enigma wrapped in regal poise and quiet strength. And for y/n, intrigued by Eloise's spirited demeanor and quick intellect, the encounter ignited a curiosity that lingered long after the ball had ended.

Romeo, take me somewhere we can be alone

I'll be waiting, all there's left to do is run

You'll be the prince and I'll be the princess

It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"

As the evening progressed, Eloise and y/n’s paths collided again near the elaborate dessert table adorned with crystal bowls of sugared fruits and delicate pastries. Eloise, emboldened by Lady Danbury’s encouraging nod from across the room, approached y/n with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, nerves tingling beneath her skin.

“Your Highness,” Eloise greeted warmly, her voice betraying a hint of nervousness despite her best efforts to appear composed.

y/n turned towards Eloise with a gracious smile, her eyes alight with genuine interest. “Miss Bridgerton,” y/n replied with a nod of acknowledgment, noting the subtle tension in Eloise’s stance.

Their conversation flowed with the ease of familiarity yet tinged with the underlying currents of unspoken desire and mutual intrigue. They exchanged pleasantries about the music, the decorations, and the latest society gossip, each word carrying a weight of unspoken meaning that hung between them like an invisible thread.

Eloise, ever the conversationalist, couldn’t resist steering the discussion towards a topic that had intrigued her since their first meeting. “Your Highness, I must admit, I found your observations on the latest literary sensation quite captivating,” she remarked, her tone light yet tinged with curiosity.

y/n chuckled softly, appreciating Eloise’s intellect and the genuine interest she showed in their previous conversation. “Ah, but Miss Bridgerton, I fear my views on literature may not always align with conventional wisdom,” y/n replied with a playful glint in her eyes.

Eloise leaned in slightly, her gaze locking with y/n’s in a moment of shared understanding. “Isn’t that the beauty of literature, Your Highness? It allows us to explore different perspectives and challenge our own beliefs,” she countered, her voice laced with a mixture of admiration and genuine curiosity.

Their banter continued late into the night, punctuated by shared laughter and stolen glances that hinted at a connection deeper than mere friendship. For Eloise, y/n represented a kindred spirit—a beacon of hope amidst the rigid expectations of London society. She found herself drawn to y/n’s quiet strength and unwavering authenticity, traits that resonated deeply with Eloise’s own aspirations and struggles.

In those stolen moments between dances, y/n found herself captivated by Eloise’s infectious enthusiasm and fierce determination. She admired Eloise’s courage to challenge societal norms and speak her mind, qualities that set her apart from the polished facades of London’s debutantes.

As the evening drew to a close, Eloise reluctantly bid y/n farewell with a promise to meet again soon. Their parting left y/n with a lingering warmth in her heart—a feeling that defied the constraints of duty and hinted at the possibility of something more.

Romeo, save me, they're tryna tell me how to feel

This love is difficult, but it's real

Don't be afraid, we'll make it out of this mess

It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"

Eloise and y/n found themselves entangled in a web of conflicting emotions and societal expectations. Despite the undeniable chemistry that sparked between them at Lady Danbury's grand ball, both struggled to come to terms with their growing attraction.

In the days that followed the ball, Eloise couldn't shake the memory of y/n's enchanting smile and the way her eyes lit up with intelligence and charm. She found herself stealing glances at y/n across crowded ballrooms, each stolen glance fueling a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Meanwhile, y/n wrestled with her own tumultuous emotions. As Queen Charlotte's daughter, she was keenly aware of the scrutiny her actions faced. The prospect of scandal and disgrace haunted her thoughts, casting a shadow over her budding friendship with Eloise.

Their paths crossed again at another glittering social event, where Violet Bridgerton, ever the matchmaker, introduced Eloise to y/n in hopes of sparking a connection. Eloise's heart raced as she exchanged pleasantries with y/n, their conversation laced with a subtle undercurrent of tension and curiosity.

Later that evening, as they found themselves alone in a quiet corner of the ballroom, y/n couldn't help but voice her uncertainties. "Miss Bridgerton, do you ever feel... conflicted?" she asked tentatively, her voice betraying a hint of vulnerability.

Eloise hesitated, her mind racing with unspoken thoughts. "I... I suppose I do," she admitted softly, her gaze searching y/n's face for any sign of understanding. "This world we live in—it's so... unforgiving."

y/n nodded in silent agreement, her fingers nervously toying with the fabric of her gown. "Sometimes I wonder if... if we're meant to feel this way," she confessed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Eloise reached out, her touch gentle yet reassuring. "I don't have all the answers, Princess," she admitted, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "But I know that when I'm with you, everything feels... different."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Lady Danbury, who swept y/n away to greet other guests. Eloise watched as Lady Danbury whisked y/n away, her heart sinking with each step that carried them farther apart. Alone in the bustling ballroom, she found herself drawn to a quiet alcove, seeking refuge from the swirl of conversations and glittering chandeliers.

Leaning against a draped curtain, Eloise closed her eyes and let out a quiet sigh. Thoughts of y/n consumed her mind, their unfinished conversation lingering like an unspoken promise in the air.

She traced the intricate pattern of her gown absentmindedly, her thoughts drifting back to y/n's earnest question. Do you ever feel... conflicted? And back to her own comment before the conversation ended, when I'm with you, everything feels... different. How would y/n have responded to that? Did she feel the same way, or was Eloise's heart leading her down a path fraught with uncertainty?

The memory of y/n's smile flickered in her mind—the way it lit up the room, reaching out to Eloise like a beacon in the darkness of societal expectations. They had danced around the edges of something profound, something that could alter the course of their lives forever.

Lost in her reverie, Eloise was startled by the sound of approaching footsteps. She turned to find Benedict Bridgerton, his expression a mix of concern and curiosity. "Sister, are you all right?" he asked gently, his voice breaking through her thoughts.

Eloise managed a faint smile, though her heart still raced with unanswered questions. "I'm fine, Benedict," she replied, her voice tinged with a hint of melancholy. "Just... lost in thought."

Benedict studied her for a moment, his gaze searching. "Is it about the Princess?" he ventured cautiously, knowing his sister well enough to sense when something weighed heavily on her mind.

Eloise nodded slowly, unable to suppress a sigh. "Yes," she admitted quietly. "We were... talking. About feelings, I suppose."

Benedict arched an eyebrow, his curiosity piqued. "Feelings?" he echoed, prompting Eloise to elaborate.

"I told her... how I feel when I'm with her," Eloise confessed, her voice barely above a whisper. "But then Lady Danbury interrupted us, and I never got to find out how she feels."

Understanding dawned in Benedict's eyes as he took in Eloise's words. He reached out, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "Eloise, you know what they say about the young Princess," he said gently. "She's smart, perceptive. She'll understand."

Eloise managed a weak smile, grateful for her brother's reassurance. "I hope so," she murmured, her thoughts still lingering on y/n's last words to her.

As the ballroom bustled around them, Benedict offered his arm to Eloise. "Shall we join the others?" he suggested, his tone lightening with an attempt to lift her spirits.

Eloise nodded, drawing a deep breath to steady herself. "Yes, let's," she agreed, linking her arm with Benedict's. Together, they returned to the lively gathering, though Eloise's thoughts remained with y/n—wondering, hoping, and silently yearning for their next conversation.

I got tired of waiting

Wondering' if you were ever comin' around

My faith in you was fading

When I met you on the outskirts of town, and I said

Days passed after the interrupted conversation at Lady Danbury's ball, each one stretching with anticipation and uncertainty for Eloise. She found herself eagerly attending every social event in hopes of catching another glimpse of y/n, her heart skipping a beat whenever their paths crossed across the crowded rooms.

It was at a smaller, more intimate gathering hosted by the Featheringtons that Eloise finally saw y/n again. The evening was alive with music and laughter, the air fragrant with the scent of gardenias and the promise of summer.

Eloise stood near the refreshment table, feigning interest in the punch bowl as she discreetly watched y/n across the room. y/n was engaged in conversation with Dowager Violet Bridgerton, their laughter mingling with the tinkling of crystal glasses.

Summoning her courage, Eloise took a deep breath and approached them. "Excuse me, Mama,  may I steal the Princess away for a moment?" she asked politely, her voice betraying none of the nervousness fluttering in her chest.

Violets eyes flickered mischievously as she glanced knowingly between Eloise and y/n. "Of course, Eloise," she replied with a knowing smile. "Take her—though I warn you, Her Royal Highness has been entertaining us all evening with her wit."

Eloise felt a rush of relief and gratitude towards her mother as y/n turned towards her, her expression lighting up with surprise and delight. "Miss Bridgerton," y/n greeted warmly, setting down her glass to face her fully. "I didn't expect to see you here tonight."

Eloise swallowed nervously, suddenly feeling the weight of her confession at Lady Danbury's ball. But still she continued to escort the Princess through the crowd until they were outside in the garden, under the nights sky, completely alone.

 "I wanted to apologise for our conversation being cut short," she began earnestly, meeting y/n's gaze with sincerity. "I... I meant what I said. About how I feel when I'm with you."

y/n's smile softened, her eyes holding a hint of something that made Eloise's heart skip a beat. "Miss Bridgerton,,," y/n replied softly, her voice barely above a whisper amidst the lively chatter around them. "I've been thinking about that conversation too."

Relief flooded through Eloise as she took a step closer to y/n, their proximity sparking a warmth that spread through her veins. "Really?" she asked, unable to contain the hope in her voice.

y/n nodded, her expression gentle yet filled with a quiet intensity that mirrored Eloise's own feelings. "Yes, really," she confirmed, her hand reaching out to gently touch Eloise's arm. "I didn't get to answer then, but... I feel something too."

Eloise's heart soared at y/n's words, her fears and uncertainties momentarily forgotten in the rush of emotions. "I'm glad," she murmured softly, her gaze locked with y/n's. "I wasn't sure how you'd feel, or... if we could even..."

Before she could finish, y/n leaned in closer, her lips brushing against Eloise's cheek in a tender gesture that sent a shiver down Eloise's spine. "I want to find out," y/n whispered, her breath warm against Eloise's ear. "If we could be something more."

Eloise's breath caught in her throat as she gazed into y/n's eyes, seeing her own hopes reflected back at her. Without hesitation, she reached up to cup y/n's cheek, her thumb caressing the soft skin beneath her touch. "I want that too, Your Highness" Eloise admitted softly, her voice filled with newfound courage and longing.

Y/N smilied, her eyes lighting up. “Please, call me Y/N. Titles are so tiresome, don’t you think?”

Eloise laughed softly. “Very much so. I find this entire season tiresome.”

In that stolen moment amidst the music and the soft glow of candlelight, Eloise and y/n leaned closer together, their lips meeting in a gentle kiss that spoke volumes of unspoken promises and the beginning of a love that dared to defy convention.

As they pulled away, breathless and smiling, Eloise felt a weight lift from her shoulders. Here, in the embrace of y/n's presence, she found not only acceptance but also the beginning of a journey she never dared to imagine—a journey of love, bravery, and the courage to be true to oneself.

They walked together in the garden, the conversation flowing easily. Eloise was captivated by Y/N’s intelligence and wit, and Y/N found Eloise’s rebellious spirit refreshing. As days turned into weeks, their friendship deepened, but so did the confusion. Can this go on forever?

Romeo, save me, I've been feeling so alone

I keep waiting for you, but you never come

Is this in my head? I don't know what to think

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm golden glow over the gardens of Bridgerton House. Eloise and y/n sat side by side on the swings, their feet lightly touching the ground, pushing back and forth in a gentle rhythm. The air was filled with the scent of blooming roses and the distant hum of London’s bustle, now just a distant murmur.

"I never imagined finding such peace in the heart of London," y/n remarked softly, her voice barely above a whisper as she swayed back and forth. Her eyes wandered over the garden, where vibrant blooms danced in the gentle breeze, their colours vivid against the backdrop of the setting sun.

Eloise, her legs stretched out in front of her, kicked lightly against the earth to keep the swing moving. "It's my favourite place to escape," she said, a small smile playing on her lips as she glanced at y/n. "Thank you for visiting me here."

Y/n turned to Eloise, her gaze filled with an unspoken tenderness. "I wouldn't want to be anywhere else," she replied, her voice filled with sincerity. She reached out, her hand finding Eloise’s, their fingers intertwining effortlessly. The simple touch sent a jolt of warmth through them, grounding them in their shared moment.

A comfortable silence settled over them, the only sounds the creak of the swings and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Eloise closed her eyes for a moment, savouring the serenity of the garden and the presence of y/n beside her.

"Do you ever wonder what the future holds for us?" y/n asked softly, her voice filled with curiosity as she turned to Eloise, who was still lost in the quiet of the moment.

Eloise opened her eyes, her gaze drifting towards the horizon where the sun was painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. "I used to worry about it," she admitted, her fingers absently tracing patterns on y/n’s palm. "But now... I like to think that as long as we're together, we can face anything."

Y/n's smile was gentle, her eyes reflecting the twilight’s colours as she leaned her head against Eloise’s shoulder. "I believe that too," she murmured, her voice steady with a quiet confidence. "We'll navigate this world together, Eloise."

In the tranquil embrace of Bridgerton House's garden, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the blossoming love between them, Eloise and y/n found solace in each other’s company. The swings moved back and forth, a gentle testament to their growing bond, anchoring them in a love that defied expectations and embraced the courage to live authentically.

He knelt to the ground and pulled out a ring

And said, "Marry me, Juliet

You'll never have to be alone

One afternoon in the opulent drawing room of the palace, y/n sat with Eloise, their conversation light and filled with quiet laughter. The warmth of the fire crackled in the background, casting flickering shadows on the richly adorned walls. Y/n leaned close to Eloise, sharing a private moment, both girls peppering kisses over each other's faces, enjoying the feeling of being in each other's embraces. 

Unbeknownst to them, Queen Charlotte had returned earlier than expected, her steps muffled by the thick carpet. She paused in the doorway, her sharp eyes catching the intimate exchange between y/n and Eloise. For a moment, she simply observed, her mind racing with the implications.

"Miss Bridgerton!" Queen Charlotte's voice cut through the air, startling both young women. Eloise turned pale, her heart sinking as she realised they had been caught. Y/n sat frozen, her eyes wide with apprehension.

"Mother," y/n stammered, attempting to gather her thoughts. "I can explain—"

Queen Charlotte held up a hand, her expression unreadable. "There is no need for explanations, my dear. It seems the situation has clarified itself." She stepped further into the room, her gaze shifting between y/n and Eloise.

Eloise stood, her nerves taut with uncertainty. "Your Majesty, please understand—"

"I understand more than you might realise," Queen Charlotte interrupted gently, her tone softening slightly. She approached Eloise, studying her with a discerning eye. "Miss Bridgerton, do you care for my daughter?"

Eloise swallowed hard, meeting Queen Charlotte's gaze squarely. "Yes, Your Majesty," she admitted, her voice steady despite her nerves.

"And you, y/n?" Queen Charlotte turned to her daughter, her expression softening. "How do you feel about Miss Bridgerton?"

Eloise hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath. "Mother, I... I care for Eloise deeply. More than I ever thought possible."

Queen Charlotte nodded, her features reflecting a mix of concern and contemplation. "Love comes in many forms," she said finally, her voice carrying wisdom earned through years of navigating societal expectations. "It is clear to me that your feelings are genuine."

Eloise blinked back tears, overwhelmed by her mother's unexpected understanding. Y/n reached out, gently squeezing Eloise's hand in silent support.

“But regardless, you both are participating in acts only those who are married should be. I will not accept a scandal.”

"Mama, what should we do? We can’t imagine life apart!" y/n asked, her voice tinged with hope and apprehension.

Queen Charlotte smiled softly, a glimmer of amusement in her eyes. "Perhaps it is time we consider a different kind of arrangement," she mused, her mind already formulating a plan. "One that will allow you both to live authentically, without the confines of societal scandals, the only right choice in these conditions." She paused (dramatic effect no?)

“Marriage.”

And so, in that serene drawing room of the palace, a new chapter began for y/n and Eloise—a chapter marked by acceptance, love, and the courage to challenge tradition.

I love you and that's all I really know

I talked to your dad, go pick out a white dress

It's a love story, baby, just say, "Yes"

In the warm, inviting drawing room of Bridgerton House, Eloise nervously clasped y/n's hand. The flickering candlelight cast dancing shadows on the walls, adding an air of solemnity to the moment. Around them, the Bridgertons—Anthony, Benedict, Colin, Daphne, and the younger siblings—gathered, curiosity etched on their faces.

Eloise took a deep breath, her heart racing with a mix of excitement and apprehension. "I... We have something to share," she began, her voice steady despite the butterflies in her stomach.

Anthony, ever the observant eldest brother, arched an eyebrow. "Go on, Eloise. What is it?"

Eloise glanced at y/n, drawing strength from their presence. "y/n and I... We've decided to take a step forward together. We're engaged."

There was a collective gasp of surprise from her family. Daphne's eyes widened, her hand instinctively reaching for Benedict's. Benedict leaned back in his chair, a grin spreading across his face. Colin adjusted himself, trying to process the unexpected news.

With the initial shock beginning to subside, the Bridgertons exchanged bewildered glances, each processing the news in their own way.

"Wait, you two are... engaged?" Colin asked, his voice filled with surprise.

Daphne, recovering from her initial shock, spoke gently. "But... how? I mean, are you even allowed to... marry?"

Eloise smiled, a touch of defiance in her eyes. "Yes, Daphne. Queen Charlotte herself has given us her blessing."

Colin, adjusting to the news, nodded thoughtfully. "I see. It's certainly unconventional, but if Her Majesty approves..."

Anthony, ever the pragmatist, chimed in. "Well, then. It seems we are in uncharted territory, but as long as you're both certain..."

Eloise and y/n exchanged a glance, their bond palpable. "We are," y/n affirmed softly.

"Eloise, are you certain about this?" Francesca asked, her voice tinged with concern.

Eloise nodded, her gaze unwavering. "Yes, Francesca. I've never been more certain about anything in my life."

Benedict, always the voice of reason, spoke up next. "Well, this is quite unexpected, but if it's what makes you both happy..."

Hyacinth interjected, unable to contain her excitement. "Eloise, this is incredible news! I didn't think you'd ever settle down."

Anthony, who had been silently observing, finally spoke. "Eloise, Princess Y/N, if this is your decision, then you have my support. Always."

Eloise squeezed y/n's hand tighter, feeling a wave of relief wash over her. "Thank you, Anthony."

As the evening wore on, the atmosphere shifted from confusion to acceptance. The Bridgertons, while initially taken aback, found themselves embracing Eloise and y/n's decision. It was a moment that marked not only a new chapter in Eloise's life but also a testament to the changing times—a time when love was beginning to transcend boundaries and expectations.

Outside, the bustling city of London continued its rhythmic pulse, unaware of the quiet revolution unfolding within the walls of Bridgerton House—a revolution led by two hearts brave enough to defy convention and choose love, in all its unexpected forms.

'Cause we were both young when I first saw you

Eloise stood by the window of their home, gazing out at the bustling streets of London. It had been nearly a year since their marriage, and the city seemed to hum with a different energy. Change was in the air, and she couldn't help but feel a sense of pride in what she and y/n had accomplished together.

The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Beside her, y/n stirred in their sleep, their features softened in the gentle dawn. Eloise smiled fondly, reaching out to brush a lock of hair from y/n's face. They had been through so much together—the secret glances, the stolen kisses, the fear of discovery—and yet, here they were, stronger than ever.

Their marriage had sparked conversations across London society. Some viewed it with curiosity, others with disdain, but Eloise and y/n had found unexpected allies among their peers. Lady Danbury, always a force to be reckoned with, had become a staunch supporter, using her influence to deflect any lingering whispers of scandal.

As Eloise reflected on their journey, she couldn't help but marvel at how far they had come. They had faced challenges and uncertainties, but through it all, their love had remained steadfast. They had created a sanctuary within their home, where they could be themselves without fear of judgement or reprisal.

Outside, the city continued to wake up to a new day. Carriages rumbled past, merchants called out their wares, and London life carried on its bustling rhythm. Eloise turned back to y/n, watching as they stirred awake, their eyes fluttering open to meet hers.

"Good morning," y/n murmured, their voice still laced with sleep.

"Good morning," Eloise replied, leaning in to press a soft kiss to y/n's lips. They shared a quiet moment together, the warmth of their embrace speaking volumes where words fell short.

"I never imagined we'd be here," y/n whispered, their fingers tracing patterns on Eloise's cheek.

"Neither did I," Eloise admitted, her heart swelling with emotion. "But I wouldn't change a thing."

They lay entwined in each other's arms, basking in the simple joy of being together. Outside, the city continued its daily hustle, but in their sanctuary, time seemed to stand still.

In the weeks and months that followed, Eloise and y/n continued to navigate their newfound roles as partners in life and advocates for change. They attended social events hand in hand, their presence a quiet yet powerful statement of love and acceptance. Through their actions, they hoped to pave the way for others who dared to love outside of society's conventions.

Occasionally, they would steal moments alone, away from the prying eyes of society, to remind themselves of the bond they shared. Whether it was a quiet evening at home or a stolen kiss in a secluded corner of a ballroom, every moment together reaffirmed their commitment to each other.

Their love story became a beacon of hope for those who yearned for acceptance and understanding. Slowly but surely, attitudes began to shift. Families whispered their support in drawing rooms, friends offered quiet encouragement over tea, and London society found itself grappling with the idea that love knew no boundaries.

As the years passed, Eloise and y/n's love story continued to unfold, weaving itself into the fabric of London's history. They faced challenges and triumphs together, building a life filled with laughter, companionship, and unwavering devotion.

Eloise often found herself marvelling at the resilience of y/n, their strength and determination a constant source of inspiration. Together, they navigated the complexities of societal expectations and personal desires, forging a path that defied tradition and embraced love in its purest form.

And so, in the quiet moments before dawn, as the city stirred awake outside their window, Eloise held y/n close, knowing that their love had not only changed their lives but had also left an indelible mark on the world around them.

I did not plan the lyrics around an epilogue and ran out HAHA oopsie

a/npt2; AHHH how did you guys feel about this, i tried to mot make it rushed i really wanted to start from the beginging and build their realtionship in a way a oneshot can, ive been considering writing a story once im done with these requests so we can get some better romance building then!!

[missydior]

I've just read 'milk & honey' and it is actually one of my favs rn i'm obsessed with ur style, please write something about the 'orange peel theory' with either charles or oscar when you can !! 🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼

clementine ౨ৎ

notes: charles leclerc x reader, established relationship, fluff.

a/n: i love the orange peel theory, honestly. simple.

the orange peel theory: inherited from the psychological ideology surrounding one's willingness to commit acts of service for a loved one because they care ie. peeling an orange to make it more easily enjoyable.

A slow afternoon in late August – the sweet serenity of virgo season – where the skies are a mosaic of white clouds against the pale heavens, white lilies flourishing in a water glass upon the oak coffee table, a lingering aroma of a strawberry cake baked and left to set a few hours before.

After a morning of almond croissants and cappuccino at the Café de Flore, sunbathing for several hours, talking in the intimacy of lovers and walking around the familiar streets, you and your boyfriend are most content to spend the remaining hours in the peaceful ambience of home.

He is stood by the marble-polished kitchenette counter absently perusing through mail, handsome as ever: soft, brunet hair slightly tousled where he has not trimmed it recently in a manner you love; sun-kissed with the hints of subtle freckles against the bridge of his nose; white, linen shirt half-unbuttoned.

"Hm," Half lost in your own daydreams and musings, distracted from where you had previously been crocheting a gift for your mother from your comfortable seat about the plush sofa, re-watching Breakfast at Tiffany's, you wander quietly into the room.

Initially, your gaze falls to where Charles is stood, some desire to approach and bury yourself in his embrace most alluring, until eyes flicker towards the nearby porcelain bowl where recently-bought clementines sit, thoughts drifting elsewhere about the remembered conversation with your friends the week before.

When you let own settle in your grasp lightly – the Monégasque momentarily showing no sign of acknowledgement minus the ghost of a palm that comes to your lower back whilst his gaze remains on the intricate writing of a letter – there is a near-minute of lulling quietude as you merely gaze at it before sighing in supposed, audible defeat.

"Troubles, bébé?"

His voice is calm, almost a little teasing but genuinely intrigued. The endearment is enough for you to feel a slight warmth in the depth of your stomach like dancing butterflies, his eyes dancing over you momentarily, though you merely offer a gentle, vague shrug of your shoulders to begin with whilst shifting the citrus in your touch between manicured nails, "I kind of want one, but..."

Charles arches a handsome eyebrow in wordless inquiry, the paper held against the light callouses of his palm forgotten when he silently offers an opened hand that – with hitched breath and subtle uncertainty – you place the clementine upon.

He does not seem to question your demeanour or reluctance, merely working on deftly removing the thin rind before the sweet, alluring scent is all the more prominent harmony of its citrus fragrance to its nakedness before he's offering you a single segment with the beginning of a dimpled smirk, "Voila."

Flushing a little and hoping the rosiness of a blush is not perceptible along your neck or the apples of your cheeks, you merely meet his gaze through your lashes as you indulge in the sweetness of it slowly, swallowing.

Through your clothes and within your ribs, you can feel how your heart flutters a touch quicker like a sweet dove trying to flee its gilt cage.

"Thank you." Punctuated by the meeting of mouths in a slow, sensual kiss that begins chastely until he cannot quite convince himself to drawn away, the peeled clementine forgotten to the side on the marble whilst fingertips trace the curve of your waist through soft cashmere.

"Avec plaisir."

You will certainly have to notify your friends about your own experiences surrounding the recently-tried theory and its heartfelt success of a result.

[stonesense]

Do we know enough about how Crow succession and talonship works to believe it would be possible for Viago to take the seat of first talon either through some sort of non-violent coup in the absence of an heir to house Dellamorte or through marrying his kid (rook) off to Lucanis? Asking because I really don't know and would love to write something in that direction...and you seem a crow enthusiast...also love your blog

THEORETICALLY. yes.

we haven’t seen the talons shift directly, but they do shift, with regularity. house arainai was first talon in living memory and then fell slowly downwards to their current point where they’re struggling in and out of eight talon like a drowning man who keeps finding his way to air for just enough breath

the eight talons system, if you’ll allow me the tangent, is a really fascinating choice of fantasy hierarchy because it is such a clear hierarchy. among a bunch of ambitious killers whose prime goal is notoriety. you can only hold each position here if everyone below you is too afraid to do anything about it. what an anxiety trip it must be to decide whether to push someone down just one rung or to try to destroy them entirely; do you want to leave your rival with more opportunity or more motivation? but crow power is also all about theatre, all about perception—you are first or fifth or seventh talon primarily because everyone agrees that you are—so making a failed gambit for a higher talon has got to be incredibly damaging. which is a risky setup. it discourages attempts, but when someone does make an attempt, they will not be fucking around

anyway ignore all that we’re talking about soft takeovers today. okay so house dellamorte has a dying core family, theoretically. we’re making the assumption that no surviving young children from any branch of the family are mentioned because none exist. we have two heirs, neither very acceptable (my apologies to caterina’s delusions), both men in their 30s with (again, assumed) no children, and neither making much progress in that regard. (arguably dependent on player choice when it comes to lucanis, but since he can fall in love with and express his undying devotion to any kind of rook, we can at least say he’s not making that much effort.) within a generation the core family may die out. but that is a LONG TIME to wait. you still have to deal with the current ones, they’re pretty robust

lucanis is the current first talon as of the end of veilguard. can he be convinced to give this up and hand first talon over to someone better suited? i do believe it. mostly because i need to believe, for my mental health, that we can get him out of there. but he also now has a fairly bulky support system full of people who love him and will notice how bad this is going to be and convince him he deserves things like a life he doesn’t hate

as always your main problem is caterina. caterina is not going to allow a takeover, soft or otherwise, while she is still alive. caterina didn’t give up first talon when they murdered her children. there’s probably an emotional plot in here where she can be made to accept what she’s done to her family, far too late, but with time left to save just one by letting him go. on the other hand, i’ve also been experimenting with plots in my mind where she tries to quietly get rid of viago or romanced rook for having too much influence, with the added benefit on hopefully being able to steel & refocus lucanis on defending the house against whoever she frames. or plots where she blames lucanis trying to leave and not being the boy she remembers on his, you know, demonic possession, and attempts to forcibly remove or destroy spite. so. there’s potential ups and downs, here.

i don’t know how helpful rook de riva/lucanis is. most of your problem here is that everything that sets this ending up by giving the de rivas more power, and by giving any rook more power over lucanis, is something that in my mind would crank caterina’s wariness all the way up. house de riva surely has to move up from fifth already after the events of the game and look more like a contender, and i don’t think even caterina’s delusions about lucanis’ suitability for first talon could make her blind to the effect rook can obviously have. i definitely think she would delay on a marriage and have the power to do that

i think it’s worth saying that rook de riva at any point bringing up to lucanis the idea of handing things over to viago would be a hell of a conversation. i know lucanis never remotely suspects rook of any agenda and trusts them completely, and i know i agree with rook here, but you’ve GOT to see how “i love you and having power is bad for you and what you should do is hand it all over to my talon” sounds. i truly could not blame him for a bit of doubt here especially if caterina was around to suggest it

sorry this is a completely messy and disconnected response. i don’t even know if i had a point. you might have to wait for caterina to actually die? is that my point? i can see rook de riva/lucanis being helpful to ease a transition of power to house de riva then. i also think it’s worth pointing out that teia might be the better contender for all this out of the two lovebirds. what quietly makes teia probably the most dangerous talon in the crows, if she ever chose to be, is that everyone likes her. i’m not joking or trying to handwave crow politics, it’s a form of soft power and the result of her cultivated skill that nobody ever suspects teia of anything. even caterina treats her gently, and literally a talon who tried to murder all the others in tevinter nights was delaying murdering her because she was his favourite. if anyone can handle a gentler transition like what we’re talking about, maybe it’s more likely to be teia

[thegeminisage]

VEILGUARD FIC RECLIST

these are mostly (but not all!) lucanis/rookanis centered bc that's what i'm into. i have taken the small liberty of truncating some summaries since this is such a long list (with apologies), and tagging the authors where i can find them on tumblr. if i mistakenly tagged you and it's not your fic, or if i didn't tag you and you'd like to be, please let me know! not everybody has their urls in their ao3 profile so i had to cross my fingers and hope for the best lol. please make sure you read the tags for content and spoiler warnings.

How It Sang in Other Days by @viagothots [M, rook & viago, 26k]

Long before Rook de Riva took the contract on the elven gods, she learned to survive as a compradi of House de Riva. More importantly, she learned to survive Viago.

rec notes: ok, so i'm a little biased bc i helped beta read for this one, but the sheer depth of the characterization here is bananas. rook and viago's relationship is so much more complex than platonic or romantic, love or hate. it's a hard, unflinching look at the dark side of the crows that veilguard skirted around, and its take on the crow characters is both perceptive and honest. my favorite four words in this fic are "not like i was." you'll see what i mean when you get there. mind the warnings, but don't miss it - it's such a ride. and if you love a good torment nexus, i can promise you the rest of this series is just as mind-blowing as this installment. i can't rec this one highly enough.

-

The Killing Kind by @teddywesworl [E, rookanis, 3.8k]

Lucanis was at Zara Renata’s mercy for a year. That sort of thing will leave a man with scars.

rec notes: absolutely my favorite rook/lucanis fic ever. please definitely mind the warnings on this one too, but it paints such a perfect picture of lucanis's character and the issues he might face after the ossuary, the spite voice is SO good, and the slow burn being somehow even slower is actually a fantastic choice. bonus rec for this author's other fics, particularly and any thing that may not misbecome the mighty sender, which has the best inner demons take i've ever seen, the eagle, which is competency porn, and the baseless fabric of this vision, which is actual porn but with fantastic character work.

-

When the Floodwaters Come, I Will Help You Swim by @itsrainingpandas [E, rookanis, 5.5k]

They've been taking the relationship slow, as agreed. But after a freak storm isolates Rook and Lucanis in Treviso, and there's a fireplace and a bed, the desire between them becomes harder to ignore.

rec notes: i absolutely LOVE this entire series to pieces. the author has a MASTERFUL command over tone and mood and is able to shift both effortlessly. this rook is funny and brave while still being ruefully self-aware of and in touch with her own emotions, which adds a refreshing balance to a closed-off character like lucanis, and i'm constantly charmed by her. it was almost impossible to narrow this series down to a single fic to link to, but i chose this one because of how good the sex scene is; the dynamic here between rook and lucanis feels really good and natural. honorable mentions to Your Heart is a Haunted House and The Social Habits of Crows, which both feature illario and nearly got put on this list instead.

-

How You Come Home by @punishandenslavesuckers [M, lucanis & illario, 3.2k]

Lucanis Dellamorte takes his cousin out for a night on the town after Illario returns from a rough contract. He doesn't seem like himself and Lucanis will do literally anything (including bar hop in Treviso) if it will bring Illario back home. Properly. AKA: Being a Crow is a nightmare sometimes and Illario commits the crime of decompressing in a 'frivolous' way. Lucanis has his back though.

rec notes: the way the shape of illario's damage is to clear to us without necessarily being clear to lucanis (whether it's because he can't see it or doesn't want to) is masterful, and when so much of their relationship both in canon and fic involves turmoil it's nice to see them just...love each other, even if it's difficult to show or say. this author is very good with characterization, and i also really enjoy Your Inexorable Company and Unseen Influence in this series, though as always, please be mindful of the warnings.

-

Phantoms by @thewitchofelpis [T, rookanis, 700]

“It’s a nightmare, Spite. Lucanis is having a nightmare.”

rec notes: short and sweet, but i like how deftly it and evenly it covers all three characters' issues. i love the coziness of this author's style, so if you like this one, definitely check out the others.

-

In Spite of You by @blazingquill [E, rookanis, 11.4k]

Lucanis lets himself be vulnerable. It takes a while. OR: Spite watches Lucanis’ slow breakdown over Rook. It lasts months.

rec notes: the pov/pronoun work in this one wrt to possession is extremely twisty and fun and refreshing, and the last line hits SO PERFECTLY. everything here feels so earned.

-

Lucanis's Logbook, 6 by @flowersforthemachines [G, rookanis, 3.3k]

Lucanis’s journal kept throughout the time between Rook’s disappearance at Tearstone Island and the day she’s rescued from the Fade.

rec notes: this feels so well-integrated with canon, and the style perfectly matches the style of lucanis's actual logbooks from the game. having the fic itself use the actual look of the veilguard interface was such a wonderful touch and added immensely to this experience.

-

Other Plans for the Evening by hollyvipe [M, rookanis, 5k]

Inspired by the Nick Thornborrow concept illustrations showing some very intriguing concepts they didn’t go with, like Rook and Lucanis in a lake in Treviso?! In this reimagining of a world where we got the lake scene, our lovers have already done the ‘commit to a relationship cutscene’ but Rook is still a bit unsure where that leaves them. Sure, he made her a dessert and remembered her drink… but are they actually together? And something I think a bit more exciting happens after his ‘I’ve got other plans for the evening’ tease.

rec notes: this one ties a lot of "missing scenes" together in a way that is satisfying, and it also scratches the itch for a more romantic moment here than was in the game. i really enjoy the mood of this one!

-

feed me promises, keep my heart well by @alltears [G, rookanis, 3.9k]

a month after thwarting the gods, rook falls back into the fade. sort of.

rec notes: rook walking through the mansion at night is just creepy enough to be that extra little bit unsettling even though we know what's up, and lucanis and spite's solution to the problem is very clever. i also really enjoyed their dialogue with each other: it's tetchy without being openly hostile, and funny without breaking the more serious mood.

-

Tomorrow We Die by @thecaryatid [E, rookanis, 2.8k]

Rook has a breakdown. The obligatory romance scene rewrite.

rec notes: this fic has the most interest after-affect of the fade prison i've come across. it's really compelling, sad, and also just a little spooky. i really enjoyed the comparison between solas and spite as entities inside rook and lucanis's heads.

-

Volcanic by kaienne_pepper [E, rookanis, 6.1k]

Caldera de Riva, elder sister to the Fifth Talon currently going by "Rook", is no stranger to using unconventional means of distributing poisons. Unfortunately, on this minor of contracts, her mark doesn't mind distributing substances non-consensually either. One glass of wine later and two little Crows find themselves in a very compromising situation. Or: Lucanis and Rook both end up drugged during a contract and work each other through the effects.

rec notes: this is one of the first rookanis fics i ever read, and though i'm not normally a sex pollen girlie, i really enjoyed the vulnerability in this one and how in-character it was.

-

Say The Desires That Are Your Deepest by @purplesauris [E, rookanis, 12.4k]

Lucanis finally allows himself to indulge in a late morning now that the world has ceased trying to fall apart around them.

rec notes: pegging fic of all time (even though there is technically no pegging) and one of my favorites. the way lucanis and rook navigate the New Sex Thing is really good, and the smut itself is both hot and incredibly intimate. it's nice to see lucanis still struggling with spite now and then even after the events of the game are over, it paints a more realistic picture, and i love the way they talk with one another when things are more settled, the spite voice is great.

-

A Mirror to the Void by @wishforhome [E, rookanis, 1.9k]

Lucanis is not inexperienced with sex, but it's been more than a year since anyone has touched him. Since he's touched himself. He's worried about Spite, but Rook is asleep next to him and her presence makes him feel safe enough to try.

rec notes: sexuality is such a fun and complicated thing to navigate when there's a literal demon up inside you, and i thought this was a good portrayal of it.

-

Just Wanna Hold You by whoframedjessicarabbit [E, rookanis, 400]

Lucanis is too stressed to get it up, and is surprised when he receives love and affection.

rec notes: short and sweet, but the tag #hold dick gentle like a hamburger was too compelling not to click on, and it does not disappoint if you're a fan of broken dick fics.

-

Of Kindling Expectation by @nelsynoo [G, rookanis, 2.4k]

The Lighthouse is awake again after centuries of lying dormant. With a new host of inhabitants, the Lighthouse tries to figure out what they need and re-shape itself accordingly. Rook and Lucanis might not realise it yet - but they need each other.

rec notes: i've never read anything quite like this - it's from the lighthouse's pov, which is such an interesting and creative idea. the pov makes me feel as cozy as if i were an inhabitant of the lighthouse itself.

-

thank you for reading the reclist, and hope you enjoy <3

[dragon age masterpost]

[meanbossart]

re: Vellioth as the stepfather its interesting bc stepfathers n media (and irl but limiting myself to tropes here) hav the practical role and obligations we tend to ascribe to fathers ie providing money and protection and being the head of the household, but do not share a blood tie to the child in question. and it is seen as magnanimous for a man to "take on the duty" of providing ofr the children of the woman he's with, rather than duty. This shifts also means that implicitly the stepchild should be grateful for this new patriarch in their life, which is complicated because most often this stepfather occupies a place of control. In cazador's caze i feel like bc there was no father to speak of, his resentment of vellioth as The Stepfather had more to do with intruding and vying for attention from the woman they both love, rather than usurping the OG father. Come to think of it, having no experience with a father figure before vellioth probably made the shift to a patriarch that more jarring. And considering that he positions himself s the Father of his spawns, he probably modelled a lot on Vellioth (or in antithesis of).

ultimately velloith did what stepchildren often fear secretly most: intruding, appropriating, and evnetually the destruction of the family unit as it was

I might not have expressed myself super well in that reply- I was comparing Vellioth to a step father in the same way people loosely compare Cazador to a patriarch/abusive partner. I certainly didn't mean it to be literal - neither in the comic I referenced or in my personal headcanon (which are functionally identical) does Vellioth ever actually inhabit the role of a surrogate dad in Cazador's life. Rather, that is the perception that he's vaguely trying to sell to others to maintain the ruse.

I clear this up because I am (personally) not of the belief that Vellioth and Cazador ever had a relationship outside of the dynamics of master and slave, which might be a little more simple than you were hoping for, based on this ask (unless I'm misreading, in that case ignore me LOL)

But if we're speaking strictly in allegory - yes. Vellioth makes for a specially juicy satire of a step-father who intrudes, disrupts, and yet overvalues themselves for doing the least on the basis of being there by choice rather than obligation (keeping Cazador alive as a spawn when he could have just killed him off) but I don't think any part of him is doing that under the false pretense of charity - he only wants to keep Cazador around to hurt him, because that would hurt his mother.

(Something I also neglected to say is that in De Rerum Natura ((not spelled out in the comic explicitly, but stated so as a headcanon of the very smart and handsome author)) Cazador was never meant to become a vampire. That was a fate his mother very much did not want for him.)

And, perhaps, every vampire lord harbors a little self-destructive desire. If you don't invest a non-negligible amount of time and energy into making ONE particular guy super mad at you, who is ever going to finally put you out of your misery after all!

EITHER WAY this image you sent me is still very good and thank you for sending it LOL (art by @barbatusart)

[nuapriori]

enjoy harry's horny bullshit i wrote today

------

Kim’s hand twitches automatically toward the key in his coat.

But it’s not there.

Because the Coupris Kineema—his sleek, immaculate motor carriage—his baby, is now, as of this morning, in evidence lockdown after The Lighthouse Island operation.

Too traceable. Too risky.

So they wait beside the curb until a familiar sputter rounds the corner -- Jean’s beater lurches to a halt in front of them. One headlight out, paint flaked to hell. The kind of car that survives through sheer spite -- but it's one of a kind.

PERCEPTION(easy success):

This particular model has a steering wheel.

ENCYCLOPEDIA(formidable success):

The Caprice 100. Not Coupris. It’s Mesque design, originally manufactured in the early 80's of the last century by a defunct transport cooperative-- known for its political neutrality and zero marketing. No slogans. No names. Just the number. One hundred. Because that’s how many were ever made.

INTERFACING:

Not anything remotely stylish.This one’s been rebuilt half a dozen times with parts from four different countries. No two dashboards alike. No official records.

ESPRIT DE CORPS:

The only reason it’s even street-legal is because the licensing officer gave up with Jean trying to pin down its origin.

CONCEPTUALIZATION:

A symbol of stubborn utility in a world that romanticizes sleek precision. It growls when it turns, smokes in the cold, and leans like a drunk in the wind.

But it runs. God, does it run.

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT:

VOLITION (godly failure):

I'm weak.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY (libido strong):

Mmm. Kim Kitsuragi behind the wheel of that wheezing relic—one hand low, steering, the other lazily adjusting his sunglasses, jacket rolled up his forearms, elbow crooked just so. A sharp turn, a flash of dark eyes, and suddenly your blood’s in your throat.

YOU: Gulp...

ELECTROCHEMISTRY:

He doesn’t say much when he drives. You know why?

He’s busy feeling. You’d sit shotgun just to feel the jolt of his choices in your spine. You’d let him shift gears with your heart if he asked. Parallel park you. Strip your dignity like a clutch gone hot.

AUTHORITY(medium failure):

I do actually like the sound of that.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY:

Just say it. You want to be that gearshift.

YOU:

I want to be that gearshift.

INLAND EMPIRE:

You could watch him shift gears all day. Even if it means death by exhaust fumes in a dying steel coffin with no suspension.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY:

You’d die with a boner.

YOU:

I'd die with a boner.

And then—Christ—Harry does the face.

The other one; the one where his eyebrows go slack and his mouth opens just a little, like he's just seen God cruising in low gear. He doesn't even notice he's doing it until Kim glances over—just a flick of his eyes—and one brow lifts. Barely. But enough.

He knows.

Harry looks away. Wipes his mouth with the back of his hand like that might erase the expression.

AUTHORITY(epic failure):

Good job. Now mutter something incoherent. Fuck.

COMPOSURE:

Pull it together, you absolute walking sausage.

Jean, blessedly oblivious, leans out the driver’s side window of the Caprice, chewing something that may have once been gum.

“She’s all yours, princesses. Don’t grind third. It bites.”

Harry recovers—barely. Grin sharp, voice steady:

“She’s beautiful, Vicquemare.”

Jean flicks a middle finger in his general direction. “She’s older than both of you put together. Treat her right.”

[osiiiris]

A book per Papa

A while ago I shared my obsession for Papas with reading glasses on (it is still alive and well) and in the comments, I also provided the books they were reading, based on their interests/personalities. So why not making it a post?

Primo: De tribus impostoribus - uncertain authors.

Summary: a long-rumored book denying all three Abrahamic religions: Christianity, Judaism, and Islam, with the "impostors" of the title being Jesus, Moses, and Muhammad. Hearsay concerning such a book surfaces by the 13th century and circulates through the 17th century.

X

Secondo: The 120 Days of Sodom - Marquis de Sade.

Summary: The 120 Days of Sodom by Marquis de Sade relates the story of four wealthy men who enslave 24 mostly teenaged victims and sexually torture them while listening to stories told by old prostitutes. 

X

Terzo: Napoleon’s buttons - Penny Le Couteur, Jay Burreson.

Summary: Showing how a change as small as the position of an atom can lead to enormous differences in the properties of a substance, the authors reveal the astonishing chemical connections among seemingly unrelated events. Napoleon's Buttons offers a novel way to understand how our contemporary world works and how our civilization has been shaped over time.

X

Copia: One, No One and One Hundred Thousand - Luigi Pirandello. (One of my personal favorites)

Summary: Vitangelo Moscarda “loses his reality'' when his wife cavalierly informs him that his nose tilts to the right; suddenly he realizes that “for others I was not what till now, privately, I had imagined myself to be,'' and that, consequently, his identity is evanescent, based purely on the shifting perceptions of those around him.

X

Divider by @plum98

[satanzayoru25341]

New AU: Taskmaster Lives Alive

Inspired by a scene from HISHE's "How Thunderbolts* Should Have Ended" where Taskmaster survives and must complete her mission to shoot U.S. Agent [John Walker], but instead, she impaled the arrow at Valentina Allegra de Fontaine and @tippytaptaps's Floor Lives AU [credited]

So, how Taskmaster [Antonia Dreykov] should have been alive? Well, I'll tell you in my headcanon for the MHCU (Marvel Headcanon Universe).

After being shot by Ghost [Ava Starr], Taskmaster [Antonia Dreykov] instinctively reacts, employing a strategy akin to Nick Fury's deception in Captain America: The Winter Soldier. Though wounded, her body remains in survival mode. As she regains consciousness, she slowly pulls herself upright, feeling the sting of the bullet lodged in her forehead. With calculated precision, she extracts the bullet, revealing that her helmet had absorbed most of the impact, reducing the damage to a deep graze rather than a fatal wound. She takes off her mask, the cracked visor revealing the determined gaze of Antonia Dreykov.

Outside, Yelena Belova, U.S. Agent, Ghost, and Bob Reynolds make their escape from the collapsing structure perched precariously on the cliffside. Taskmaster watches them go, realizing she cannot stay behind without risking capture or death. Ignoring the throbbing pain, she moves swiftly, using her honed instincts to evade debris and navigate the crumbling ruins. She barely manages to leap aboard the fleeing vehicle moments before a deafening explosion engulfs the remains of the building. Now a stowaway, she clings to the moving transport, her presence unnoticed—until Bucky Barnes, ever perceptive, catches sight of her shadowed figure.

Later, in a secluded shed, Taskmaster finds herself entangled in a net secured by Bucky, who had anticipated her persistence. Though restrained, her stance remains firm, her gaze unwavering. As the Thunderbolts observe her, she slowly removes her mask once more, revealing her identity to them. This moment is not merely an unmasking—it is an unveiling of her past, her struggles, and the path that led her here. She shares her story with the team, detailing how she endured the abuse under the control of her father, how she survived against impossible odds, and why she refuses to be a mere pawn in the game of someone else any longer.

In the void, Taskmaster had confronted the deep-seated fears that had haunted her, visions of past and future colliding in a relentless storm. But this time, she did not retreat. As Bob wrestled with his torment, she had stepped forward—analyzing, mirroring, recognizing the fractures in his psyche. With quiet precision, she had guided him through the storm, offering a tether when his mind threatened to unravel. When the void finally loosened its suffocating grip, reality stitched itself back together, settling into place.

Valentina Allegra de Fontaine stood before the assembled team, a smirk playing on her lips as she revealed their new designation. “Meet the Avengers Beta Team—B-Avengerz, if you will. Yelena Belova, Bucky Barnes, Alexei Shostakov, John Walker, Ava Starr, Antonia Dreykov, and Bob.” She let the final name hang in the air with a hint of dry amusement, watching as each of them processed their newfound title.

As the murmurs subsided, a small, unexpected presence became apparent. A guinea pig—tiny, scruffy, and wholly unconcerned with the weight of the moment—ambled toward Taskmaster, nudging against her boot. Without hesitation, Antonia picked up the little creature, her fingers moving gently as she patted its fur.

Yelena’s gaze lingered on the scene, something shifting in her expression. She hadn’t realized it before, but there was something about the way the guinea pig nestled into Taskmaster’s careful grasp that made her pause. The thought struck her then—she should have been the one to adopt it.

As Antonia continued her soft gestures, Yelena found herself murmuring, “Belka.” The name fit—almost too well. It carried weight beyond its syllables, echoing a struggle much profounder than what appeared on the surface.

Now, that same quiet precision rested in the way her fingers brushed against Belka’s fur. Yelena didn’t say much more, but she knew—this wasn’t just a name. It was an anchor. A reminder that sometimes, the tiniest things carry immense weight.

Fourteen months later, within the newly reconstructed Avengers Tower, Antonia stands before a reflective surface, inspecting her newly upgraded Taskmaster suit. Her fingers graze over the reinforced material, lingering on the fresh mask, now fully repaired and improved to withstand future encounters. As she secures it, her gaze drifts toward the screen, where she and the other Thunderbolts catch sight of an approaching spaceship. Its sleek structure and unmistakable design evoke a sense of recognition—the Fantastic Four. Uncertainty flickers across Antonia’s expression, but rather than fear, it is curiosity that takes hold.

[pan-kojiwa]

Note: The mysterious stranger following Nagi is on the move. —1 day left before the fateful encounter.

Additional details || Last part | Next part

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁.𖥔 ݁ ˖-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-.𖥔 ݁ ˖. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

Chapter V

—January 05 2025

Nagi turned his phone off after reading Y/N’s last text and got off bed, stretching his upper body.

Usually, for a game night he preferred the others coming to his place. He had more games and it was more convenient anyway. But tonight was different. He needed to see something for himself— something that’s been bothering him for a little while now.

He grabbed his phone putting it in back pocket and threw on a simple sweatshirt over a plain t-shirt, heading outside— not without saying goodbye to choki. Outside, winter’s cold wind cruelly slipped beneath his clothes biting at his skin.

However it was fine. He was used to it.

He shoved his hand in the pockets of his baggy pants sighing softly.

“- Mh.. I should’ve put on a scarf… Y/N definitely gonna nag me about that.”

Shrugging, unfazed he closed his front door heading toward Y/N place, which wasn’t to far from his.

One step at a time he lazily walked at a relaxed pace towards his destination, the wind softly blowing behind him, pushing his hair forward as the cold air invaded his lungs.

Tap. A barely perceptible noise broke the silence of the street as faint and stealthy footsteps tried to remain hidden in the calm of the night.

He’s been hearing that same sound whenever he was alone, and everywhere he went. On his way to the café to his way back at his apartment— someone was tailing him. He figured that much a while ago, and being sidelined on morning shift for an entire week only confirmed is suspicions. That was something Rin would never do unless the situation was serious or even critical— and Sae aware of it all. After all they couldn’t afford to lose the deal with the Mikage family— or it would lead to… serious repercussions with some very influential people.

A quiet sigh left his lips, his breath making little clouds in the freezing air around him. His cheeks were even slightly flushed from the cold— yet he kept walking, not minding the biting air to much.

Tap. The noise, there was it again. Subtle— almost imperceptible. However this time, the person following him seemed to slowly come out of the shadows while still attempting to be discreet.

This technique wasn’t unfamiliar to him.

It seemed like he had found him.

Tap. Seems to be a male… mid 30 maybe? Average height and around 68 kilos. That’ll do. He thought to himself.

Judging by the footsteps he knew he wouldn’t have any issue overpowering de man.

Nagi kept walking, pretending not to noticed the him, while still wearing the same nonchalant expression. Moreover, turning around now would do nothing but let the guy know he was caught, and that could be a bad thing for Sae if he was on the case. So he just waited.

Tap tap... Tap tap...

Adrenaline slowly started to flow inside his veins, sharpening his senses— his hearing becoming even more acute. The footsteps were clearer and faster as the man no longer tried to stay hidden. He was about to make his move, closing the distance between them.

Focused, Nagi began to calculate the distance between him and the man, aiming for the exact moment he’d need to react and fight back.

Tap tap tap tap!

“- YOOO Nagi, buddy! Fancy seeing you here.”

Shidou appeared in the middle of the road seemingly out nowhere running towards him and nearly crashing into him. Then, he casually threw an arm around Nagi’s neck, a wide grin beaming on his face.

Glancing at Shidou with a look of visible confusion flicking into his eyes, Nagi frowned, until the sudden realization hit him. Oh. He’s probably been here since the beginning.

Turning around he finally noticed that the man behind him was no longer there.

“- The rat took off in that alley the moment he saw me show up.”

Shidou laughed sharply, nodding toward the alleyway nearby as he removed his arm from Nagi’s shoulder.

“- I guess you’re here on Sae’s order?”

“- Yep. Shidou put his hands in his pockets a crooked smile on his face. And I guess you already knew you were being tailed?”

“- Yeah. I was trained for that after all.”

“- Handy.”

Shidou eventually took notice of how lightly Nagi was dressed in this freezing weather, but didn’t comment on it. He always do that anyway.

“- I wasn’t gonna step in since he was just following you as usual, but… He grinned as he dragged out his sentence, clearly amused by the situation. He saw everything that just happened, watching from a distance as usual—well, this time, the usual had changed a bit. Because for the first time, the “rat” tried to make a move. He had a syringe in his hand.”

Nagi lowered his head and huffed, knowing exactly what that meant. And he could already tell that it was going to be a hassle.

“- Father is dead set on getting me back huh?”

Shidou cocked his head to the side, trying to figure out what Nagi meant. When he finally got it, his usual neutral smile switched into a mischievous one.

“- Oh really now? Sounds like the perfect excuse to fuck some shit up then!”

Shidou’s POV

Tag list -> @levihanmyotp @captainshindo @dontmindtheevie @choppedballoondetective

Waffle’s note: I wasn’t supposed to share this much info yet (lmao I only gave one tiny new info tho) but since I’m a bit busy rn and sae’s coming soon I thought I’d tease y’all a little bit >:3

[nacreousor]

rambling a chunk of initial reactions of the new ep. episode 14 spoilers below the cut!

With my Whitaker blinders on - offering his hand to Robby, pulling him to his feet, only to get shoved (he barely touches him. he puts the idea of pressure and Whitaker retreats and it's so beautiful and sad) was put in there just for me. Breaking news, Dr Robby manhandles my dampest blorbo for the umpteenth time. Whitaker being the one to find Dr Robby was perfect (and not just because I'm Whitaker trash). For the one to see him at his lowest (besides David..the double-sided whump in THAT scene O my heart..) to be a new student that has just met him was likely Robby's best possible outcome for being found. I think if Dana or Abbot or Langdon went in there first it would have been too many flavours in the breakdown soup. Robby not speaking with David at all was deliciously miserable. Cruel hat on - dwelling on the possibility that Langdon comforted David while praising Robby within ear/eyeshot on purpose to get back in his good graces. The reaction after of Robby grabbing/steering Whitaker again in the hallways just to be like please tell me you didn't mention that to anyone, hell ya. The counter reaction of ohgodnowhatnever - helll ya. Dr Robby told everyone to bury their emotions (because it's clearly working so well for him) and Whitaker said bet. Whitaker was also fully attempting to just sneak around that whole encounter. Love an emotionally intelligent individual who avoids emotional confrontations at all cost. Robby not being religious but being low enough to pray/recite is such a good gut punch. Rock bottom, baby, calling out to the idea that any god might save him. That's the good stuff. Whitaker being from a very religious small town in a very religious state, reciting scripture, then clarifying that he studied Theology is very interesting. He recognizes Robby reciting a Jewish prayer, offers a recited different religion back to him, and then doesn't tie it with church or personal affiliation, but his education - that is an angle I'm going to have to get my fingers into. Santos de-icing as the shift goes on, checking in on Whitaker after going to the morgue room. Did she pick up on a subtle shift of him being uncomfortable after the Robby exchange or was she checking in just because? She put the Langdon pieces together in a snap on her first day, how perceptive to other people's emotions is she? Considering what she's dropped of her childhood, it's likely that she's learned how to absorb and predict the emotions and micro-tells of everyone around her. I'm down so bad for her. Gloria having a little breakdown of her own by being upset over the lack of order and the repercussions she will have to deal with was a nice touch. Robby's snapback was warranted too, but the helplessness of an exec in the face of a mass casualty event in the literal ER is another angle of everyone being so shaken while clinging to their professions.

Dr. Ellis having a kind little moment with Santos and then tone-switching to too damn bad, answer the question 👀 OH? Someone getting Santos to visible soften and then flicking the whip a little bit? I'm fully on board with this dynamic.

Dr Mohan being stuck in that back and forth do it, don't do it, argument while emergency heart surgery is actively happening was my Victoria/Utah embarrassing moment. Why did they have to stick her in the middle of that. Baby girl you did not deserve that. I'm not getting into the measles bit now mama I'm TIRED other than I love vaccines and modern medicine, and Dr Robby could have done a lot more yelling there. Can we get a pulse check on Mel. We've seen her burning out and becoming less expressive but this was a different kind of beatdown. Robby coming in to say 'it's okay and good to be emotional' was a brilliant little missing the point. I don't think Mel has any issues with expressing her emotions, I think she's drowning under the endless onslaught of them that's happened throughout the day. She didn't need an 'it's okay to cry' from someone else having a breakdown, she needs a 'here's how to handle it' and so does he. I didn't think David was the shooter, but I was a bit worried they were going to explain what his list of girls' names was in a way that would excuse his behaviour entirely and downplay the warning signs he was emitting. I appreciated how things with him and his mother and the hostility with Dr McKay is still on a very miserable note. Speaking of McKay - AAA. We knew something along these lines was coming but the degrading aspect of being cuffed in front of her coworkers after working her ass off for so long is evil. If she doesn't get to sleep in her own bed tonight we're all going to riot. I need to see the village rise up and eat the cops in next week's opening scene.

Also BRAD DOURIF !!!! 🎉 🎉 We were so well fed this week.

[lyril]

can you give me the rundown on only human i tried to read it i swear i did but the way it was written was so pretentious i couldnt

LMAOOO that's so fair, it also doesn't really state the thesis at the beginning either... i had to go into knowing what the context of the conclusion even was. and i'm a slow reader cus i like to absorb things as best i can so it literally took me like all evening to get through... off the top of my head though:

as the intro states, the common perception is of three seperate entities (you, as the player, frisk, as the human, and chara, as the narrator/a ghost, or otherwise present in some way) making up the protagonist role in undertale. in the only human theory, the reading is that you "are" chara, who is also "frisk", as a cartoonishly reanimated body as well as a new identity by the end of the game. instead of 3, it is 1 mix of entityslop, and thus "the only human".

and the document is there to go over all the important evidence for and contrary to the other interpretations, of course. its not perfect, in the sense that you essentially have to take on a brand New set of suspension of disbelief (like, the biggest hurdle i think is having to re-put on the cartoon world lens and remember how ridiculous everything else is) in place of the usual (but fairly critiqued) understanding.

i think one of the most important things it does, regardless of theory, is re-ground one's perception of what the game actually tells us without a lot of stuff that is either 1. assumed but is made up by the fandom, or is 2. leaning too heavily into subtext in favor of literal text to the point of overriding what are supposed to be moments of clarity. i know i've been on a "wait a second, this is... widely accepted fanon/speculation!" streak myself, and so the big thing it sets out to do is reset that to some degree, and then re-establish it in this lens. so, despite the "tone", i do really appreciate that, honestly

but, this is especially important to chara, who IS supposed to represent the amalgamation of "you" experiencing the game, while still playing with metanarrative, and that's very explicitly what the game tells us but is also very overlooked/ignored either in favor of truly seperating these entities or using them as a scapegoat. (one thing i never thought about is how chara only "showing" themselves at the end of no mercy despite always being present in some form is a literal manifestation of how "LOVE" is said to "distance you from yourself" and truly seperates us again)

i haven't replayed undertale in a couple years, so i'm sure when i do i'll have more questions about it too, and i'd especially like to zoom out to see the greater effect it has on our perception of undertale's narrative, since it also doesn't get into all the implications it would have AFTER we establish this (great time to think about "de-termination" for example...)

and also i'm saying this as someone who FAR prefers the idea of regular-style narrachara as a personal interpretation, where this is so perspective shifting that i... actually kind of hate what it would mean for the K/F/C trio? but, i can't deny how interesting it is to think about Because of that — it's almost just kind of fun to see it in a new light, even if i don't think if it's the One True Reading or anything. and, of course, there's a lot of merit to the actual evidence/debunks and all. ultimately, i do feel mixed on it and i'm not sure how i want to look at everything. but the fact that the reading has literally been around since the game came out but never truly picked up traction... haunting.

[amoaliquis]

Drum roll please... the people have spoken!

Allow me to present my de Riva Day fic: [written for @rookappreciationweek]

With Cameos from Davrin, Taash, Solas, Assan, Manfred and Emmrich!

Senka had... fun? Maybe? If you squint a bit. Still, I know Spite did.

Summary : In which "Rook", aka Senka de Riva, and Davrin have tea, reality shifts subtly, and Senka de Riva has her perception permanently altered. The cherry on top? Spite lays his claim on what he sees as his via the idea of "I licked it; it's mine." Shit gets a little weird.

Link : https://archiveofourown.org/works/66271084

Song on Repeat while writing: [Not metal. /grin @galacticsparkles]

Skycabin - "Daydream"

[Hastily edited today thus all errors are mine.]

[lieutenant-hdb]

HARRY DU BOIS - Harry closed the door behind himself as he walked into his apartment. He had just gone out to eat after his shift finally ended. He had wanted to visit Jean at the hospital again but..visiting hours were over by the time he got off. He was frustrated. Beyond frustrated that Hardy wouldn't let him onto the case.

VOLITION - You just need to relax. Watch a movie...read a book.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Do a line.

VOLITION - Do not do a line.

SOFT COUCH - Your back is gently cradled by the cushions of this couch that you have loved for years, since before you lost your memory.

HARRY DU BOIS - He let out a soft sigh, leaning his head back.

ENDURANCE - Hold on...

HARRY DU BOIS - What? What's wrong.

PERCEPTION - You're suddenly aware of a galloping feeling in your chest. Your heart beats out a staccato rhythm.

ENDURANCE - It's a familiar feeling. Your chest is tight.

ENCYCLOPEDIA - A heart attack occurs when an artery that sends blood and oxygen to the heart is blocked.

HALF-LIGHT - Oh no oh fuck no...not again. NOT AGAIN! PLEASE!

VOLITION - Breathe, please breathe.

PAIN THRESHOLD - But you can't. A sharp pain jabs through your chest. Your hand instinctivly grips at your chest, as if you could reach inside and soothe the muscle.

ENDURANCE [GODLY] - Get to the phone.

[ENDURANCE : 7]

[EVEN]

[47%]

.

.

.

SUCCESS

ENDURANCE - You manage to drag yourself off of the couch, breathing heavily as you stumble towards the table that has your phone on it.

INLAND EMPIRE - Your fingers shake as you dial a number. A familiar number.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - Your half brother...

VOLITION - KIM

@kim-kitsuragi-41st