#they are all absolutely stunning and I am devastated

[magnusbae]

The durasteel fingers that hook into Obi-Wan's mouth are firm and cold. The lingering scent of engine oil and ozone is near tangible on the tip of his tongue, it tingles, making his toes curl involuntarily.

It should be an unpleasant reminder of the war, a reminder of his failure as a Master. Instead, a shiver runs down his spine. Excitement and anticipation to see how far Anakin would push. How much he'd demand in his shameless petulance. 'But Master,' he can hear him say if he was to attempt and stop those advances. If he was to stop him.

It happens less and less often, the actual stopping. Allowing Anakin more, and more, and then more yet again. He should be embarrassed by his own willingness to indulge in this insanity. Should be, but isn't.

There should be shame over his harsh breathing, there should be regret at the heaviness in his undergarments, there should be control, there should be serenity, there should be— "Ahnakin" he exhales harsher yet, more a groan than he'd care to admit.

His former Padawan had taken a firm grip at his jaw, jerking his face to the side with the Mechno-hand. He truly, without a doubt, should be stopping Anakin from so blatantly marking him as his own, teeth and lips and tongue. He should. He doesn't.

Obi-Wan should not allow such power over himself, should not allow such possession, such greed. Should not— "Ugh-" he bites at the durasteel finger, arousal punching through his gut as Anakin nibbles at his neck. Sweet and gentle like a loth-kitten, Anakin's tongue is quick to follow with small licks. The affectionate care is devastating, Obi-Wan should stop. He should— yet he will not.

teething-puppy.png

A gift for my beloved @magnusbae ( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡).

[c0ld0utside]

Hello there,I am a new follower and I'm just wondering if your comfortable to write a Yandere platonic royal family and a male y/n, only if you're comfortable i don't wanna pressure you

Imagine - Yandere Royal Family 

Hi! Yeah, that’s totally fine! 

Yandere Royal Family with a Male kid

Warnings: Overprotectiveness, coddling behavior, manipulation, familial hatred

You are the youngest son of the royal family, consisting of your Mother, Father, Older Sister, and Brother. You’re the baby, the one who can do no wrong, Mama's boy, the one who has to be protected at all costs. Your Older Brother doesn’t need to worry about fighting over the throne with you, and he’d never dream of it! You’re too pathetic and sweet! 

…Right?

Yandere Princess Sister who’s the first to notice your sudden…”everything” change over the years. You’re quieter, you don’t play as much and you’ve started to distance yourself. You’re rude to her. Rude. You hate playing dress up and being cooed at by her and her friends during teatime. You’re usually the first to finish dinner and you quickly excuse yourself and hide in your room. 

Yandere Prince Brother who’s the second to notice. He doesn’t interact with you much since he’s busy learning how to be king for when he eventually takes your father’s place, but he has made time to hang out with you when he can. No- you cannot spar with him. Mom and Dad don’t want you to hurt yourself anyway. Why don’t we read a story instead? No? You used to love it when he read you stories- where is this coming from? 

He feels worried when you storm out of the room. 

Yandere Empress Mother who’s the third to notice. You don’t join her for tea or walks in the garden. You don’t sit with her in her office, talking to her about what you did today. Sure, it was usually repetitive, the same old “I read a new book and saw a pretty bird from the window,” but she didn’t mind. You don’t tell her your wishes or troubles anymore. 

You want to learn how to sword fight? No, absolutely not, you don’t need to learn how to fight at all. You’re safe here, anyway. No, you can’t go out into town without your guards. I don’t care if your Sister only has one, she’s much older than you. What do you want to go into town for? I’ll place an order for you. You want to go outside without me, your Older Sister, or Your Older Brother? I’ll have your guards go with you, then. 

Yandere Empress Mother who simply wants the best for you and wants you to be safe. If you won’t come to her, she’ll come to you. She’s surprised when your answers are short. “Why haven’t you been spending time with me anymore?” “Is it true that you’re being rude to your siblings?” “Sword fighting? Again? No, you can’t. Your father and I don’t want you to get hurt. …Did you just tell me to get out?”

After you slam the door shut, she stands there in a stunned silence. Did that really just happen? She has to process for a long time.

She takes a deep breath before heading off to speak with your father.

With your Sister and Brother.

Yandere Emperor Father who does a double take at what he’s been told. Was this really you they were talking about? He immediately demands an audience with you. Unfortunately, he’s not gentle like your mother and siblings. He immediately asks you if what the rest of your family said is true, and like the good child you are, you admit to it. He can’t help but feel a little happy and proud about that- you coming clean. It goes away when it’s clear that you aren’t sorry. 

“Why have you been acting this way? Don’t give me that, you’re still a child. Stop talking back to me. Don’t argue with me. When did you become so disrespectful? No, you’re not a prisoner, that’s ridiculous! We all love you and care about you very much. You don’t understand how devastated we’d feel if you got hurt. We just want what’s best for you, you’re too young to understand. Didn’t I tell you to stop talking back to me?” 

Yandere Emperor Father who confines you to your room for a month. It’s a hard decision for him to make- he hates having to punish any of his children. Meals are brought to you and you’re allowed to leave to use the bathroom, but the servants aren’t allowed to speak with you. 

Only your family can. 

It’s mostly your siblings and your mother, who you turn away each time. Rarely does your father stop by, lecturing you and trying to get you to see reason. When you don’t, he sighs and adds another month to your punishment time. Unbeknownst to all of them, you have a plan. 

Yandere Royal Family who nearly died on the spot when you’re not in your room. Your older brother is the one to discover you’re missing. It went like this: He “found” your favorite childhood storybook in his room. He had read you the stories so many times he had them all memorized. He felt a bit guilty for hiding it all those years ago, seeing that sad expression on your little face. But he made it up to you by telling you a story before bed. You didn’t need the book anymore, after all. You need him. 

He thought it’d make you feel better. Imagine his horror when he sees the makeshift rope of the blanket and bedsheets in the open window. Imagine everyone else’s surprise when they hear him shouting frantically. When they see him running through the hallways screaming about how you’re gone.

Several search parties are sent out, your family counting the seconds and trying to stay calm. Their panic worsens when you’re missing for days. Where did you go?! Why did you run away?! Did you run away? Did someone take you? That can’t be possible, you don’t know anyone except your family. Because they’re all you need. 

When you’re found, you’re dragged back kicking and screaming. At first your family is worried, thinking you’re shouting because you’re injured. But no, it’s because you don’t want to be locked up again. Especially with them. They don’t notice some of the pitying looks you get, especially from a certain guard.

The guard who they didn’t know let you escape. 

They’re too relieved to be angry at you for long, and your punishment terms have changed.

You have to stay right by their side for the day. Yes, and night, too. Isn’t that fun, though? You can watch your brother swordfight, dress up with your sister (you look amazing, by the way), talk to your mother and father while they work, and have sleepovers…

You spent the day with your brother today. With a loving smile and a kiss to your temple, he wishes you goodnight and closes your eyes. 

Not noticing that you stayed up a bit longer, eyeing his sword on the rack.

-

Wuh-woh, looks like Reader’s getting other ideas on how to get out. This was interesting to write! Thank you all for the love so far! I’ll try to update once a day, I don’t really have a schedule for my posts.

[aethon-recs]

Tomarrymort Starter Pack: 10 Recs for Getting Started in Tomarrymort

I've compiled a list of 10 medium to longfic recs that I think represent a great on-ramp to the Tomarrymort ship, as inspired by @sitp-recs’ Drarry for Beginners rec list. These are the fics that I would use to on-board people to the ship — gorgeous writing, superb characterization, and just as enjoyable on the first read as the 20th reread. 

As always, I am stunned by the talent in this ship! I tried to pick a good mix of different themes/tropes/settings, with a focus on elements that make for a good introductory work: the characters are recognizable; the setting skews more recognizable; both characters in the ship are a meaningful part of the story; the ship is central to the story; and the fics are for the most part complete (or updated within the last year). 

(Standard rec list disclaimers apply: please mind all tags and warnings on AO3 before reading; this blog abides by the age-old fandom axiom of don’t like; don’t read; recs are in alphabetical order by title.)

This is Part 1 of a 3-part series — I also have an Intermediate reading list and Advanced reading list coming up for readers who have been with the ship for a longer time.

For now, please enjoy these 1.3 million words of absolutely brilliant Tomarrymort reads that I hope will keep you hooked until the very last word:

*

Tomarrymort Starter Pack Recs

A Dangerous Game by @cybrid (E, 284k, WIP)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 5 Premise: If Tom’s diary horcrux gains a body at the end of Harry’s 5th year (instead of his 2nd), and then promptly kidnaps Harry and holds him captive over the summer. Lots of smut ensues. Why I rec it: The characterization is truly stunning — Tom Riddle is undoubtedly a psychopath — manipulative, thrill-seeking, kind of an irredeemable shithead — but he’s also dazzlingly charming when he chooses to be, someone whose presence Harry quickly grows addicted to. Their relationship can get incredibly toxic and fucked-up at times, but Harry has top-notch instincts and can hold his own against Tom. The plot is absolutely gripping, with the threat of (the main) Voldemort, who has set his sights on reclaiming his wayward horcrux, looming in the background. 

A Future Without a Face by @dividawrites (E, 115k, complete)

Setting: Time-Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry travels back in time to Tom’s 5th year at Hogwarts, and Tom becomes obsessed with the new transfer student and wants nothing more than to possess him every way. Why I rec it: A 1940s time travel fic told entirely from Tom Riddle POV! Divida absolutely nails psychopath Tom — how he quickly gets singlemindedly focused on Harry, how the idea of possessing Harry consumes him, how he has no compunctions about doing completely fucked-up and destructive things to achieve his goals. There is so much tension between them from the start, so there’s not much of a wait to see some hot Harry & Tom action — and the conflict and tension only continues to build and build in dramatic fashion throughout the rest of the fic.

Either must die at the hand of the other by @metalomagnetic (E, 260k, complete)

Setting: Post-Canon Premise: If Voldemort survives the Battle of Hogwarts and is initially kept prisoner in Azkaban, until Harry takes him into Grimmauld Place under house arrest. Why I rec it: This fic is an incredible exploration of Voldemort at his most terrifying. Even if he starts off the fic with his magic temporarily blocked, he is no less powerful without his magic. The force of his personality is powerful enough for him to chip away at Harry’s initial resistance — @metalomagnetic manages to write one of the most charismatic, brilliantly manipulative, and psychologically devastating versions of Voldemort I’ve ever read. Harry ends up in a good place by the end of the fic, but the journey to get there is a roller-coaster of emotions that have permanently imprinted onto my soul.

In Somno Veritas by ladyoflilacs and @lordansketil (M, 158k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Harry starts appearing in Voldemort’s nightly dreams during Book 6, and Voldemort becomes obsessed with Harry after realizing he’s his horcrux. Why I rec it: This is one of the most unique fics I’ve ever read in this ship! Every scene is told in alternating POV between Harry’s POV and Voldemort’s POV, so you get to see how every scene unfolds from both of their perspectives. Voldemort is so intense and just as terrible as he is in canon, so his character is not at all sugarcoated, and Harry has so much compassion and heart and manages to fall in love with Voldemort anyway. The writing style is gorgeous, with richly detailed and emotionally-laden prose. Also, one thing that pleasantly surprised me is how funny their banter is! There were definitely a number of times where I laughed out loud in the middle of an otherwise really intense scene. Bonus content: also comes with a lovely sequel that made me melt.

Inevitabilities by @shadow-of-the-eclipse (T, 103k, complete)

Setting: Same-Age AU Premise: If Harry and Tom attend Hogwarts together and go traveling around the world after they graduate. A betrayal leads to their break-up, but after many years, Harry returns to find Tom in Britain, and the two of them are drawn back together again. Why I rec it: An excellent same-age AU with unhinged dark Harry and just-as-unhinged Tom. Their relationship starts out quite dark and twisted and unhealthy — and only devolves from there. The fic ends with the two of them as equals — utterly devoted to each other — but in an incredibly fucked-up way: “He loves Tom like a forest fire; wild and all-consuming, he wants to devour Tom, to claim him, to mark him, break him.” Isn’t that absolutely breathtaking?

love is touching souls (surely you touched mine) by @toast-ranger-to-a-stranger (M, 34k, complete)

Setting: Time-Travel (1940s) Premise: If Harry gets thrown back into the mid-1940s and meets Tom Riddle as a young man just graduated from Hogwarts working at Borgin and Burkes. Why I rec it: When Harry accidentally travels back in time and chances upon Tom Riddle as a fresh graduate, he realizes this is his chance to make a difference. While Harry is only in the past for a brief interlude, he leaves enough of an impression to change the trajectory of Tom’s life. The dynamic between Harry and Tom is rife with tension and witty dialogue, and the story is set during Christmastime, which lends a very festive and heartwarming atmosphere for falling in love with each other.

No Glory by @obsidianpen (E, 254k, WIP)

Setting: Voldemort Wins AU  Premise: If Voldemort figures out Harry is his horcrux when Harry surrenders in the Forbidden Forest, and decides to keep Harry instead of killing him.  Why I rec it: This fic showcases the absolute, terrifying genius side of Voldemort, in a universe where he wins the war and captures Harry at the end of book 7. I am stunned at how skillfully @obsidianpen portrays Voldemort as a brilliant political strategist — the courtroom scene where he manipulates the story and the audience so well stands out as a top 10 fanfic moment in my mind. Harry and Voldemort’s relationship is chilling from the very start, and grows even more unhealthy as Voldemort gets addicted to Harry’s touch due to the presence of the horcrux, but Harry later learns to turn that to his advantage.

The Fire, Burning by @parsimmony (E, 35k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Voldemort discovers Harry is his horcrux after Book 6, and kidnaps him to keep him captive by his side in his bed, inside of a lovely greenhouse setting full of friendly snakes on the grounds of Malfoy Manor. Why I rec it: The prose!! I am swooning over the prose! Harry is Voldemort’s captive in this fic, but he is so much more than that — and the emotions that gradually blossom between them have so much richness and depth and are utterly moving that I’m still drowning in the depths of intimacy that were portrayed. Their relationship unfolds in such a gorgeous and unrushed way, and the setting is so unique too — a lush and overgrown greenhouse that’s exploding with exotic plants and friendly snakes around every corner that imbues the fic with a very romantic, dreamy quality.

the pleasure, the privilege by @being-luminous (M, 20k, complete)

Setting: Canon Divergence – Book 6 Premise: If Voldemort is doused with Amortentia keyed to Harry, and starts sending Harry bizarre and gruesome courting gifts, like the bodies of the Dursleys.  Why I rec it: Breathtaking prose! Voldemort somehow ends up more terrifying when he’s trying to woo Harry than when he’s trying to kill him. Every single sentence had me on the edge of my seat, as Voldemort’s ‘gifts’ become more elaborate and devastatingly dramatic, until Harry basically has no choice but to respond to his overtures. The ending is incredibly clever in how it parallels certain plot elements of book 6, with an added Harrymort twist. 

The Untouchable by @treacleteacups (M, 75k, complete)

Setting: Canon Rewrite (Books 1-7) Premise: If Harry starts out his first year a little bit more suspicious and a little less wide-eyed and guileless, and subsequently gets sorted into Slytherin. He has many of the same encounters with Voldemort along the way as he does in canon, but his interactions with Voldemort will end up leading him down quite a different path. Why I rec it: A snappy, fast-paced full canon rewrite that still manages to fit in all the essential Tomarrymort plot points, between Horcruxes and Hallows and the major events of books 1-7, in a compact 75k words that doesn’t at all feel rushed. It’s a delightful journey following Harry’s character evolution from an overlooked, peculiar child who relies on wishy-washy wish magic to a confident (and still endearingly peculiar) young man who can challenge and hold his own against the great Lord Voldemort. Voldemort’s obsession with Harry deepens with every encounter that they have, as he finds ways to continually insinuate himself in Harry’s life and his mind and his dreams.

*

[princess-yuna]

My Dearest: Part 1

Pairing: Colin Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1,838

Summary: You've been apart from Colin for months due to his tour after his brother's marriage to Viscountess Kate Bridgerton. One letter stood out to you the most, putting you in for a loop until you see him again.

Content: No use of y/n, reader's last name is Bennett for fic purposes but feel free to imagine another surname that's suitable for you, pining, friends turned lovers and a lot of fluff. Reader has a younger sister and an older brother.

Next

My Dearest, If only you had accompanied me on my travels. I know that you would love Spain. It is rich in culture that we read in your father's journals. Everything that he had written is nothing short of the truth, and you must see it for yourself one day. Maybe next time you will join me on my travels because everything I have seen has opened my eyes more than a journal ever could. I am counting the days when I can see you again so I can tell you more. Until then, our written words will suffice. Sincerely Yours, Colin Bridgerton

It had been two months since you received the letter, and you couldn't put words to paper in response. There had been constant correspondence between you and Colin since he had left on his travels, but none of those letters were prefaced with "my dearest". The words made you believe he made a mistake because your name wasn't written on the letter like it always had been. Yet the envelope had your name in his neat handwriting, so there couldn't have been in an error.

Why would he address you as so in his letter?

The relationship you had with Colin was mere of like a sibling type relationship. You've known the Bridgerton family since you were a child considering their estate was one over from yours in London. Your parents have been long time friends, so it was natural that their children were friends as well.

You made your debut with the eldest daughter Bridgerton, Daphne Bridgerton. Daphne was your best friend, and ever since she married the Duke of Hastings, she had been preoccupied with marriage and children. You were always happy for her, but saddened when she left the Bridgerton estate. While she was the diamond, you were also busy finding suitors of your own that season.

There were suitors that called on you that had a lot to offer, and Lord Brixton was the most promising out of them all. Unfortunately, the proposal never came. You never understood why, but you were not devastated unlike your mother was. Lady Whistledown, of course, wrote about your failure of finding a husband, but you never thought of it as a negative thing. Perhaps Eloise had an influence on you.

However, now, you read over the handwritten words of Colin Bridgerton before you drifted to sleep ever since you received it. A longing in your heart brewed that you were of unaware of before for the man you used to think of as a brother. He had almost begged you to come because you stated that finding a husband was something that you didn't long for, but you would have had to decline. It wouldn't have been appropriate to go on a worldly adventure with a man you weren't married , or related, to. That would've certainly disgraced your family if word got around.

Now with the start of a new season, it was your sister's turn to debut. You couldn't be distracted by one handwritten note as you focused preparing your sister to be presented to the queen. She looked absolutely stunning as she stood in the room with Francesca Bridgerton, and it would be lucky if either of them were crowned diamond of the season.

Your mother had shooed you to go stand with your brother as every debutant was presented one by one. Eloise had waved you over as she spotted you walk in, and you immediately linked arms with her as she whispered something in your ear that made you both giggle.

A presence made your gaze lift, and then you felt your cheeks go warm. Colin Bridgerton, your dearest friend, made his way to stand by you two. Eloise had said something witty to him and he responded with a witty comment of her own before she looked at you.

"Colin just arrived this morning," she mentioned before her gaze went back to the room.

Your gaze met with Colin's, no words exchanged as you looked at each other. It was like no one else was in the room as your gaze focused on him as you took in his appearance. Traveling had done him well. Before you could say something, his sister's name was called and your gaze adverted to watch her walk in. A breath that you didn't realize you held in was slowly released.

Once your sister was presented, you turned to Eloise and excused yourself before you glanced to Colin and gave him a faint smile. Before he could say anything, you left to meet with your sister and mother to go with them to the garden while your brother stood back to catch up with Colin.

You didn't realize that Colin's gaze was watching you as you walked away without a word to him.

You also didn't know that he desperately wanted to reach out and stop you from walking away.

Your brother questioned you when you returned home after the garden party since you made yourself scarce and stood by your sister the whole time. Colin had been eager to speak to you, but you darted away at any time he came close. You watched as he went to different groups of women to hide the fact that he had been chasing you. Your brother had noticed from afar as he stood accompanied his wife around the garden but he had said nothing then. The excuse you had was that you were tending to your sister because you wanted her season to go well. He knew better than to push the topic, so he left you alone.

You caught yourself reading the letter again that night.

Lady Danbury's ball had been highly anticipated, especially that Queen Charlotte did not name her diamond yet. All of the debutants had to make another good impression and be in the queen's favor. Your sister remained hopeful, but her only wish was to find love in the room filled with suitors. You smiled as the bachelors approached and whisked her away to dance, which made you stand on the sidelines until you made eye contact with no other than Colin Bridgerton.

There was a panic that went through you as he made his way towards you, and you felt the need to get some fresh air. You escaped out the doors as quickly as you could until you heard your name being called out. Even when you thought you were fast, his steps were faster. You were halted when he had reached out to gently grasp your wrist, forcing you to come to a stop.

Your heart raced and you shut your eyes for a brief moment before you found the courage to turn to face him.

"I've been trying to talk to you but you keep evading me," he stated, slowly releasing the hold he had on your wrist. "Are you avoiding me?"

Yes.

"No, of course not, Colin. I've been distracted by my sister's debut is all," you responded as you looked him in the eyes. It wasn't exactly a lie. "I'm sure you understand with two sisters being in society," you added shortly.

"Oh, yes, of course," he agreed and nodded his head. Though he didn't bare the responsibility when it was Anthony who did. All he knew was to stay out of the way, but he understood why you were so distracted. "I have missed you dearly," he then said.

That word was close to what he had called you in that letter. My dearest. They echoed in your mind as you looked at him, taking him in again to note his appearance in detail. "I have missed you as well," you spoke honestly after some pause. A show of relief crossed his features when you said it in return.

"Why did our letters stop?" He suddenly asked, almost rushed like he couldn't stop his mouth from speaking once he thought of the question. He grimaced because he saw the look on your face. Wide eyed and shocked. "I apologize for being forward, but I need to know," he spoke and cleared his throat as he teetered on his feet uncomfortably. "Was I too bold in that last letter I wrote you? That's the only thing I can think of that made you stop writing," he rambled.

It had been intentional. The questions that you had in the past two months were answered. Colin Bridgerton meant to call you his dearest. That alone made your heart race more as you stared into his eyes. The blue eyes that reminded you of the ocean. Beautiful but a storm could brew in them at any time.

You could see something in his eyes that you have never seen before. The uncertainty. The eagerness to know what made you stop corresponding with him on his travels. There was that boy you saw who was scared to lose whatever it was between you because of how he noted his letter.

"Well, it certainly caught me off guard," you admitted.

A soft chuckle left his lips, his gaze adverted from yours for a moment. "I do not regret what I wrote," he stated, his gaze return to yours. There was a softness in his eyes that made you drawn to him. You didn't realize that he had stepped closer to you, but he was close enough to where people would whisper if they saw you in this position. "I meant it when I said I was counting down the days until we saw each other again," he spoke in a whisper that only you could hear, "There is more I do want to tell you."

You were then at a loss for words as you watched him lean closer, but before you could say anything he immediately stepped back when someone called your name. The trance you were in was broken as your mother approached with your sister.

"Ah, there you are! Your sister wants to retire for the evening," your mother stated and then she smiled at Colin, "Oh, it's very nice to see you, Mister Bridgerton. Looking as dashing as ever."

"Thank you, Lady Bennett, it's nice to see you as well. I suppose I should see what my siblings are up to," he said to your mother, his charm shone through. He gave a nod to your sister and then looked at you again. "Good night then," he said, nodding his head to you.

"Good night," you said and returned the gesture.

His smile was warm before he headed back to go find his family. You watched him go then looked to your mother and sister, joining them to wait for the carriage to retrieve you.

You were thankful that your sister and mother couldn't hear your heartbeat, and you were more thankful that they didn't notice if you were blushing but you felt the warmness of your cheeks.

Colin Bridgerton now consumed your every thought as your sister gushed about the fun she just had.

A/N: There you have it! I took it in my own hands to write a Colin fic and I'm pretty proud of it. Everything was just kinda thrown together, but I love where my mind took it. This may be a 4 part series depending on where my mind takes me. I hope you like this as much as I liked writing it. <3

Please follow @yunawrites and turn on notifications for that blog if you're interested to get notified on when I post. :)

[ravenquingvax]

Can Nick, Noshir and Abubakar stay forever?? Pretty please??

I adore everything about the way they played in Downfall.

The Emissary was so sweet, his conversation with The Matron of Ravens before he moved on absolutely devastated me???

S.I.L.A.H.A was stunning and funny??? And that fucking meteor strike??? HELLO???

And then Nick??? Nick mother goddamn fucking Marini??? Everything he fucking did??? Taking all that damage, Ayden's 15 year old body battered and drained to protect his family??? Obliterating everyone with that sunburst, aging into the man - The Dawnfather - we know now??? The grief he felt???

I AM SCREAMING SIR

WHAT THE FUCK

I would happily watch a million more episodes with these 3 in them, even if I don't really enjoy watching live play dnd now.

We can keep them forever, right??? Right, Matthew???

Please??? 🥺

I loved every minute of them, Ayden and The Emissary especially stole my heart.

Would love to see them as guests on the show again.

[he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle]

Favorite Kiss Game

Rules: create a poll with five of your all time favorite onscreen kisses, setting any standard for qualification you choose. Then tag more friends to join in!

Lordt knows I love an emotion-packed kiss. While I love a sweet and soft kiss where both parties are on the same page, I also absolutely GO FERAL over an angsty kiss where it's totally mutual but both parties are 100% not remotely in the same headspace.

#1 - The Rooftop

How iconic is this? "Do you want to be friends?" The hushed, "No." The steps closer. Pat's tentative first kiss followed by Pran leading a second, very impassioned kiss as tears fall down his face because he just knows this will be their last. Meanwhile Pat is smiling in relief because their feelings are mutual.

#2 - The Yearning

Togawa has spent the entire series so far absolutely HUNGRY for his hot boss and he finally snaps, kisses him, and confesses, "I am seducing you. I've been seducing you this whole time." Meanwhile Nozue was just stunned because the junior he'd been flirting with and befriending but was too scared to actually pursue is legit into him. The kiss ends with Togawa on his knees, begging for forgiveness and Nozue fleeing.

#3 - The Remorse

ShiDe is drunk and crying and devastated and apologizing and just plain miserable, missing his ex boyfriend and regretting how he left him behind five years ago. ShuYi is hurt and angry and certain that the love of his life betrayed him, but still can't refuse his kiss because he still loves him even when he knows he shouldn't.

#4 - The Drunken Birthday

TongFah has been harboring a crush on his best friend Paper for years, and the things Paper says and does make him think maybe the feeling is mutual. So after getting sloppy drunk together for his birthday, he kisses him. This is an exquisite Drunken Kiss y'all. Like A+ for believability when neither actor was actually drunk. Anyway, turns out Paper is majorly repressed and as soon as the kiss ends he runs away and their friendship implodes. Sad face. Also: Tong!!

#5 - Hidden in the Sea

Teh totally went to town in this underwater kiss! There was boob grabbing. And lots of liplock. Like Pat, OhAew is happy because he thinks this marks a change in their relationship. But as soon as they get out of the water and are no longer hidden from view, reality is a bitch and so is Teh who says he still just wants to stay friends.

***

I would like to tag a few people to play with me, no pressure. @lurkingshan @wen-kexing-apologist @bengiyo @twig-tea @wanderlust-in-my-soul

Also, breaking up my tags in the hopes Tumblr doesn't eat them: @telomeke @respectthepetty @spicyvampire @pharawee @thisautistic

[tototalks]

That’s a wrap on Prince’s Gambit!! 🥳 Let me tell you, there was not a SINGLE chapter of this book I didn’t adore. Absolutely stunning ♥️

Final thoughts! ✨ (Sorry for the length again 💀)

- Starting off strong with seeing Halvik and the awesome lady warriors again!! Halvik really saw the longest, prettiest, most luscious eyelashes on a man and knew it was an absolute waste. She is SO valid for that.

- Laurent is playing Game of Thrones 5D chess, and his mind terrifies and amazes me. His strategy and diplomacy with the reinforcements was absolute genius and this is why I need a Hamlet situation to happen with uncle dearest.

- Damen. Leather loincloth. That’s it. That’s the post. 🙂

- I love this weird point where Damen and Laurent both look at each other like “this is so clearly more than friends, but what the actual FUCK is this??”

- AIMERIC?! NO NO NO. FFS!! Omg I didn’t see that coming!! Why do I even bother getting attached anymore. I am the fool.😭

- Jord is breaking my fucking heart in two. I need good things to happen for him after this. He’s done nothing to deserve the betrayal, and that’s the phenomenal cruelty of it. Bad things happen to good people and there’s not shit you can do about it. ☹️

- BATTLE FOR THE PRINCE!!!! Man, I was ready to ride into battle with them! What an adrenaline kick of a scene!

- Damen was fully recognised, and yet, in the midst of it, there is MORE PAIN FOR JORD 🙃

- I am so happy that we get to see Erasmus and the living testament to the fact kindness is powerful.

- “I don’t like the Regent. He burned my leg!!” YOU TELL THEM BABE!! His revenge is so so sweet. Enjoy it, Erasmus♥️

- The kiss. Oh my stars, the kiss. That was the most angst promising, stunning, and oh-so-earned kiss made even more poignant by the fact I’m convinced Laurent KNOWS and is letting it happen anyway. If my suspicions are correct, he’s had to come to terms with the fact he’s fallen for the man who killed his brother. I am TERRIFIED for King’s Rising. 🙃

- Aimeric and Laurent, both very different victims. - “you attack those who can’t defend themselves” - Damen… bro… I love you but stop. But I like the fact we get to see that Laurent is not impenetrable. He’s cold and cunning but still human and deeply hurt.

- Damen and Laurent’s first time. Wow. Just wow. The layers to this scene. Laurent’s clear trauma associated with sex and Damen’s reassurance and honour. “How a man takes a boy?” “No. How a man takes a man.” You hear that? That’s the sound of my heart shattering further. Sex scene done RIGHT.

- “Nicaise would not see fifteen now.”… well there goes the last of my fucking heart. I am DEVASTATED. He deserved to live. If you hear sobbing coming from the general direction of Hong Kong, just know it was me. 🥲

- “I’m sorry, Jord” - C.S. Pacat. We are gonna have words. You cannot make a bad bitch like me cry this hard.

- The Regent and Kastor in kahoots. Ooooooh boy - it pains me that deep down I feel like Laurent wanted to prove to himself that Damen wasn’t special and goaded him into that punch to prove it, and yet Damen recognises the cycle of abuse and that BLINDSIDES Laurent.

- AKIELON REINFORCEMENTS??!!! NIKANDROS!!??

- Aaaaaaand there’s Damen’s secret blown to utter smithereens. Nice job, Nikandros lol

- And if all that wasn’t enough, chapter 19 1/2 killed me off for good, so long folks 💀

Let’s go, King’s Rising!! 👑 ⚔️

[bluecatwriter]

Jonathan: Do I have to read it, oh my dear one?

Me: (cries)

Jonathan: "I will keep my mouth as it were in a bridle: while the ungodly is in my sight. I held my tongue, and spake nothing: I kept silence, yea, even from good words; but it was pain and grief to me. My heart was hot within me; and while I was thus musing the fire kindled."

Me: (cries harder) Do you have to remind me!

OKAY BUT THE INCLUSION OF THIS LINE HAS ME GOING FERAL

(Theological ramble incoming. You have been warned.)

Jonathan is reading from the Book of Common Prayer, but the scripture is Psalm 39. (I originally thought that this was a quote from Jeremiah 20:9, which uses similar language to show the prophet's frustration with burning up inside if he refuses his call to prophesy, but this is even better.)

The psalmist here is a great example of how people's responses to God in the Bible do not fit neatly into the "unquestioning obedience and reverence" framework any more than Jonathan's actions do. The narrator of this psalm speaks despairingly about the vanity of life, begs God to stop heaping hardship on him ("Remove thy stroke away from me: I am consumed by the blow of thine hand"), and while he expresses near the middle that his ultimate hope is in God ("And now, Lord, what wait I for? my hope is in thee"), he also flat-out asks God to leave him alone (the last line of the psalm in King James Version says "O spare me, that I may recover strength/before I go hence, and be no more," though I love the more modern translations such as the New Revised Standard version, which reads, "Turn your gaze away from me, that I may smile again/before I depart and am no more").

It's a gut-wrenching psalm that doesn't flinch from the realities of life: things feel meaningless, hardships are heaped on those who are faithful, humans are fragile, riches cannot safeguard against death— and the right to rage and weep before God is a given. It ends not with the line of hope from the middle but with a challenge to God, and the main conflict of the psalm is not resolved or neatly tied up. Like all the Wisdom literature in the Bible, it invites the readers to sit in the tension and the confusion and the pain, rather than hastening on to a "correct answer" or even a sense of resolution.

I assume this is why it's included in the Book of Common Prayer's burial service: death cannot be tied up with a bow, or smoothed over with platitudes. This psalm expresses solidarity with people from every generation who have tried to make sense of their hardships and pain and the devastating reality of mortality.

Anyway, inclusion of this line in this scene was absolutely stunning. I suspect that many of Bram Stoker's original readers would have familiarity with the burial service since it would be read at every funeral, so adding in the words was wonderful to enhance the experience for the modern non-Anglican reader. This passage helped drive home how thematically resonant these words are with what's happening in the story in the moment. Very cool.

[jeonqkooks]

kyoho | ksj

You love your grape boy, and your grape boy... well, he might just love you a little too much.

pairing: seokjin x f!reader

rating: pg13

genre/warnings: established relationship, swearing bc when is there no swearing in my fics, mentions of seggs, suggestive themes, fluff, crack?? idk, my brand of fics is Unedited y'all know that's how we roll

word count: 1.8k

notes: i've been buying a lot of grapes lately (am i a grape person now??) and i've been eating them almost every day and of course i had to think about grape jinnie my beloved, my ultimate favorite seokjin and i want him to come back to me :((( idk that's how this lil thang came to me lmao it's the most crackhead shit i've ever written sOoOoOoOo please laugh or else ! 👿 jk but not really

— as always, i’d appreciate any thoughts or comments you may have, and please drop a like and/or reblog if you enjoy reading ♡

"If you do this, we're done."

"Y/N."

"I swear, if you go through with this, we are over!"

Seokjin sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, clearly not expecting you to be so passionate about the subject at hand. "The appointment is in an hour," he says.

"Cancel it. I don't care!" you cry. "Please don't do this. Don't take him away. He means the world to me."

Your boyfriend stares at you, mouth agape, then points to his head incredulously. "Him? My hair?"

"Yes!" You crawl over to his side of the couch to straddle his lap, actual tears welling in your eyes. You run your fingers through his hair, marveling at how soft and silky it feels in your hands. His gorgeous, gorgeous purple locks. The ones he's ready to sacrifice in favor of half blond, half red hair by demand of one Jeon Jungkook.

You shouldn't be this upset over him dyeing his hair, but you are, despite knowing full well that the purple will be gone soon anyway. His dark roots are starting to show already.

It's shark week, and there are not enough words in the dictionary to express how devastated you are that he's taking away your emotional support Grape Jinnie.

A couple months ago, when he told you that he'd be dyeing his hair purple, you were highly skeptical of the decision. You didn't know if he had the face to pull off purple of all colors, even though you had already seen him sport every other color of the rainbow and absolutely rocked every single one.

The whole week leading up to his salon appointment, you teased him endlessly - started calling him Grape Boy, bought him box after box of Kyoho grapes, photoshopping Kylie Jenner's purple hair onto his head and making it your lockscreen... It was mostly just grape puns, you were really milking that whole thing.

But then he came home, hair freshly bleached and colored, and your jaw dropped to the ground and stayed there for ten whole minutes.

Your eyes almost fell out of their sockets from how good he looked.

No, he didn't just look good. He was stunning, breathtaking, mindbogglingly beautiful and all the other synonyms that one could name.

The man fucking ate and left no crumbs.

That night was one of the best sex you two have ever had.

To say that you were obsessed with this shade on him is the understatement of the year.

"Don't do it," you plead. "If you really love me, you won't do it."

"You're being so dramatic. It's just hair." Seokjin puts his hands on your waist while you keep yours on his head, clutching his strands like a lifeline. "Plus, I have to honor the bet!"

Your expression turns stony then, as your eyes travel from the silky purple down to his face. You tighten your grip on his hair and tug on it sharply until your boyfriend is scowling in discomfort.

The bet. The stupid fucking bet he made with Jungkook.

You had explicitly told him there no chance in hell that he could win, but Seokjin could be an overly confident asshole sometimes.

He was in way over his head, and now you're the one suffering.

"You idiot," you hiss, pulling on his hair again, "why the fuck did you think you could do more pushups than Jungkook?"

"I don't know! We were tipsy and it seemed possible at the time!"

Releasing his hair, you tuck your face into the crook of his neck and inhale deeply.

"Why am I being punished for your actions?" you mumble against his skin, then you ask, voice full of futile hope. "What if you just... don't do it?"

"Then I have to buy him a new mattress. He cut his mattress with scissors to make it fit into his bed frame and now it's all fucked up."

You give yourself a minute to think. There has to be a solution to your distress. You just gotta think. Think, brain, think!

And then you remember. Seokjin is still a man.

You lean back to look at him properly, straightening your position on his lap. You give him your biggest puppy dog eyes before you say, "I promise I will blow you every day from now on if you keep the hair."

If he was drinking water, you're fairly certain that he would've choked. Your boyfriend's eyes widen in surprise, his skin turning a dozen shades warmer, blushing from his cheeks all the way to the top of his ears.

Bingo.

"What?" he asks, like this is something so scandalous.

You lean forward to pepper kisses all over his face, putting more weight on your offer. "I promise," you say, pecking his cute cheek, "to blow you," then his forehead, "every single day," then his nose, "from now on," and finally his lips.

You linger near his mouth, not pulling away just yet. Your lips brush against his once more until you feel his hands tighten on your waist. You wrap your arms around his neck to hold him closer as you press forward, giving him a proper kiss to seal the deal.

Seokjin practically melts underneath you. Victory is so close that you can taste it. You're doing this for the greater good of mankind, for Grape Jinnie. Jungkook can fuck off with his half seasoned, half fried bullshit.

But then, Seokjin abruptly rips away from you to shriek, nearly blowing your eardrums out. The suddenness of his movements almost make you tumble off the couch.

"No, don't try to tempt me! Mattresses are expensive as fuck!"

It's been a few hours. He should be back any minute now.

Ever since Seokjin left to go to his hair appointment after having to peel you off of him because you were clinging to his body like a goddamn koala, you've been wallowing in your misery. You even busted out the big guns - Ben & Jerry's Peanut Butter Cup ice cream (with real peanut butter cups!) - to help you through this difficult time.

You're in full grieving mode now. Goddamnit. Fate is a cruel mistress.

Or in this case, Jungkook. Jungkook is a cruel mistress. That fucking guy.

When you hear the door open and the subsequent clanging of Seokjin's keys as he hangs them on one of the hooks in the entryway, you prepare to give him the biggest pout you can manage.

But then, he comes into view a few seconds later, and you gasp. You actually gasp. Before he knows what's happening, you're rising from the couch and sprinting toward him, launching into his arms with the biggest smile on your face like a kid on Christmas morning.

"You're still a grape!" you squeal joyously.

Seokjin lets out a surprise Oof! at the sudden force of your body knocking the breath out of him.

"What a warm welcome," he mutters. "I don't think you've ever been this happy to see me."

"What happened?!" you ask, eyes wide, grin even wider. "Did you change your mind because you love me so much?"

You run your hands through his hair to make sure that it's real, that you're not hallucinating this because you just love the purple so goddamn much.

And it is! It's still here! His hair is still that luscious shade of purple that you adore with your entire being.

Seokjin eyes you for a moment before he says, "I compromised with Jungkook. Did something else instead."

"What did you do?"

"I got a tattoo."

"You what?!"

"He said I wouldn't have to dye my hair if I got a tattoo of his choosing."

"Oh, no," you try to sound sympathetic but fail miserably. You cover your mouth with your hand to hide your smile, already sensing the absolute crackhead chaos that will ensue in a matter of minutes. Having been friends with Jungkook for years, you know that dude comes up with the craziest shit sometimes.

Seokjin turns around and pulls up his shirt, and you almost die from the fit of ugly snorting laughter that immediately rips itself free from your mouth. His skin underneath the transparent cling film is still slightly red, but the letters adorning the expanse of his lower back is clear as day.

You cannot find it in yourself to blink, not when the black ink is just staring at you like that. The font, so formal and classic, and yet the content of it... what a contrast.

"Kim Seokjin!" you wheeze, wiping tears from your eyes and struggling to catch your breath. "How could you possibly think that this is a better idea than to just dye your hair!"

"You begged me to keep the hair!"

"I did," you agree, clutching your stomach as giggles continue wracking through your whole body. It's almost painful at this point. "But I don't want my boyfriend to have a tramp stamp that says fucking Chicken in Times New Roman!"

"It was either this," he says, turning back to face you, "or a sketch of his head on a chicken's body."

"What is up with him and chickens? Is that his new thing now?"

"I don't fucking know!"

"Well, thank you for doing that for me," you say appreciatively as you pull him in for a kiss, which isn't very graceful because you're still tittering the whole time. "But please tell me that's not permanent."

Seokjin stays quiet, his eyes dropping to the floor, and you stop laughing immediately.

"Oh my god," you say. "Is the Chicken tramp stamp permanent?!"

"No," he finally admits after a moment of hanging it over your head. As funny as the whole thing is, you do not want the love of your life to walk around sporting the most ridiculous tattoo in human history. "It's supposed to fade after a month."

You lean into him again, heaving a giant sigh of relief and wrapping your arms around his neck. One of your hands go for his hair again, weaving through the soft locks with your fingers because how could you not? "I love you, Grape," you say, pecking his cheek with a grin.

Seokjin rolls his eyes affectionately, but returns a peck to your own cheek. "I have a tramp stamp of the word Chicken and my parents might disown me for that, but at least you get to keep your Grape Boy," he says, making you giggle again.

"Because you love me so much, right?"

"Hmm. You're lucky I do."

You give him another kiss, one full of gratitude, for indulging your antics. When you move to return to the couch, Seokjin tugs on your wrist, pulling you back into him.

"Now correct me if I'm wrong," he says, acting all coy and shit, "but I recall you making me a promise earlier, no? What was it again?"

— all rights reserved © jeonqkooks. reposting, translating and/or modifying is not permitted by any means. [posted 16.04.2023]

[sockysucks]

HI TUMBLR!!

ive come to create a incredibly lengthy post about the new mascot horror game called Indigo Park

I need to ramble ( haha rambley ) about it as i have just quit twitter for an indefinite time for my own mental health as an autistic cannot last on there at all

anyway, im going to talk about all the reason why indigo park is so good and what i hope from it!! and any criticisms i have for it, i honestly dont have many even though its so early to talk about.

how i found out about indigo park:

UNIQUEGEESE!! naturally, i was watching one of masons past streams on his youtube playing FNF after having rejoined the FNF community after its update and finding out about the mod HIT SINGLE; the mod masons was playing( people know it mostly for the silly billy song ) and he had mentioned about him making a mascot horror game which i shrugged off naturally because i am not a fan of modern mascot horror as most of it seems to be low effort and genuinely unappealing, i knew he had made something that was definitely made with love but i didnt have the will to check it out until a announcement trailer dropped which i then saw snippets of the game and the characters and environment, which i was definitely intrigued so I played the game myself.

My thoughts playing the game:

and found it surpisingly good compared to any other mascot horror game, it was unique, genuinely had awesome character designs and very high quality’s graphics and beautiful models and lighting were stunning, again really surprised having endured the hideousness of other low quality mascot horror games, to then find a game with fucking great models ( unlike banban, 2 billion polygon remote or whatever lmfao ).

I started the game and to be real as a extremely gay furry who loves little silly furry boys i felt like i was gonna explode during every single rambley voice line and animation played and fell so in love with him, now a massive comfort character and ive draw. him like 12 times prior to the games first chapter being released like 2 days ago lol, ive never gotten so attached so quicky in my life which definitely makes rambley and indigo park a really special game.

I really love this game, the pacing is really well done, the horror isnt low quality, the like actual character models for lloyd and molly are really gorgeous, i just think the hair and some of the texturing is over done slightly, but definitely made me shit myself multiple times despite this, all while i was laughing with my new silly raccoon boyfriend 💜💜💜💜

hugeeeeww shoutout to team neutron for the the absolute gorgeous expressive rambley screen animations and the credits theme that left me almost tbe same way portal 2’s credits effected me the first time i ever played and definitely huge huge props to otterboyva for the super adorable voice of rambley.

what do I hope for the future of Indigo Park

I hope for the future of this game that content farms and bootleggers disregard it, but this doesnt give me hope seeing that one rambley plush that a company made before the first chapter even released that was completely unlicensed. I will be avoiding social media in efforts to not see people start shitting on this game if it becomes on the same level and milked by content farms like what happened to the amazing digital circus ( i watched this on the day the pilot released, and was equally devastated as many others to see it being used as low effort bait in shitty kids cartoons on youtube shorts )

in case you didnt see i did a little animation at the top of this!! very rough but yeah

I love tgis game PLEASEEEE i cannot wait to see more high quality content from this really passionate creative team uniquegeese/mason has formed

in case you wanted to play it for yourself, heres a link to the steam page!! the first chapter is free and a kickstarter started a couple days ago has been completed funded so…. CHAPTER 2 IS CONFIRMED!!

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Perfect For You : Part 3 (H.JS)

Word Count : 2.3k

Warnings : swearing, food mention, arguing, mention of suffocating (not physically)

A/N : What? You mean to say this series isn't discontinued?! It is not! I am back with the third part and the epilogue (hopefully) coming soon. I hope you enjoy!

            Jisung was wrapped around her like a koala. She could barely move when she woke up, trying to roll out of bed, and go make breakfast. His grip only tightened when she moved, a small whine coming from him. “If you’re awake, let me go.” She giggled, but again his grip only tightened.

            “I missed holding you like this.” He opened his eyes, meeting her softening stare. He took in this moment. The way she looked with her messy hair, eyes still half closed because she’s still tired. Stunning. He thought to himself. And I almost let her slip away. He reached up to smooth her hair before pressing a small kiss to her face. “Should we go out for breakfast today?”

            “Sungie you have work.” She wanted to stay angry at him. But he made it so hard. He’ll do something that upsets her but the next second, he’s being cute, and looking at her like he doesn’t want to be anywhere else. And he doesn’t. Beside his girlfriend is where he belongs, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.

            “I can be late. I want to take my girl on a date.” She gave into him so easily, just like she always did.

            They stood in the bathroom together, going through their morning routines together. Brushing their teeth, doing their hair, washing their face. They did it all together, laughing over whatever funny face they decided to make in the mirror at each other. And things were falling back into place.

~

            “I just want her to yell at me again! Why is she letting me get away with everything?” Jisung whined as he collapsed beside Changbin on the couch. Chan swivelled around in his chair to look at the pair on the couch.

            “Is it possible she heard our call the day you were complaining about her?” He asked as his mind started putting the pieces together. How she began to act different after their call that day. Jisung started to think about it, putting the same pieces together in his mind. But he wanted to deny it, didn’t want to believe that his girlfriend, his beautiful, perfect girlfriend, heard him complaining about her to his best friend. Because he knows had the roles been switched, he would be devastated, heartbroken, inconsolable.

            “No. No. No.” He began to shake his head as he repeated the word. “No. She couldn’t have. Absolutely not.” The tears started welling up in his eyes as he stood from the couch, now pacing around the studio, still repeating the word no. “Fuck!” He screamed. “How am I supposed to fix this? Did she hear us the other day in the studio talking about guys night?” He thought about how bad it would have sounded, overhearing him agree to cheating on his girlfriend, something he would never actually do. “Shit. Fuck. Dammit! Fuck!”

            “Okay, okay breathe Jisung. In through your nose, out through your mouth.” Chan said, reaching his arms out and placing his hands on Jisung’s shoulders. “Focus on your breathing.” Jisung nodded and Chan led him back to the couch to sit him down. Chan continued to coach him through the panic attack.

            “Thank you.” He said meekly. Chan just handed him a bottle of water and told him not to worry about it.

            “Listen dude, even if she did hear us the other day, you didn’t do anything. You left after half a drink and went straight home to her.” Changbin explained. “All of us will vouch for you if she asks. Even given the chance, you stayed loyal. That’s what matters.” Jisung nodded. Surrounded by girls that were begging for their attention. Jisung would still choose Y/n. No questions asked, no hesitation.

            He realizes then just how much he’s pushed her away. How she’s practically a shell of the woman he met and fell in love with. It was killing her to go along with everything he wanted, but she kept smiling, kept allowing him to do whatever. He felt disgusted with himself, hated himself, for being so happy, so excited, about it. Thinking his relationship was better than ever when in reality it was falling apart. “Hyung I need to fix this.” He said, looking at Chan, tears still in his eyes.

            “Go.” Was all Chan said. Jisung didn’t waste a second running out of the studio, into the streets, hailing a cab, and spitting out his address as fast as he could. He wasn’t sure how he was going to fix it, but he would do absolutely everything to do so.

~

            She was in the kitchen doing some baking when Jisung came barreling in, not bothering to take his shoes off, and wrapped his arms around her. She froze her actions, slowly melting into his touch. “What are you doing home already?”

            “Wanted to spend some time with my baby. We weren’t doing much.” Jisung pulled away from the back hug and leaned on the counter next to her so he could see her face. “So pretty. Look at you. Oh you’re blushing. Looks like I still got it.”

            “What you got is my foot up your ass if you don’t take your shoes off.” She joked as she lightly kicked his leg.

            “Kinky.” He replied as he went back to the front door to take his shoes off and put his slippers on. “Do you need help baby?” He asked as he walked back into the kitchen.

            “Well I was originally trying to surprise you, but you came back early.” She giggled as she continued working through the recipe. Jisung just stared at her, taking in everything about her. It was like his world was going in slow motion as he watched her. Even after everything he did, she was still trying to do things for him. To make him happy. To make him feel loved.

            “What did I do to deserve you?” He asked softly, wrapping his arms around her again, resting his chin on her shoulder. She turned her head to press a kiss to his cheek.

            “You exist, Sungie. That’s all you need to do.”

~

            “Come on. We don’t want to be late for dinner with our parents!” Y/n called up to Jisung, who was fixing his hair in the bathroom for the tenth time.

            “I’m coming.” He repeated over and over as he ran down the stairs. As he got to the bottom, he saw her, and he froze. Standing there in a dress that fit her oh so perfectly, her hair done, makeup done. He couldn’t stop staring, falling in love with her all over again. She was the most beautiful girl in the world to him. It was like time slowed down as she stood there. Like those prom scenes in movies but he’s the one walking down the stairs meeting her at the bottom. And if they didn’t need to meet their parents for dinner, he would be carrying her up to their bedroom.

            “Let’s go.” Jisung was starstruck. He knows there’s no way he’s ever going to love anyone else the way he loves her. And he regrets almost ruining it. Promises himself he’ll never make the same mistakes and continue loving her the way she deserves.

~

            Jisung was telling stories about the members, making them all laugh at the antics they get up to. She couldn’t help but stare at him whenever he was talking, loving the way the suit fit him. Thinking about all the things she could do to him once they were home. It’s been way too long since they’ve been intimate, with all the arguments, and then her distancing herself as to not have her heartbroken had he decided to walk away.

            But ever since he came back early from work, no before that, since he came back early from guys night, he’s the Sungie she fell in love with. Loving her the way he used to. She wakes up in his arms to him pressing kisses all over her face. He watches her as she cooks them breakfast. Comes home to her, wrapping her in a giant hug every single time.

            She unpacked the suitcase in the closet, no longer feeling the need to run before he got home. Everything is falling back into place.

            “So Jisung, when are you proposing?” Her mom asked. Jisung let out a breathy chuckle as he reached to grab Y/n’s hand.

            “Marriage isn’t in the cards anytime soon. I’m too busy for that.” He explained before jumping into another story about the boys. And she felt her entire world shatter once again. The embarrassment she felt had her nauseous, so she excused herself to the bathroom.

            Hovering over the toilet in a stall, tears streaming down her face as she wills the food to stay down. After the feeling passed, she cleaned herself up, hoping no one would notice that she cried. She took a couple deep breaths before exiting the bathroom, Jisung stopping her from returning to the table. “What?” She asked coldly.

            “Did I say something wrong?” He asked with a pout. Did he seriously not know how humiliated she feels right now?

            “We’ll talk later.” Was all she said before walking back to their table. And Jisung just smiled to himself, knowing she was none the wiser to his plan.

            “You feeling okay, pumpkin?” Her dad asked. She just smiled and nodded, explaining that there was a small line in the bathroom and that’s why she took a while. Jisung returned shortly after, grabbing her hand as soon as he sat down, running his thumb over her empty ring finger. It felt like salt in the wound so she took her hand back.

            Conversations continued on, but she didn’t contribute much. Trying her hardest not to cry again. It felt like she was suffocating and there was nothing she could do. Like she was sinking in quick sand, clawing her way up just to be sucked further down. Like she’s sinking to the bottom of a pool and no one is coming to save her.

            “Oh dear it’s getting late.” Jisung’s mom said. “Shall we pay and head out?” She looked directly at Y/n, giving her a small smile. It was as if she could see the suffering she was feeling and gave her a helping hand.

            “It’s on me, don’t even worry about it.” Jisung explained. Her parents and his parents thanked him for the dinner. And after he paid, the six of them headed out, going in separate directions towards their own vehicles. “Baby please talk to me.” Jisung pleaded, stopping her before she could get in the car.

            “You want to do this here?” She asked and he could tell she was upset. Something he hasn’t seen from her in months. Despite him trying his best to piss her off enough that’d she’d yell at him the last few weeks. Nothing seemed to work, she was determined to not start any fights. All because of that stupid phone call he had with Chan who knows how long ago. He doesn’t even remember what he said, but he knows she does.

            He knows she definitely has every word committed to memory and it haunts her every single day. And he wishes he could erase her memory of the call, but he can’t. He has to allow the words to haunt her and there’s nothing he could do about it. The things he would give up if it meant she wouldn’t hear those words.

            “You’re impossible.” She sarcastically laughed, tongue in cheek as she ripped her arm out of his grip and tried to get into the car once again, but he stopped her again. “Jisung please let’s just go home.”

            “Stop holding things in and just yell at me dammit!” He exclaimed.

            “I don’t want to do this here.” She said as she looked around. Some people were heading into the restaurant, some people were leaving. But there were people everywhere and she didn’t want to disturb their evening with some petty fight that will just end with him going to the dorms. Running away from their arguments like he always did.

            “Well I do. Tell me what I did to upset you.”

            “Fine.” She said before taking a deep breath. “You humiliated me Jisung. I understand that you’re busy and getting married anytime soon definitely isn’t happening. But really? Not in the cards? And then you continue talking about the members as if my mom asked about what you had for lunch? Fuck Jisung, they were all you talked about tonight. Maybe marriage isn’t a big deal to you, but it is to me. I want to get married. I want to marry you. If you don’t feel the same, tell me right now. Let’s end things before it’s too late.”

            “What? Baby no. No absolutely not. I’m not letting you go. Not now, not ever. You are my end game. My everything. I’ve made some mistakes, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want to marry you. In fact-“ He paused for a second, reaching into his pants pocket, pulling out a small velvet box. With a smile on his face, he knelt down on one knee, opening the box to reveal a ring that was a dream. “I am so in love with you it’s not even funny anymore. I couldn’t picture living my life with anyone other than you. I’m sorry I said it wasn’t in the cards, but I couldn’t have you figuring out I was planning on proposing. So Y/n, baby, will you marry me?”

back to masterlist

@mxnsxngie @cadenonlinelive @lethallyprotected @eastleighsblog @abbiestearsricochet @berryblog @th3melthatfell @weird-bookworm @randomwimp @goblinracha @whois-alexis @its-hannjisung @idkhoomanmaybe @lenilla15 @desiree62 @waiting-for-the-barbarians @i-dont-know-me-either @exorexx @armystay89 @pixigreen @hvnnieluv1325 @softquokka @maknaeswrld @stay-down-kid @lolareadsimagines @chansducky10 @ellieqqw @usercaiskz @aestheticsluut @moon0fthenight @lixie-phoria @strawberryepie @chaotickyrith @hoeforcheol @hanjibug @hearts4sungie @straycrescent @myprwttyhan @hyunsllvr @be0m9yu @alnex05 @boosungie @axhxyxo @neverhimari @dramaticnobody @stayvillem @katnisspeetaprim @seungminsapuppy

[ashmp3]

closing #heyteo 💌

i want to thank everyone from the bottom of my heart who's ever tagged me in their posts! i can't put it into words how grateful i am for having such talented, sweet people around me that wanted to share their beautiful creations with me. i cherish them all and i hope yapping in my tags conveyed that. Honestly i could talk about them in great lengths (and mostly i did...) so this is why i feel like i think its right time to wrap this up - i feel bad when i can't sit down, talk my ass off and give my full attention to each and every single post. Sadly i don't think its possible for me to do it now which is why i am writing all this, with a tear in my eye honestly. I checked and saw i have 925 (and counting!) posts in this tag and first of all - that is CRAZY! I am so grateful you have no idea. I really, really cherished this little corner of the internet that i called my own so this is all bittersweet but i think it's for the best! Lastly, i don't plan on going anywhere just yet so of COURSE feel free to tag me in anything you think i shouldn't miss (especially Jeonghan and your selfies... of course) - you already know a block of tags will be coming your way! And for being my amazingly talented friends i wrote little thank-you notes for everyone that made #heyteo one of the best decisions i made on tumblr 💌 I appreciate you all SO so so so much!

@jeonwonwoo -> my angel and the reason i even made this tag miss zaynab! We would be here for weeks if i started talking about how thankful i am for your existence. My no1 source of Jeonghan gifs, someone who perfectly matches my freak - thank you the MOST! (And ofc you can still expect me to go on tangents under your gifs i mean... that's what this blog is all about!) Love you!🩷🫶🏼

@kimsuyeon -> my talented lili, with the most wonderful gifs that are just so YOU! Always so wonderfully curated and colored, your idol + era collection is for the HERstory books if you ask me. Thank you for sharing them with all of us. i am so happy to have you around and i am thankful that you have been one of Thee contributors to #heyteo 🫶🏼🩷

@pink-vacancy -> i think it wouldn't be wrong to call you my yuna and mina supplier 🤭 cherry yuna is for the history books and you are the biggest contributor to that fact! thank you so much for always tagging me and making my tag a tad bit spicier and sexier with the gorgeous, stunning women you gif! love you and appreciate you SO much 💌🍒🫶🏼

@scouped -> MAX you are such an integral part of #heyteo through your many sideblogs and i am always so so sooo grateful for it! i love everyone but of course i love svt just a tad bit more so seeing your sets always made me so giddy and excited 🫶🏼 again, one of the people that really pushed me to make this tag in the first place so i want to thank you from the bottom of my heart. love you!!! 💖🌟

@vcrnons -> j!!! my dear sweet darling J that wanted to kill me on more than one occasion. thank you so much for tagging me and sorry for all the things i said under your gifs its like they hypnotize me... And ofc i am excited to be annoying under your tags in the future 🫶🏼💖💖💖

@scoupsies -> my naya funniest sweetest most talented darling... You've been thee highlight of my user tag - and i promise i will still be yapping under your gifs like how could i not?! you best believe i will be checking you blog so i don't miss anything because well that would just be devastating for me. thank you so much for tagging me i love you & appreciate you SO much!!! 🫶🏼🩷💌

@neonsbian -> my wayv supplier and source of updates 🤭 thank you so much vinnie, for always tagging me in everything so far & i always enjoyed seeing my twin yangyang in the tag (for better or worse) 💖

@no1boa -> lulu! absolute master of gifs thank you SO much for always tagging me in your dreamy, beautiful creations. honestly i will miss them SO much... so expect me to go through your blog like a morning newspapers and look for new sets 🙂‍↕️🫶🏼🤍

@taeiltual -> i always say this in the tags but every single company would benefit from a BexTM master class on editing! Thank you so much for sharing your works and thank your for tagging me 🤍🫶🏼🌟

@facethesuns -> em your posts always make me feel like ground is shaking... Thank you so much for tagging me in your stuff & of course i am excited to keep yapping in the tags in the future 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️💖

@ningtual -> MY SUNWOO SUPPLIER oh henna this is for the better or worse because my blood pressure rises whenever i see him... thank you for tagging me in your beautiful aespa edits (and nunulino...) love you mwah mwah!!! 🫶🏼🩷

@talksaxy -> even though we haven't been mutuals for a long time, whenever you would tag me in sungchan you best believe i would kick my feet and get giddy... thank you so much for adding a beautiful fawn touch to my tag! & ofc expect me to be in your tags either way, and yeah this kinda reads as a threat but you can't blame me really can't you... thank you sooo much. mwah! 🫶🏼🌟💖

@28reas0ns -> oh wwill first of all i want to say i love your vision and how we both sometimes make similar connections... You have such an eye for the aesthetics and it was such an honor to seen every post you made so thank you SO much for tagging me it truly meant so much to me 🫶🏼💖🤍💖🤍

@isabelleadjani -> first of all thank you for using it for its intended purposes (selfies!!!). and second of all thank you for tagging me in your beautiful, gorgeous gifs. You always go one level up and its so evident in the way you present your sets. I would still love to get tagged in your selfies of course thats a no brainer really 🫶🏼 Thank you so much & i really appreciate your presence on here 🤍🤍🤍

@junmail -> oh its been such a delight to see all the junhui in my tag (along with others of course) so thank you SO much for tagging me and sharing your beautiful gif sets with me (and everyone else)🫶🏼💖

@doyeons -> BELLA!!! first of all. thank you for sungah and seohyun gifs that was kinda legendry don't you agree. Thank you for amplifying frommy gifs in my tag they made me so crazy but also... i am very thankful 🙂‍↕️ And you best believe i will still be under your posts like a pathetic little guy. Kiss!!! 🫶🏼💖

@eightshotamericano -> elly my local jeonghan enthusiast i want to thank you for tagging me in your posts i really enjoyed them always 💖 and i appreciate you for thinking of me, love you!🥹🫶🏼

@seonghwasblr -> I know there wasn't many but i still want to send my virtual thank you card for including me in your beautiful gifs of jeonghan my darling maja i really appreciate it!🫶🏼💖

@jeonwon-wonwoo -> maddie thank you for tagging me in your lessera gifs back in the beginning of the year - it was so sweet of you! 🫶🏼💖 again, a huge thank you to everyone who’s tagged me in their posts. it truly means a lot, and I’m so grateful for each and every one of you who’s taken the time to include me. I appreciate you all more than words can express 🥹🥹🥹🫶🏼🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍🤍

[doctorprofessorsong]

Destiel Fic Recs

Sorry it's been a moment. I was finishing up my Moulin Rouge vibes monsterfucking Taylor Swift inspired extravaganza fic featuring blood freak Sammy, a touch of horror and a huge cast of characters for @dcbtv . (Read it here!)

But fear not! I have a fresh list of fics recs just for you. <3

The Trouble with Blue Eyes by FriendofCarlotta @friendofcarlotta (Explicit, 14k)

A film noir pulp fiction detective story so atmospheric you will feel like you are seconds from a mysterious dame busting into your office.

Dean and Cas are detectives in the same town. When they happen to meet on competing cases, things heat up. They become friends with benefits, but over the years they both catch feelings and neither one of them knows how to handle it. Will they be able to solve the Case of We Suck at Communication? More importantly, how do I marry this version of Charlie?

Frisky Business by imogenbynight @imogenbynight (Explicit, 13k)

A fun little Cas fic slash smutty one shot, this one is just immensely readable. When Dean and Cas find themselves hunting an apparently horny wraith, things get a bit complicated. Come for the fun wraith lore, stay for the smut!! It's a fun read with flustered Dean and soft dom Cas and a really fun case. What else could you want?

Of Lords and Letters by MalMuses @malmuses (Explicit, 14k)

Epistolary romance and Regency era Destiel? Catnip for me personally.

When Dean receives notice of his father’s death and his inheritance of the family's estate, he finds himself in a dilemma. He doesn’t want to abandon his regiment in the war, but someone needs to look after Winchester Hall. Luckily, a friend of Sam's, Castiel, is looking for employment and would be more than happy to serve as steward. 

But as their correspondence becomes increasingly intimate, Dean finds himself fighting not only Napoleon, but also his feelings. What will he find when he returns home?

creation myth by howldean @howldean (Teen, 5k)

This is a shorter fic for me to rec, but it manages to pack so much into it. The fic is an absolutely stunning examination of Cas and his relationship with his vessel when he's forced to leave it behind. It has all these beautiful gender feels. I am always a sucker for trueform Cas as well. 

But most of all, it's just deeply poetic. There are so many staggeringly beautiful lines as Cas grapples with who he is and where he fits. It's just absolutely gorgeous.

Devotion by FriendofCarlotta @friendofcarlotta (Explicit, 29k)

A Terminator AU. 

That's enough to make the list already, but also a full on delight of a fic. The angels, desperate to stop Dean Winchester, send one of their own back in time to kill him before he can become a threat.

But Dean sends his own rebellious angel back. Even though his grace is faltering, Cas is determined to keep Dean safe, but can he keep his heart safe?

doors unlocked and open by sidewinder @hawkland (Teen, 12k)

This one’s absolutely packed with amazing concepts. A post-Winchesters Destiel fix-it, Jack finds himself at a loss when he realizes that despite his best efforts, Dean can't seem to find peace in Heaven. He says he's looking for his family, but it's becoming increasingly clear he's specifically looking for one family member: Cas.

But Cas hasn't seen Dean since his big confession and he's not sure what reuniting will bring. Can Cas find the key to Dean’s peace?

Paper Moon by robotsnchicks @robotsnchicks (Explicit, 43k)

Life doesn't get any better than this. Dean's married to the love of his life and they've just put an offer down on their dream home. Everything is perfect. 

A little too perfect as it turns out when Dean wakes up to discover the last 4 years of his life were actually a simulation over the course of a week. He's devastated, most of all because he lost Cas. He can’t believe his husband isn't real. Refuses to believe it. He has to be out there somewhere and Dean is going to find him.

This concept could be extremely angsty, and make no mistake it does have some, but its surprisingly soft. A chance to find each other again, to start back at the beginning for Dean, to fall in love. 

Check out my other rec lists at @riversrecs

[denimbex1986]

'If Peaky Blinders made the Irish actor a household name, will Christopher Nolan’s nuclear blockbuster send him into the stratosphere? He talks about extreme weight loss, hating school and why his next character won’t be a smoker.

Cillian Murphy is struggling with what he can and can’t say about his title role in Oppenheimer, the latest Christopher Nolan epic, such is the secrecy surrounding this film. Murphy is under “strict instructions” not to talk about the content. Which is awkward when you’ve flown to his home in Ireland to interview him specifically about playing the physicist who oversaw the creation of the atomic bomb, later detonated over Hiroshima and Nagasaki. It’s not clear who issued these instructions. Nolan? The studio? The US government? All I know is that as well as Murphy being gagged by hefty NDAs, I am not allowed to see it (“bit unfortunate”, he concedes).

So, yes, here we sit in an empty upstairs room of a restaurant near his house in Monkstown, Dublin, working out how to do this. The room is dark, the sun shining through a solitary Velux lighting his features like a Géricault. The only background noise is the low hum of a wine refrigerator. Murphy loathes interviews, looks visibly tortured at points. But he relaxes when I ask if he’s pleased with Oppenheimer. “I am, yeah,” he says. “I don’t like watching myself – it’s like, ‘Oh, fucking hell’ – but it’s an extraordinary piece of work. Very provocative and powerful. It feels sometimes like a biopic, sometimes like a thriller, sometimes like a horror. It’s going to knock people out,” he adds. “What [Nolan] does with film, it fucks you up a little bit.”

Nolan wouldn’t disagree. The director recently told Wired magazine that some of those who’d seen it were left “absolutely devastated … they can’t speak”. Which sounds like a bad thing, but is related perhaps to the thought of the 214,000 Japanese people, overwhelmingly civilians, who lost their lives when the bombs were dropped. Kai Bird, the historian who co-authored American Prometheus, the 2008 biography of J Robert Oppenheimer upon which the film is based, said he was still “emotionally recovering” from seeing the film, clarifying that it was “a stunning artistic achievement”.

Murphy’s portrayal is said to be astonishing (“Oscar-worthy” is the buzz). This is not unbelievable. While Hollywood might not know him as a leading man, this quietly intense actor has long been celebrated in the UK and Ireland, most notably for his nine-year stint as Tommy Shelby in Peaky Blinders. When he first appeared on our screens, looking like a renaissance painting of Saint Sebastian – chiselled head contrasting with translucent blue eyes – it was impossible not to be distracted. He appeared first on stage in Enda Walsh’s Disco Pigs, then the screen adaptation. Then 28 Days Later; Intermission; Ken Loach’s The Wind That Shakes the Barley. Previous collaborations with Nolan include the Dark Knight trilogy, Inception and Dunkirk, “significant milestones in my career,” he says, adding that Nolan “might be the perfect director”.

It was Nolan’s wife, the producer Emma Thomas, who called Murphy one afternoon at the home he shares with his wife, artist Yvonne McGuinness, and two teenage sons. Nolan doesn’t actually have a telephone, or an email, or computer for that matter: “He’s the most analogue individual you could possibly encounter.” So, Emma said Chris would like a word and passed the receiver, then the director came on the line. “Cillian, I’d love you to play the lead in this new thing,” he said. Murphy tries to recreate his response to this news. “I was lost for words. But thrilled. Like beyond thrilled.” It is characteristic of Murphy that the modulation of his voice barely changes as he expresses this. He was so stunned, he had to sit down. “Your mind explodes.”

In the absence of the three-hour feature, I scrutinise Oppenheimer’s three-minute trailer. It’s a rush of snapshots against the crackling of a Geiger counter. There’s Murphy, short back and sides, lifting 1940s eye goggles; blue and red atoms coming at him fast; orange light; white light; blackout; silence. Massive explosion against the backdrop of space. Overlaid is Murphy’s narration, “We’re in a race against the Nazis / and I know what it means / if the Nazis have a bomb.” There’s Matt Damon looking porky as army general Leslie Groves, director of the Manhattan Project: “They have a 12-month head start.” Murphy, pointing with cigarette: “18.”

He has put back on some of the weight he lost for the part, I’m relieved to see; his skin isn’t quite so taut over his skull and there are freckles over those eagle-wing cheekbones. He was determined to nail the scientist’s silhouette “with the porkpie hat and the pipe”, testing himself to see how little he could eat. “You become competitive with yourself a little bit which is not healthy. I don’t advise it.” He won’t say how many kilograms he lost, or what food the nutritionist told him to cut out. NDA? “Ach, no. I don’t want it to be, ‘Cillian lost x weight for the part’.”

Then again, the hurtling speed at which Nolan worked, crisscrossing the US, made it easy to skip meals. Murphy began to forget about food in the same way he began to forget about sleep. “It’s like you’re on this fucking train that’s just bombing. It’s bang, bang, bang, bang. You sleep for a few hours, get up, bang it again. I was running on crazy energy; I went over a threshold to where I was not worrying about food or anything. I was so in it, a state of hyper …” he gropes for the word, “hyper something. But it was good because the character was like that. He never ate.” Oppenheimer subsisted on little more than Chesterfield cigarettes and double-strength martinis, rims dipped in lime. “Cigarettes and pipes. He would alternate between the two. That’s what did for him in the end,” Murphy adds, a nod to the scientist’s death from cancer in 1967. “I’ve smoked so many fake cigarettes for Peaky and this. My next character will not be a smoker. They can’t be good for you. Even herbal cigarettes have health warnings now.”

I raise method acting and Murphy tilts his head and frowns. “Method acting is a sort of … No,” he says, firm but with a half smile. Oppenheimer had many defining characteristics, not least walking on the balls of his feet and a vocal tic that sounded like nim-nim-nim, but Murphy didn’t want to do an impression. Nolan was obsessed with the Brillo-texture hair, so they spent “a long time working on hair”. And the voice. The real question for Murphy was what combination – ambition, madness, delusion, deep hatred of the Nazi regime? – allowed this theoretical physicist to agree to an experiment he knew could obliterate humankind. “He was dancing between the raindrops morally. He was complex, contradictory, polymathic; incredibly attractive intellectually and charismatic, but,” he decides, “ultimately unknowable.

“Listen, it’s not like a spoiler,” he says, checking himself before he leans in, “but there are incidents in his early life that were quite worrying; very erratic.” They are in the film and the book, he steers. I suspect he is referring to Oppenheimer’s postgrad at Cambridge in 1926, when he placed a poisoned apple on the desk of a tutor towards whom he harboured complicated feelings of inadequacy and jealousy. Arguably, this was attempted murder. But Oppenheimer’s rich New York parents rushed in to bundle him into psychoanalysis. He was diagnosed with “dementia praecox”, a term describing symptoms associated with schizophrenia.

Murphy likes these complex characters; they’re his meat. People that don’t necessarily follow the – yawn – traditional transformative arc of storytelling. Not villains, exactly (although he’s played a few, including Scarecrow in Dark Knight and Jackson Rippner in Red Eye): “Villains are good if they’re well written, but if it’s one note or a trope, then they are dull.” He likes a script to stretch leisurely into all corners of the human condition, “all the shades”. At the same time, you have to understand his exceptional ability to portray interiority, physically manifesting intense human emotion without a word, radiating fierce, consuming energy. Which he does today, actually, when I stray off track.

Although Nolan is usually, shall we say, antiseptic in his approach to romance, Oppenheimer represents a significant shift. He told Wired the love story aspect “is as strong as I’ve ever done”. It features prolonged full nudity for Murphy and Florence Pugh, who plays Oppenheimer’s ex-fiancee, as well as sex, and there are complicated scenes with Emily Blunt, who plays his wife, “that were pretty heavy”. Murphy turns coy: “I’m under strict instructions not to give away anything.”

He asks if I’ve heard of chemistry tests. “They put two actors in a room to see if there’s any spark, and have all the producers and director at a table watching. I don’t know what metric they use, and it seems so outrageously silly, but sometimes you get a chemistry and nobody knows why.” This is a roundabout way of saying his scenes with Blunt and Pugh conjure this magic. His established bond with Blunt (they co-starred in A Quiet Place II) meant “the audience gets something for free”, he says. “You can be immediately vulnerable and open, and try stuff. There were moments where I remember saying, ‘I couldn’t have done that if it wasn’t with you.’”

Murphy, 47, grew up the eldest of four in Cork. His father was a civil servant, his mother a French teacher. They were a middle-class family, musical; his father “can pick up any instrument”, his brother played piano, and they regularly got stuck into “traditional Irish sessions”. Bookshelves were stuffed with literature, the radio often on, the “shitty” TV set not so much. Home life was busy but his parents taught him French and Irish, and sent him to an all-boys academic, rugby-playing private school. “I got all the education” he says, drily.

The story of how much he disliked the Presentation Brothers College, the hard-drinking masculine emphasis, how he found solace playing guitar in a band, is much rehearsed and he says today he doesn’t want “to slag the school off. I hear it’s great now.” Something about this experience seems nonetheless unsettling. He had one friend, who is still his best friend, “so I wasn’t, like, an outcast”. He played rugby for the first couple of years, but abandoned it “because everyone was all of a sudden towering over me.” Was it an unhappy time? He shifts. “It was OK. I was a bit of a messer, like I’d get in trouble and say nothing. It wasn’t the ideal school for me.”

He enrolled in and dropped out of a law degree at University College Cork, which created some friction with his parents (when I ask if his own sons will go to university in Dublin, he says, “Whatever they want”). He continued with the band, his first creative love but the one that got away. When they were offered a contract with Acid Jazz records, he turned it down for a number of reasons, he says, crucially that he didn’t feel good enough. He still writes and plays at home but, no, you won’t be hearing any of his recordings, ever, he says.

It’s a funny thing talking to Murphy. He’s at once garrulous (on the craft, or literature, or ideas) and reticent (pretty much anything else). I sense in previous interviews that he skates over issues close to his heart – such as the expression of emotion in Ireland and the need to teach empathy in schools. But when I try to drill in to these topics, get to the root, he clams shut, emitting energy like a nuclear reactor.

Later, in a different context, he will tell me a truth: “I’m stubborn and lacking in confidence, which is a terrible combination. I don’t want to put anything out that I don’t think is excellent.” But he clearly hates the pantomime of publicity, asking why I am returning to certain topics and repeating lines I’ve read elsewhere. I can almost see him at home with its views towards the Irish Sea, complaining to his wife as they tuck into supper: “Another one, asking the same fucking questions.”

If he could get out of going to Cannes, of standing on red carpets, dressed as is his habit for a funeral, hair shellacked, hands in pockets; if he could turn his back on the coloured-foam mics thrust in his face, he would. He really would. No, it dawns on him now, there’s something even worse than the red carpet; there’s the talkshow rounds. The very word “talkshow” comes out of him like a pain from his ribcage, as if the parcelling out of amuse-bouche anecdotes, offering them up to the forced laughter of that false god of show business, the studio audience, is in itself the most cheapening experience known to mankind.

“I do them because you’re contractually obliged to. I just endure them. I’ve always found it difficult. I’ve said this so many, many times.” Then there’s the double wince of realising that, yes, he’s done it again. He’s laid into the industry that feeds him. His hands raise slowly in surrender. “I want to just caveat this by saying, I’m so privileged. I’m so happy to be doing what I love. I’m really lucky. But I don’t enjoy the personality side of being an actor. I don’t understand why I should be entertaining and scintillating on a talkshow. I don’t know why all of a sudden that’s expected of me. Why?”

There’s an awkward silence. I say that he reminds me of Naomi Osaka, the tennis player who refused to talk to journalists after the French Open in 2021. He says he feels “100%” sympathy with her, “because why should she have to perform?” Then he relents. “But I get it. I get it’s a kind of ecosystem where the film feeds the publicity which feeds the talkshows which goes back and feeds the film, so, like, that’s how it works. I suppose I’m just not good at it. At interviews, at this stuff,” he gestures at me. He says after he leaves me today he’ll be going down the stairs thinking of all the things he’s said and worrying it’s come across all wrong. “Do you know what Sam Beckett said? ‘I have no views to inter.’ I love that. That should be the interview.”

We return to his art, the tension falls away and he’s back to his charming self, charged air evaporating. Since Oppenheimer, he’s also wrapped Small Things Like These, an adaptation of Claire Keegan’s brilliant novella set in 1985 in a small Irish town on the edge of which is a convent and “laundry”. Murphy is a huge fan of Keegan. He remembers reading her 2010 novel Foster on a train and having to pull his hoodie over his face because he was crying so hard. Anyway, he’d wanted to work with the Peaky Blinders director Tim Mielants and they were throwing ideas around in his sitting room when Murphy’s wife suggested Small Things. “No, there’s no way,” Murphy said. “That’s going to be gone already.” But when he called the agent, he found it was available. “I went, ‘No, you’ve got to be fucking kidding.’” Murphy pitched the idea to Matt Damon, who has set up a studio with Ben Affleck. “From there it all just happened really quickly.”

Murphy plays Bill Furlong who, funnily enough, is a man of few words. Keegan’s light-touch writing is everything he loves in art – the sense that you are not being bashed over the head by an idea. That’s how he tries to act, he adds. “I’m always trying to cut lines in scenes, because I feel like you can transmit it. Like when you see a person on a train thinking, or driving a car, and you are purely observing someone and feeling the energy that is vibrating from them. That’s the sort of acting I love. In a lot of film and television, they want to cut those bits to go to the action. I like films that pose the big questions and then leave it to the audience.” Perhaps this is at the heart of his reticence in interviews? That he doesn’t feel the need to explain.

He still finds it “nuts” that the last of the Magdalene laundries closed in 1996, that it was illegal to buy condoms in Ireland until 1985, that divorce was made legal only in 1996. He remembers vividly thousands of people still going to see moving statues in Cork when he was growing up. “Crazy. But, like, how far the country has come since then, we’re so socially advanced now compared with where we were. But you must look back. And art is a better way of doing that than reading all these reports [into the laundries].” (Afterwards, he emails me: “The nation is actually dealing with an unresolved collective trauma. Who knows how long this will take to heal, but I feel strongly that art, film and literature can help with that process. It’s a kinder and gentler sort of therapy. I hope that our movie can help with that in its own little way.”)

Because he’s a nice man, because he doesn’t want me to feel bad about our encounter, and because he’s generous and hospitable, Murphy finishes by telling me some of the best places to visit in Ireland. He and his family are staying here for the summer. They’ve had it with air travel and his home town of Cork is only a couple of hours away. He supplies me with other recommendations: a great book he’s just read, Brian, by Jeremy Cooper, oh, and there’s the Francis Bacon studio exhibition I should catch on my way out.

But before I go, what has he learned from playing Oppenheimer? Foremost, he says, that scientists think differently. He knew this already from playing physicist Robert Capa in Danny Boyle’s Sunshine (2007) and hanging out in Cern, home of the Large Hadron Collider in Geneva, for research. “I had dinner with all these geniuses. I’ll never understand quantum mechanics, but I was interested in what science does to their perspective.” He sought their opinions on subjects that matter – love, politics, our place in the universe, “infinity, or whatever the fuck. Because they have a completely different way of taking in information than we do. I remember one scientist saying, ‘I don’t believe in love. It’s a biological phenomenon, the exchange of hormones between the female and the male. That’s all. Love is a nonsense.’” Murphy taps the table with his hand. “I couldn’t go along with that, obviously.”

[redbleedingrose]

Pretty? - Eris x Fem!Reader

Summary: It was expected that when you become of age, as the daughter of a member of the Autumn Court, you will wed. As you enter the court as a woman, potential suitors make comments about your looks, specifically your weight, and you are devastated. Your best friend, Eris Vanserra, heir of the Autumn Court, comforts you and will always have your back. 

Warnings: 18+/MDNI: men being disgusting pigs (seriously), cursing, men degrading women, self degrading thoughts, topics related to weight and feeling insecure, there is some fluff, and some minor smut? (not really in terms of the smut, but just in case yk?) 

Word count: -8.7k 

Masterlist

A/N: Hey beautiful people, so uhhh what was supposed to be a minor fanfic, really only a drabble, max 1k words, but then it turned into a full blown fic. This concept came to mind because of comments that have been made about my weight practically all my life, and especially these past couple of days since I came home for the holidays. I was crying yesterday morning after being asked if I am hungry even in my sleep, and viola, I was inspired to write this fic, because I just know that Eris would be a real man and would love me in any form. I hope that you know, you are stunning and the only thing that matters in reality is your heart. As always, please show some love by liking, commenting, and reblogging. It means the absolute world to me. Remember to eat something, drink a sip of water, and take your meds. Lots of love!

You didn’t mean to hear him. Your betrothed that is. A male, named Buchanan, you had only recently met weeks prior at a ball the high lord had thrown at the Forest House for the sole purposes of matchmaking. You were presented by your father as a female of the Autumn Court society, a female who was available to be wed. Your sole purpose in life, at least from what your parents had told you since you were a toddler, had been nearly fulfilled when Beron had arranged for you to be married to the male on the winter solstice. 

You didn’t know much about him. Only that he was the army general's youngest son, and he was training to be a warrior. After Beron had decided you two would be “perfect” together, you tried your best to get to know the male. Buchanan did not give you much to work with, in all honesty. The male silently glared at you every chance he could get, only speaking to you with short, cold remarks. All you had learned about him came from the other females of the court, who gossiped about anyone and everyone whenever they were given the chance. They had spoken of his trysts to brothels, taking so many as three females on the same night. They had spoken of his cruel views towards females. How he believed females were only meant to be housewives and had no place in the workforce. How a female's only true duty was to tend to their household, children, and husband, and keep themselves in shape after having said children so the husband would find them desirable enough to use her whenever he pleases. 

Deplorable. Every last word. And frightening. 

You were frightened by the male. At first, you tried to ignore what the females had said, citing it as harsh rumors that were only bound to tarnish his reputation. But the more time you spent with the male, the more you began to believe that maybe the females had been speaking the truth. It was the complete opposite of what you wanted in a potential partner, a potential husband. And you were terrified for your future, a future that was nearly upon you, a future that was only a couple of months away. 

A small part of you hoped that you would be able to change Buchanan’s mind about females, maybe change his values? Maybe, if you let him get to know you, let him see your personality and wit, let him see your love for reading and writing and learning new things, let him see your fascination with healing, maybe he would fall in love with you. And maybe he would try to be a better male for you. And so, you kept trying. 

You went out on walks with Buchanan, hanging onto his arm and letting yourself lose the ‘quiet girl’ mask you usually wore in court, exposing your true self. You would invite him over for brunch, showing him your less than impressive cooking skills and offering him your favorite stories and anecdotes from your life. You took him to your favorite cafe in town to tell him your own dreams and aspirations in hopes that he would love that you wanted more out of your life than just marriage. He… 

Well… he listened, you guess you could say. He didn’t offer you anything in return, never commenting on your stories or anecdotes or your dreams or aspirations. He only watched you, silently brewing in whatever thoughts he had. He never had anything to add to your conversations, and often, it was only your ramblings that would fill the empty silence. But… he listened. 

He listened. 

He was also polite. He would nod in greeting and would hold his arm out for you to grab onto whenever you went walking. He would move you to the inside, away from the cobblestone streets, whenever you were walking on the sidewalk. He would open the door for you, and take out your chair for you and push you into the table. He did all the things a normal gentleman would do. He was amicable at the very least. And maybe, maybe that was enough for you. Enough for a partnership or friendship. Or enough for an understanding in your marriage. At least that was what you had hoped for. 

And that's why when you heard his older brother ask Buchanan what he thought of you, at the party Beron was throwing to celebrate your engagement, you halted outside the door, leaning in and pressing your ear against the stained oak, unable to control yourself from eavesdropping. Your mother had informed you with urgency that he had been dragged from the ballroom by his two older brothers so they could give him advice on, “taming a female,” and she pushed you to go retrieve him so the high lord could see his match of the season interacting in front of him. 

You didn’t know what you were expecting. Maybe you were wishfully hoping that Buchanan had grown to like you, had grown to see you as more than just a match made by Beron, had grown to enjoy your presence. Because if he hadn’t, then you were too afraid of what your future would be. You didn’t know what you were expecting, but it certainly wasn’t this. 

“What a fucking cunt, I cannot believe the High Lord wants me to marry that pathetic excuse for a female,” he scoffed out with a harsh laugh, his words laced with acid pulled from the depths of the couldron. Your stomach was suddenly heavy with lead as it churned, your heart leapt up to your throat beating impossibly fast. Waves of nausea rolled over you, threatening you with every passing second. Harsh breaths were slipping past your lips as your lungs heaved in your chest, trying to catch your breath, trying to calm yourself. Your brain had shifted into a fight or flight mode as adrenaline thrummed through your veins, but you were stuck. You couldn’t move, you couldn’t think. You only pressed yourself closer to the closed door, clutching your soft stomach in an effort to self soothe as your toes curled within the heels you had worn. 

One of his brothers let out a loud snort, “Damn Buchanan, speak your truth. Is she a slut?” Horror coursed through you. You were stunned. Absolutely floored. You had thought things were going at least alright with Buchanan. Your eyes began to sting, lining themselves with tears that blurred your vision. Your cheeks were burning as the heat of your blood raced throughout your body, desperately trying to send oxygen to your tissues and organs in an effort to stop them from shutting down. “Gods, no,” Buchanan replied, sounding incredulous from the disbelief. A small bit of relief coursed through you. “Have you seen the fat bitch? What sane male would ever want to fuck a female like her?” 

Disgust. Shame. Utter self loathing replaced that small ounce of relief a hundred fold. 

Your throat tightened shut, a lump forcing its way into your voicebox blocking off any air as you stood still. Silent tears began seeping out from the corner of your widened irises, slipping down your rounded cheeks and meeting at the chin, only to drop onto your chest forming a wet spot at your gowns neckline. You begged Mother above for that to be the end of it, for that to be Buchanan’s final words, but he only continued. Like he was on some sort of tirade. “She is not appealing to look at in any way, seriously my dick goes limp every time I have to look at her. And not only that, she is driving me fucking crazy. The cunt never shuts her fat mouth, and rambles on like an idiot any time I am near her. She keeps going on and on and on about finding happiness and love in marriage, but who could ever possibly love her?” His two older brothers roared with laughter at his rant, Buchanan’s own chortling striking straight through your shattering heart. 

It was the last straw. It was your last straw. Sobs began wracking your body, you pressed your hand tightly to your lips in an effort to silence them, as your biggest insecurities were voiced by your betrothed in such a vicious way, mocking you in front of your future brother in laws and then laughing together. At you. They were laughing at you. Shuffling behind the door alerted you of their movements, possibly approaching the hallway you were standing in. Panic flooded you, your muscles suddenly snapped out of their paralysis and into action. You darted into the room across the hallway, quickly opening and shutting the door to hide yourself from them. To hide yourself from the world. Only when their footsteps receded down the hall towards the ongoing party did you let out a slight sigh of relief that the males hadn’t heard you, hadn’t noticed the scent of you in the hall, that you hadn’t been caught. 

You leaned your back against the door, sliding down as loud choked sobs you were holding back moments ago began leaving your lips. Mangled breaths formed as you tried, and ultimately failed, to inhale a proper breath. Your heart was beating too fast, too hard, trying to make up for the lack of oxygen in your inhales. Your entire body was screaming from the inside, each muscle tightened and every organ twisted up inside until it felt like you were being stabbed at every inch of your skin. Pain, pain, pain.

Pain. It was all you felt. All you could think. 

Your hand that had been clutching your stomach was now holding your head as you hunched forward between your knees. The wave of nausea had become so strong, that saliva had flooded your mouth in order to coat it with some sort of basic liquid before stomach acid would burn at the membranous tissue. Your vocal cords had been pulled taught, only allowing ugly wails to leak out. Self deprecating thoughts flew through your mind, throwing themselves at the base of your skull. The pounding in your head resembled a migraine, throbbing right at the base of your eye meeting your nose. 

Your other hand palmed the floor, trying to find steady ground that you could sit on. Some kind of flooring to prevent you from falling over. But you were already falling. Already falling into a deep pit of hate for yourself. After a couple of minutes of letting the agony sink into you, your throat opened a little, allowing for you to finally breathe some short breaths. In and out. In and out. In and out. Over and over and over and over again. Until, finally, there were no tears. Just the streaks they left behind marking your cheeks like scars. Where the pain once reeked within you, you were now numb. You were finally able to look up from the ground, glancing around the room only to realize that you were in Eris’ private library. You weakly pushed yourself off the floor, gripping at the door to help you stand. Eventually, slowly, you made your way to the small couch at the very back of the room that faced the expansive windows facing the outside forest. The one you and Eris often laid on for hours on end, reading whatever books we could find that were the slightest bit interesting, and silently enjoying each other's presence. You slumped onto it, lifting your feet onto the coffee table in front of you, and stared out into the dark forest, the outlines of which were highlighted by the moonlight.

You allowed your thoughts to let go of the terrible words that had brought you here in the first place, and allowed them to wander off to the irony of the entire situation you were forced into. When you were teenagers, one thing that you and Eris had always joked about is the fact that Beron likes to play matchmaker, and has tried for years and years to create pairs who would be unyieldingly loyal to the high lord, and yet, has never made a successful match. The glaringly obvious failure being Eris himself and that one female from night court. Even his own marriage was, and still is, in shambles, taking out his pure hatred and evil on his wife and children through physical, emotional, and verbal abuse. He was to be feared, the high lord. His word was the law. His matches were the law. No matter how awful they might actually be. 

Beron liked to use status and power to make his matches. He didn’t care about a person's beliefs, a person's values. He didn’t care about kindness, friendship, or love. He didn’t care about partnership or finding a balance between two individuals. He only cared about whether or not the person had enough wealth to shove up his ass. 

You had grown up as the daughter of the chief accountant of Autumn Court. Your father, a ruthless male, was claimed by the high lord himself, as his favorite court member and most loyal supporter. The both of them loved to line their pockets with the hard earnings of the general citizens of the court, taxing them on Tithe without mercy and creating trade laws that would only benefit the most senior members of the court, while obliterating the income of the truly hard working. 

Your mother was no better than your father. Beron’s father had played matchmaker for them, evidently the role running within the family, and it had actually worked out for once. They truly were the perfect match in the worst way possible. As the only child of your mother and father, you were raised with the strictest standards and unrelenting criticism that surely ruined your self image. 

Constant comments on how you dressed, constant comments on how you carried yourself, constant comments on you being chubbier than your cousins, constant comments on how you would never find a suitable match because of all of these things. The critics were never ending. They were heartbreaking coming from your mother, and mind-shattering coming from your father. 

The amount of tears you had shed over your lifetime were too many to count. The amount of times you went to bed, crying yourself to sleep, loathing and despising yourself, were too much to count. 

The constant comments from your family was enough to make you unsure. Unsure about your future, unsure about who would want to marry you, unsure about who would ever possibly love you. Because, surely, the way you looked, the way your stomach carried a little pudge, the way your hips had dips that made dresses fit awkwardly on you, the way your thighs were covered in stretch marks, surely it would make it impossible for anyone to ever find you beautiful enough to want to marry you, let alone, love you. 

Two things had been made very clear to you very early on in your life though. The first being, you were to marry whomever Beron chose for you, and you were to be an absolutely perfect bride for your match. And you would need to shape yourself into a quiet and shy bride, beautiful and thin, who followed whatever rules her husband laid without question. That was the only way, your mother mentioned during one of her sessions of berating, that you would be pleasant enough for any male to look in your direction. Truthfully, you were just praying to mother above that whichever male Beron decided to match you with would never lay a hand on you.

The next thing being, there was only one reason you were grateful for being born into the family who had inflicted you with so much pain, so much trauma. One reason. One person. Eris Vanserra. The heir to the Autumn Court. Your best friend. Your person. Your other fucking half. You loved the male, and sometimes… sometimes you would allow your mind to dip into the thought of being in love with the male. But you would quickly yank yourself away from it, not letting yourself even daydream of what it would be like to be more than just friends. 

You had met Eris at the ripe age of five. It is almost impossible in fae culture to have known someone, been friends with someone, loved someone as long as you have known, been friends with, and loved Eris. Eight hundred years of friendship never grew old, never grew tiring like other relationships had. If there was one thing your parents approved of, it was your friendship with Eris, only propelling your family closer to the Vanserra’s. 

Eris… Eris protected you. He had always protected you since you had first met when he pushed the boy who had stolen your favorite plush, snatching it back before handing it over to you. You leaped into a hug, holding him close and thanking him profusely. From that moment on, you and Eris were friends. Your friendship only continued to grow as the years went on, as you became more aware of the horrific abuse he experienced on a daily basis, as he showed up to your house in the middle of the night as your parents slept, as you snuck him into your bathroom and pushed him to lean against the counter so you could clean his wounds, as you would hold him close as he sobbed into the skin of your neck, as you whispered your own traumas despite them being more emotional in nature, as you read to him your favorite book and visa-versa, as you baked pecan and cinnamon apple pies together, as you went horseback riding together, as you trained in weaponry together, as you went hiking together, as you did everything together. 

He protected you against the words of your mother and father, constantly reassuring you that you would find a male who truly loved you the way you deserved to be loved. Eris had never once tried holding you back. He never once judged your expressive nature. He never judged your outgoing personality and often found himself craving your ramblings and anecdotes. He never once said a word about the way you looked, only once on your hundred and fiftieth birthday had he breathlessly whispered into your ear how stunning you looked. He never once judged you. He never once made you feel uncomfortable in your own skin. In fact, he only ever adored your true nature.

But after one particular night, when you were two hundred something, Eris had drawn a line. Not daring to cross it out of fear of what Beron might do to you if he ever found out how either of you felt for each other. And Eris was a stubborn male if anything, so he would not let you or himself cross the fucking line. The night Eris found it necessary to make it clear to both of you that he didn’t think it was possible we could ever be more, he had accidentally walked in on you half naked, seeking out your comfort after a particularly hard night, as you were undressing yourself from some sort of function in the town your parents had dragged you to. The only garments that covered you were your panties and a corset bound so tight, your tits almost spilled out past the lacy fabric. He stopped in his tracks, standing stiffly, as you stared at each other through the bathroom mirror, frozen in each other's spots as you eyed each other up and down. His fists clenched at his sides, trying to find some semblance of control, and a flush curled up his neck towards his pointed ears. His eyes locked onto yours, and you could see the dark ambers in his irises light with fire as he stalked towards you, pushing you forward right up against the mirror, and pressing his entire front to your back. His quickened breath puffed into your hair, and down the expanse of your throat as he buried his face deep into your neck, picking up every last bit of your scent. 

You could only watch through the mirror, your arousal slowly dripped into your panties, soiling them as you felt his taut chest move up and down, up and down, up and down against your back. One of his hands gripped roughly at your waist, feeling the slight sinch in it while the other roamed the expanse of your hips, squeezing ever so slightly at the plush before moving on to explore every inch of your covered skin. Mist from your warm exhales collected on the mirror, dew drops forming and slowly slipping down as Eris held you tightly against the glass. You felt a shot of courage, and arched your back toward his chest, rubbing your full ass against the strain in his pants, a soft moan escaping you at the stimulation. Hot energy struck through your stomach, and down to where you ached for Eris to touch you. The lordling hissed as the musk of yours and his arousal intermingled in the air that surrounded, suffocated and intoxicated you both all at once. 

He lifted his head from where it had been buried into your neck, watching you through the mirror, pupils blown wide open with lust, knocking the breath right out of you. You sucked in a shaky inhale through your teeth as his fingers snuck down to the waistband of your underwear, toying with the edge, before pinching the fabric and allowing it to snap back onto your skin. He did this again, once, twice, three times. A groan of frustration was making its way through your entire body, and you wriggled your hips to get the male to do something, anything. His pink tongue poked out between his lips, lapping at the shell of your pointed ear, sneaking in a soft nibble, almost as if he could sense the growing tension within you. Your sex was throbbing, all the blood in your body had rushed down to focus in on the one area Eris couldn’t seem to bring himself to. 

“What the fuck are you waiting for Er?” The taunt in your voice muddled with his favorite nickname you had gifted him at thirteen years of age… it had a growl reverberating from his chest straight into your back. His hand came down so hard on your ass, the smack echoed in the bathroom and you were sure that a burning sensation would leave behind the mark of his palm. The heir rubbed at the redness that was forming there, massaging the muscle beneath the soft, stretch marked laidden skin, “So fucking needy,” he murmured, voice raspy as the air in the bathroom dried out from the heat. He gently tugged once at the lace. Another tug, this time with enough force that it shredded the fabric lining your cunt. And then he stuffed the ripped red number into his back pocket. Your eyes had fluttered shut, unable to maintain the focused eye contact. Your nerves were on fucking fire, every cell within your body was shunting out desire that rippled in the striations of your muscle and layers of tissue, shaking you to the very core. Several missed beats of your heart had you almost worried you would go into cardiac arrest, but you didn’t care. You would die a happy female, if you died in this moment. 

One of his hands, adorned with gold rings that embodied the lavish wealth of the male, wrapped itself around your throat, squeezing tenderly, but with enough pressure that your eyes snapped open. Your irises were missing, replaced by the dark depths of your pupils as they met his through the mirror. A smirk lilted his face, looking smug as ever, when his other arm snuck from behind you, brushing over the soft, supple skin of your thigh that was damp with your arousal. Strangled gasps turned into pants as the lordling finally reached your swollen clit, the pads of his forefinger pressing down firmly for a second, sending the rest of his digits through your slippery folds. The grasp on your throat tightened imperceptibly, Er bit his swollen lips, trying to hold in the croaking groan that was bubbling within him but coming up short. The beautiful sound from the male was enough to send another wave of liquid pleasure from your cunt. So much so this time, that your slick began to coat the inner-most portions of your thigh, some even daring to dribble down your legs to the tile beneath you.  

You both had been knocked out from the heat of the moment when a loud crash from downstairs, reminding you that you were in your home, where your parents were present, where anyone could catch you both. Before you could say or do anything, something within Eris had snapped, ripping his fingers away from the ministrations he was making at your sex and yanking his hand from its grasp on your throat. He jerked away from your body so fast, you nearly gave yourself whiplash watching him through the mirror. When you turned your body to face him, your heart was beating so fast, you wouldn’t be surprised if he could hear it across the room. And the butterflies in your stomach that rammed against every internal organ within your abdomen had your knees nearly buckling, as you tried to regain your composure. He had bent over, digits slick with your arousal grasping onto both of his knees, trying to catch his breath with his eyes squeezed shut, as if it had pained him to pull away. You opened your mouth to ask what had happened, why he was here, why he had stopped, but he didn’t give you the chance. He stood stalk straight from his position, giving you a once over as his face dropped into a cold mask that was usually reserved for everyone except you. The neutrality, the ice in his usual burning eyes paused you, your chest heaved for a second as shock settled in you, and with a blink, the heir had vanished, winnowing away to mother knows where.  

You hadn’t spoken to each other for seven months after the incident. You had worried that the moment of stupidity, the moment of lack of self control was going to be the knife that tore into your friendship, damaging it irreparably. But you needed him. He was yours, and you were his. And if that meant that you couldn’t be with him in that way, then that was something you were willing to accept. So one day, after seven months of heartbreaking silence, you marched right up to him while he was in the stables with his sixteen horses and twelve ghost hounds. You reached up and yanked him down by the collar, his eyes widened with surprise as you leaned in close, “Please Eris, lets just go back to how things were. Please, let's forget it ever happened. Please.” It came out as a whimper, not what you had wanted as you had spent days preparing a long speech on how best friends don’t abandon each other. But… it had worked. 

The lordling nodded numbly at your words, before pulling you in for a tight hug. Shaky breaths misted in the cool air as you pushed your face into his neck, leaning in as close as you could while he pressed a soft kiss to your temples in apology for avoiding you. And there it was. The silent agreement. To forget. To never try again. Even if it hurt you, you could live with it. Because the hurt of not having him in any capacity was too unbearable to even think of. And now, almost six centuries later, you were stuck in an engagement with a male who apparently loathed your looks, your personality, every part of you really. And Eris was still only your best friend, never toeing the line. And he would only ever allow himself to be your friend, nothing more, with Beron still alive. 

Maybe… maybe if the high lord was dead… maybe things would be different. 

You had been so entrenched by your reminiscing, you hadn’t realized the lordling made his way from the party with a bottle of chardonnay, to the library in which you were seated. You heard the creak of the door swinging open, “There you are, I've been looking everywhere for you doll,” his deep playful voice brought a watery smile to your face as a fresh wave of tears appeared in your eyes. One slipped out, and you hastily wiped it away with the sleeve of your velvet dress, the dark emerald color blending into the upholstery of the couch. You didn’t want him to see you like this. You didn’t want him to ask what happened, because you wouldn’t be able to hold your tears back if you spoke of it. Because you were embarrassed by the entire situation. Because telling him would involve you speaking the words Bucahnan had spoken about you. Because telling him would mean that Eris would be able to share his own thoughts and opinions. And you didn’t know if you would survive Er agreeing, even in the slightest bit, with Buchanan.

And also because Er wouldn’t hold back. When it came to you, he never could. You knew that if you told him about the nasty words Buchanan had spoken so cruelly, Er would hunt him down, rip the male into pieces, and then feed what was left behind to his ghost hounds. Literally. And Beron would not be merciful towards his eldest son, with his evil nature ruling his every decision, a punishment involving a beating would likely not suffice. And there was no way you would ever risk Er like that. So, you would just have to swallow the fact that you would be in a loveless, probably abusive marriage. 

But for Eris… for him… for his safety… you would. You would do anything. Even if it meant you getting hurt. 

You cleared your throat, removing the lump that had been stuck in your throat since you had heard Buchanan talking with his brothers. A short laugh was forced from your throat, even though your vocal cords were still stiff, “Here I am.” You swiveled your body to watch as he made his way to you, smoothly and swiftly. A grin that had been reserved for you and his mother filled his beautiful face, moving around the couch to plop himself right next to you, so close that his entire side was pressed against yours. The shifted one of the two wine glasses into your hand, popping the cork from the white wine, “Why is the guest of honor to this hideous party hiding herself in the personal library of the most famous, most handsome, most dashing, extremely powerful heir to the Autumn Court?” You snorted at his arrogance, slightly tilting your glass so he could pour in a quarter of the bottle. You leaned into his side and rested your head against his broad shoulders; he slumped further into the couch so you would be comfortable against him, leaning his head onto yours as he took a sip of the crisp wine, waiting patiently for your response. You took a deep breath to calm yourself. Another. Again. Another. But it had seemed the lump in your throat had lodged itself deeper into the very muscles that were supposed to sound out words. So you just sat. Hoping that Eris wouldn’t question it. Wouldn’t question you. Wouldn’t press you further. 

But the lordling was a perceptive male. Nothing ever, ever slips past him. Especially where you are concerned. 

The pause you gave was long enough for him to grow concerned, setting his already half empty glass on the coffee table in front of him as he rotated to face you head on. His dark amber eyes narrowed in on you, focusing and studying your figure, your face. You shifted uncomfortable against his penetrating gaze, avoiding eye contact with the male knowing that the whites of your eyes were bloodshot. “Have you been crying?” 

Damn it all to the cauldron, how had he figured you out in a matter of seconds? You again forced a laugh out, crossing your legs sending one thigh over the other, “No, Er, don’t be ridiculous.” Your voice came out shakier than you had intended, and there was no way he hadn’t picked up on it. “Don't give me that doll. The tip of your nose is red and I can see the streaks on your blushed cheeks. Who the fuck made you cry? Tell me. Right now.” The tone he had once used had changed entirely too fast, going from playful to ice cold laced with finality. A shiver ran down your spine, your mind racing to come up with any plausible excuse to account for your recent tears. 

Your heart began pounding within your chest, a new onset of anxiety coursing through your arteries. You couldn’t let Eris find out, because he would do only Mother knows what to Buchanan, and Beron would do only Gods know what to him. “I was um… I was just reminiscing–” He cut you off swiftly, “Don’t bullshit me, Y/N. Tell me who made you cry and what they did.” His hands tightened into fists at his side, continuing to pierce you with his stare. You had never been able to properly lie to the male. You didn’t think you could start now. 

“Don't freak out Er–”

“Mother above, Y/N, tell me. Right now.” You flinched as he cut you off once again, reading right through you. Any chance of you getting away with a half truth had been thrown out the window the second he realized you were upset. He sighed, reaching out his fist unfurling to gently tug on your wrist, “Just tell me what happened doll. You know I will always protect you.” 

Leave it to Eris to say something that would make you smile, even in your darkest moments. The corner of your lips rose slightly, staring up at the heir who had burrowed into your heart. Sometimes… sometimes you thought about how if you got married, there would be no space in your heart for any other male because Eris had taken every corner, every ridge for himself. Unintentionally of course, but nevertheless, benevolently. 

“Do you think I'm pretty Er?” Damn it all to the cauldron, the words had tumbled out, without permission. And there it was, sitting in the empty space between you. He blanched, “What?” The ice in his voice had completely melted into shock. Clearly, it was not what the male was expecting for you to say or ask. You would have laughed at his face if the nervousness of his lack of response wasn’t seizing you, “Well? Do you?”

He scoffed at your question, perturbed that you still hadn’t told him what had happened, “Of course I do, Doll. Only a fool wouldn’t.” His eyes flicked back and forth, locked in on yours, trying to dissect whatever it was that you were thinking. He opened his mouth again, sucking in some air, probably to continue to interrogate you on why you were crying. But you didn’t let him, “Why?” 

“Why what, Y/N?”

“Why do you think I’m pretty?” This was not the way you had expected for the conversation to go. Suddenly, the topic that you had avoided for years, centuries with Eris was becoming the elephant in the room as the questions continued to stumble out. All the self doubt, all the self loathing, screaming into your brain that it wasn’t possible for the lordling to find you pretty. You were too fat, too annoying, too much. He continued to stare at you, gaping at the obvious shift in conversation. 

“What is this about Y/N? Just tell me what happened.” 

“No.” Simple yet final and firm. You became impassive, lifting your legs to face away from him, turning your back to him. You didn’t want to have this conversation with him. You didn’t know how to. Because even if Eris “took care” of Buchanan, there would be another male, and another, and another. And it was possible that all of those males felt the exact same way Buchanan did. The train of thought returned the stinging in your eyes, and this time, there was no holding back. Your lip trembled, pressing together to hold in the sobs, as Eris continued to stare at your back. 

His tattooed arms lifted, wrapping themselves around your waist, hands pressing into the velvet of your dress. He ever so gently, with so much care and worry, pulled you into his lap. You immediately lifted yourself, trying to scramble out, not wanting to crush him under your weight. But his muscled forearms, on display from rolling up his sleeves, held you in place, not letting you budge. A hand came up to grasp your chin, softly turning your face towards him so he could look you in the eye. The immediate eye contact had your eyes dropping down to stare at the rising and falling of his chest. “Look at me, Y/N,” the seriousness of his command had your eyes snapping up to meet his, tears fell down your cheek, hot streaks pressing into the skin below. His eyes were filled with so many emotions, concern at your tears, worry over your recent questions, love and adoration that he held for you, his best friend, and burning anger at what prompted all of this. 

“There are no words that can describe your beauty doll.” You huffed shaking your head, not believing a single word, but the grasp on your chin tightened, not painfully but enough that imprints of the pads of his fingers would be left whenever he would decide to let go. “Hey– stop that right now doll,” he exclaimed, putting a pause in your display of skepticism. “There are no words or expressions that I can use to describe your beauty Y/N… your beauty is not quantifiable. It is everything about you. I– I can’t– Maybe. Maybe I can try.” Desperation started to seep into his voice, his eyes flitting back and forth between yours, trying to convince you that he saw you. Truly saw you. That he adored what he saw. 

“I– I think you are the most divine being I have ever had the absolute delight and luck coming across.” He paused, exhaling softly, “We met when we were only five. Some punk had stolen your favorite doll, and you were fighting him valiantly, not afraid, not cowering. You faced him head on, throwing your tiny fists into his back, and I just knew. I knew that you were different from anyone I had ever met” His hand that was on your hip unconsciously squeezed once, twice, thrice at the recollection of the memory. “You know that's why I call you doll, right?” You shook your head, and his palm came up to rest against the roundness of your cheek. Thumbing away at the final tears that had dripped out. “You had this elaborate richness to you, and it reminded me of your doll. Anyway, over the years, I got to know you. Really know you. I guess what I am trying to say is that I have loved your personality, the female that you were shaping yourself into. You opened up like this flower waiting to bloom in spring, sharing every part of you with me. And letting me do the same. No one had ever done that, Y/N. No one ever listened to me, but you did. No one ever let me be me, but you did. In fact, you loved me for it.” 

He leaned in closer, so close that your mind began to fuzz. His warm breath that smelled of whiskey and chardonnay kissed your lips and nose, as he continued to eye you, tracing every inch of your skin, dimples, bumps with his blazing embers. You wanted to cower, you wanted to hide. You didn’t want him to see what you saw. “When I look at you Y/N, I feel unbridled joy. Joy that I so rarely feel. All my fears, all my worries, they slip away when you look at you. When I look at you, I feel like you are my breath of fresh air after drowning. I feel like you are my warmth that shields me from this cold world. I feel like I am awake after a thousand years of coma. When I look at you, I see all of what is good in the world.” He pulled you closer than you already were, your full thighs spread apart and pressing against the sides of his, the grasp on your chin leaving, favoring running his digits through your hair and massaging at your scalp. Twisting and twirling the strands between his fingers, his next words coming out in hushed whispers as if he didn’t want anyone, not even the air between you, to listen. “I have studied the color of your eyes since the day I met you. I have gotten lost in them countless times, and I still cannot think of a way to describe them. There is nothing I could say that could ever fully encompass the depths of your beautiful irises. And Gods, Y/N, whenever you smile, this little glint appears right in the corner of your pupil before disappearing. I pray I get to see those glints. The way your eyebrows furrow, giving away every thought at a moment's notice. If I am trying to gauge your mood, I only need to look at your eyebrows because they will tell me if you are annoyed, sad, happy. And Mother fucking above–,” 

“Eris,” a laugh sped out of you, trying to scold the lordling for his blasphemy. 

He only smirked at you in response, “Mother fucking above, Y/N. Have you ever looked at your beautiful lips and cheeks?” He tilted his head back in a groan, “No, no you fucking haven’t. Gods, they are my favorite part of you. The color of your lips, the way your smile brightens up the room even in the darkest of days, steals my breath away. Your fucking cheeks, doll. I mean they are so adorable and sexy, all at the same time. How is that even possible? I don’t know, but clearly, your cheeks know. The flush they get whenever I tease you Y/N? Blood goes straight down to my cock.” You gasped out another laugh, slapping his taut chest and squirmed to get out of his unbreakable grasp. 

He only pulled you closer. 

Till your chest met his, and you could feel the beat of his heart through the fabric of your clothes. Your breath hitched, “Y/N, I could stare at you for days, for centuries, and never grow bored. It– It feels like I am looking at a goddess when I look at you. And your body, Y/N. Don’t get me started on your fucking body. Gods. It is so fucking soft, and lucious, and irresistable, and mesmerizing, and alluring, and all the fucking words one could use to create a synonym with beauty. And none of those words are enough Y/N. Gods, you don’t fucking understand how utterly perfect you are. Your tits are the perfect fucking size, and whenever you wear those necklines that fucking dip? I– I have to hold myself back from bending you over and fucking you into oblivion. They are round and full, and I daydream about touching them, kissing them, tonguing and sucking at them. Your waist, it sinches in and is my favorite place to wrap my arm around. Whenever I am around you, my arm grows heavy, begging to be placed around your waist. Your hips are wide and dip, giving these love handles that I just want to bite. Honestly Y/N, they are sexy as fuck. It– It reminds me of depictions of ancient goddesses. And it makes me think of you, swelling with a babe. My babe. And Mother above, you don’t know how many times I’ve fisted my cock at the thought.” 

Tingles began erupting from the places Eris had grasped, all the way into the very cells that made up the skin, up the nerves that lined your entire body, and shot down to reach the bundle of nerves that rested at the apex of your thighs. The way the lordling was describing you with such passion, it had awoken something within you. His hand began to squeeze your hip so hard, you thought it would leave a bruise of his handprint, one that you would gladly welcome. He cleared his throat because his voice had become saddled with lust, “Your thighs are so thick, doll. They– I think about them. Wrapped around my hips. Wrapped around my waist. Thrown over my shoulders. Wrapped around my head as I savor the sweet taste of your arousal. And your ass is perfectly spank-able. Every time you bend over, I have to physically restrain myself from slapping it as hard as I can, just so I can see the ripple of your skin from where I hit you. I yearn to see the bruises that I would leave behind on it, I yearn to rub lotion into those very bruises, and I yearn to kiss and bite into them.” 

Your arms had found their way around his neck at some point during his speech, only a hair width separating you two at this point. “And this… these words… they aren’t enough. They aren’t enough to describe your captivatingly, heavenly, beauty Y/N.” You eyed him, studying the pure sincerity, the truth, the longing in his irises. You didn’t need him to say anything more. Because… because, what he had said… it had been enough, for you at least. You tilted your head forward, pressing a featherlight kiss into his chapped lips before quickly leaning back to see his reaction. He didn’t let you get far though, adjusting his grip at the back of your head to slide down to your neck, his other hand jolting your hips down to his as he surged forward, pulling you in for another kiss. And another. And another. And another. And another. Soft pecks, slowly turning more desperate. Quiet moans escaping the both of you, the sensation of your tongues swirling, first in long, smooth strokes, and then in short, quick strokes. His body shuddered against yours, trying to pull you impossibly close. You kissed for what felt like a lifetime. It naturally slowed as you finally pulled back for a breath. Your chest heaving against his, heart fluttering, mind muddled with only thoughts of Eris. 

He leaned in again, encasing your bottom lips with his in a soft final kiss. You were still trying to catch your breath when he let out, “Well now we’re fucked aren’t we?” A startled laugh left you, but the seriousness in his face had your mood dropping from elation into the ground beneath you. It all hit you. You were still betrothed. You were still to be married to Buchanan. Eris still didn’t know why you were in here kissing him, and not out there, enjoying what was supposed to be your engagement party. And you were scared. You were scared for yourself, for your future. You were scared of Buchanan. Because if he could say such cruel things behind your back while playing amicable in front of you, what else was he capable of? Would his words behind your back one day turn into words spat at you in front of you? Would his words one day turn into a hand lifted at you? 

“I am terrified, Er. What the fuck am I gonna do?” He shook his head, before resting his forehead against yours, murmuring through his swollen lips, “Baby, please just tell me what happened. You don’t need to be scared, I am right here. I won’t let anything happen to you, you know that. I have said this before, and I will say it again. I will always protect you. Always, Y/N. No matter the cost. Please, Y/N. Tell me.” So, you did. 

You told him. You told him everything. Heartbreakingly slowly, sometimes with muffled sobs into his shoulder and has stroked your back in an effort to calm you, you told him. You told him of your parents' abuse, their verbal lashings leaving their mark on your inner child, making it inherently difficult to believe that someone like Eris, anyone really, could ever find you attractive, could ever fall in love with you, could ever be in love with you. You told him you were dreading marriage with Buchanan, how you had tried to cultivate a friendship with the male, how you had hoped the friendship would transform into love. You told him how you were sent to look for him, and how you overheard him. You told him exactly what Buchanan had to say. You told him how his brothers laughed at you. You told him how Buchanan laughed at you. How you had hidden yourself away, trying to bury the shame deep within you. How you feared to tell Eris, knowing that he would in fact, protect you. How you feared that Beron would go after Eris, how if Eris wanted to protect you, what makes him think that you don’t want to do the same for him? You told him that you loved his friendship. How it meant everything to you. How having him, even in the form of a friendship, was enough for you even if you wanted more. How you would wait for him. And you finished by telling him how you were in love with him, and how you hoped that he was in love with you. 

Er had listened to every word you had said, not interrupting once, only offering you comfort and support when you needed it. Only when you finished, did he pull you in for another soft kiss, his own voice breaking as he mouthed, “I love you, I am in love with you, I will always be in love with you,” against your lips. He hugged you close for a minute. And another. And another. And another. And another. Rubbing at your back, your waist, and hips, squeezing ever so slightly every couple of minutes as if to remind him that it was you he was holding so close to him.

You only separated from each other when you heard your name being called out by Buchanan, maybe your mother sending him after you, or your father, or even Beron who wanted to see the “happy couple” dancing before his subjects. Eris sighed irritated by the interruption, pressing a finger to his lips before he moved you delicately off his lap, handling you like you were a priceless jewel in his hands. You tried to reach up and grasp at his sleeve, silently begging for him to stay with you, to not do anything stupid, but Er wasn’t having any of it. 

“He made you cry,” it came out as a hiss not directed at you, but a hiss regardless that only showcased his rage that was beginning to bubble through as he heard Buchanan again call out for you. “He hurt you. And I will kill him for it.” Determination shown through his eyes and inflection, and you knew, there was no stopping him. “We will face this together, my beloved. Fuck, when I am done feeding him to my hounds, I am finding you and taking you to the nearest temple, and we are gonna get married. Consequences be damned.” You laughed out another sob, this time, from happiness, “Promise Er?” You lifted up your left ring finger to link with his, and he brought your laced fingers up to his lips, kissing them, “I promise, beloved.” The tingle of the newly formed tattoo inking into both of your ring fingers, spreading across the dorsum of your hand till it reached up to your wrist, connecting you both into a promise-forged bond that would hold till the end of time.

[primordial-shade]

Gorgon partner headcanons

Right right right right

Ok ok So Gorgons.

I have a personal headcannon for these guys. I will say they are descended from the original 3 Gorgon sisters.

They have snakes for hair, scaled skin, walk on two legs that can shift into a massive snake tail.

Can be male or female, do have the ‘paralysing stare’ but unlike their divine ancestors it only stuns for a short period of time, paralysing the attacker rather than turning them to stone.

They can also control it thanks to a third, transparent, eyelid

They come in numerous colour patterns and live mostly in warm environments around the Mediterranean sea. In fact there are hidden villages on Gorgons hidden.

Live very Modern-Ancient Greece. But more feminism, lots more feminism. They ancestors were all women by the way.

How were the species born? By the three original Gorgons mating with humans or through divine parthenogenesis.

Anyway to help genetics, and because they are all related, Gorgons tend to mate with humans and no matter gender they can sire or carry eggs. Any child will also be a gorgon.

Now that I have gotten my hypothesising out of the way, onto the stuff.

SFW:

At first Gorgons are not extremely physically affectionate. In fact you may be hard pressed to even know if they like you at first. But do not be fooled! Their hard outer shells hold extremely squishy insides.

They are probably internally going absolutely fucking crazy over you. Overthinking every move they make, each interactions they have with you.

Outside face: -.-

Inside: Ok ok, be cool. The pretty human is talking to you- gods their eyes are beautiful, should I tell them? No that would be weird! Maybe I can mention it in a roundabout day- Oh.My.Gods they called my scales PRETTY!!!!!! MARRY ME YOU GORGEOUS HUMAN!

Yeah poor little guys are messes, they are quite reserves as a species.

Very much on the gift-giving and acts of service way of showing affection. But more along the way that if you mention needing something done they’ll do it. Like if you mention you have an issue with your car they’ll fic it or arrange for it to be fixed the same hour. Also very much on the spectrum of if you mention you like something they will make sure you have it every day. Use this power wisely.

Most Gorgons you meet will also have large vegetable and fruit gardens and also some form of animal. As a species a big part of their courting to be able to feed and provide for their mate. They also live in a part of the world great for crops.

They also build their homes partly into the earth. These homes are highly decorated and built with the intention for the Gorgons lifestyle. Whether its just for themselves, just for partners, or for future families. Homes also tend to be connected underground, making multigenerational neighbourhoods.

Once you actually enter into a relationship with a Gorgon things rev up.

Gift giving leans away from more practical to more indulgent, as do acts of service. They also slowly become more communicative about their emotions. Its still rather laconic but they’ll say emotionally devastating shit that will rock your world outta the fucking blue.

Like shit you’ll be washing up the dishes after dinner and they’ll turn to you and say some shit like “I am descended from the divine, and even I feel myself go mad from the beauty of your smile.” And then will turn back and begin drying the fucking dishes like nothing happened.

Meanwhile your ass is standing there having had your shit rocked on a spectral level and your deciding whether to cry, kiss them or make them see stars right then and there.

ALSO! Also also also. Snakes for hair.

These guys have snakes for hair that are semi-independent. I sort of debate on them being extensions of their gorgons mind but being individual in a sort of way.

These little guys are key to their Gorgons emotions. The hair will give it away peeps.

Whilst they will stay relatively neutral before a relationship properly occurs the snakes will pay more attention to you than anyone else.

Once the relationship begins the little snakes will be all over you. Hissing and nudging and kissing your face little snakey kisses when you’re close.

And gods if you pet them?? Good luck getting your hand back babe, the snakes are keeping it, pets forever.

Also as your Gorgon gets more comfortable with initiating physical contact it will be hard for them to stop bless them. They’ll probably use the old adage of ‘but baby I’m cold blooded!!’ to eek out more cuddle time.

Also in the cold months they will stick to you like glue. It doesn’t get freezing in the Mediterranean but the poor babies are cold blooded. Any unnecessary trips outside are vetoed and they make more use of the Thermal Hot springs they usually build their towns around.

They will damn near climb into your clothes if a breeze hits them. They don’t like the cold >:(

NSFW

Iiiiiittttttss Sexy time!

Hahaha lets go.

First lets talk About the paralysing stare, because if you want they can and will use that as a part of sex.

You’ll be conscious, and you’ll be able to blink, but besides that your are paralysed baby.

Its kind of an ingrained kink in the species. Shows a deep bond of trust between a mortal mate and their gorgon. It also scratches that ‘predator’ urge in the backs of their heads.

Having you so pretty and still, letting them do whatever they want to you, letting them move and control you like a good little doll. It gets them so fucking horny.

They’ll love a bit of kinky hide and seek as well. Tracking you by the scent of your arousal in the dark, tongue licking at the air, tasting your arousal as they track you, hissing every fantasy of what they’ll do to you when they find you…

And when they do, they’ll fuck you on the spot, taking you hard and fast until you’re a gibbering mess, only then they’ll drag your limp and shivering body back to their nest.

Yeah you won’t be leaving for a while, but what bliss guys, what fucking bliss.

In bed they’re all over you, long scaly tail trapping your legs as hey take you, licking the sweat from your skin and moaning about your beauty. About your pretty pussy/cock/ass and how good you feel.

You run so much warmer than them, everything feels so hot and wet and they adore you, relishing in your warmth. They wanna stay permanently inside you/you inside them so they can keep experiencing your warmth.

They also will bite you a little bit, just a little. No they’re not venomous baby, please just let them bury their fangs into you, they promise it’ll feel so good.

Also, if you do want kids, they will make that happen. Both male and females can lay and carry eggs. The moment you say you want a baby with them they are ready to load you up with eggs, filling you so prettily and making sure you’re fully and happy.