#there's another bit in there that describes

[yanderedrabbles]

Yandere Yakuza - Valentine's Special

Romance is in the air and a certain yakuza is keen to teach you all about Valentine's traditions in Japan. Word Count: 4.2k Male Yandere x Fem Reader Mini Sequel to Yandere! Yakuza

As a hostess, you've been looking forward to Valentine's Day. Guests are notorious for spending big and tipping even bigger when romance is in the air.

One problem though. Your yakuza boyfriend does not approve.

"You don't have to work on Valentine's. My Family owns the club. I should get a say."

You ignore his complaining and the arms wrapped around your waist. You're focused on your makeup and no handsome, dangerous yakuza is going to distract you.

He changes tactics. "Onegaiya de? [Please?] Pretty please?"

You sigh and reach up to run your fingers through his hair. "Of course I want to stay home with you. But I need money. If you've forgotten, my brother still owes you. And besides, the house mother told me to come in today."

He frowns. "Naze? [Why?]"

"I'm very good at my job, that's why."

You manage to finish both your lashes and your lipstick before he speaks up again.

"Kurabu ni issho ni ikimasu. [I'm coming with you to the club.]"

You aren't surprised. It seems like he spends all his free time as your customer. As though being in a relationship isn't enough. As though he wants to have you both during and after work.

You turn and plant a kiss on his cheek. You leave behind a lipstick mark that he's in no hurry to wipe off. "If you want to spend all your money on me, I'm definitely not going to complain."

He grins in that lazy way of his and loops his arms fully around your waist. "Anata wa watashi no kanojodesu [you're my girl]. Who else would I spend my cash on?"

He drives you to work with one hand on your thigh. It gives you butterflies - the warmth of his skin bleeding through the fabric of your dress, the way he sometimes squeezes the meat of your leg like he subconsciously wants to remind himself that you're still there.

When he opens the car door for you, he brushes his lips past your ear. "Got a real nice surprise for you later."

You stop and pretend to fix your heels so you can look up at him through your lashes. "Is it the same surprise as last time? Because I loved that one."

Big, scary guy that he is, you think you can still see him swallow and freeze when you look up at him like that. He takes you hand and steadies you but the eyes that trace over your body are hooded, unreadable. "Not what I had in mind this time, no."

He inhales sharply when you step past him and 'accidentally' brush your hand over his belt.

"Too bad," you say, "I love that thing you do with your tongue."

It takes him a second to catch up with you. When he does, he wraps his arm around your waist and hisses in your ear.

"Anta, ijiwaruya na. [You unbearable tease]."

You can't help but smile. Personally, you'd describe yourself as an unbearable, romantic tease. It being Valentine's and all.

You're honestly looking forward to spending your shift with him. Even though he's started calling himself your kareshi, he still doesn't talk about himself much. You're not offended by it. There are a thousand little ways you've pieced together his past. The way he likes his sake hot and the way he turns his nose up at high end sushi, the way he holds his cigarette when he smokes and the way he can flick a match on his thumb. It all tells you a bit more than he'd probably like you to know. And each date you go on, each shift that he spends entirely focused on you, is just another opportunity for you to untangle the mystery that is your yakuza.

Unfortunately, the boss has other plans. You don't even get a chance to sit down before one of the other enforcers pulls him aside. He frowns at whatever the man is saying and then quickly presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Gomen ya de, daisukinahito. Shigotoya nen. [Sorry love. Gotta work]."

He's out the door before you can even object. The house mother narrows in on your table and less than a minute later she has a client seated across from you. She's built a habit of trying to cram as many customers into your schedule as possible when your boyfriend isn't around to steal you away. You can almost admire her dedication.

The first client of the night is a salaryman already happily flushed with drink. He tips you well, buys you several rounds of expensive drinks and gives you a drunken kiss on the cheek before he leaves. A very typical Valentine's date.

You get through a few more without any issues. Mostly businessmen not willingly to go home to an empty apartment. Your wallet gets noticeably fatter after each one. It's long past midnight when things finally go sour.

You're touching up your lipstick when the yakuza walk through the door. You can tell what they are at first glance. And worse, you know these aren't the usual guys.

You expect trouble. You aren't sure when you developed an instinct for yakuza business, but you know that the newcomers most definitely aren't part of the Family.

You try and watch them as subtly as you can. One of the regular enforcers goes up to meet them and - surprisingly - leads them to the back of the club.

The group passes right next to you. You keep your eyes on your compact and lipstick like you've never seen anything quite so interesting as YSL Loveshine. At the last second you look up, and straight into the eyes of a bleached blonde gangster with a mean smile. He must have been looking at you already, because he shoots you a playboy wink.

On instinct, you bow your head. Even if they weren't your Family, it wasn't a good idea to be caught lacking in respect.

When they're finally gone, you sigh in relief. Talk about scary. Those guys looked like their favourite pastime was baseball; the faces and knee cap variety.

You're about to get up and take your break when something makes you look over your shoulder. The blonde yakuza is leaning against the wall just outside the staff-only door. And looking straight at you.

Oh, please not today. You already have one yakuza in your bed and almost constantly blowing up you phone. You want absolutely nothing to do with Mr Tall, Blonde and Evil.

No such luck. He says something to the enforcer next to him and beelines towards you. Eyes locked on yours.

He slides in next to you - not across where a client would normally sit. You shift over to make room for him and wonder if there's something in the water that makes you particularly noticeable to men with a nicotine and tattoo addiction.

"Omae, jitto mi teruyan ka. Na n ya, kiniitta n kai, kawaī ko. [I noticed you staring. Like what you see, pretty girl?]"

His voice is raspier than your boyfriend's. And meaner too.

You can just...pretend to not speak Japanese. But one look at the blond's sharp, lazy smile tells you he'll know you for a liar the second you open your mouth.

"Omaeni mo onaji ko to kiitē wa, ikemen-san. [I could ask you the same thing, pretty boy.]"

He laughs, "She's got an attitude! Not scared of a big, scary yakuza?"

"Are you supposed to be telling me that about yourself?" You lean your chin on your palm and tilt your head. "What if I'm a cop?"

"Then you can put me in handcuffs right now." He let's his eyes roam down your body. "I'll happily do whatever you want, officer."

Okay. Pervert yakuza number two added to your collection. Could you get out of this somehow? A client is a client but you don't want to be next to him any longer than necessary.

"Don't you want a girl who can speak Japanese? I'm still not very good."

"What I want? We won't really be talking if we do what I want."

He pulls out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket and lights one with an easy flick of his lighter. He inhales deeply and let's the smoke out of his nose, like a dragon.

"You got a boyfriend?"

That really does seem to be the first question these guys ask you. What happened to 'how are you?' and 'here's a fat stack of cash, do you want it?'

"Yes." You shrug, like this is just a casual conversation with another client and not a rival with a gun under his suit jacket. "He's part of the Family."

"Wakatta wa. [I see]." He offers you a pull of his cigarette. You almost decline, but you look into his eyes - a dark hazel - and realise what a bad idea that would be.

He holds your gaze as he presses the cigarette against your lips. You pull on it as lightly as you can, the tip flaring a bright orange.

It burns your throat and you turn away from him to cough out the smoke. God, that stuff is awful. Why the hell is your man always lighting one if this is what they taste like?

When you turn back to him, the yakuza is studying the cigarette. Your lipstick left a stain on the filter. Slowly, he brings it to his lips and covers the place where your own lips were. He pulls in deeply and tilts his head back, eyes closed.

"Sweeter than normal," he breathes.

Nope. Nope. Nope. It's flattering really, but you aren't an idiot. You don't want your boyfriend's rival sitting so close to you, you don't want him looking at you with eyes like liquid honey and you most definitely don't want him calling you sweet.

If you could telepathically summon your boyfriend, you would. Unfortunately, he's busy with whatever it is they took him off to do, and you're stuck making conversation with a man who's arm keeps inching tighter and tighter around your shoulders.

You try to stand up and excuse yourself, but he wraps a palm around your thigh and pulls you back down without even trying.

"I need to pee," you tell him. He grins, cigarette casting his features in shadow.

"Perfect. I'm really thirsty."

Alright then. Ultimate host club perv discovered. It's almost a relief. You were worried your boyfriend would continue to hold that unenviable title.

You're about to say something - probably along the lines of it would go down even better with a vodka chaser - when your boyfriend finally arrives. You can tell it's him by the way he let's the door almost slam shut behind him. (You've tried working on that but every time you bring it up, he just says that you're so cute when you're bossy and won't you please take that tone with him later tonight?)

The blonde must have followed your line of sight, because his grip gets just a little tighter on you. "That your boyfriend?"

He's already heading toward your table and his frown spells trouble.

"Yep." You wonder if the blonde would listen to you if you tried to warn him away. You doubt it.

Your yakuza's hair is messy and his sleeves are still rolled to his elbows. He must have come straight from whatever job he got called away for.

He stops right in front of you, his arms crossed.

"Times up," he says simply. "Her shift is over."

The blonde takes another pull from his cigarette. "This your girl?"

Your boyfriend tenses, "Un. Kanojo wa watashi no monodesu. [Yeah. She's mine]."

You can almost feel the room getting colder. Your boyfriend flicks his eyes at the other yakuza standing at the back of the club.

"What are you doing here?"

"Boss had business with your side of things. Said I could throw back. Sample the goods." Blondie runs his palm up your thigh. "I'd have risked coming over ages ago, if I knew you had such cute pieces."

Your boyfriend narrows his eyes. "Times. Up. She's got another date waiting."

The blonde yakuza makes a show of looking at his wristwatch. "Looks like I've still got five more minutes."

"Your watch is late." Every word is bitten off and curt. You've seen him serious before, but never like this. Is this what he's like when he's working?

It's easy to forget his job when he's sprawled in your bed with his head on your chest, muttering about letting him sleep for five more minutes. It's easy to forget that he's a gangster who breaks faces for a living. That he's dangerous.

After tonight, you don't think you'll ever forget that fact. It's terrifying to be across from him, even if his glare isn't directed at you.

The moment stretches - taut, awfully tense. Finally, the blonde breaks.

"Tch. I've got shit to do anyway."

He stands up - and just when you're about to sigh in relief - kisses you right on the mouth. You jerk backwards, more surprised than anything else.

He straightens and runs his fingers over his lips. "Even sweeter than I thought."

You scramble out of the booth and grab your boyfriend's arm before he can do anything stupid. The muscles under your palms are already coiled tight and you're terrified to see what might happen if that strength is unleashed.

You bow in a quick, half hearted way. "O jikan o itadaki arigatōgozaimasu. [Thank you for your time]."

And then you're dragging your man out of the club before he can muster any objections.

It's only when the cold February wind is kissing your cheeks that you dare to look over at him. He's looking back at the club, eyes narrowed.

"How long?" he asks quietly.

"Barely even ten minutes," you half lie. "Really. He didn't do anything until you showed up, I promise."

You tug at his hand. "It's late. Let's go home, please?"

He finally looks at you, eyes flat and face blank. That scares you even worse than if he was frothing at the mouth and swearing.

"Alright," he says mechanically, "Let's go home."

Usually you take the train to work or he drives you. So when he starts walking, you don't immediately realise the streets are all wrong. His car is nowhere to be seen.

Even though Spring isn't that far off, this late at night the city is still icy. You wrap your arms around yourself and it doesn't take him long to notice.

"Koko. Kore o kite kudasai. [Here. Wear this]." He pulls off his suit jacket and drapes it across your shoulders. It smells like him - cologne and cigarettes. You aren't sure when, but at some point that scent became the one you associated with safety, with home.

It's quiet. You can't exactly ask him what work he did while he was gone and you most definitely aren't going to mention the club again.

He's the one who finally breaks the silence. "Purezento o moraimashita. [I got you a present]."

He did mention that earlier.

"Can I guess what it is?"

That earns you a half smile."Mochiron. [Sure]."

"Chocolate."

"No. Not this time."

"Hmm... Flowers?"

"They make you sneeze."

True. But what else would he have bought you for Valentine's?

"A puppy?"

He doesn't immediately reply. Eventually, "I really didn't think about that one. Do you...want a puppy?"

You first instinct is to say yes. Who wouldn't want a puppy? Despite having him, your brother, and your friends from the club, Japan is still a lonely place for you. A puppy would remind you of home.

But it would also make Japan your new home. In a way you aren't sure you want. In your mind, it still feels like you'll leave soon, be gone next week or next month, when this debt issue is settled. Even your boyfriend feels temporary. This isn't your country.

"No," you say eventually, "Not yet."

He must be thinking along the same lines as you because at your reply, his smile thins and he looks away from you.

"Nande ya, ano ko ni inu demo kattaro ka. Muriyari ore to ora setaru wa. [Shoulda got her a damn puppy. Force her to stay with me]."

You don't understand Japanese well enough to understand him when he changes his dialect. He manages a smile.

"Not a puppy either. Do you give up?"

You hate losing. You pull his jacket tighter around yourself. "...Yeah I give up."

He slows to a stop."Mewotojite. [Close your eyes]."

He takes your hand in his and lays something in your palm. You open your eyes to see a diamond necklace on a bed on midnight blue velvet. And it's definitely diamond - even in the neon soaked streets of the Red Light District, it sparkles. You gasp.

You're almost scared to touch it. It looks beyond expensive. Like something you pass in a store window and tell yourself maybe someday.

"You like it?"

You look up at him, eyes wide. "It's incredible. I've never... I've never owned something this beautiful."

He looks beyond smug. He plucks it out of the box and in one smooth move has it around your throat. His fingers brush the nape of your neck as he fastens the clip.

If you were on you own, you'd never dare to wear it out on the street. But only a colossal idiot would try and grab it off your neck when there was an armed yakuza right next to you. You shouldn't feel safer in the company of a criminal, but you do. God help you, you do.

He presses a kiss against your temple."Watashi no gārufurendo ni totte saikō no mono dake.[Only the best for my girl]."

It scares you a little - how much he's willing to spend on you. How are you supposed to repay a gift like this?

"Ie ni kaerimashou.[Let's go home]," he coos in your ear.

You laugh and loop your arm through his. "Want me to show you exactly how much I love my gift?"

"Yes." His voice is low and almost strained. "God yes."

It's only when you're halfway down the street that you remember you have something for him too.

"Oh! I almost forgot!" you spin away from him and dig through your handbag. "Ta-da! A hostess at work was telling me that it's usually the girls who give gifts on Valentine's."

You hand over the chocolate you bought him. It's a thick slab with Turkish delight in the centre. You've stuck a plethora of pink and red hearts to the box, each one with a sappy little quote in the centre.

You feel a little silly giving a gift like this to a yakuza of all people. But you also want to do something for your boyfriend, even if it is sickeningly romantic.

You picked up on him liking Turkish delight when your brother bought you a box, and it was mysteriously empty when you got home that day. Your yakuza claimed he didn't touch it, but he tasted suspiciously like rose candy when you kissed him.

He takes it from you carefully. "For me?"

You stand on your toes and loop your arms around his neck.

"Will you be my Valentine?"

He's quiet for a moment or two, looking at you like he just can't understand you. Finally, he pulls you into him and buries his face in your neck. He takes a deep breath, but when he speaks his voice is just a bit unsteady.

"Of course I'll be yours. Ore wa zutto omae no mon'ya de. [I'll always be yours.]"

A man with a rap sheet as long as a CVS receipt, and somehow he's yours.

You pull him closer against you. "Thank you. For taking care of me. For helping me out when you had no reason to."

He hums quietly against your neck. "Nan demo surude, honma ni nan demo. [I'll do anything for you. Anything]."

He pulls away and something in his face tells you he's just had an idea. He peels the hearts off the box and carefully folds them into his pocket. He breaks off a piece of chocolate and holds it up to your mouth.

You're immediately suspicious of the smirk on his face, but you oblige and let him prop the chocolate between your lips. He leaves a piece sticking out of your mouth and before you can bite it off, he leans forward and does it for you. His hand slips around the nape of your neck to keep you still.

His lips barely brush yours.

He pulls away looking extremely satisfied. You've kissed him so many times already but your heart doesn't care. You can hear your blood rushing through your ears.

"Sweet," he runs his thumb across your bottom lip and then presses it against his tongue. "Just how I like it."

Damn him for a devil and a half. It's so totally unfair how giddy and nervous he makes you feel.

He nods at the building behind you. "Good thing we're already home."

"Home?" Is this his apartment? He never brings you to his apartment.

He leads you to the elevator and to your surprise has to use a key card to access the highest floor. The buildings in this part of town are cramped for space but when the elevator dings open, it does so in a broad corridor lined with heavy doors. He must be earning much more than you realised, to have a place like this.

He pauses on the threshold.

"Gotta carry you in. It's tradition."

"Only if we're newlyweds."

"Not true," He blatantly lies, hands drifting down your back. "Brings you luck for the rest of the year."

Before you can object, he sweeps his arm under your knees and scoops you up bridal style.

"Risuku wa toritakunai de. Un wa zenbu hoshī wa. [Not taking any chances. I want all the luck I can get]."

You don't get to see much of his loft-style apartment before he drops you on his bed. One knee already pressing into the mattress next to your waist.

He drops his head down to kiss the column of your throat.

"You'll be wearing nothing except your necklace when I'm done with you," he promises, voice already dropping to a slurred, needy growl.

Oh my. That's a new one. And you always took him for the lacy lingerie type.

You tug at his shirt but with one twist of his hand, he catches both your wrists. "No. You first."

"Impatient aren't we?"

His hands are already skimming down your back and unzipping your dress.

"Oh you have no idea how patient I'm being."

His lips dip past your collarbones and then lower still. You arch against his chest, breathless.

At the last second he pulls away. You practically whine.

"Move in with me."

You blink. "What?" Is he really asking you this while you're in your bra and panties? And when there are much better things to do with his mouth?

"You heard me. Maiban beddoni ite hoshī. [I want you in my bed everynight]."

You frown. Wouldn't it be dangerous? More dangerous than working in a yakuza club and sharing his bed already was?

His grip on you tightens. He isn't smiling anymore. "You're my girl. You should stay with me. Not your brother. And sure as hell not on your own."

"I-"

He slides down your body until his head is between your thighs. "Good. I'll get someone to move your things tomorrow."

"Wait, I didn't say -" He does something with his tongue that makes you gasp and arch your back.

"No more objections?" he mocks. You're too breathless to answer.

"Ēyan. Kikitakatta kotoya wa. [Good. Just what I want to hear]."

He's awake long before sunrise. You're still curled under his sheets, lovebites littered across your neck.

He didn't give you a chance to notice them last night, but there's a bouquet of roses waiting for you on the nightstand.

He leans in the balcony door, cigarette smoke curling between his teeth. Just watching you.

His girl. His to touch. His to have. His to hold and keep.

Do you have any idea how lucky you are that it was him you ran into that night? If it was anyone else sent to collect your brother's debt, they'd have just left you to drown under the mountain of interest. Let it get so bad that you couldn't possibly pay your way out and then offer you a job at a soapland. Hell, that was his plan too when he first laid eyes on you. Pretty thing like you would have made a fortune as a yūjo.

But then you went and made him fall for you. It's selfish of him to want you. He knows it's dangerous to have you on his arm. That blonde bastard from last night was proof enough. He knows, and still...

You can't expect a criminal to be selfless. You can't show him something precious and expect him to let it go.

"My girl." He exhales a cloud of smoke and leans his head back. "Gonna make you my wife someday. You just don't know it yet."

[marmota-b]

@sauntervaguelydown

Also speaking of peasants and laced bodices and stays, stays as outerwear absolutely were a thing in the 18th century and onwards. That absolutely is where folk costumes and 19th century Romanticism get it from. The latter did often do a game of telephone, but the starting point isn't necessarily always what you described.

Links! The first of these images can't be downloaded and also I very much prefer to give credit where due.

Some early 18th century laundresses in Western Bohemia:

Now, this might be argued to be the result of them working in the laundry, but as it happens, I have a book compiling images of Moravian and Silesian folk costumes pre-1850 and it contains examples of much the same configuration of early 18th century stays with a stomacher, in the street.

Here's another example of stays as outerwear from late 18th century London:

And, to round it out, again from Bohemia, this time 1840s, the sort of folk costume bodice that's basically blinged up late 18th century stays - and in this case it still seems to be configured for spiral lacing. And I've definitely seen grommets make an appearance around this time. On far less fancy garments than this.

This would have definitely been a well-off village woman's bodice. Trouble is, "peasant" does not necessarily mean "poor". Technically it probably should. But the way it's used it often just means "rural". And not all rural people who were not wearing the height of contemporary fashions were doing so because they were poor and could not afford good materials. So while the Romantic vision often doesn't get it right, there's a bit more to the story of the laced peasant bodice than even conventional Anglophone costume history says. Please don't dismiss so completely out of hand the possibility that a painting might in fact depict reality if it's not from Britain and you know nothing about that region's regional costumes. Since you very helpfully did not credit any of your pictures, I can't really say what's going on there. 🫤

Basically it's the big off-shoulder chemise / shirt that gets it pretty much 100% wrong, whether in genre paintings or Ren Faire. The rest is more up for debate on what exactly it might be, and depends on a lot of factors. Renaissance it usually ain't, even less so medieval. But it might actually be "peasant".

it's funny although a little exasperating how artists designing "princess" or medieval-esque gowns really do not understand how those types of clothes are constructed. We're all so used to modern day garments that are like... all sewn together in one layer of cloth, nobody seems to realize all of the bits and pieces were actually attached in layers.

So like look at this mid-1400's fit:

to get the effect of that orange gown, you've got

chemise next to the skin like a slip (not visible here) (sometimes you let a bit of this show at the neckline) (the point is not to sweat into your nice clothes and ruin them)

kirtle, or undergown. (your basic dress, acceptable to be seen by other people) this is the puffing bits visible at the elbow, cleavage, and slashed sleeve. It's a whole ass dress in there. Square neckline usually. In the left picture it's probably the mustard yellow layer on the standing figure.

coat, or gown. This is the orange diamond pattern part. It's also the bit of darker color visible in the V of the neckline.

surcoat, or sleeveless overgown. THIS is the yellow tapestry print. In the left picture it's the long printed blue dress on the standing figure

if you want to get really fancy you can add basically a kerchief or netting over the bare neck/shoulders. It can be tucked into the neckline or it can sit on top. That's called a partlet.

the best I can tell you is that they were technically in a mini-ice-age during this era. Still looks hot as balls though.

Coats and surcoats are really more for rich people though, normal folks will be wearing this look:

tbh I have a trapeze dress from target that looks exactly like that pale blue one. ye olden t-shirt dress.

so now look here:

(this is a princess btw) both pieces are made of the same blue material so it looks as if it's all one dress, but it's not. The sleeves you're seeing are part of the gown/coat, and the ermine fur lined section on top is a sideless overgown/surcoat. You can tell she's rich as fuck because she's got MORE of that fur on the inside of the surcoat hem.

okay so now look at these guys.

Left image (that's Mary Magdelene by the way) you can see the white bottom layer peeking out at the neckline. That's a white chemise (you know, underwear). The black cloth you see behind her chest lacing is a triangular panel pinned there to Look Cool tm. We can call that bit the stomacher. Over the white underwear is the kirtle (undergown) in red patterned velvet, and over the kirtle is a gown in black. Right image is the same basic idea--you can see the base kirtle layer with a red gown laced over it. She may or may not have a stomacher behind her lacing, but I'm guessing not.

I've kind of lost the plot now and I'm just showing you images, sorry. IN CONCLUSION:

you can tell she's a queen because she's got bits I don't even know the NAMES of in this thing. Is that white bit a vest? Is she wearing a vest OVER her sideless surcoat? Girl you do not need this many layers!

[psicheanima]

Gregor Linguistic Analysis

Hello. I just finished Canto 1, so as I said, here are some things I found fun about the way Gregor speaks. I’ll do Rodya after Canto 2, and so on and so forth.

Do not mention any events after Canto 1 in the notes or tags of this post, thank you.

Gregor’s sentences are short to mid length, maintaining a natural, almost casual rhythm. His syntax is straightforward, avoiding complex subordinate clauses or elaborate phrasing. This reflects his laid-back and nonchalant attitude— his speech is efficient, unpretentious, and devoid of pretense. His words flow with a conversational ease, almost never rushed or clipped (despite his habit to drop subjects, compare him to someone like Ishmael, for example— he’s more warm), reinforcing his uncomplicated nature, which is something he really wants others to see— he wants to be a simple, regular man. He does not want to be seen as someone important.

He uses shortened constructions—such as omitting subject or auxiliary verbs—which gives his speech a relaxed, even offhand feel. In particular, when he talks about his past, he almost never talks proactively.

Fitting his casual speech and “action-oriented” past, Gregor also uses phrasal verbs in a casual context quite a bit. This also ties in with his tendency to downplay his personal struggles by speaking as if they were just ordinary events. When he does this, he also tends to pass the responsibility to his superiors, placing himself in the position of “but I’m just a guy, it’s (external thing).”. (His landlord, his manager).

Gregor is, however, quite the normal guy when it comes to how he speaks, so though there’s no much to say about his word choice outside of some strangely old-timey whimsical words every now and then (absolutely used to make him seem more warm, affable, and distinctively NOT like a strict military guy.) But there is quite a bit to say about what he “chooses” to say.

When talking about serious or painful things, he keeps it brief but adds this elliptical phrasing that lets the weight of his words sink in without outright stating it. He never spells out his emotions—his restraint makes the pain obvious without needing to say it. It’s less about what he says and more about what he holds back.

However, the most standout thing about the way Gregor speaks is the way he always subjugates himself whenever joking. Gregor himself says he does this.

However, his jokes about his arm will always hold more passive aggression and underlying hurt than his more elaborate, whimsical jokes about his previous military position— the topics that make him most upset.

He eases not only outright— but any potential hostility with humor. Consider the way he uses a mild, almost playful, word like “pest” to describe his condition—it reflects the level of detachment he’s employing in his suffering, a detachment that very much is the only thing helping him manage that suffering. He can’t open about how much discomfort it causes him, so fashions it as a palatable thing others can laugh at WITH him, instead of AGAINST him.

He believes people will always mock him, and even more importantly thinks there is something worth mocking about him, so this humor is always light hearted and easy to ignore. He does not challenge others cruelty towards him.

It’s not so big of a deal that people see him as something other if he’s not dangerous. He’s a monster, but just a small one. A pest. Insignificant.

In this same way he often uses rhetorical questions and double negatives to get his point across on this topic. For example, when he says the above, he’s highlighting the unpleasantness of his arm without directly addressing the actual discomfort it causes others. It’s his way of communicating subtly— avoiding bitterness or confrontation, trying to force himself into the “joke” of how revolting he is. Another way he does this is by referring to the other soldiers as “things”. Othering himself.

So despite his ease with small talk (being the first to introduce himself to us), his deeper emotions often surface in the spaces between words. He lets the quiet do the heavy lifting, as he is unwilling to say things plainly.

His distaste for status is reflected most simply in how he speaks to Dante.

“Manager Bud” → “Bud” softens authority. It reflects his preference for informal, cordial relationships rather than professional ones. The very concept of a work life similar to the military structure he knows is something he is absolutely terrified of. He does not like putting people higher or lower than him.

Gregor’s speech register is informal, with a blend of

- Working class pragmatism

- Older, slightly rustic quirks (usually one off words like “bugger”)

- Military lingo (in particular, he mentions “getting medals” a lot where others would say “rewarded”.)

In conclusion: He is someone who has been through a range of social settings but refuses to perform “proper” speech anymore in any effort to seem like a regular citizen, something he feels deeply he is not, and so he uses humor to feel as if he is “in” on the joke of how revolting he is.

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀✸⠀⠀⠀𝓑eauty 𝓞f 𝓣his 𝓜ess⠀⠀┈⠀﹙⠀𝓒hapter 20⠀﹚⠀ა ︎ ﾞ .

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀military!miguel⠀𝓍⠀fem!neighbor!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀summary.⠀as your pregnancy progresses and endure various bodily changes, you begin feeling a bit insecure. however, miguel shows you how much he admires your changing body.

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀content.⠀fluff, tiny angst, body insecurity, smut, pregnancy sex, unprotected p in v, creampie, cowgirl, cunnilingus, breast play, body worship, lactation kink, breeding kink ( mdni )

❛⠀ previous chapter⠀⋅⠀masterlist⠀⋅⠀next chapter ⠀❜

as your pregnancy progressed, you endured numerous changes. thicker hips, bigger tits filled with milk, swollen feet, achy back and feeling tired as shit most of the time. with all those bodily changes, you begin feeling a bit insecure about yourself. your body is forever changed and not how it used to be. of course these are the effects of motherhood and you should embrace them because you’re doing the most incredible thing ever, creating life.

however, that doesn’t shed away those negative thoughts plaguing your mind. in the beginning of your pregnancy, you were doing fine and simply enjoyed the process. but now with visible proof of the pregnancy, your mindset flipped a switch. every time you stare at the mirror, you sulk at your tired swollen state. those damn saggy tits filled with milk that leak sometimes and stain your clothes which pisses you off. the additional thickness and roundness of your hips accommodating your growing baby. swollen feet that bother you indefinitely. the bags under your eyes, sighs of trouble sleeping sometimes due to the aching. you just look like a damn mess.

you just feel so unattractive and not enough for miguel. when you first began dating, you were so much different. now, you’re a giant balloon. you know miguel doesn’t only love you for your body. he adores you completely, your soul, body, spirit, heart. he would, still, worships your body like a goddess because you are a goddess in his eyes. that man always managed to make you a bashful mess due to those sweet praises and compliments he’d whisper while planting kisses here and there. especially now you’re pregnant, oh he’s been worshipping you overboard. kneeling in front of you and kissing your swollen belly, gently holding it in his hands as he whispers sweet praises of love to you and your unborn daughter. massaging wherever you needed, boobs, back, feet, anything that brings discomfort. gently lift up your belly to relieve you of the weight. miguel would reassure you that he loves you, appreciates you, and says wholeheartedly that you are the most beautiful woman in the universe. the man is your number one worshipper.

yet, you still feel not enough for him. you don’t feel pretty enough for him. miguel is such a handsome man, he deserves to have someone match that same level of beauty by his side. you don’t fit the category, not with baggy titties, thick ass hips, and swollen feet. you just feel so… unattractive. those negative thoughts were ruining your mind to the point where you believed miguel would’ve be better off with a much prettier woman by his side.

you hate it so much. you hate how this pregnancy makes you feel negative about your changing body. you hate how it makes you feel so insecure. you hate it how affects your relationship with miguel. you just want those stupid thoughts to stop but you can’t. it’s taking control of your mind at this point.

now here you are, sulking at your reflection in the bathroom mirror. wearing nothing but underwear since your breasts are swollen so you discarded a bra. thick, heavy, swollen are words to describe your appearance. heavily sighing as your fingers lightly trace over the stretch marks under your belly and hips. another burden of pregnancy, something you should embrace yet those negative thoughts take control and tell your mind the opposite.

the sight in front of you brings tears to your eyes. how could miguel love this thing? how could he be willing to kiss, hug, touch this thing? how could he say this thing is the most beautiful woman in the universe? the dark thoughts were getting too intense. you quickly wipe away tears that were about to spill, put on your robe, and frustratingly exit the bathroom. a frustrated groan falls from your lips as you throw yourself on the bed, cover your entire body with the sheets, and let out soft sobs meaning to be released.

you look terrible, disgusting.

you should be ashamed to be standing by miguel’s side while looking like that.

how could he love a gross thing like you?

endless dark thoughts plaguing your mind, making you sob more underneath the sheets. it’s unhealthy, you want them to stop but you just can’t. they won’t stop, you can’t stop thinking about them. not to mention the pregnancy hormones aren’t much help. in fact, they make it even more worse.

you are drowning yourself in those dark thoughts that you don’t hear miguel coming home. he returned from the bike shop to pump his tires. he stopped by the habit to pick some food up for you both since he figured you’d be hungry by the time he returned home. he also knew you were craving the chicken sandwich with teriyaki sauce.

“mi reina, i’m home.” he calls out, expecting you to respond but instead it was only silence. that confuses him a little. miguel calls out your name again yet there was no answer.

okay, now he’s concerned. especially more when he hears soft sobs and sniffing from your room. miguel doesn’t hesitate to rush over, panicking. are you hurt? is something wrong with the baby? many negative thoughts ran across his mind.

opening the door but not aggressively since he doesn’t want to scare you, he stands there confused at you completely covered with the bedsheets.

“mi reina?” miguel calls out softly but all he gets is a soft whimper. he walks around the bed to your side but is taken aback when you pull the sheets more over your head so he won’t see you.

and you don’t want him to see how much of a sobbing mess you are right now.

you don’t sound in pain yet your entire body is covered so it doesn’t prove anything and he only gets more concerned. “mi amor, what’s wrong?” miguel kneels next to the bed in front of you. “are you hurt? is something wrong with the baby?”

“no…” you answer with a quiet sob.

his brows furrowed at that, specifically at the quiet sob. “are you sure?” he leans a bit closer.

another quiet sob but more of a whine. “yes…”

if you’re fine physically, then what’s wrong emotionally?

miguel believes you but he wants to know why are you crying and covering yourself. his fingers find the top of the sheet and slowly tries to pull it away but you instinctively pull it back with a whine.

he retracts his hand. “¿mi amor, qué paso? why won’t you let me see you?”

“just go away, please…”

his heart breaks, at both your request and the sadness in your tone. one thing miguel hates is being away from you, he learned his lesson hard. but something tells him that this is different.

he gently rests his hand on your back and give it a few tender rubs. “por favor, mi reina. i just wanna see that you’re okay, i wanna see my pretty girl.”

miguel waits patiently, not wanting to rush you and allow you to take your time. all he wants is to see you and if you’re okay, physically at least.

oh you can’t resist that loving tone. it always makes your heart ache in a good way, with much love.

very slowly yet reluctantly, you pull down the sheets but only revealing your teary eyes. miguel’s heart breaks, once again, at the sight of the tears in those gorgeous eyes he adores so dearly. another thing he hates is seeing you cry, it breaks his heart.

“oh mi reina… por qué llores?” his hand in your back moves up to gently wipe your tears away but you move away from his touch with a soft whine.

you wipe them yourself frustratingly, refusing to look at him. “it’s just the hormones.”

it’s more than the hormones, he can tell. this was different, you’ve never behaved like this before during your pregnancy. miguel wants to know the problem so he can help you.

“bebé, i think it’s more than just the hormones.” his hand returns to your back, gently rubbing it. “dime, por favor. i wanna help you, mi amor.”

you sniffle as you roll your eyes, weakly shaking your head against the pillow. “it’s stupid…”

he sighs sadly, leaning closer. “dime, amor.”

you shouldn’t tell him, it’s just stupid thoughts that got the best of you. but you also hate making him worry, especially over dumb stuff like this. it’s the last thing you want yet here he is worried about why you’re crying while wrapped up in bedsheets like a burrito. you probably look ridiculous even.

with a heavy sigh, you shove your face into the pillow to conceal the tears. “i look gross…”

“mande?” he doesn’t understand since you’re muffling into the pillow.

goddamnit.

groaning, you turn your face away from the pillow but cover your mouth with the bedsheet, still refusing to look at him. “i look gross.”

miguel’s brows furrowed in confusion and disbelief. “gross? you’re not gross, bebé.”

a scoff left your lips. “yes, i am.”

“no, you’re not. you’re beautiful, a beautiful woman going through the process of becoming a mother.”

that elicits another scoff. he doesn’t get it. how could he say you’re beautiful when you literally look like a walker from the ‘the walking dead.’ a pregnant walker at that. he just… he just doesn’t understand.

miguel notices how reluctant you are and it breaks his heart even more. he’s telling the truth, you’re a beautiful woman enduring the process of growing a baby and becoming a mother. it’s a beautiful thing.

he is, however, aware of body insecurity that pregnant women endure. it’s strange to see your body change in various ways. some changes are temporary and others are permanent. you, just like another other pregnant woman, are enduring various bodily changes. miguel finds it fascinating how the female body changes with pregnancy. all these altercations for creating and carrying a baby. women are powerful beings. however, it doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t ache seeing you so upset.

“mi amor, escúchame por favor. you’re beautiful, you’ve always been beautiful.”

“no, i’m not!” you abruptly sit up but being mindful of your belly. “i’m gross, fat, swollen, all of the above!” you throw your hands up frustratingly before lowering them and finally looking at him with teary eyes. “how could you love me?”

miguel is shocked, in disbelief actually. how could you say much a thing? how could he not love you? he loves you with all his fucking soul, for fucking eternity. however, he understands the hormones and doubts are getting the best of you.

“bebé…” he starts softly, bringing a hand to cup your cheek ever so gently. exhaling softly when do you move way from his touch. “i understand why you’re having these thoughts pero i’ll tell you that i love you and will always love you no matter what. even pregnant, i still love you. no matter what.”

tears prickle in your eyes. god he’s such a sweetheart, his kind words always melting your heart. how did you deserve such a sweet man?

“i-i’m sorry… it’s just…”

“don’t be sorry and take your time, amor. i’m here forever, no rush.” he reassures you sweetly, caressing your cheek with his thumb.

“it’s just… i feel so unworthy. i’m not how i use to be. i’m just so big and swollen and it drives me fucking crazy. i’ll never be the same again. a-and you, you’re so fucking handsome and i feel so unworthy to be by your side. like you deserve someone who has the same beauty level as you, not some big balloon like me. i know you’re gonna say i’m the most beautiful woman in the universe blah blah blah, i just… i feel not pretty enough, for you or in general.”

miguel was attentive to every word. it pains him to hear you feel so lowly of yourself but ultimately understands why. he just wished he could show you how beautiful you, how you are in his eyes. all he wants is to comfort you, make you feel loved and appreciated by him, make you feel worthy.

“mi reina,” he starts softly, cupping your cheek, making you lean into his touch. “you’re right, i will tell you that you are beautiful because you are beautiful to me, siempre. yes, your body has changed but it has changed porque you’re carrying our daughter.” his other hand rests gently on your swollen belly through the sheets, caressing it. “you’re carrying a baby, a life. isn’t that amazing?”

“well… yeah but also kinda weird, y’know? there’s literally another human being inside me.”

that elicits a chuckle from your boyfriend. “pues, si. it is kinda weird growing another human being inside pero it’s still a fascinating phenomenon.”

while tears trail down your cheeks and he gently wipes them, you can’t help but smile a little at that. pregnancy is a weird, fascinating phenomenon.

“mi reina, i’m the one who feels like i’m not worthy of you. after what i put you through for three weeks, i felt so undeserving of you. not as much now since we’ve been making so much progress and doing much better now, there are times when i feel like that. but when i see you and our little one,” he gives your belly a few gentle rubs. “i remember that i’m very grateful to have you both in my life, to have my two girls in my life.” much adoration in his tone.

your heart swells with much love. he always knows the right words to say to melt your heart.

“i know i can’t take away those bad feelings but i am always here for you. please believe me when i say you are the most beautiful woman i’ve ever seen and i love you. one else has my heart but you, siempre.”

finally, you break down and begin sobbing. miguel quickly sits on the edge of the bed and takes you in his arms, wrapping his arms around you as you sob into his chest. his hold on you tightens a little as he feels your trembling form. one hand rubs gentle circles on your back as comfort. he holds you and never lets go. you break down and miguel is there to catch you, just like you did with him that one night when he told you what happened to gabriel.

“i love you…” you sob softly.

his heart swells, gently squeezing you with love. “té quiero tanto, mi reina. more than you know.”

you two stay like that for a while until you finally calm down and the tears finally stop. just a tender moment of embracing one another.

“i’m sorry… the hormones fuck me up.” you lean back, letting out a few sniffles.

“don’t be, it’s okay.” his hands slowly rubbing encouraging circles on your arms before one of them reaches out to grab a tissue from your nightstand.

“thank you…” you take the offered tissue from him. “god… i know you just said those sweet things but i really do feel like a mess after all that crying.” you glance down at yourself. flushed cheeks, dried up tears, messy hair, and still in your robe.

“you can take a bath, clean you up so you can feel better.” miguel suggests.

“yeah, a bath does sound really nice.”

he softly chuckles before helping you up from bed. “vamos, amor. let’s go prepare your bath.” as he guides you to the bathroom, miguel leans down towards your ear. “afterwards, i can show you exactly how much i adore you and this gorgeous body.”

there’s a hint of seductiveness in his tone that sends a shiver down your spine. you know exactly what he means and you anticipate for what plans he has.

after a relaxing bath with miguel’s help washing you and cleaning you up, you find yourself spread out on the bedsheets wearing a fresh, thin satin nightgown and a pregnancy pillow underneath for comfort. your heart beats quick with anticipation as miguel slowly approached towards the edge of the bed, wearing nothing but a pair of gray sweats, your favorite. that mix of lust and adoration glint in his eyes increases your anticipation. those same brown eyes admire your plump, glowing form.

“tan hermosa.” he notices your bashful face and makes him smile. miguel loves his effect on you and how simple sweet words can make you shy.

slowly kneeling in front of the bed, miguel leans down towards your legs and gently grabs one leg and brush his lips against your ankle. his lips leaves a trace of soft kisses as he slowly trails up your leg, reaching towards your inner thigh.

“i love these thighs.” he murmurs against your skin. “wanna wrap them around my face all day.” before you can say anything, your breath hitches as you feel his lips suck your inner thigh, silencing you.

your core begins throbbing with want. “miguel…”

“so soft…” he whispers in between kisses and light sucks, earning soft gasps and moans from you. alternating between thighs, spreading them to access more skin and leave more kisses.

the teasing kisses were wearing your patience thin and your body started feeling hot. “miguel, please~” a soft whine from your lips.

“relájate, bebé. lemme worship you.” miguel can’t help but grin at your impatience. it’s so adorable when you whine and beg for him.

trailing upwards, miguel slowly lifts up the hem of your nightgown exposing your swollen belly and panties. a soft gasp falls from your lips as the cool air hits your core. he doesn’t ignore the wet stain on your panties, making him grin. but miguel’s attention is on your belly. he peppers it with adoring kisses and whisper sweet praises, making your heart flutter and mind floaty while feeling hot and bothered.

miguel feels a faint kick against his lips, both of you chuckle. “si, princesa. papí is taking care of mamá.” he softly whispers against your skin.

that melts your heart.

“té quiero, mi reina. té quiero tu pancita. your gorgeous belly, growing our baby.” he murmurs between kisses, worshiping your tummy. each kiss earns a faint kick from your baby.

you reach down and dig your fingers in his hair, brushing through those soft wavy curls. “miguel~”

“such a pretty mamí.” very slowly, his lips trail back down to where you really want him. he chuckles at the way your hips buckle ever so slightly. “don’t worry, bebé. i’ll take care of you.”

gripping the sides of your panties, miguel slowly slides them off your body. he curses quietly at your glistening pussy, dripping already for him.

“dios, you’re dripping, bebita. ¿todo para mi, huh?” his eyes never leave your glistening cunt as he tosses your panties somewhere on the floor.

“y-yes, miguel por favor—”

“shhh, i’m here…” he shushes you softly, calloused hands spreading your thighs and rest them on his bulky shoulders. “let me know if it’s too much.” miguel glances up at you with sincerity, you nod, and he doesn’t hesitate to dive into your sweet cunt.

a moan erupts from your throat as miguel’s lips suckle on your throbbing clit, causing your back to arch off the bed. the bedroom is filled with your moans as your boyfriend eats you out passionately. his tongue draws delicate circles on your precious pearl, sending your mind haywire and squirm underneath his hold. a loud moan echos in the room as miguel’s tongue begins penetrating you.

“oh my- miguel!~” you arch your back, gripping tightly on his brown locks, earning a groan from him.

you’re so fucking sweet, an addictive nectar that he can’t get enough of. you always tasted sweet but even more now that you’re pregnant. miguel is going fucking crazy at your sweetness, slurping and eating you up as if you’re his final meal.

“fuck- you’re so- fucking sweet, bebé.” he moans in between slurps and licks.

unfortunately, you swollen tummy blocks the beautiful view but you can still see those cute brown locks. while alternating between his tongue fucking you and sucking on your clit, miguel reaches a hand up and places it on your belly, his thumb caressing it. the multiple sensations of pleasure he was providing was overwhelming, your mind haywired. using your free hand, you interlock yours with miguel’s that is on your belly, making the connection more intimate. the familiar warm sensation in your tummy gradually develops, building and building up as miguel continues pleasuring you in miraculous ways.

“m-miguel, i’m gonna—”

“dámelo, bebé.” he gently squeezes your hand.

god you love it when he says that, so fucking hot. his tongue movement increase, determined to make you reach the pinnacle of pleasure. your pitchier and louder moans echo in the bedroom as your orgasm approaches. finally, with a loud whine of his name like a prayer, you gush around his tongue. the death grip on his hair makes him groan but miguel doesn’t give a shit, too busy devouring your sweetness. miguel is a greedy little shit, devouring every ounce of your sweet nectar. swirling his tongue around and slurring up everything he can get, not wasting any drop as if his life depends on it.

“m-miguel, please stop- no more, i can’t—” your legs tremble as you begin to feel overstimulated by the never-ending pleasure he still provides. plus, the pregnancy hormones make you extra sensitive. if he doesn’t stop, you will have another orgasm and right now you’re desperate for his cock.

your boyfriend slurps up any leftover sweetness and gives your now sensitive clit one final suck before finally rising from your trembling thighs.

“you taste so fucking sweet, mamí. even sweeter now because you’re pregnant.” his tongue runs over his lips glistening with your come, collecting the leftover. the sight makes your pussy flutter.

goddamnit, this man drives you crazy.

“¿estas bien?” he returns to his sweet, caring nature. a huge contrast from his seductive nature a few seconds ago. while wanting to provide you pleasure, miguel still focuses on your wellbeing.

you hum softly with a weak nod, recovering from your high. melting into his touch as his fingers stroke your cheek with such tenderness. sudden discomfort hits you when you feel wetness on your chest. glancing down, a frown settles on your face when two small wet stains are found on your nightgown. your face grows warm with embarrassment.

“goddamnit…” you curse frustratingly at the sight.

miguel’s brows furrowed in concern for a moment then follows your line of sight.

oh… you’re leaking.

you pinch the bridge of your nose while sighing frustratingly. great, now you ruined the sexy time. “sorry… didn’t expect this shit to happen.”

miguel quickly shakes his head. “no, no, no. don’t be sorry, it’s natural, mi amor. no te procupes.” he caresses your face as a sign of reassurance.

he might be weird but miguel can’t stop… looking at those two damp spots, more specifically your tits. he figures you’d start leaking since your breast are overflowing with milk prepared for your daughter when she arrives. it’s just… so fascinating to see. miguel is so fascinated that his hand has a mind of its own and slowly reaches towards your covered breasts. a frown settles on his face when your hand stops him, glancing at you worryingly.

“perdóname, mi reina. i just…”

god, how the fuck can he say it? i wanna suck on your tits, drink your milk that’s clearly meant for our daughter? you’d think he’s fucking insane.

you look up at him with slightly confused eyes but brush it off. “it’s okay… i’m just gonna go change.” you’re about to get up before his hand on your upper arms stop you, gently holding you in place.

“don’t change. it’s okay, preciosa. don’t feel about it, like i said, it’s natural for a pregnant woman.” he reassures you sweetly, caressing your arms.

you shrug, sighing. “i just wasn’t expecting that to happen right now. they just feel so fucking heavy.” leaning towards him, you hide in his chest and you feel his arms wrap around you lovingly.

he understands your discomfort and wishes to take it away. miguel is a problem solving guy and he wants to solve this problem. then, a light bulb imaginably appears on the top of his head.

“want me to message them for you?” he asks.

“sure.” you’re about to scoot over and expect miguel to sit beside you but instead he guides you to lay back down on the bed, leaving you slightly confused.

he notices your confused wide eyes. “do you trust me?” his thick fingers fiddle with the bow attached to the top of your nightgown where it holds your breasts, a sign of asking for consent.

your heart leaps in anticipation and excitement, knowing what he means. “always.”

with your consent, his fingers slowly untie the pretty bow and opens up the top of your nightgown, revealing your swollen breasts. his pupils dilate dramatically as he admires your beautiful breasts. licking his lips subconsciously at the small white droplets leaking from your perky nipples.

you recognize that glint in his eyes.

hunger.

that hungry look makes your clit throb but your mind says otherwise, feeling a bit insecure. you try to cover your chest but his hands gently pry them away.

“don’t hide from me, preciosa.” miguel looks up at you with sincerity and pleading. “ever.”

his whispered reassurance makes your heart flutter, a task he never fails to do. obliging, you allow your arms to move away and rest flat on the bed.

staring in awe of your breasts, miguel’s hands slowly come up and carefully cups them. that elicits a soft gasp from you. his cock twitches at the soft sensation of your breast in his palms. board palms gently message the soft, sensitive squishy fat. message out the knots and swollenness of your breasts, relieving you of that discomfort. the addictive sensation elicits soft moans and whimpers from you, arching your back into his touch.

“more, please…” you whimper, needing more pressure to feel more relieved.

“okay, mi amor.” miguel obliged and applies a bit more pressure with his hands, messaging your tits with care. each cute sound you make goes directly to his cock, twitching and throbbing with want.

miguel loves making you come undone with his touch. all he wants is to make you feel good.

those brown eyes stare in awe of your moving breasts, admiring the squishy fat moving in his large palms. but miguel is more focused on the tiny white droplets leaking from your nipples. a sudden wave of hunger courses through him like a tsunami. the longer he stares, the harder his cock becomes.

his honey mind also conjures up naughty thoughts. so much milk… flowing inside those pretty beasts of yours… begging to be drank.

fuck- does he have a lactation kink?

well, he does now thanks to you.

allowing those naughty instincts to take control, miguel leans over and captures a nipple with his lips hungrily. a gasp falls from your own when you feel him suckle on it, instinctively gripping on his hair.

“miguel!~” your chest arches into his mouth with a moan, seeking for more and more.

fuck, your pussy is so sweet and addicting but your milk is just something else.

another part of you he’s addicted to.

“y-you taste amazing, bebé.” he can’t get enough of your sweet milk, the warm liquid flowing down his thirst, humming happily. his hand squeezes your tit with a little pressure to gain more milk.

you feel his adam’s apple bobble with each gulp. his cheeks hollowed as he continues drinking. miguel alternates between both breasts, drinking one while his hand squeezes the other. the sensation sends tingling of pleasure to your clit. each suckle, lick and squeeze leaves you a throbbing mess. the pleasure is so intense, so good that you feel hot and bothered. as if he knows your body well, miguel lowers one hand down and gives your clit some attention after being neglected for a little. the sudden sensation causes a sharp moan to erupt from your throat.

“oh! miguel!~ please, don’t stop~” your fingers grip tighter on his hair as you feel that familiar warm feeling in your lower belly coming back with each flick of his finger on your sensitive pearl.

miguel continues suckling on your tit while playing with your clit before pushing in two digits into your tight folds, eliciting a heavenly whine. now that warm feeling was approaching fast. overwhelmed with the intense pleasure miguel continued providing. the next thing you know it, another loud moan of his name echos in the room as you come for the second time, gushing over his thick fingers. miguel gives your nipple one last suck while your chest arches as you come before finally breaking away.

your panting echos in the room, overwhelmed with the pleasure yet feel so good. god you love your boyfriend. a prideful grin on miguel’s face for making his girl feel good for a second time.

“you okay, amor?” he carefully slides out his fingers from your dripping folds while looking down at you with a loving, caring expression.

“holy shit, miguel. fuck yeah, damn…” you weakly chuckle, feeling utterly fucked out.

he chuckles as well, sheepishly. “sorry for going overboard, you just tasted so good.”

you weakly shake your head, giggling. “i can tell.”

a sheepish smile graces his lips as he rises to grab the cloth on the nightstand. miguel begins cleaning up in between your thighs but stops when you tug him back his dog tags and bring him down for a kiss. it surprises him but immediately reciprocates, hovering over you, mindful of your tummy. although, he doesn’t expect you to be so eager. practically devouring his lips as if your life depends on him.

“bebé—”

“get on the bed, now.”

now miguel is the surprise one but honestly is turned on by your command. he loves it you boss him around. authority looks so good on you.

all that pleasure left you a throbbing mess and craving for him, specifically his cock. not to mention the pregnancy hormones going bonkers now.

you’re a horny mess thanks to your boyfriend.

the man knows better than to keep you waiting so he swiftly takes off his sweats and lays in bed. his pupils dilate immensely as you get on top of him, groaning when your cunt meets with his aching cock. you’re so hot and bothered that you take off your nightgown, leaving yourself bare to miguel’s hungry eyes. you feel his cock twitch underneath.

“joder, bebé…” those brown eyes roam over your gorgeous figure, admiring the angel above him.

actually, a goddess above him.

once aligned with his cock, both of you let out a moan as you slowly sink down his length. fuck, you’re goddamn so tight, miguel’s mind goes haywire. his tip glazed your cervix perfectly. of course with miguel’s help, guiding you with his hands on your hips. however, your hips seem to have a mind of their as you begin already bouncing on him. finally riding his cock after what felt like forever.

moans and groans linger in the hot air of sex, bouncing the four walls of the bedroom. miguel admires his angel riding his cock to oblivion, admiring your bouncing tits. his hands leave your hips and cups your breasts, giving them squeezes. relishing the soft squishy fat in his palms, earning angelic moans from you since they’re extra sensitive. his hands move down to your belly and holds it securely. possessive thoughts ran across his mind.

your gorgeous belly, your baby growing inside. it’s his baby growing inside you. he is the one who got you pregnant, no other man. proof that you belong to him. miguel never felt that possessive of you but the longer he admires your pregnant belly, the more possessive he is of you. the fact it’s his baby, he is the father, he got you pregnant ignites that certain possessive side of him. it drives miguel insane.

“mira, mi niña hermosa.” his sweet praise makes you flustered, moaning softly. “growing our baby.” he gently rubs your baby bump. “my baby… growing inside you… so fucking beautiful.”

each praise goes straight to your pussy, making you clenching around him which causes miguel to groan. you’re extra sensitive so the praises hit different than usual, feeling more shy and vulnerable.

“m-miguel~” you arch your back.

“sí, hermosa. doing so good, baby~” miguel groans and throws his head back against the pillow as you continue riding him. relishing the sensation of your sweet pussy squeezing the fuck out of his cock.

he keeps his hands on your rest so he can do most of the movement, despite you wanting control. even though he’s deep in a state of ecstasy, miguel is still attentive to your wellbeing and makes sure you don’t accidentally harm yourself due to your pregnancy. the moment you feel discomfort, he’s stopping. however, you seem to be in a deep state of ecstasy too considering your pitchy moans and furrowed brows of pleasure. such a pretty sight.

“miguel, miguel, miguel.” a mantra of his name.

“ay mi amor~ so fucking good.”

the lovemaking process increases intensely. each thrust, the tip of miguel’s cock kissing your sweet spot, his thumb flicking your clit. you release another loud moan, coming for the third time. jesus, that is the most orgasms you’ve experienced and it all thanks to miguel. speaking of him, miguel soon follows and releases his thick seed deep in your pussy with a groan of your name. if it was possible, you would’ve made another baby. your hips finally come to a stop while indulging in your high, utterly fucked out. miguel’s hands give them gentle rubs. noticing how exhausted you are, miguel lays you down on the bed after pulling out and you come off top of him. calloused hands slowly guide you down until your back meets the mattress.

“you okay?” your boyfriend asks, caressing your cheek. “both of you?”

“mhm, we’re fine.” you hum, exhausted.

miguel leans forward and places a soft kiss on your forehead, making you smile droopingly. reaching from the nightstand, he grabs the prepared water bottle and brings it up to your lips once you’re sit up, with his hand on your back as support.

“más, preciosa. we pushed your limits tonight.” he encouraged, feeling a bit dissatisfied with the little water amount you drank. you came three times tonight, that exceeds your usual count.

you obliged and drink more water, relishing the refreshment to cool down your body. once you finished and miguel was more satisfied with the amount, you hand the bottle to him and he drinks.

“let’s get you washed up, amor.”

“but i don’t wanna get uuuup.” you whine, flashing that cute pout miguel adores.

“mamí, you know you hate not taking a shower before bed and you won’t stop complaining about feeling dirty until you do.” he shoots you an unimpressed look, arching a brow.

you sigh grumpily. “true… okay, fine.”

“don’t worry, i’ll carry you.” he smiles before setting down the water bottle and carefully scoops you up in his arms, heading to the bathroom.

you and miguel indulge in a relaxing bath together. well, your second bath but with miguel this time. your back rests against his chest, eyes closed while relishing the warm water and his body heat. his calloused hands rub gentle circles on your belly. a quiet, relaxing moment with the man you love.

“¿estas bien, hermosa?” he whispers.

you hum contently. “yeah, just perfect.”

he smiles and presses a kiss on the top of your head, wrapping his arms around you. “i’m glad.”

instinctively, you lean into his embrace and softly sigh. “thank you for everything tonight… the talk and mind-blowing sex but really the talk, i really needed that. the hormones can be a bitch sometimes.”

miguel softly chuckles at that. “i understand and of course, bebita. i’ll always worship you and love you no matter what.” he raises a hand and gently turns your chin so you can meet his eyes, brown pools of adoration. “té quiero tanto, mi reina. siempre.”

his sincere words of adoration melts your heart. faint tears begin prickling in your eyes but you blink them away. “té quiero, miguel.” cupping his cheek, your lips collide in a soft, passionate kiss.

after a moment of basking in each other’s presence in silence, miguel begins washing you. a happy sigh escapes your lips as his fingers gently scratch your scale covered in shampoo. after rinsing your hair with the nozzle, miguel grabs the loofah with soap and begins lathering your body ever so gently. his eyes admire every inch of your body. from every detail of your angelic face, eyes, lashes, lips, other facial features. to your chest, swollen belly, hips, thighs, legs. everything about you is perfect.

his perfect little angel.

his loving stare makes you look away shyly, feel heat rising in your cheeks and heart beating rapidly in your chest like a drum. even though he has seen your body before, he still makes you shy.

miguel noticed, softly chuckling. “¿qué?”

“don’t look at me like at.”

“i can’t admire the woman i love?” a smirk on his lips.

you roll your eyes, shyly smiling. “estas loco.”

“para ti, sí.”

oh my god- this man. he’s just so… ugh!

once he washed your body and rinsed you off, you do the same with him, despite his many objections. after treating you with adoration and pleasure, it’s only fair to wash him. besides, you love washing his hair, feeling those soft brown curls through your fingers and gently scratching his scale with your nails just the way he likes it. you also love peppering kisses over his face while washing his hair, you get to see that pretty smile of his, a sight you love.

once you washed him and he rinsed off the remaining soap in the tub, you two finally get out. miguel steps out first to grab your towel and gently drys you off before wrapping it around you and help you step out of the tub. with a towel wrapped around his hips, very low by the way, miguel helps you slip into fresh panties and a different nightgown. he then applies lotion on your skin. calloused hands rubbing amongst your skin, lips pressing soft kisses on each area he applied lotion on, whispering endless praises of love. just the way you like it.

while drying out your hair with your towel, miguel dresses himself in a red flannel sweats and applies lotion on himself as well. your eyes can’t stop lingering on his body and the flexing of his muscles as he maneuvers around. wet streaks of hair sticked to his forehead, the sliver dog tags adorned around his neck shimmering in the light.

he’s so pretty, dreamlike.

after miguel brushed your hair and you both brushed your teeth, he carries you back to bed. oh he’s so giving you princess treatment right now but you love it. plus, you know he loves carrying you to have you in his arms and to show off his strength. even though you’re lighter than a feather (no matter what, the man is a tank and can carry anyone any size).

once rested comfort in the sheets, you snuggle up in miguel’s arms that are wrapped around you protectively. his broad chest against your back, his hands caressing your swollen tummy. that triggers another faint kick from the baby.

“she says goodnight.” you smile.

leaning towards your belly, miguel plants a soft kiss on top. “buenas noches, mi princesa.” he whispers sweetly then lays back down and embraces you, kissing your temple. “buenas noches, mi reina.”

“buenas noches, bebito.”

after a beautiful evening, you and miguel sleep peacefully in each other’s arms. his hand on your belly never left throughout the night.

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @reverieblondie @nina-from-317 @kavimoo @aly29a2001 @lazyjellyfish300 @tojishugetiddies @aphinthestars @novelaaaaaaaa @imamexican @obessgurlll @deputy-videogamer @lovehadlovelost @agoddoesnotplead @saintdiior @whoopwhoppghost @tomalymme @skadiloki @asterrrrose @glossygreene @youcantseem3 @resident-clown @kutsipie @zuevcs @totorotales-08 @meowgirl1 @sukunash0e @sirendyes @leahnicole1219 @lisa-takeshi @yehet-moi-ohorat @slowlyshycomputer @wasitforrevenge @webshoootrz @f1-hoff @chaeriescola @espressopatronum454 @trocaderoisyummy @totallygyomeiswife @mcmiracles @celestialgarden23 @tatatida @whdhjfjvjvjfjdhsj @nocturne-light @xenop0p @juneonhoth @ghostsdoll @marshmallowsforever @ibelyss @imissubaee @demonic-bird @fandomtrash5092 ( if you’re not tagged, age/age-range is require since this fic is 18+, context for reasons why )

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[dashamanych]

What if it's all was just a game...

Hi there! I finally can create art again :3 im finally free and i WANT TO TELL YALL A LITTLE ABOUT MY SILLY DONT STARVE AU....

I just had a funny thought... what if there was no magic, no another dimensions, no real survival - what if its all was just imagination of a lonely boy Max (i thought it would be funnier if he'd name his edgy selfsona after himself, so he is not William there)...

He is a fifth grader with a very rich imagination and a rather unpleasant temper. I think one day he found a big notebook in a stationery store that had the first letter of his name on it (maybe it meant "Math," or maybe it was just one of those lame designs for cheap stationery), and just started to pretend that this is some sort of his magic book, lol! After a while, he came up with his own imaginary world where he was the edgy ahh king of nightmares MAXWELL!!!!! He drew all the monsters and stuff as well

But of course that wasnt enough....... He didn't have a very good relationship with his peers, I think. That's why he's exploiting someone younger! One day Max found Wilson, a random third grader, compliant enough to play his games. He came up with a lore for him, annnddd the just played their "don't starve" game, some kind of improvisation roleplay xd ????? Idk how i could call that in english

Sorry for bad translations english is not my mother language x')

Anddd of course there was a girl sitting at the same desk with him, and she really liked him!!! But he didn't seem to notice, because he was too caught up in his imaginary world 😥

Then, however, he will agree to write her as a character in his story!! He didnt know..... That someday shes going to appropriate his setting

"To spite Mom, I'll freeze off my ears."

That's all i have for a while! I'm pretty bad at describing things in words, and I prefer to show rather than tell! ^^" So forgive me being a bit awkward

[venussaidso]

The Genius, Misanthropic Inventor 👩‍🔬

As I've explored a bit in my Sun Dominant Themes post, the whole disillusioned, misanthropic character type is portrayed by Sun nakshatra natives.

In the film Tomorrowland, Uttara Ashada Moon native George Clooney plays Frank Walker who is a cynical, reclusive genius that lost hope in the future/humanity. His character reminds me of the toymaker, Jeronicus Jangle, from the film Jingle Jangle: A Christmas Journey, whose light deemed when his apprentice betrayed him, and he lost all his creativity and hope. Jeronicus Jangle is played by Uttara Phalguni Moon native Justin Cornwell and Uttara Phalguni ASC native Forest Whitaker.

Frank Walker is said to be a disenchanted grump who was a boy-genius inventor as a kid. His beautiful inventions were a symbol of hope or joy, much like the inventions of Jeronicus Jangle.

This reminded me of the character Powder/Jinx from the animation series Arcane, who is voiced by Uttara Phalguni Sun native Ella Purnell.

She was insecure about her creations growing up. Although I see her Swati influence as well, she also had a journey from being full of innocence & life to being extremely disillusioned and lonely.

Speaking of the inventor that Jinx is, I just remembered a favourite character of mine from my childhood! I checked, and he was indeed voiced by a Sun nakshatra native as well! From Phineas and Ferb, Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, the evil cartoon scientist, whose prime motivation is creating obscure, nefarious inventions to conquer the "entire Tri-State Area", is voiced by the Uttara Phalguni Sun & Moon native Dan Povenmire.

He, too, has been bullied when he was a kid. Which is why he's so ridiculously "evil" and grumpy.

Even Phineas and Ferb themselves, the brothers who invent incredible things in their backyard, which bring their friends so much joy and fun, are voiced by Krittika natives!

Being respectively voiced by Krittika Moon Vincent Martella & Krittika Sun Thomas Brodie-Sangster.

In the film How The Grinch Stole Christmas, Uttara Ashada Sun native Jim Carrey plays the Grinch who, similar to Dr. Heinz Doofenshmirtz, and even Shrek, has been bullied into self-isolation. He is very misanthropic and he absolutely hates the Who people. Josh Ryan Evans played young Grinch, and he could have had Uttara Ashada Sun. Young Grinch is shown breaking random things down to invent something beautiful to make someone happy.

And this trait is seen in adult Grinch, ostracized and secluded, who now invents for ill-intentions to take away Christmas from the Who people.

Obviously, Sun nakshatras aren't the only nakshatras present in the evil genius/inventor archetype, I'm sure. But another example of the misanthropic archetype is the character Shrek, who is voiced by Krittika Sun Mike Myers.

As expected, he is depicted as a reclusive grump who has been disillusioned by the idea of community.

In the film The Other Woman, Krittika Moon Cameron Diaz plays a highly respected lawyer who has always been disappointed by men.

Her distant, grumpy nature is really just her disillusionment manifesting through her interactions and behavioural patterns.

Honestly, this evolution of the Sun nakshatra natives is simply another part of them forming tougher skin or putting more boundaries. But also, this plays as a theme for the native to rediscover that light they used to have and choose to remain purely authentic regardless of the darkness and ignorance that surrounds them. As I described with the symbolisms and lessons in Christmas films.

This goes back to the genius inventor, the clever alchemist. Solar natives are fantastic at self-inventing or reinventing themselves, hence, their redemption story arcs.

[freeasthewesternbreeze]

Camping with Modern! Arthur and the Gang

So sorry this took a minute to write! I love camping and wanted to write more while I was out in the wild, but it proved to be a lot of work this time around. But all I thought about was how our cowboy and the gang would be camping in our modern times. Obviously the game is set in 1899 and they literally live on a camp, but I’m assuming in the 21st century they’d be more of the “outdoorsy” group that loves camping. Might be a little OOC on Arthurs part, but I think 21st century Arthur might be a tiny bit more willing to be "soft". 🏕️

Enjoy!

- Arthur loves camping. That man swears in another life he was a complete nomad, simply roaming from place to place with the stars as his blanket and the ground as his bed (get it cause he’s actually a cowboy? ;))

- Arthur’s favorite type of camping is being completely isolated from all of civilization. He’s the type to go backpacking for hours or on horseback looking for spots that haven’t been seen of touched by another human in years. Arthur views camping as his little escape from the chaos of the world, so the more he can avoid being reminded about the real world, the better.

- The man does not carry a charger or anything when he leaves to go camping. Not that he has a fancy phone anyway, the guy is carrying a flip phone. He puts that sucker into his glove compartment and doesn’t bother looking at it until the trip is done. He has no interest in the world outside of camping.

- Arthur’s favorite times to go camping would be in the Fall and Spring. Depending on the type of scenery he’s looking for, he’ll decide on when the appropriate time to go would be. In the case of being in the Desert or more towards the South West, Arthur has a tendency of wanting to be there in the fall. Arthur thinks the Desert (Mojave and the Colorado parts) is absolutely gorgeous in fall. It’s nippy and chilly, and the extreme heat isn’t killing him when he visits around that time. He loves to go looking for neat rocks and bones, and collect different types of flowers that are native to the desert. He thinks of how hardy and tough they are to survive in such an intense climate.

- In Spring he tends to head towards the North West, with his favorite spots being in Oregon, Montana, and Wyoming. He feels a peace that he can’t describe when he camps out and observes all of the flowers blooming and beautiful mountains and rivers surrounding him. Similarly to the desert, Arthur can’t get over how amazing it is that there is life that thrives in such extreme conditions. At times you can see Arthur simply sitting near a stream, deep in thought with a look of peace on his face.

- Now, before you came around and swept Arthur off of his feet, he literally used to bring a sleeping bag, his truck, and some food. He was set with the little he brought. He didn’t mind being a little uncomfortable as long as it meant he got to bask in nature’s beauty.

- He lost count of how many times he fell asleep in his camping chair by the fire just looking at the stars and listening to music.

- Now enter you. Arthur was head over heels in love with you the minute he met you and got to know you. He loved to spoil you and take you to new places you had never seen before, so when you finally asked him to take you camping and to show you the ropes, the man practically died on the spot from happiness.

- He carefully picked a spot that wasn’t to extreme, but also not necessarily near any civilization. He loves you, but he wants to teach you how to get around and fend for yourself in the wilderness.

- Remember how I said that Arthur takes the bare minimum when camping? Not this time baby girl. He wants to teach you of course, but is he gonna have his lady uncomfortable and cold? Nope, natta chance! He pulled out his nice sleeping bag and tent. Even bringing out a cot for you to sleep on.

- He patiently taught you how to set the tent up, giving you instructions while you messed with it, and after multiple times of almost getting smacked in the face with the poles and cursing at it, you succeeded in setting the tent up.

- Arthur took pity on you after that and told you to sit on a nearby tree stump and watch him set the rest of it up. Not that Arthur minded, he felt like he could show off to you while he made it nice and comfortable for the two of you to relax in.

- He also taught you how start a fire and how to collect wood. Explaining how certain wood burns hotter and longer, and how other types of wood simply cause smoke and nothing else.

- “Are you having fun pretty girl?” “Stay just like that I wanna draw you.” “I bought all your favorite snacks!” Are just some things he’d be telling you (he’s so happy you’re there with him such a cutie)

- ARTHUR KNOWS HOW TO MAKE A MEAN STEAK ON A FIRE. When I tell you this guy takes the time to choose the cut of meat, the spices, the sides to make with it. He goes ALL out, especially for you. He’s making it special.

- He steals your phone to take pictures of everything. He’ll make fun of you for “wasting your money on all of that when all you need is something to receive and make calls”, but when it comes down to it, he’s stealing that smartphone of yours and taking a picture every five minutes it seems. Especially when the sun is going down and he catches a picture of you in the golden rays, admiring the beauty of nature and the serene views.

- As the sun sets off in the distance Arthur quite literally can’t keep his hands off of you. He’s extra clingy being outdoors and feels the need to be extra protective. (You’re also warm and soft to hug, so it’s a bonus)

- “Come here pretty girl, it’s getting cold.” He would say while he pulls out his thick flannel to wrap around you. He worries about you getting sick so he’s making sure you’re cozy.

- He would pull you into his lap while you two sat down and looked at the stars in front of the fire. He’s definitely putting his hands in your sweater and holding your waist, rubbing little circles on your skin.

- Man is big and radiating heat so he’s your personal heater as well.

- He’s also putting his face into your neck as much as he can because according to him “You smell like you and a camp fire. My two favorite things.” You get shy and tell him to stop playfully, but he just chuckles and goes in for more.

- You guys would talk about anything and everything. From deep subjects like where life is headed to playful subjects, like what you two were in a past life.

- “I dunno handsome… with the way you live I’d say you were a wild cowboy. Maybe even a rancher. I dunno, I just have a feeling you aren’t meant for this time.” You say while you play with his hair and look into his beautiful blue-green eyes. (This is so on the nose and I don’t even care haha)

- Arthur couldn’t help but laugh. “Wouldn’t mind that one bit darlin… reckon you’d be my ride or die lady. Getting into trouble with me huh?” He replied as he closed his eyes to enjoy the feeling of your fingers in his hair. You felt yourself falling more deep into the pit of love as he kissed your wrist.

- When it gets late and the two of you are getting ready to sleep, he quickly grabs your pajamas (which he brought, it’s literally just one of his giant shirts) while you brush your teeth and rinse your face, and opens it up near the fire so the hot air warms it up for you. It’s cold enough having to change in a tent, and he doesn’t want you to shove an icy shirt on.

- He takes a picture of you all bundled up in the sleeping bag with blankets surrounding you.

- “Look at how cute you look babygirl,” he says while he hands you the phone. “How can a fella get so lucky?” You look at the picture and can’t help but feel a warmth bloom within you. You weren’t exactly dressed up and looked exhausted after your day outdoors, but somehow Arthur had a way of truly capturing his love for you in anything he does. Be it a picture or a drawing he made you, he never left his love out.

- “Oh Arthur Morgan. You better stop being the way you are before I lock you away. To goddamn good for this world. Gonna have to fight every single lady in town” You say as he crawls into the warm sleeping bag with you.

-He loves cuddling with you. Especially in this type of environment, his favorite place with his favorite person. He couldn't be happier.

-Tells you stories of all his crazy friends and how he can't wait for you to meet them and go camping with them.

-He falls asleep with you right on top on him, a equal distribution of warmth and comfort.

-I also picture Arthur to be the type to pack a rifle of some sort when camping. He's relaxed, but always prepared.

-His favorite camping snack is pickled okra. He's a southern boy, and I like to think he has a unique taste.

-When him and John were younger and Hosea and Dutch wanted them to bond, they would send the two of them somewhere out into the wilderness with the necessary supplies and told them to be true explorers and experience what the wild has to offer.

-This ended when John and Arthur almost started a wildfire because John thought it would be funny to light Arthurs pants on fire. (He was literally a rabid child and Arthur wanted to send him back to the pound after that one.)

-Dutch and Hosea were huge influences on Arthurs love of camping. Showing him the beauty and serenity of being independent in nature and letting him experience the true ways of the world.

-When their group of misfits and friends started to grow, their camping trips also grew. Dutch was the big "glamper", and had a mini compound going at the end of everything being set up.

-Arthur and John were stuck with the brunt of setting all the tents up and tearing them down. You would think they wanted to kill each other by the end of it with how frustrated they would get.

-OFF ROADING IS A HUGE THING WITH THE GROUP WHEN CAMPING. Arthur and the boys love adrenaline, so you bet they are going rock crawling and racing in the mud with their trucks.

-Abigail was so ecstatic when she heard about you and Arthur dating because it meant another lady joining in on the big camping trips the group would take.

-You and her would talk about John and Arthur while they either a.) bickered or b.) got hammered and challenged each other to a slap fight. Either way they both ended up passing out after awhile. (Hosea and Dutch also told them to shut the hell up).

-You actually were able to meet everyone for the first time when Arthur took you onto one of the trips. Everyone loved you from the get go seeing your willingness to get dirty and have fun.

-Arthur and you got super drunk on that trip and no one could find you guys for a good 30 minutes until they found you two making out like teenagers behind a tree.

-Arthur only listens to classic rock and country music while camping. He can listen to anything else. Fight me on this one.

-Sean, Mary-beth, Tilly and Molly would also join in with you and Abigail, making fun of the guys. They're just so easy to make fun when they're shitfaced.

--

Wow I wrote way more than I thought. Sorry this became a bit of a ramble! I would love to write a blurb on this subject. Its just to cute, I love me some modern! Arthur. I wanted to include everyone, but I was getting a bit fatigued writing this. I'll add on more for sure! Please leave a like, reblog, or comment! I love to hear what you have to say :). Thank you for reading babies!

tag! I saw you all comment, just wanted to let you know I wrote a lil something :) - @photo1030 @cloudywithachanceofcrisis @blueskies664

[amostimprobabledream]

When blood runs warm (Law x Reader)

Okay okay so I've only been watching One Piece for a few months, I don't know WHY I'm writing for a character I haven't even properly met in the anime yet but unfortunately Law is very much my type, sooo...here this is, excuse me. Also available on Ao3! https://archiveofourown.org/works/63259555

There had always been something about the ocean that comforted you. The way the waves roll in and out like breaths, the call of gulls overhead, the smell of it. It’s hard to describe, but you’ve always associated it with relaxation.

But that was before.

You sat on a deckchair, holding a book up to your face. You can’t really say that you’re ‘reading’ because you’re not. None of the words on the paperback clenched in your hands are sinking into your brain.

Partly it’s to do with the noise.

You know the group, you’re closest to Nami since she’s your co-worker, but her friends have dropped into your office to pick her up for after work drinks or meet her for lunch that you were familiar with their faces long before she started inviting you to join her. But even with being well aware of Luffy’s eating habits or Zoro and Sanji’s passionate dislike of one another and so on, but on the beach it’s like somebody took the dial of their volume and turned it all the way up. Right now they’re busy trying to set up a volleyball game and arguing about who is on what time and if the net is secured and whatever else people can possibly find to disagree about volleyball before you even start playing it.

But the other reason?

Is also sitting on a deckchair a few feet away.

You’ve met more people thanks to Nami – as much as she has a bit of a temper on her, you can’t deny she’s also a very sociable person and friends of her friends are also friends. Apparently, the guy sitting near you is called Law and he’s a “friend” (though he insisted otherwise) of Luffy’s, which caused some raised eyebrows since Luffy is goofy and happy-go-lucky and Law is…not.

He's also fucking gorgeous. Dark ruffled hair with some scruff on his chin and he’s well-built – apparently, he’s a doctor but he has to spend some time in the gym to have a torso like that. Even more intriguing is the tattoo spanning across his pecs, some kind of symbol in the middle though you’re not quite sure what it is. He has some on the backs of his hands too but you’re too far away to read the words.

He also seems completely disinterested in everyone around him running around in skimpy bathing suits, instead frowning down at some thick-looking book in his hands that could well be a medical textbook. You don’t know anybody who would sit reading a medical textbook at the beach, but since Law is acting like he was dragged here at gunpoint, you wouldn’t put it past him.

You turn a page, shifting in your deckchair. You should be enjoying yourself more than you are, but you feel a little self-conscious. Though you’ve gotten to know Nami’s friends, you’re still not one of them and you don’t want to make a total ass out of yourself by barging in on what they’re doing. Plus, jiggling around trying to smack a ball sounds like a recipe for disaster.

You want to say something to Law, strike up some kind of conversation. But he looks both irritable, hot and also engrossed in whatever it is he’s reading. Wait, no, that’s three things. Still, you know there’s nothing more annoying than someone interrupting you when you’ve gotten to the good part of a book with “What are you reading?!”

So you sit there in the shade, wavering in indecision, watching Zoro spike a volleyball directly into Sanji’s face and the blonde spit a truly impressive stream of vitriolic swearing back. A smirk tugs at your lips. Some things stay constant, which is reassuring.

Luffy has much less compunction with bothering Law than you do, and approaches with a grin.

“Hey, Traffy! We need another player! Come and play!” he demands, like a kid on the playground.

“You don’t need me.” Law counters, not even looking up from his book. “You have enough people.”

“Yeah but Usopp said he thinks he’s got sun stroke or whatever so he’s sitting the next one out.” Luffy pouts. “C’moooon, don’t be so boring!”

Both of you know he won’t drop this until Law agrees, so he heaves himself to his feet with a sigh, like it’s costing him a great amount of energy to do so. Though you’re disappointed he’s walking away, you take a moment to enjoy the sight of his muscular back and narrow, grabbable little waist as he follows after a bouncing Luffy.

Maybe now you can actually concentrate on this novel now you’re no longer being distracted. But no sooner do you settle onto your side and flick the page again, still not particularly taking what’s happening in, when you heard footsteps scuffing the sand and glance up.

“Hey, are you done tanning?” you ask Nami with amusement.

“Not quite, but I’m taking a break. You’re not going to hide in the shade all day, are you?” Nami teases. “C’mon, let’s go check out some of those tide pools.”

You smile. That does sound kind of fun, and you know she likes her gemstones.

“Sure, why not?”

You toss the book back onto the lounger and follow after Nami. You were starting to get a little chilly sitting in the shade anyway. You follow her across the soft white sands, taking in the expanse of sea, the clear blue of the skies, and feel a surge of invigoration rush through you. So what if you can’t bring yourself to talk to Nami’s hot acquaintance? You’re not working and hanging out with a bunch of people at the beach on a beautiful day. It could be worse.

The tide is starting to come back in, slowly but surely, and you make sure to keep an eye on it as you and Nami scramble over the rocks, peering into the little tidepools, though there’s not much in them besides some confused fish or the occasional crab.

“Oh, look! I think I see a starfish!” Nami says.

“Really? Show me!”

Nami’s enthusiasm is infectious and it’s nice to be doing something other than just sitting there. It's only a bit later that you realise you’ve both wandered away from the shore considerably, and now the tide is starting to return – it’s crept past the rocky outcrops and is sloshing around knee-height where you are.

“Hey, come on, let’s head back, the tide’s getting further in!” Nami calls to you from where she is, scrambling nimbly down the rock.

You descend more slowly and follow her, wading through a tangle of seaweed that brushes over your skin.

“I’m coming, hang on a second!” you say. “Nobody can run through water, y’know!”

Your feet keep sinking into the soft, wet sand beneath you as you follow after Nami back towards the shore, where the volleyball game is still going on with ferocity-

Pain.

Pain lances through your body like a shock of electricity. Right at the bottom of your foot, something sharp had pierced the flesh and you let out an involuntary cry, the saltwater stinging where the pain had bloomed, which stings like a bastard. Tears well in your eyes and you freeze, not wanting to aggravate whatever had just happened.

“Why are you just standing there? Hellooo?”

Oh fuck, you hadn’t accidentally stepped on something poisonous sea creature that had been struggling against the waves, had you? Nausea grips you at the thought. It couldn’t be a jellyfish, they don’t usually just sit at the bottom of the sea waiting to be trod on…

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Nami’s voice comes to you, urgency and concern blending together as she waded closer. Her eyes flick down and she flinches. “Oh my god!”

Blood has blossomed from the cut around where your leg disappears into the choppy waters, unable to see your foot thanks to the sediment stirred up by the lapping waves and your own footsteps. Your heel is throbbing, tremours of pain snaking up your body from your leg upwards. Your other leg wobbles as you shift most of your weight to it, you’d lift your foot but you don’t want to spill any more blood into the sea if you can help it.

“Shit,” says Zoro from his spot, eloquently.

By now everyone who was playing the game has stopped too, much to your dismay, but the red circling you isn’t exactly something you can hide.

“Quick, we need to get her a first aid kit!” Sanji says, beginning to shrug off his little short-sleeved hoodie.

But before he can heroically rescue you from the cruel ocean, he’s almost literally pushed aside by another figure, swirled in dark ink and with an equally dark scowl on his face.

All you can do is stare up at him like a deer in headlights as Law stalks towards you, the waves sloshing around his legs. His eyes flick down to the redness swirling about you and you’re grateful he’s able to maintain a poker face, you don’t want to see how bad it is reflected clearly in his expression.

“What happened?” he asks, and in a different situation you might have taken the opportunity to admire the thick, dark tattoos writ large across his muscular chest. His voice is urgent but controlled – you instinctively recognise it as his “doctor voice”.

“I don’t know, I was walking and suddenly there was a sharp pain and then my foot was bleeding.” You say, goosebumps breaking out across your flesh and you have the peculiar urge to cover yourself up, now feeling vulnerable in just a bikini. “It probably looks worse than it is.”

You have no idea if that’s the case, but it’s something you’ve heard people say about injuries before, and it sounds good, business-like and professional. You’ve got this, you’re not freaking out and panicking and causing a scene and-

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Law says, shortly.

Just as you’re about to rue the fact you’ve already managed to annoy him and you’ve barely even spoken to him, suddenly Law is right beside you. Without a word, he bends and wraps one arm around your back and the other hooks behind your knees. With a squeak, he suddenly just casually lifts you up out of the water. With your foot previously buried in the sand, it stings anew as it makes contact with the salt water, and you hiss between your teeth. Blood drips into the ocean, the bottom of your foot coated in it. You see a droplet of it, vivid red as a ruby, fall from the ball of your foot, flashing maliciously for a split second in the dying sunset. Your body shudders, both from suddenly being pulled from the water and the pain.

“You’re alright,” Law says to you in a far more soothing tone than before – you feel it rumbling through his chest. “I’ve got you.”

He's just saying it so you don’t freak out and struggle, you know that, it’s probably a part of medical training to keep patients as calm as possible, but even with that logical explanation in your mind, you can’t stop the pulse of pleasure him saying that to you in his smooth, deep voice.

“Shit, that looks bad.” Sanji says. You notice he looks a little irritated at the sight of Law carrying you out of the sea like some kind of bodice-ripped novel cover – no doubt he’d have liked to do it himself.

“Sanji!” Nami scolds him.

“It’s okay, it doesn’t even hurt much.” You lie – it hurts a lot, but Luffy, Zoro and the others are also staring at you and you’d probably tell them you were fine if your leg was falling off it meant you could stop being the centre of attention, because this is so embarrassing.

Law scoffs, as if he knows you’re lying, and strides down the beach with you, like you weigh nothing at all and he does this sort of thing all the time. If it wasn’t for the bolts of pain lancing up your leg every second, you’d be appreciating how nice being carried by him is – he’s a natural.

“Oi, make yourself useful,” he calls over his shoulder. “Someone go to my car and get the first aid kit. My keys are in my jacket pocket.”

He sets you down on a vacant deckchair, sitting and propping your foot in his lap so it doesn’t get any sand in the cut. You grimace as blood mixed with water drips onto both the lounger and the fabric of his board shorts, but Law doesn’t bat an eyelid. You suppose he must be used to this kind of thing.

Luffy brings him the medical kit, peering curiously at your foot.

“Didja see anything when you got hurt?” he asked, tilting his head.

“No, the water was too murky.” You reply, watching as Law flips open the box and begins rooting around for bandages.

“Huh. I’m gonna go see if I can find anything!”

Luffy runs off, like a dog chasing a frisbee, and you’re relieved everyone else seem to have decided it best to let Law do his thing and resume what they were doing. It was making you uneasy having so many eyes on you, over something as annoying and inconvenient as this.

Law inspects the cut before he begins cleaning the blood off the bottom of your foot. His touch is surprisingly gentle, and you watch him quietly, aware of how warm his hands are on you, his fingers strong against the smaller bones of your feet. He sprays the area of the cut with disinfectant, which stings but you don’t even flinch – cutting it hurt far worse.

“Lie back and stick your foot up.” He instructs. “It’ll lessen the blood flow.”

“Do you think I’ll need stitches?” you ask as you do as he says, unable to keep a tinge of misery out of your tone. You don’t want the last part of what was otherwise a fun day to be ruined by being whisked to the emergency room.

“We’ll see if the bleeding stops,” Law replies, and his voice is so sure and confident that you immediately feel slightly better. “If it doesn’t, then yes. But hopefully it won’t come to that. Let’s get you bandaged.”

“At least it wasn’t a jellyfish.” You say dryly.

He gives a soft huff that might have been a laugh, and you can’t stop the bubble of pleasure that you said something that amused him, it feels like a victory. Law reaches into his first aid kit and plucks out a roll of bandages, before he gently takes your foot. His hands feel warm, and you can’t help but notice how nice they are. Strong fingers, tattoos on the backs of them. You can’t properly make out what they are with the light in your face, but they look pleasing whatever it is.

He starts bandaging up your foot and you can’t help but hiss a bit at the pressure on your feet, the bandages quickly staining red, throwing your mind to blood on snow. You realise belatedly that you were holding your breath.

“Just hold still a bit longer, there’s a good girl.” Law says, not looking at you but his eyes on his hands as he makes sure the bandages are secured.

Once again, your body seems to have other priorities, and a spike of arousal hits you like a punch to the gut. You’re very much glad that any twitch or odd reaction to that can easily be attributed to being in pain or simply responding to having someone you don’t know well touching your feet. Still, the words roll around inside your head, good girl, good girl.

“Sorry, this is probably the last thing you wanted to be doing at the beach.” You say.

“I’m not exactly a beach kind of guy, so this is hardly some great loss.” Law grunts as he works. “Anyway, I’m glad I was here, it’s always better to have someone around who has proper medical knowledge.”

“Still, that must be kind of inconvenient.” You muse. “Always having to be on alert in case someone gets hurt and needs help, even if you’re supposed to be on your own time. It’s not like if somebody steals a handbag, suddenly an off-duty lawyer is called to prosecute. Or if someone faints from hunger, if you’re a chef standing nearby, you’re not meant to just whip out a grill and serve him lobster or something.”

Law looks at you like you’re a complete idiot and you instantly shut up, blushing. God, you must either sound stupid or completely ungrateful at his help. You’d like to go bury yourself in the sand somewhere, but good luck doing that on your fucked up foot.

Once he’s done bandaging you, he gives your foot a little squeeze.

“How does it feel now?” he asks and you really wish he’d stop talking to you like that, in that smooth, deep voice. “Any numbness? Tingling?”

Oh I’m tingling alright, but not on my foot.

“No, nothing like that.” You reply, wiggling your toes. “It aches a bit but it’s not so bad now.”

“Good. Hopefully it should stop bleeding within a few hours or so.” He says. “But for now you’ll just have to stay off it as much as possible.”

“Why, you going to carry me to the car when it’s time to pack up and leave?” you ask in a teasing voice.

He glances over at you and raises his eyebrows.

“If necessary, yes.”

Why does he keeps saying things that throw you off balance? Is he doing it on purpose? You bit your lip, then glance over at your stuff.

“Well, thanks for keeping me a little company. I was getting bored with the book I was reading anyway.” You say.

“Oh yeah? What is it?”

“It’s the third in this series I’m reading, it’s a fantasy series about a boy who enters other worlds through a drawing, but I’m finding this one kind of boring.”

“Wait, you know that series?” Law sounds surprised. “I picked up the first book a while back, but I haven’t found the time to finish it yet.”

“Oh, I loved the first one! The way they set up the whole quest was so much fun.” You say, unable to stop yourself from gushing about it. “Have you read the author’s other series about the princess?”

“No, but I’ve heard it’s good.”

“So good!”

Before you know it you and Law are busy geeking out over various novels and comics you’ve read, with Law even recommending you some of the latter and you recommending him the former. You’re so into talking about it that you stop worrying about getting blood on everything or if you look okay in your bikini or if you’re annoying him by talking too much. It all sort of just fades away as you lament how you have to wait until next year for the new series of an anime you like to come out.

“Hey you two, we’d better get out of here, the tide’s getting closer.” Nami approaches, holding both her bag on one shoulder and yours as well, and tosses you your hoodie. “Last thing I want is to end up stranded.”

“Right, yeah.” You say, pulling it on and zipping it up, now the sun is slinking off over the horizon, a chilly breeze is creeping in. “Be right there!”

Nami nods, then turns and yells for Luffy and Zoro to dig Usopp out of the sand before the water reaches him first, and a smirk tugs at your lips.

“You rode here with Nami, yeah?” Law asks you, rolling his eyes at the racket going on behind you.

“Yeah, she picked me up on her way.” You ask. “Why- ah!”

Law stands and gives you a wry look.

“Don’t wriggle, I’ve already carried you before, it’s not a big deal.”

“Just warn me next time.” You reply, but you’re glad you don’t have to hop up the steps to get to Nami’s car and risk your bandages getting all soggy and sand-encrusted.

Law smirks at you and your stomach twists as he carries you up to Nami’s car, depositing you in the back as if you’re made of something fragile. You fight back the urge to grab his arm or something.

“Thanks,” you say, which is only a fraction of what you actually want to say, but now you’re not alone with him in your little nerd bubble, your previous enthusiasm has vanished.

He just nods at you before he shuts the door, which feels like full stop to your unfinished sentence. You try to keep your expression casual as you buckle yourself in, and Nami slides into the driver’s seat with a groan.

“Man. The beach is fun, but I’m beat.” She says. “Want to stop for drive through somewhere?”

“Sounds good,” you nod, as the car sets off. Nami side-eyes you as you switch on some music and sit back without saying anything.

“Okay, what? Why that kicked puppy face?”

“Nothing, I just realised I left my flipflops on the beach.” You reply with an embarrassed smile. “Oh well, they didn’t exactly cost much.”

“Uh-uh, try again.” She demands and you huff. She knows you too well. “Does this, by any chance, have something to do with a certain doctor?”

“Just…I feel like I annoyed him.” You reply, fiddling with the zipper of your hoodie, dragging it up inch by inch and listening to the satisfying rasp of teeth. “You know, ruining his day off and talking too much.”

Nami snorts, but her expression is not unkind.

“Trust me, if you were annoying Traffy, he’d let you know.” She says, shooting you a playful, teasing smile. “And he definitely didn’t seem to mind whatever it is you were talking about.”

You lean back in your seat with a little smile. Maybe you’ll hear from him again – both your numbers are in the group chat Nami set up for today’s trip. Perhaps he’ll be curious to know how his ‘patient’ is getting on, or he’ll update you on if he decided to take you up on the book you told him to read. Maybe.

A pop song both of you love comes on shuffle, and Nami grins and begins joining in, the wind whipping through your hair as her car shoots down the road. With a small smile on your face, a strange feeling of possibility rising in your chest as you think of Law and wonder what he’s listening to, if his mind is wandering to you like yours is to him, you find yourself singing along.

[cheralith]

Hear hear hear me out wouldn’t it be so cool if Slytherin!Kaiser x Ravenclaw! Reader go to snape’s class for Amortentia. The most powerful love potion in existence. Smelling different to each person according to what they find attractive, the potion was considered to be dangerous as it could induce obsessive infatuation in the unsuspecting drinker. And Kaiser ends up rambling like “Damn It smells like books and *specific stuff about reader*” being absolutely Oblivious about Amortentia, Reader being a Ravenclaw is aware of said potion and just pauses as she smells his perfume too, But everyone around them is just like Stunned for his ignorance

They don’t drink Amortentia though!

Just a lil Thought i wanted to share cus i love bllk x hp crossover

characters ; michael kaiser (with hiori yo & raichi jingo) || wc ; 906 cw ; gn!reader, no pronouns used, hogwarts!au a/n ; so i actually i covered what kaiser smelled in the very first fic in the slytherin!kaiser chronicles, but tldr: he smells freshly baked bread, cedar wood, and lavender (reader!). but since that was in the present, i'm travelling back to the past for this one.

ravenclaw and slytherin students are paired together for potions this term during their seventh year along with a couple of advanced-level sixth years that join. kaiser and reader aren't in the same potions class, but their friends are aaahahaha. in kaiser's class, he shares it with hiori and in reader's, they share it with raichi. calling raichi and kaiser is friends is a bit much since raichi finds the latter wayyy too arrogant for his liking, even for someone of his caliber, but he still holds some respect for kaiser since he was the one that chose raichi to be a beater on their team. it's not a lot, but it's there haha

hiori and you are close—you met him through your other friend, karasu, another fellow ravenclaw (i'd be doing him an injustice if he was anything but). you find his company the most enjoyable since you and him understand each other to a degree where you can sit in silence, do your own things, and still be completely content. so he makes for a great study buddy and you often invite him to your dorm to study together up late into the evening. what he notices, however, when he comes over closer in the closing hours of the day, is that you'll often spray a little bit of your bed and your area of your shared dorm with a bit of lavender water, a pleasant smell that hiori has grown to associate with you.

he asks you one evening as you're studying together for a magizoology test why so, and you say with a grin that your mother taught you that lavender helps with a good night sleep, so since you were little, she'd always spray some lavender on your bedsheets to relax your energetic self.

"does it actually work?" he had inquired as he sniffed the bottle of diluted lavender you handed.

"dunno, but it's been working all these years, so it feels wrong to go to sleep without it," you shrugged with a small laugh.

so when kaiser is consistently twitching his nose over the cauldron that he and hiori share in their potions class, trying to identify the smell of the last thing he smells in it, hiori just stares incredulously. kaiser keeps babbling about it, getting frustrated that he doesn't know what this scent is and keeps describing it in blurbs that hiori isn't really comprehending.

"it's like... i don't know, soap?" kaiser groans, taking another deep inhale of the shimmering potion. "but it's sweet. and woody. kind of makes me sleepy."

the last statement makes hiori look up from scribbling kaiser's notes on their worksheet. he wants to say an epiphany is approaching him, but it lingers on the tip of his tongue, hesitant. while he can't smell what kaiser is smelling, hiori has a sneaking suspicion that he knows exactly smell what the blonde is talking about more specifically, why kaiser smells it.

on the flipside, your face twists at the last scent you pick up when you're doing the same assignment. it's a cologne, you acknowledge, and it does smell familiar. it's this mix of a citrus aroma with a pepperish flair to it, a cologne you're sure you've smelled in passing before. it's a rather masculine scent, so you think it has to be traced to someone that's close in your life that's male. initially, you think it's yoichi considering you and him are basically joined at the hip, but yoichi smells like clean laundry with a hint of sage, not whatever this is. your dad doesn't really wear cologne, so you scratch him out of the picture.

eventually, the class wraps up and ends, with raichi earning a detention after he threatened to sock igaguri multiple times after he kept messing up their potions to your amusement. you end up going your usual dining hall table where you'll eventually meet your other friends, hiori included.

you smell it suddenly when you sit down, the cologne of what you had smelled earlier in the cauldron is still lingering in the air near you ever so faintly like a ghost. when you go to whip your head around to get a glimpse of someone who might own such a cologne, you suddenly spot ness walking your way in a bit of panic, whisking between tables with a worried visage. he comes closer to where you are and sighs out in relief when he plucks out a textbook from underneath the bench that sits next to you in relief. he whisks himself away back into the corridor.

by the way the cologne's scent is fading, you don't think that someone like him could wear such an elegant fragrance, so you don't think too much of it as you follow him out of the corner of your eye.

until they widen at the sight at who ness meets in the middle of the corridor, the familiar flash of blonde halting all your senses except the ability to smell. suddenly, you find the aroma of the cologne stronger than ever before.

a/n ; the cologne is based off my actual partner's haha, so kaiser wears penhaligon's opus 1870. had to give him a british brand since yknow... they're in britain.

[the-impulse-to-love]

show me how to dance forever, arcadia, and greek mythology

this was initially gonna be a longer post with other things but i need to get These Specific Brainworms out of my head rn so. yeah

quick disclaimer i'm not a huge expert on greek mythology/culture so if anyone has any other comments feel free 2 discuss...

contains very vague teeth of god spoilers around the discussion of deities in relation to arcadia (pan, ceryneian hind)

(apologies if the formatting is weird still getting used to tumblr)

> arcadia

the shepherd’s monument from the hidden coords on the sight has references to arcadia, a region of greece. now, this can mean the real life history of the area, or the history with more mythological connotations.

arcadia also refers to a utopia in which the wilderness is undisturbed. it’s idyllic and peaceful. this is a common interpretation/subject for the area and its themes during the renaissance, which one such notable artwork being “et in arcadia ego," replicated on the mentioned monument (hence the connection) (this also warrants another post i'd say).

it’s also notable how arcadia, in terms of a utopia, is described as being unattainable (as per wikipedia anyways, there wasn’t quite an exact source for this. other sites just echoed the same sentiment.) this is a contrast from the biblical garden of eden, which instead was a paradise lost due to the original sin. (i don’t think i need to explain eden’s relevance to sleep token since. you know the entire third album and song)

in addition, the region of arcadia had religious significance.

1. it was the basis for worship for certain deities (in actuality)

⠀a. some temples around the region were dedicated to hermes, the messenger god and guide for the dead (psychopomp)

⠀⠀-- hermes has several wing motifs. he is often depicted with a winged hat, talaria (winged sandals), and a caduceus (his staff)

⠀⠀-> this can possibly tie into 🪶 feathered host, one of the two alleged factions from the emails which states “the cycle must be broken”

⠀⠀-- hermes' role as a psychopomp can also be connected to "show me how to dance forever." as i mentioned in this post there's likely a link between the teeth of god tour speeches in death "asking you to dance with [fear and hope], after all" and smhtdf. hermes guiding the dead and death asking to dance forever? yeah

⠀b. arcadia was a region of worship for despoina, a goddess whose name was lost due to being worshipped by the eleusinian mysteries (only those in the group knew her name, so it was lost)

⠀⠀-- the eleusinian mysteries were initiations done by a secretive religious group in who worshiped persephone and demeter in ancient greece

⠀⠀-> the loss of despoina's true name could tie into the fact that sleep's name canonically cannot be properly translated into modern language

⠀c. arcadians worshiped demeter, goddess of agriculture and the harvest

⠀⠀-> (bit more of a stretch i would say,) but she can be associated with gardens due to her role as a goddess of agriculture. gardens on themselves, of course, are a common theme in sleep token songs in addition to the garden of eden. they vary in symbolism/meaning from love to paradise.

⠀d. anytos was a titan who allegedly raised despoina and was worshiped in the area. not too much is known from him asides from this.

2. it was the place where mythical beings dwelled (in mythology)

⠀a. pan is a god of wilderness and shepherds who was said to live in arcadia. he was also worshipped in the area.

⠀-> his status as a god of shepherds could relate to vessel's staff that appeared for a little bit then vanished off the face of the earth. this can be interpreted as a shepherd's staff, used to guide and direct sheep. the shepherd's staff has it's own biblical connotations but that's not the focus of this post

⠀⠀-> one of the presale codes for a promo was "lambs." given how "arcadia" and "veridian" were both also used as codes, i wouldn't be surprised if this came up again as well. maybe vessel will herd flamingos...

⠀⠀-> "lambs" was also the name of the first chapter in the teeth of god novel in which we were introduced to the surface team and the climate on earth.

⠀b. the ceryneian hind is a swift and sacred deer who lived in ceryneia near arcadia. it was named after the river cerynites which flows from arcadia. in addition, it is associated with artemis, goddess of the hunt, nature, and moon.

⠀-> sleep can also be tied into this. if you believe the tentacles emerging from the moon are related to sleep, this would relate to artemis' relation to the moon.

⠀⠀-> goddess of the hunt could also tie into the teeth of god poem, specifically “i am hunting something, and in turn that same thing is hunting me”

⠀-> the ceryneian hind is likely the reference/basis for the “arcadian stag,” present on some merch and the teeth of god cover. hinds are female red deers which can be found in greece. another translation/name used for the deer instead of “hind” was “stag.”

i'm not really sure How Much (if any) of the album/lore is going to reference greek legends and stuff, but i will be Very Pleased if it does since this stuff was fun to look into...

like and subscribe and i'll yap about columns next idk

[shehungers]

this stupid ass site has already eaten my feedback on this once, I do not have it in me to write it all out again, but I'll basically summarize the gist of everything.

overall, this was absolutely phenomenal as far as dark content and dead dove goes. one thing that I love more than those is cannibalism as a metaphor for love—and, man did you fucking deliver on that front!!

my only true constructive feedback that I recommend you go forward with is formatting. writers like us rely heavily on our prose and details for storytelling as opposed to heavy dialogue like others do. in doing that, we often create these massive paragraphs that can come across as enormous, tedious bricks of text that ultimately become too daunting and distracting for readers.

for writers like us, the devil is in the details and our details are the heart and soul of our work. the things we say in them and the language we utilize tend to do most of the heavy lifting. knowing that, it's important to break down your paragraphs for readability and for impact.

a good example off the top of my head w/o going back through the fic is the paragraph where mc and Jonathon meet—exchange a simple pleasantry. I think that entire paragraph could've been broken down a bit to get your point across clearer.

other than that, though I don't have much I can offer you in way of constructive feedback because I think you did a spectacular job!!

one area where I think you really shined the most was with Jonathon's characterization. I don't know much about him, but with how he was written, I could be convinced that you stayed loyal to his canon personality and did it justice. his thoughts, his actions, his madness, his fear, his love all felt so enormously authentic to the story that you were writing that it just felt right, and like he belonged there, y'know?

I think a little snippet where you mostly perfectly portrayed him (to my understanding), really utilized language to give a cohesive picture of his thoughts and feelings and inner workings was here:

—here you can see his analytical side at work, mentioning constricting the blood flow to the brain and mc being ruled by secondary emotions. he is very much trying to rationalize what he's doing, despite how utterly batshit it is to us readers who know better. the fact that he calls it "a mercy" is batshit bonkers and I LOVE IT.

a couple other really good examples of this were the lobotomy scene (which I'll round back to) and how he's convinced what he's doing is the consequence of love and that it's what needed to be done, and at the ending where he's spersed mc's remains out across places that had meaning to them. like, SIR, you're kinda fucking insane in the worst way 💀

a hallmark of effective writing imo is when something can really get to me, really make me squirm and your lobotomy scene did that for me. as someone who writes DC/dead dove, it takes a bit to unsettle, but the language and descriptions that you used for that scene were so fucking visceral, graphic, and horrific that it had me wriggling around and making faces. It was highly impactful writing, gloriously hideous and fucked up, yet you could still fully envision crane's shaking hands and that slipup where the pick went into the brain.

moving on:

—I don't think you could've really described his interpretation of what love looked like to him better than this. It's cruel, ugly, disgusting in what he's doing and how he's thinking, but him regarding all of it softly and tenderly is apeshit wild. the entire cannibalism scene, I felt, stayed true to the idea that "cannibalism is a metaphor for love" with that hunger bringing people as close to one another as they could possibly ever be.

I think the last scene, where he's digging holes to dump MC's remains and he's regarding them all with fondness is wild as well, bc throughout the oneshot, nowhere is mentioned that he's doing things out of fear of being caught (that he confesses to)—but it's more just keep mc for himself. even in the end, it's said he's doing it bc that's what mc would've wanted, to be buried in their favorite places.

Eating the molar at the end was fucking crazy and I am so here for it.

The last thing I have to comment on was actually a paragraph at the beginning of the fic, which I think is perfectly encapsulated foreshadowing, while also divulging the extent of crane's darkness:

The imagery of this is off the walls crazy, simultaneously terrifying but beautiful. demented but entirely intimate. It's probably one of my favorite bits from your fic! I think this was positively exquisite!!

all in all, this was such a remarkable fic, moth! I can see how much it means to you and the effort that you put into it. from beginning to end, it shows that. I think you should be proud of what you achieved with this, because I'll be thinking about this fic for a while now. the powerful language, the visuals, how visceral it all was???? FANTASTIC!!!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

If There's No End

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x Reader

Warnings | DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT!!! MAJOR CHARACTER DE*TH – Reader d*es! ANGST, HURT, NO COMFORT, CANN*BALISM, do NOT read if any of this feels too uncomfortable!! Jon is very, very delusional in this, drugging, lobotomy, established relationship, again - CANN*BALISM. (tumblr wants me to censor this :'] )

Summary | Jonathan reminisces about your shared life and the day you found out his secret.

Words | 2.7k

Notes | Don’t yell at me for this, you’ve been warned! Not proofread, please don’t beat me up.

@kiss-me-cill-me welp, this is the cannibalism fic lmao bon appetit

Jonathan never thought he’d know guilt. But now that he’s hunched over on his knees, digging through the mud with trembling hands, he suspects that this might be it. His vision is still blurry. Has been for the past few hours. The tears have turned his world into a faded, abstract mess, like a child’s chalk drawings that are in the middle of being washed away by the rain. If it had been anyone else, he would have settled for the large dump of hazardous waste behind ACE Chemicals. But not in this case. Never in this case.

Jonathan never thought he’d grow to respect another person, but you crashed into his life with an earth-shattering intensity that nearly made his knees give out as soon as you turned to greet him. Hi. Two letters, one syllable. And it affected him in such a profound way that his ears still burn at the memory. Even during that first fleeting conversation, he felt as if the edges of his person began to become cloudy. Desperate to merge with yours until there was no end and no beginning to the two of you as separate people. Until flesh and bone and viscera were a shared commodity between him and you. A fever dream with the appropriate symptoms. Some nights he woke from a beautiful dream, a fantasy in which the two of you were irrevocably merged into one being. And on those nights, hot tears of disappointment and anger burned so harshly on his cheeks that he expected his sheets to sizzle where the drops fell.

It was love. It had to be. And when the universe finally relented to the prayers and wishes he whispered until his throat became hoarse, his life exploded with color. Fleeting glances and coy small talk managed to bloom into something more, something deeper and more intimate than Jonathan’s analytical vocabulary could ever fully explain. You loved him in a way that was entirely foreign to him. Unconditional and patient. You just… got him. Without even trying to. Your gaze traveled past skin and ribs down to his very heart and soul, and you didn’t turn away. But you didn’t know everything back then. How could you? He was so secretive about everything involving his studies. Sometimes, he couldn’t resist the temptation of monologuing about fear and its shackles on humanity. But that was all he was willing to share with you. He granted you a microscopic detail of the true extend of his passion. A laughably small excerpt of his obsession.

Jonathan never thought he’d know love. But you proved him wrong with every smile, every whisper of praise, every tender touch upon his skin.

He knows how cliché it is to claim that settling down with someone never occurred to him before he met you, but it's the truth. In a life that was filled with hurt and contempt, you were the first to take a chance on him. Undeterred by his sometimes standoffish nature and cold attitude, you pressed onwards until he cracked, revealing the mush that you've managed to melt him into.

A future with you was worth everything he had endured up to that point. The plan was to graduate, find jobs and get hitched immediately. He wanted to put his last name on you, give you a part of himself that you would take wherever you went.

The first two steps were already completed with him getting a PhD and a professorship, that he quickly lost again, somewhere in the middle. Aside from a few mishaps and arguments about his attitude towards his patients at Arkham, all seemed right in paradise.

Often, the two of you would lie awake at night, talking about your future while you played with his fingers. "I'd like to get married in Spring," you said. And he just nodded, already imagining your bright smile when he'd put the ring on your finger. On those nights, the urge to become one often overtook him, and he rolled on top of you to devour you in a different way. In hindsight, he should've told you. Given you a chance to see the true extend of his rotten soul. You already knew so much about him, yet you still wanted a life with him. You often said how much you craved the mundane with him. Lazy Sunday mornings, standing in line to get groceries, gossiping about your neighbors in the quiet part in the outskirts Gotham City that you wanted to move to. He should've told you about the toxin he keeps stashed away in his office, no more than 15 feet behind the pillow you rested your pretty head on.

He didn't dare to think about what could've been. No, he made the right decision. Surely.

He still remembers your wide eyes. The way the color vanished from your complexion as you turned towards him with his mask in your hands. He remembers how wrong the burlap looked, crushed between your beautiful fingers. You asked him to explain, even though you were already tearing up just by looking at him. Jonathan was always convinced that he could read you like a book, but in that moment, he doubted himself. And he panicked. From one second to the next, he lunged at you, putting you into a headlock that constricted the blood flow to your brain, and you wheezed and wailed for him to stop, but he couldn’t. If he let go, you’d let yourself be ruled by secondary emotions. Emotions like betrayal and heartbreak that threatened to overshadow the deep, deep love you felt for him. It was an act of mercy for both of you. So, he held you until your struggling stopped, and your consciousness slipped away. It always takes longer in real life than in the movies. And he cried with you. God, did he cry, soaking your hair with his tears as he choked you into a blackout.  

You were out for ten minutes. Ten agonizing minutes which he used to prepare for what needed to be done. Your happiness was his happiness, so he had to do something to take your mind off of the situation. Or any situation for that matter. He has never done this before, but the thought of desperate measures during desperate times, didn’t give him the opportunity to hesitate. A local anesthetic and a muscle relaxant would suffice, he decided as he rushed to gather the equipment. By the time you came to, he was already straddling your torso, leaning over you with fresh tears in his eyes. As you began to silently panic, Jonathan was quick to try and shush you. Oh, how it hurt him more than it hurt you. The lobotomy set was a Christmas gift from you. A tongue-in-cheek nod to the history of the profession he chose. It was fate. It had to be.

The tip of the ice pick-like instrument felt cold against your eye socket, and he clenched his teeth at the shiver that ran down your spine. His hands were violently shaking already, and your involuntary movements didn’t make it any better.

“Shh… shh… don’t move, angel… It’ll… it’ll be so quick, I promise.”

Another sob wrecked through his body as he lifted the delicate metal hammer.

“You need to try and sing for me, okay? Or hum. Or anything. I need… I need to know when it’s deep enough. Just try, angel. Just try, okay?”

Jonathan’s voice was as shaky as the grip on the instruments. But by God, he had to do this. He had to keep you by his side. His other half, his future, his everything. The vessel of every passion and love he poured into you. You just stared up at him through watery eyes, unable to open your mouth anymore, so you settled for humming. It was a nonsensical melody, a mish-mash of several nursery rhymes without a title. The first strike of the hammer against the orbitoclast caused an incredible pressure to spread in your skull, and black spots settled in your vision as the tip of the instrument breached bone. The crack was nauseating, but you couldn’t even struggle. Jonathan’s breathing became heavy, and he wheezed out a sob that sounded like it came from a dying animal when he saw the blood that began to fill your eye. But he had to continue.

“Just like that. Just like that, angel.”

With trembling hands, he prepared himself for the second strike, but he underestimated the adrenaline that his blackened heart was pumping through his veins. Something went wrong, his sweaty hands slipped off the equipment, skewing the angle of the pick when he hit it. And he hit it hard. Immediately, your humming stopped and turned into stuttered noises. A bead of clear fluid dripped from your nose, rolling down over your lips. This wasn’t blood.

The crushing realization that he messed up caused Jonathan to freeze entirely. Cerebrospinal fluid was leaking out of your nose at a quick rate, sending him into a blind panic. He tried to pull the pick from your eye, causing even more damage to your precious brain. A brain that was meant to love, not hurt. But here you are, wasting away before his very eyes. You’re suffering beneath him like a bird that hit a window in a curious attempt to explore. And you did explore.

Back in his childhood, he once found an injured crow in the shade of the family house. The poor thing was twitching and bleeding, much like you are now. Jonathan remembered the crushing emotions that he felt when he looked at the animal. And he also remembered the feeling when his grandmother put it out of its misery by crushing the crow’s head under her shoe like it was nothing. Like it was nothing. You weren’t nothing, but you still deserved that brand of mercy.

He doesn’t remember how he did it. Whether he wrapped his hands around your throat or injected you with enough muscle relaxant to put you down. In fact, he doesn’t remember much of the first night of complete silence. When he emerged from the blur, his throat felt raw from sobbing, and his eyes were swollen and red. He had left the room that contained your body immediately, fearing that he’d catch fire from stepping into a place that had been consecrated by the death of an angel. Eventually, after he had bitten his lips bloody and used up every tear in his eyes, he dared to face you again. And God, were you still so beautiful. And as ashamed as he was for thinking this way, there was also a positive to this. A big one at that. You would always be his. No one else would ever get the privilege of seeing your eyes or hearing your voice again. You truly belonged to him in every way. And as he stepped over to kneel besides your body and take your hand in his, he actually smiled. It was just the two of you. Like you always planned.

It was a grueling process. To strip skin from flesh, and flesh from bone. But he was patient. Patient in the same way that you were with him. Patient in a tender, saccharine way that made his insides squirm as if he was infested by maggots. But the only parasite inside of him was love. That's how it works, right? You can never truly get rid of it.

Once the bones were clean, he had to step back for a while. The impending loneliness made him stumble into the bathroom to vomit into the toiled bowl. For a good 30 minutes, he sat there. Doubled over and white-knuckling the porcelain. There was no disgust involved. Just fear. God, he was terrified of being alone again. Terrified of truly losing the one thing he couldn't breathe without. And as he sat there, heaving like a dog, he found a solution.

He ate your heart first.

Every bite, every mashing of teeth against teeth was an act of love. He had to pause a few times, chuckling at himself for his choice. How cheesy it was to go for the heart first. But how could he not? Even Jonathan wasn't immune to symbolism. It wasn't about taste or texture. It was about the growing sensation of having his stomach filled. Of having his hunger satiated by forming an everlasting connection with you. You would never be wearing his wedding ring, but you'd be with him forever in a different way. You'd be his until the day that he died. And even then, he hoped, your spirits would be so entangled that there was no way of separating the two of you. Maybe you'll get reincarnated as one soul together.

Over the course of three weeks, he forced himself to consume as much of you as he possibly could, setting the table for two since you were there as well. It always started off tame. He tried to savor the feeling of becoming one, but at some point, his composure always cracked, and he ate your body like he was a starving animal trying to fill the never-ending pit inside of him. The part that hurt him more than anything, though, was crafting a story. In the process of keeping you to himself, he had to ruin your reputation.

It was easy for others to believe. Of course, you would leave Jonathan for someone else. Most people in your small circle secretly never believed that this relationship would last. It was easy to make them believe something they had already expected to happen at some point. In this crafted lie, you went off to live with someone else, far away from Gotham. But in reality, you were always here with him. Beneath his skin that now became your own.

Jonathan never thought he’d feel peace. But now, that he has finished digging this hole in Gotham Central Park, he thinks he’s gotten pretty close. It has started to rain a few minutes ago, but he’s not bothered. In his mind, it’s your doing. Your loving attempt to wash the sin and guilt from his body. Because you know the depths of his devotion, know the intend behind his actions. This isn’t the first hole he has dug since the two of you became one. But it’s the final one. Back when he was confronted with the reality of what to do with your bones, he decided to do what you would want. You always were the romantic in the relationship, so he decided to leave your remains in places that were significant to the both of you.

His hands aren’t shaking anymore, as he pulls the plastic bag that he brought closer to himself. The material shreds quickly as his fingers tear through it, and he pulls it open to reveal the last pieces of your previous body. A tender smile spreads over his face as he reaches into the bag to pull out the bones of your fingers and wrists, remembering how he tore off the flesh and skin with his teeth. Your loving touch would always be with him. Carefully, he lowers everything into the hole he dug before he turns to the final piece. Tears of relief well up in his eyes as he gazes upon the empty sockets of your lovely skull. With the caution and gentleness of a mother setting down her newborn, he places your skull into the earth, whispering promises of everlasting love under his breath. This isn’t the end. Far from it. Once he wipes his eyes with his sleeve, he notices something else. It takes a moment to dislodge one of your molars from your jawbone, but Jonathan eventually manages. The piece of ivory bone almost seems to glow in the dim light that’s being casted by a distant street lamp. It’s your tooth. You share his now, so there’s no need for it anymore. But it’s one last piece of your smile.

And in a final act of completion, he swallows it.

[howlingmod]

Something angst with Subspace x reader plz??

ok so this might be mid . scratches my neck im trying

summary - subspace x reader angst, no happy ending

misc - warnings for unrequited love, implied death, gore, and generally just. not good things. reader has amnesia and is described as having severe physical trauma

-you couldn't recall the exact details of what had gone wrong. you couldn't remember the exact details of much, to be entirely honest. much of what you knew now was just what other people had told you about, which, in of itself, wasn't much. most often you were left to piece things together through news paper clippings and bits and pieces of conversation.

-you had been a scientist for blackrock not too long ago, and a prolific one at that. you were one of the leading researchers in their nuclear department before abruptly falling off the face of the earth. an attendant had told you it was because of 'an incident you had,' which landed you here in your blank-walled room, with no real hope of returning to your former station due to your current mental state.

-you were stable enough health wise, more fragile than they'd like to see but you could still perform basic tasks and recall standard information before you overworked yourself. it wasn't a terrible spot to be in by any means, you didn't have too much to worry about but it still didn't feel like a real life.

-you were cared for and had some materials to busy yourself with, receiving enough attention in the form of biweekly check-ups, typically in the form of questionnaires revolving around your memories and abilities. you didn't have many visitors, though. you had a few nurses you could remember the faces of, but no family members, the only exception was another researcher, subspace t. mine.

-apparently, he was also an important scientist. he'd told you as much after a month or so of visiting, once the shock of you not recognizing his name had worn off. it came off as egotistical to you- sure, he was a big deal, but you had other things to worry about. one random guy escaping your knowledge isn't the end of the world. you'd let that bitterness slip in a little mutter under your breath, one that he'd seemed to hear. you'd expected him to shoot up, play up his image and demand your respect, but he didn't. he'd just stared at you a little more hurt than you were expecting, like he couldn't believe you didn't know him as a person and not just a figure.

-you figured out at some point that you two did know each other, but you didn't know how close you were. he talked about who you were before 'your incident,' but never let on anything about your relationship. you figured you must just be acquaintances, as any time he began to talk about the two of you together he'd trail off and stop talking. there must not be much to say. there must not be much he wants to tell you.

-while he usually just came in to talk, he'd prod at you every now and then, grab at your face and arms and turn them this way and that to examine you. on one specific occasion he'd gone to examine your horn. you'd seen it in the mirror plenty of times but you tried not to look at it too much, it made you feel a little sick. as opposed to the smooth surface he and the attendants had, yours was rough, the inner bone exposed and cauterized tissue spilling out. there were holes in the surface, ranging from small dots to divots large enough you could (but wouldn't dare to) stick your finger through. it was the topic of many examinations, being the biggest indicator of your fragility.

-his claws on the surface didn't hurt, you could feel his hands shake with how careful he was being. he didn't seem to be looking for anything in particular, just analyzing, logging the damage done. he didn't speak at all, just frowned and held his breath. at some point or another the touch began to burn and you'd just pulled your head away, slipping out of his hand quickly enough you'd briefly wondered if you'd scratched him in the process, as he'd just as quickly yanked his own away, staring at you like you'd burned him (or like he'd snapped it off). he never spoke about any of the deformities that littered your body, the welts and scar tissue and gashes seemed too painful for him to do more than stare at.

-he'd brought you a replica of your gear once, not nearly as powerful, according to him, but a replica nevertheless. you'd held it a few times, even carried it around your room while you were alone, but it never resonated. it felt natural in your hands but the power never sunk deeper than a layer under your skin, out of sync with your heart. he never asked where it went or why you didn't keep it around you. the first time he'd noticed (rather quickly, you thought) he'd been quieter than normal, just sitting in silence across from you and staring at the space between the two of you.

-he'd continue to visit you, progressively switching from memories of you to the mundanity of his day. he couldnt brag to you the way he did others. it felt wrong. he may have been rotting but you were an entirely different case. he still had the luxury of his identity where you'd been stripped of everything and dumped into a cell equally deprived of character. nothing was coming back. your horn was slowly rotting and chipping right out of you. there was only so much delaying that could be done.

-what do you do when the person you love is destroyed and the person replacing them will be destroyed all the same?

-with every passing month he would keep looking you over and talking about something meaningless to grasp at time and with every passing month you would grow wearier and wearier, slowly but surely.

-he'd broken once, held tight to you and hid his face over your shoulder, whispered about a life you couldn't call yours and a love you didn't have a part in and you'd stayed motionless there, hands limp. you couldn't return the affections, they were meant for someone else before you.

[eowynstwin]

I just love love love the way you write! Especially sex scenes! You make them so intimate when they need to be, and absolutely filthy simultaneously.

Have you taken any inspiration from published books? And by that, I mean have there been any notable books that have helped you navigate your writing process, or is it all just organically from the brain?

<3

gasp I love this question. I'm going to ramble.

So the first books that spring to mind are The Locked Tomb books by Tamsyn Muir, I love how simultaneously sincere and irreverent she is!! She has this way of describing things that i find really evocative and charming, and the charm contrasts really sharply with the subject matter (gore and grief and cosmic horror), so it makes it lowkey really funny.

Example, while giving a seminar about not getting swallowed by the ninth layer of hell, a character draws diagrams on a whiteboard with a "chubby marker." Chubby marker has always stuck with me because it's not a pair of words I would normally put together, and that's been pretty keystone to me. It taught me that the way you describe things matters just as much as describing them at all.

I also think about timing a lot thanks to The Raven Cycle by Maggie Stiefvater. She's another writer who knows how many times she can make you laugh without undermining the seriousness of the things she writes about, and she is so so so good at character banter and relationships.

There's a bit in Blue Lily, Lily Blue where one character is harassing his friends by rickrolling them with a horrible song, and it's not really important to the plot, but it sort of embroiders the friendships that are important to the plot. Fucking with your friends is a time-honored tradition and it just makes everything feel a bit more real and precious—it makes you really believe in the verisimilitude of the relationships, like they have lives outside of the prose itself.

Then there's Robert MacFarlane! I've only just gotten into him. I'm reading Underland, and I started listening to The Old Ways audiobook but I'm gonna find the book at the library instead. i love the way he sets his scenes, or establishes his details. He's got an economy of detail that I've really been loving.

What I mean is—"The cave is dark and quiet around me" will become "Quiet cave, dark around me" or something similar. He eschews articles like "this" "the" "that" "is" and "are" because they're not necessary, and they'd slow down the pacing. It lends to a very dreamlike quality to his prose, I feel.

I feel like that's a commonality between nature writers too lol because I also love Robin Wall Kimmerer (who he quotes in Underland!!) so I'm going to search out others in that genre.

Honorable mention—I do love Lonesome Dove by Larry McMurtry for getting the cadence of a western too. Especially when listening to the audiobook. The narrator for that one is GREAT.

For sex scenes—lmao I've honestly never read any in published work that do anything for me. Fanfiction smut still blows trad pub AND self pub out of the water. I suspect that may be because very explicit sex scenes (ironically) put a good majority of readers off—I couldn't say why, though, other than to speculate that a lot of romance readers don't really have a good relationship with their own sexuality. (Hot take.)

How I write sex is instead influenced by the way my friends in this fandom write it, and it's also me thinking about what is noteworthy to ME about sex. I think about the smell, the weight of another person's body, where I want them to put their hands on me.

Sex is also sometimes the vehicle for the narrative, rather than the point in and of itself, so I ask myself "how do I characterize this interaction to serve the story?" It's a conversation, after all; two (or more) bodies navigating each other.

I think that's it! Dear god that got long.

[antlersaint]

haii… your reblog earlier has inspired me… absolutely gonna need a fic where quinn calls you pathetic for being eager/desperate to fuck her!!

i’ll feel shame for this when i wake up…

- 🍲

i do plan on writing more like this... (perv!reader x quinn and loser!reader x quinn coming soon)... but :3 yeah! quinn with a very desperate and eager reader who just NEEDS to fuck her. reader has a dick, not male reader.

you are just so...

there are a lot of ways quinn could go about describing you, really. none of them good. you're annoyingly persistent, following her around all day insisting that she let you take her out at least once. talking away about how you'd have such a great time, it'd be fun, blah blah blah. like a small dog nipping at her heels. fortunately for you, though, (and unfortunately for her), you're cute. so, eventually, she does agree to a date; on one condition.

keep it in your pants.

and, to your credit, you do. you take her to see some movie, with a cast she'd never heard of but you apparently know a considerable amount about. and to quinn's surprise, you're relatively chivalrous. opening and closing doors for her, paying for whatever she wants at the counter (which she takes advantage of, just a little). though most importantly, you're not overly touchy. sure, there's little things here and there. a hand on her lower back, a hand on her thigh above her skirt. normal stuff she's fine with and even encourages, throwing you a smirk, shifting closer. the way you completely stiffen up does not go unnoticed.

once you're back in the truck, letting the engine run so it gets a little warmer, quinn leans over the center console and presses a couple kisses to your neck—her breath ghosting across your cheek in a quiet laugh when you jump at the contact. she turns your head so your mouths can slot together but pulls away hardly even a second later, holding you in place when you go to chase her lips. "take me to your apartment?"

it's a miracle you don't get pulled over, with how fast you were driving.

she's half expecting you to jump her as soon as the front door closes, but for whatever reason, you don't. you sort of just... stand there, staring, gaze unfocused and breathing shallow. it's amusing. quinn can practically feel your eyes whenever she saunters over to the couch, patting the cushion next to her with an expectant eyebrow raised. your movements are jerky, like you're not sure how to at all. after you've taken your seat, her fingers curl around your jaw, pulling you closer, and from here, she can see how blown your pupils are. you remind her of an excited puppy, almost. hands clenched into fists sitting atop your thighs, like you're waiting for permission to touch her.

though, once that permission is given in the form of another kiss and you're immediately trying to shove your tongue in her mouth, panting, stuff starts to make sense.

you're a desperate little thing. and inexperienced, she's assuming, by the way you practically paw at her clothes, whining low in your throat. it's unfairly arousing, ruining the lace quinn had picked out just for the hell of it, but she's not complaining. you're a fucking treat.

in what she's sure is record time after only making out for less than a minute, you're straining against the fly of your jeans; something she takes too much delight in when noticing, unable to bite back the laugh that bubbles up from her chest. understandably, that reaction is received negatively and you flinch away, mouth open to apologize or whatever else, but she shuts you up with another kiss. tongue flicking out over your lips, earning her the most pathetic sound quinn is sure a human being can make. she pops open the button of your jeans, commanding you to lift your hips so she can slide them off along with your boxers. soon enough, you're left completely bare while all she's missing is the lipstick that's now staining your skin.

she lets you lay her down on the couch after a bit longer of teasing, gasping when you don't even bother to get her undressed and just flip her skirt up. nearly ripping her panties with the force you use to tug them off. you're lucky she's feeling generous, or else you'd be left untouched just for that.

generous doesn't mean patient, though. your eagerness is cute, but not when you fail miserably multiple times to push inside and just rut against her, pre-cum stickying her thighs, whining and grunting against into her shoulder. god, you're such a virgin it's almost painful. quinn pushes you back, hand around your throat keeping you in place while she climbs into your lap. free hand dipping down between the two of you so she can line up with your cock before sinking down.

you're sizeable; a perfect fit, really. you hold onto her so tightly she's sure there'll be bruises come morning, but she couldn't care less. not when you're moaning so pretty and filling her up so good. after taking a moment to adjust, she rolls her hips, your own twitching up to meet the movement. it's good. better than she was—

fuck. quinn just had to go and say something, didn't she?

you barely even get to the fifth thrust before your entire body is locking up. eyes rolling into the back of your head, her name like poison on your tongue. she has to blink away the haze in her eyes, incredulous. really? that's all you have to give her? oh, no. no, she really doesn't think so.

"jesus, you're fucking pathetic." the comedown from your high is cut abruptly short when she starts to move again. you're painfully sensitive, and you make it known, pleading for her to stop or at the very least slowdown. she doesn't. threads her fingers into your hair and tugs, keeping your neck craned back so she's basically speaking against your mouth. "you can take it, baby. just shut up and take it for me."

you can, and you do; and quinn makes sure she cums multiple times before you even get a chance to again.

[faithisyours]

Falling in the Night

A caitvi nightmare fic

Summary: Vi wakes from a nightmare. It lingers until she’s in Cait’s arms.

wc: 1.2k

cw: nightmare, talk of losing loved ones (not described in detail), hurt comfort if you squint, otherwise all fluff

an: Good day lovely internet people! Here is the nightmare fic I promised. I feel like it’s a bit different than how I usually write, but I like it. Next week I have 4 exams and it's my birthday Wednesday, so pray I make it out alive. Probably no more fics til March unfortunately, but it’s gonna be for The List I think so some good news for some I suppose. I hope everyone is doing well, as always men and minors dni.

In the stillness of their now shared bedroom, Violet jackknifed out of sleep, eyes flying open, wild, panting, and panicked. Covered in a thin sheen of cold sweat, she searched the darkness, parsing out exactly where she was, when she was, and most importantly, who was around her. Cait, the only soul within a five mile radius, the only soul worth a damn to Violet, was sleeping soundly next to her, unperturbed by Vi’s sudden excitation.

A nightmare, it had only been a nightmare, but that fact meant nothing to her sympathetic nervous system, who was working over time priming her with adrenalin. She brought a shaking, sweaty hand to her face, rubbing at her eyes and skin, attempting to shake the feeling, to wipe the residue of the dream off, but to no avail. Placing her head in her hands, she took a long shaky breath in, then out as she brought her knees to her chest. She needed to calm down, get her breathing and heart rate under control. She took another long drag of breath, felt her chest press against her legs as her lungs filled, then pull back apart as she released it.

Alright. She wasn’t panting anymore. Good. But the dream was still stuck to her, still clinging on, sinking its claws in, roaring to life every time she blinked. She should be able to do this, to shake it. She’d had nightmares since she was a kid. It shouldn’t matter that they've been getting worse, she’s older now, she should be able to handle them. But a little part of her didn’t want to be alone, didn’t want to go through it herself. That part made her whisper, “Cait,” into the darkness of the bedroom, and, “Caitlyn,” when there was no response the first time.

Cait roused slightly, sighing and rolling over, but she hadn’t woken up, and that was enough for Vi to shut it down. She didn’t need comfort. What was she going to say, anyway? That she’d had a nightmare and wanted to be coddled like a child? No, not happening. She could deal with it.

Silently, she slipped from bed and headed towards the door, careful to avoid creeking it as she passed through. She padded her way down the cold steps and made her way to the kitchen. There, she filled a glass with water, drank half quickly, then poured the other half down the drain. It was still on her, she could feel it, how it stuck to her skin, seeped through to her bones. Falling, everyone was falling, she was falling, dizzy, grip giving out.

She was white-nuckling the counter, she realized, digging crescents into the soft underside wood. Alright. She let go. Then went through another round of breathing, this time counting seconds, in, 2, 3, 4…out, 2, 3, 4. Alright. She was done with that.

Once her breath was even, her heart rate semi-normal, and the anxiety within her beaten down enough so she could barely feel it, Vi filled her cup once more with water, only partially this time, and took one last sip before heading back upstairs. The cold marble floor bit into her feet, but she didn’t mind it. It grounded her, kept her from slipping back into the dream. When she made it back to the bedroom, she silently padded her way across the floor rug to her side of the bed. She sat, trying desperately not to shift the bed too much, then lifted her legs to lay back against the headboard.

There was movement from beside her, and it seemed her attempts to be smooth and silent were in vein, because Caitlyn perked her head up, surveyed her girlfriend, and asked, “Where did you go?”

“Just to get some water,” Vi whispered, giving Cait a small smile that only passed as a grimace.

“Is everything alright?” Cait followed, concern lacing her soft voice.

“Ya, just a bad dream. Everything’s fine now.” Vi responded a bit clipped, pulling the covers over her. She settled, slouched against the headboard. Silently, Cait wiggled her way over towards Vi, threw an arm around her waist, and placed her head gently upon her lover's chest.

After a moment: “Do you want to talk about it?” Cait whispered into the silence of the room.

There was a pause, long enough for Cait to think she wasn’t going to receive a response, but then, “I saw her fall again,” Vi whispered, voice almost inaudible, “Over and over, and I couldn’t -” her voice cracked, emotion welling up, clogging her ability to speak. Cait just hugged her tighter, buried her head deeper. If Vi wanted to keep going, she would, if she didn’t, she would stop. But Cait would be there for her either way, would always be there for her now. And she needed to make sure Vi knew that.

“I couldn’t save her, I couldn’t save any of them,” her voice, so soft and so broken, was filled with hopelessness. Cait’s heart ached, like someone was squeezing it to pieces. She shifted, picking her head up and surveying her girlfriend in the light of the moon, only to find silent tears marring her freckled cheeks. She thought it impossible, but Caitlyn’s heart swelled evermore with an ache that was borderline debilitating. Vi’s eyes were shut tight, tears brimming in the creases formed, and her bottom lip trembled ever so slightly. If Cait wasn’t so painstakingly observant, she would have missed it.

She brought her hands up gently to wipe Vi’s tears away, cupping her cheeks and simply holding her. Vi only flinched slightly at the touch, quickly relaxing into the softness of her love’s hands. Her eyes remained closed, so Cait brought her lips to Vi’s cheeks, kissing away the tears, the sadness, the reminder of pain. With her hands still caressing Vi’s face, she tilted the head between her hands up, wanting Vi to open her eyes, which eventually she did.

“It wasn’t your fault. It was never your fault.” she whispered, her good eye filled with understanding but also determination. None of what happened was her fault. She was only a kid when this all started. How could anything be her fault?

She waited til Vi gave a nod of understanding before Caitlyn brushed a kiss to her forehead. The nod didn’t mean she agreed, only that she understood her words, received and processed them, and that one day she too might believe them.

“Let’s try sleep again, ya? This time I’ll hold you. I’ll make sure no nightmares get you, alright Darling?” Vi nodded and offered Cait a small smile, this one the distant cousin of a grimace. She slipped down into the bed facing Cait, who followed her down, wrapped the covers around them, and gathered Vi tightly in her arms. They held each other like the other was their lifeline, and in a way that was actually true. Finally safe, loved, and calm, Vi drifted off into a deep and dreamless sleep.

[tea-cat-arts]

Shen Yuan getting transported into pidw isn't "the system punishing him for being a lazy internet hater," but instead representative of "step 1 of the creative process: getting so mad at something you decide to go write your own fucking book" in this essay I will