#this only has two more sentences than the original but still

[ahappyphjl]

just wanted to say hi

[dalishious]

About Davrin's little blurb on the official website for Dragon Age: The Veilguard...

"Though he was raised in a Dalish clan, he craved excitement and adventure. He'd rather make history than reflect on it."

There's actually a lot to unpack about these two sentences.

First off, placing the word "though" in front of being "raised in a Dalish clan", gives such a thing a negative connotation. The word "though" is used in a way that sounds like "despite", as in, somehow wanting excitement and adventure must go against being Dalish. This correlates with sentence that follows. "He'd rather make history than reflect on it." The word "rather" is yet again used to separate Davrin from his Dalish origin. All together, this promotional description of Davrin is insisting that he is "not like other Dalish".

Now, obviously the game is not out yet, so we do not have total confirmation on what the nature of Davrin's relationship to his culture is really like. But there is absolutely something to be said about promoting the character this way, regardless of however he actually turns out in game. There is absolutely something to be said about how, as @/the-eldritch-it-gay put in their tags here, why do writers feel the need to make fantasy minorities hate or distance themselves from their culture? As a selling point?

Maybe this is completely misleading bullshit, maybe it isn't. All we have to go by, is what BioWare chose to say here, and their past track record with elves:

Zevran may talk about his mother in a font way, but he still has the line, "Too many of our kind think we deserve pity simply because we have failed to defend ourselves."

Velanna is one of the two elves we've had who is overtly proud of her culture, yet she is treated like she is unreasonable and too angry because of it.

Merrill too, is proud of being an elf, and of being Dalish. The story punishes her left and right for this, treats her like a child, and in the end she is either ostracized from her clan or they end up dead because... she cared too much?

Fenris has pretty much zero engagement with elven cultures, and spends his time ridiculing Merrill for being proud of hers.

Solas complains about the Dalish from the start, and says plainly that he does not see himself as having anything in common with elves of current time. "Oh, you mean elves" he says, when the Inquisitor asks how he feels about his people; the thought does not even occur to him.

Sera is... Sera is a character who could have been a really interesting examination of overcoming internalized racism, if she was written by someone competent with the subject. Instead, she just cringes at everything "too elfy" through the entire main game, and only has a single line in Trespasser that hints that she may have a personal struggle going on. But it's still left unresolved.

That's a lot a lot of negativity. So of course seeing a suggestion that more is to come with Davrin has people wary and tired.

Let us also consider the fact that Davrin is overtly Black as well, and what that means. Acting as if one must disregard history in order to make it, as his description so claims, is bullshit. It sounds too much like promoting gentrification/assimilation in my opinion; the idea that you cannot keep your culture if you want to be successful.

I also think that it goes even deeper, on a meta level - I think that BioWare is afraid people will not be able to like or relate to Davrin, if he is "too ethnic". I think that BioWare is taking this Black character and instead of questioning how he can best represent marginalized fans - particularly Black fans - they are questioning how to make him more relatable to white fans. And the only answer to that is to, of course, make him seem like he is an exception to marginalization through separating him from his people.

I am still holding onto hope that Davrin will overall be an interesting, well-written character. And I sure as hell will still be defending him from the people who are already hating on him or ignoring him completely because of their racialized biases. But that does not exempt BioWare, and specifically his writer, John Dombrow, from any criticism. This is not about Davrin the character, this is about BioWare the company's handling of Davrin the character. And in that regard, they're not off to a great start with this.

[saphronethaleph]

Comparative Healing 202

“...he had such a knowledge of the Dark Side that he could even keep the ones he cared about from dying,” Palpatine explained.

“Really?” Anakin asked. “That’s strange… I wonder how that works.”

“It’s a power that you can’t learn from a Jedi,” Palpatine said, delicately. “The Dark Side is a path to many abilities that some consider… unnatural.”

Anakin frowned. “I guess,” he said. “But what I mean is, how it’s different from the Light Side way of doing it.”

Palpatine looked at Anakin.

“What do you mean?” he asked, a little puzzled.

“I asked Master Kcaj, I think he’s attending the performance actually,” Anakin explained, with a little shrug. “He took me through Light Side Force Healing 201, he said it was good that I was learning to solve problems in ways that didn’t involve a lightsaber.”

The Knight frowned. “Well, he just called it Force Healing 201, because I don’t think he knew there was a Dark Side version, but I guess that makes sense, because that kind of thing would have to be really, really old by now. Was Darth Plagueis killed by one of the Jedi during the Jedi-Sith Wars or was he a victim of infighting?”

“He wasn’t-” Palpatine began, but Anakin was shaking his head.

“Actually, now I come to think about it, the way the Light Side version of Force Healing works, the way it’s Light Side is that you have to personally pay for the cost,” he said. “I guess it’s kind of ironic, really, because it means that Jedi can keep other people from dying, but we can’t keep ourselves from dying… we’d have to take on our own wounds and we’d be back where they started. There’s other things we can do to make it so that injuries aren’t as serious, but those only work for ourselves, so it’s… actually a way that you can combine two techniques to get a net benefit.”

Palpatine blinked, still about one and a half sentences behind and trying to catch up. “I… suppose it is ironic, yes,” he said. “Darth Plagueis the Wise had the same problem.”

Anakin frowned. “Chancellor, how do you know about this? Are you sure that it was a Sith? Because the Force Healing technique you’ve mentioned sounds a lot like it has the same limitations as the Jedi one, so maybe it’s actually been distorted and corrupted over more than a thousand years. It could even be that he wasn’t called Darth Plagueis but was called something that sounded that way and the story’s been corrupted over the centuries. You know, like Sifo-Dyas and Sidious, that only took a few years.”

“I’m sorry, Anakin?” Palpatine said, after a pause to try and avoid panicking when Anakin linked the two names. “What do you mean? This isn’t… it’s the story of a Sith.”

“Sure, that’s what you’re aware of,” Anakin replied. “And maybe it’s correct, but there’s lots of possibilities even then, right? It could be that he discovered the Jedi healing technique independently, or it could be that he stole it from the Jedi. Maybe the Jedi stole it from him and they don’t tell the story because it’s embarrassing to admit that the most highly restricted healing techniques are something originally invented by the Sith. Or maybe they let this Darth Plagueis guy borrow some holobooks from the Jedi library and he stole them, and they’re embarrassed now.”

Anakin ticked off points on his fingers. “Oh, and there’s also the possibility that if a Sith stole holobooks on Force Healing he’d have done it in a way that couldn’t be traced back to him, so the Jedi wouldn’t tell the story because they just flat-out didn’t know.”

“This is not a story from a thousand years ago,” Palpatine said. “It’s a story from only a few decades ago, as it happens, so it is definitely not warped by time!”

“Not more than the Sifo-Dyas thing,” Anakin pointed out, helpfully. “But yeah, it’s now really obvious why the Jedi don’t tell me about it, because it’s either really catastrophically embarrassing because it would mean that the Jedi literally didn’t realize the Sith were back despite a Sith stealing some library books, or they just have no way of knowing in the first place. I guess I’m more interested in the second one, though… does this story go into any more detail about how Plagueis did the Force Healing? If they genuinely are Light Side and Dark Side and that’s different, then it’s interesting.”

“I… didn’t take you as someone to be interested in healing,” Palpatine admitted, since it was about the only response he could think of at that point.

“I didn’t think I’d be interested either,” Anakin said, readily. “But Master Kcaj had this great analogy, he said that it was like being a mechanic of the body. Isn’t that such a cool concept? The heart’s the motivator, that kind of thing… and the better I understand that the more I can work on not needing to use the Force to heal people, except in a real emergency anyway. All I need is to use it to stabilize someone, and then I can get them the rest of the way to safety.”

Palpatine nodded.

“A… useful endeavour,” he said, in as fatherly a tone as he could manage, and tried to get back on script. “As I said, Plagueis could use the Force to influence the midi-chlorians to create life. He taught his apprentice everything he knew, and then his apprentice killed him in his sleep. He never saw it coming.”

“Oh, right,” Anakin replied, nodding. “Yeah, I think this sounds like a badly garbled origin story for the Sith.”

“Excuse me?” Palpatine asked.

“If Darth Plagueis was a Sith who’d taught his apprentice everything, then how would he not expect to be betrayed?” Anakin asked. “It makes much more sense if this apprentice was actually the first Sith and Plagueis being a Sith got read back into the story at a later date… but I’m still not sure how to get the midi-chlorians to create life. They’re our connection to the Force, it’s not about a connection to the Dark Side specifically. Unless what he’s doing is forcing the midi-chlorians to create life when it shouldn’t be, that would be a Dark Side thing that violates the balance in the universe while Light Side techniques are about balance – that’s why Light Side healing involves paying for taking away a wound by taking on a wound. Balance.”

Anakin glanced at his chrono. “Huh, I should probably get going… I need to tell the Council that thing you mentioned about Grievous hiding in the Utapau System.”

“Come, now, Anakin,” Palpatine said. “You can’t find yourself running around doing the bidding of the Jedi Council all the time. We were talking about this. They don’t necessarily have your best interests at heart.”

“I know, Chancellor,” Anakin replied, nodding. “But I don’t speak Quarren and I think if I need to watch five more minutes of this ballet I’m going to pass out from boredom.”

“This ballet is in Mon Cal,” Palpatine said.

“Yeah, I don’t speak that either,” Anakin shrugged.

“Did you know the Chancellor’s really interested in old stories about the Sith?” Anakin asked Obi-Wan, back in the Temple. “Fascinated by them.”

“He is?” Obi-Wan replied. “I’ve never got that sense.”

“No, it was a surprise to me, too,” Anakin agreed, shrugging. “But he was telling me this story about a Darth Plagueis who could heal people. It’s a weird kind of healing, though, using midi-chlorians to create life? At least that’s what the Chancellor said… he said the Jedi didn’t know about it, so I guess it must be an old story, even though he said it was recent. I wondered if maybe it was twenty generations ago instead of twenty years, or something like that.”

“I won’t lie, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said. “I don’t know what I expected your assignment to result in, but this isn’t it.”

Anakin sighed. “Master… I can’t do it, okay? I can’t spy on someone who’s been such a friend to me. Sithspit, all I’m really doing is sharing gossip he brought upand that still makes me feel dirty.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “I understand, Anakin,” he said. “The problem is really that there’s… a question about how independent the Jedi Temple is.”

He indicated the nearest landing pad, which had a trio of gunships waiting there. “We’ve been acting as generals for the last two years at least… the Chancellor feels that he can make decisions about who becomes a member of the Council… regardless of your abilities and suitability for the role, Anakin, after he suggested you it was impossible for us to put you on the Council with the rank of Master. It would set a precedent that the Jedi are simply another department of the government for the Chancellor to control.”

Anakin looked thoughtful.

“I hadn’t realized that,” he admitted. “I don’t think the Chancellor would do that, though.”

“The problem isn’t with this Chancellor,” Obi-Wan replied. “It’s with the next Chancellor. Or the one after that.”

He spread his hands. “Really, I think part of this is my fault. I didn’t try hard enough to make sure you learned the political skill a Jedi needs.”

“Master, you’re really good at that kind of thing,” Anakin protested. “I’m more into… aggressive negotiations.”

“Indeed,” Obi-Wan said.

Anakin waited.

“...you’re supposed to tell me I’m not that bad,” he said, eventually.

“I know I’m supposed to,” Obi-Wan said, virtuously.

Anakin rolled his eyes.

“Oh, before I forget,” he went on. “The Chancellor did say General Grievous is on Utapau.”

“Noted,” Obi-Wan said. “Now, what’s this story about Sith healing that the Chancellor told you? I’ve never heard of Darth Plagueis before.”

When Anakin had finished recounting the conversation, they were most of the way to the Council chamber, and he shrugged.

“You get what I mean… right?” he said, then took note of Obi-Wan’s disturbed expression. “Is something wrong, Master?”

“Yes,” Obi-Wan replied, firmly. “Anakin, what you’ve just described is exactly how it would look if Palpatine was trying to hint that he could teach you a Sith technique.”

“Really?” Anakin asked. “The Chancellor be able to use Sith techniques? There’s no way that is possible…”

He got out his datapad, and began flicking through records. “He’d have to be able to use the Force, and his midi-chlorian count is… is… not here?”

Anakin looked up. “Didn’t the whole Senate get tested to see if any of them was Darth Sidious?”

“Now I’m very worried,” Obi-Wan declared. “I know he’s your friend, Anakin, but how possible is it that Palpatine is Sidious?”

Anakin considered that.

“Do you think that explains why he ordered me to cut Dooku’s head off and leave you on a starship that was about to explode?” he asked.

“Definitely need to teach you politics,” Obi-Wan muttered.

[simpjaes]

SIMP

SUMMARY: men are liars. especially, jake sim, some guy you met once at a party and now only know through text messages. he makes promises he can’t keep but it’s mostly because he likes to hide that he’s more desperate than you are to get his dick wet. 

jake sim x afab reader 

MDNI!

WC: 5.6k

GENRE: smut, kinda subby!jake

TAGS: desperate jake, he’s experienced with sex just really bad at not being pussy drunk, reader has fun anyway and pokes fun at how he talked big game and couldn’t live up to it.

A/N:  i know, i know. i’m supposed to be writing a different jake fic but this happened.  this is a gift for my other monster cock loser jake lovers. not proof read

NSFW TAGS: he is packing a huge cock, nipple play, finger fucking, pussy eating, he gets compared to a dog/puppy a few times, dirty talk, jake gets desperate enough mid-way though and does fuck her really good, unprotected sex, cream pie, lots and lots and lots of cum.

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

Six times the man known as Jake Sim rendered you sore the next morning using nothing but pixel words on your phone screen. Six times over the span of two weeks. 

You met him at a party, and he was both the first and the last man you spoke to that night. You should have caught on back then why he didn’t bring you home with him and only offered you his number with a wink and a shit-eating grin. 

Now, as you see him in front of you again, this time in your apartment, you can see exactly why he didn’t bring you home. His facade would have been broken and you never would have been able to see the dirty little texts he’s able to send when he doesn’t have you looking him in the eye.

“Didn’t you say you were going to have me against every surface in my apartment the second you get here?” You question, twenty minutes into him being over and not once making a move on you. 

He looks much more awkward compared to the tipsy man you originally met, still his dyed blond hair looks just as messy though. His fashion is still on par with the attitude you’d seen him throw at you too but,  this version of him is throwing you for a loop. His lack of response leads you to believe that he must have lost interest in the span of time he’s been over.

“It’s not like I don’t want to,” Jake finally responds, brushing his fingers through his hair as he sits stiffly next to you on your bed, fully clothed. “Usually I don’t actually come see the girls I text.”

You shuffle next to him, turning with an eyebrow raised at him. 

“So you’re not going to, then?” 

Jake looks at you dumbfounded, shaking his head as if to pity himself before nodding quickly.

“I’d like to,” he argues, fiddling with his hands and avoiding your eyes now. “I just, um…”

You wait, allowing the silence to take hold of the room. 

“I’m a little more uh–” He fidgets and fumbles his words again. “Listen, I don’t want to disappoint you if I don’t live up to how we normally talk.”

“What do you mean by that?” You ask, feeling duped by the man sitting there. 

“I’m actually kind of like–” He lets out a deep sigh before turning toward you with honest eyes. “You’re making me shy, okay?” 

You breathe in, shocked because based on the strings upon strings of sentences he’s thrown your way via text, the last thing you’d ever consider Jake is fucking shy. 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He was right in telling you he was shy, and by now you appreciate the warning from him. It took a few minutes to get yourself back into the mood, but it happened nonetheless when he finally buckled under your gaze and kissed you.

If there was anything Jake did that he promised, it was kissing you in a way you never knew you needed. He was good at it too, so good that you nearly forgot he was supposed to have already fucked you on every surface the two of you passed to get to the very room you’re in right now. 

Kind of strange actually, that he seems so different compared to his fantasies with girls he never thinks he will actually see again. So cocky in his text messages, saying he will ruin you, asking if you’d choke on his dick, saying he would love to see you struggle under him. Now though, that very man is struggling to keep his hands to himself despite admitting that he’s shy.

You chuckle into the kiss, feeling his hands reach for you with the sound of rustling clothing against your duvet. You let him chase as you slide lower, lower, lower, until your head is against your pillow and he’s practically hovering over you to keep kissing.

This is what you wanted. Jake over you, dominating a kiss and roaming his hands up and down your body. 

“Shy?” You question between kisses, trailing your hand down to meet where his was, snaking under your shirt. “You seem to know exactly what you want.”

Jake’s eyes are empty as he looks at you, the cold feeling of his fingertips do not stop though. He continues to trail them upward until they meet the flesh of your chest, where you skipped the bra because you expected it to be a nuisance if anything tonight. 

You’re shocked by his slight groan at the feeling of your already erect nipples. His groan seemed like it came out of relief, your body showing signs of being turned on despite his reluctance that was never promised to you. 

“If you were like this over text, I still would have liked you, you know.”  You admit to him with a sigh as he trails his lips down to your jaw, and you reach for his waist to pull him further on top of you. “You’re cute still, even if you’re not about to make me cry like you said you would.”

His cock twitches at that, wishing so much that he could live up to those dirty thoughts in his head and just fucking do it. But he can’t, because his body doesn’t work like that. If he were to do all of those things to you right now, he would surely come within the span of fifteen seconds and make this the worst fuck of your life. He’s too desperate to have control, and far too timid to even pull his cock out right now. 

“It’s embarrassing,” he whispers against your earlobe, trailing kisses there too until he gets to the collar of your shirt. “I want to do those things to you, but I don’t think I’d be able to last if–”

He’s cut off by you shoving him up and pulling your shirt off in one go, trying to get to business much quicker now that he appears to at least be turned on. (Wrong, he’s been turned on since before he even got here.)

Jake trails off his sentence, forgetting what he was even going to say as the flesh of your breast sits comfortably in one of his hands and the other springs free. His cock twitches again as he stares, practically burning a hole through you as he looks, mouth slowly opening in a sigh at the image.

You see him malfunction and wonder if maybe, maybe, this could be even better than what you originally were expecting. Such a rough looking man with messy hair and even rougher fingers acting like this at the mere sight of some titties? Sign you the fuck up.

“God, look at you.” You groan with a smile, chuckling at the way he appears to blush. “You talk such big game but…”

“Yeah, yeah.” Jake shakes it off, releasing his hand from your chest and now removing his own shirt and revealing a nice, toned body for you to look at. “It’s not my fault you make me act this way.”

“Oh? Just me, or?”

Jake nods, then shakes his head. 

“Not entirely, I’m just better at fucking over text.” He explains, now settling one leg between yours and dipping his head down to your chest, nuzzling against one of your tits and grabbing the other. “Doesn’t change the fact that I still want to fuck you right now though.”

You feel those words run through you, his soft voice coming out raspy and needy when he says it. 

“You’re a weird one,” You laugh, gripping his hair and bucking your hips up to straddle his thigh. “and I still want you fuck me, even if it’s not the way you said you would.” 

He licks against your chest now, sucking one of your nipples into his mouth as he focuses on the feeling of you riding against his thigh. He’s thankful you still act desperate, at least you weren’t lying when you talked to him through texts.

“I’ll still make you feel good.” He whispers in a slight plea against your nipple, moving his head to the other and suckling against that one next. “Just let me try.”

God, you didn’t expect those four little words to hit you the way they do. A man asking you to let him try? Jake Sim at that? Sure, by now it should be expected but this is a different kind of heat flowing through you. Never have you been given control, and never have you felt the need to ride a man’s thigh like this. 

“Jake,” You start, a little out of breath as you move your hips against him to the point that clothing becomes far more annoying than not. “Can we please take our clothes off before anything else?”

He pauses against your nipple, nodding before suckling again and then finally pulling away.

“You first.” He says, not yet wanting to pull his thigh from the way you move against it. 

You look up at him, his lips glistening from his own saliva coating your chest.

“Why? Are you lying about your massive cock too?”

Jake looks down at the bulge between his legs and then back at you. Your eyes followed him to his cock, and they remained there.

“Oh.” You smile, now having the ability to pull yourself from his thigh and pull your shorts off at record speed. “Show me.”

Jake lets out a breathy and nervous chuckle, his ears flashing a darker shade of red than before as he nods to you in a timid way. You watch his hands go for the button and zipper, and you watch them further as they lower his pants to his knees before he kicks them away behind him. Now, all that’s left is looking at the already dampened spot on his briefs and the huge length stuffed beneath, clearly needing some relief. 

He still looks away from you, not yet moving to take off his briefs until you feel his hands pull at your panties. 

“Can I see now too?” He asks, already pulling them to the side and catching a glimpse of your folds. He shudders visibly at it before letting your panties snap back into place and all you can do is stare, still, between his legs.

“Take them off.” You deadpan.

He’s unsure if you’re implying he take his off, or yours, so he shoots for what he would prefer, gripping your panties and rolling them off of you. 

“Take. them. off.” You say, ignoring the fact that you’re entirely vulnerable before him, yet feel safe and comfortable because of how timid yet eager he appears to be. 

He fumbles to follow your direction, quickly kicking off his briefs and positioning himself between your legs again, sitting on his knees. 

Your eyes don’t leave his exposed cock. Thick and heavy. He truly wasn’t lying about that at least, and you can imagine that regardless of how shy he is, he definitely could make good on his word with a cock like that.

“Oh, fuck.” You comment, lifting on your elbows and sitting up. Your face is now mere inches from his, but your eyes continue to stare down. 

He puts a hand over himself shyly, wondering if maybe you’re not impressed, maybe he’s a complete fraud. 

“Are you disappointed?” He asks, leaning a bit back and away from you.

“Disappointed?” You laugh, looking back up at him and instantly grabbing his face, staring directly into his eyes. “Jake, you’re bigger than what you described it as.”

He smiles a bit, feeling all fuzzy and warm inside as you look at him. His confidence bubbles up, giving him every ability in the world at this moment, and what does he do with it? He looks between the two of you as he drops his cock and watches it land between your legs, and then he looks back at you before dipping in for a much less timid kiss.

Feeling his cock rest between your legs is one thing, but feeling how his tongue kisses into your mouth at a more eager pace than before is an entirely different thing. You’re loving it, despite the turn of events with him. 

“Not so shy now, hm?” You laugh, tilting your head before dipping back in to kiss him only to be met with a sigh of chuckles from him. 

“If you keep complimenting me, maybe someday I can live up to all those promises,” He says, putting a hand at the nape of your neck and laying you back down. “Then again, I don’t expect to last nearly as long with how wet you seem to have gotten.”

You hum against his words, hands reaching between your body and his to grab his length and hold it, just to feel the weight, just to see how much of it you can fit into one hand…just to see if–

He groans at the first touch, his body shivering against yours as he trails his lips down again, landing against your neck with a small pant when his hips buck into your palm. 

“I can’t believe that this whole time, this is how you react to having your dick touched.”

He says nothing and instead, continues to fall into the feeling of the short tugs against his cock, barely stimulating his entire length but still feeling like it’s enough to keep him pleased for the time being. 

“Wanna, maybe, I don’t know–” You playfully start, tugging his cock a bit harder this time after collecting some of the pre-cum from the head, “Touch me too?”

Say no more, Jake’s fingers are instantly at your entrance as soon as you say it, sliding in so easily that it nearly makes you forget that you even told him to do it. His fingers are slender, and each joint on the digits are felt against your aching and gripping walls. 

“I can’t believe how wet you are,” he coos, bottoming his two fingers out before gently beginning to thrust them in. “Were you like this when we texted too?”

“Wetter.” You lie, mostly because you were extremely wet from his texts but this…this is entirely different. You’re far more wet. 

“Oh?” Jake asks, looking slightly disappointed but you can feel the way he changes how he moves his fingers. He also stops rutting against your hand, as if to put all of his focus on making you as wet as possible. 

You moan for him at the feeling, his fingers tickling a spot inside of you that always has you seeing stars. Part of you wonders if he even knows he’s doing it, but you don’t press him, instead, you reward him with a tighter grip, pumping his cock until you can feel more beads of pre-cum slathering your fingertips. 

“You need to be more confident, fuck–” You call out in a half moan, unprepared for the Jake that showed up but completely prepared to praise the hell out of what he’s doing. “This alone could have anyone on their knees.”

He smiles, furrowing his brow as he looks up at you, fingers picking up pace and starting to scissor you open. 

“Can I taste you?” He asks out of fucking nowhere, and god. 

“Jesus, Yes.” You groan, feeling him pound his fingers into you three more times before sliding out and pulling away from you. 

You close your eyes, anticipating what it must be like to have him eat your pussy, and fuck, he wasn’t lying about that either. You remember that text from him, when he said “i’ll lick up every inch of your pussy babe, you wouldn’t even have to ask.”

The fact that you didn’t ask him to do it. The fact that he’s down there right now, already spreading you open on his tongue and licking every sensitive dip and corner he can reach. You’re just more and more pleased with this shy man that showed up on your doorstep. 

His tongue is warm and firm no matter where he licks, and only softens up when he goes to lick a flat stripe up your slit, essentially sucking up all of the wet you’re offering him and savoring it through whimpered groans at the way your legs attempt to squeeze around his head.

He knew you’d taste good but this is on a whole other level. He can’t help it when he grips your thighs and spreads your legs out further, and he certainly can’t help himself when he prods his tongue into you, trying to taste more of what you have to offer. 

You can feel his tongue dipping in, and the way he grips your thighs renders you nearly useless if you were to try and wiggle away, not that you’d ever want to but it almost tickles with how good it feels. Your legs begin to shake in his grasp, and he only spreads them further at that, tilting his head at an angle to lick into you even deeper.

“Holy shit,” You sigh out, reaching down frantically to hold his head in place so that you can grind your hips forward against his stiffened tongue. 

He’s nearly going insane the moment you do that, riding his tongue and gripping his hair so harshly. If he could die like this, it would only be a dream. 

Jake hums into you with his lips curling up at each drag of your hips, each taste of your walls, up until you’re grinding so aggressively that his tongue is back to hitting your clit for a split second before dipping in. He lets you do it, loving the way you use his face like a toy but, he’s starting to feel desperate for you. 

In this position with his arms hugging your thighs and back arched as he dips down to lick you, his cock is fucking aching and all he can do is fuck forward. There is nothing for him to pleasure himself with, but this suffices for him as the act of humping forward alone is enough to satiate his intense need to fuck something right now. 

Like a dog, humping just to release his intense arousal as he holds onto you. He should be embarrassed, but he knows you can’t see him do it. Especially when he flicks his eyes up and sees your tits jiggling with each move of your hips. Especially when you open your own eyes and they land only on his face. He’d like to think he’s doing a hell of a job right now, especially with how no matter how much he licks, you continue to drip for him. 

As you continue to ride yourself against his face, you suddenly feel his fingers squeezing against your thighs and his head abandon where you guide him. Wanting to taste you still, he neglects your riding hips and plants his lips at your clit, sucking and flicking his tongue until your grip in his hair grows more and more painful and you pull him back to look at him.

His eyes are dazed and his lips are glistening in a swollen and cheeky little smile. He stares back at you, licking his puffy bottom lip before letting his eyes roll at the feeling of that grip you have in your hair.

“Fuck, you’re loving this aren’t you?” You ask, now trailing your eyes down to his body and noting the way he’s desperately chasing nothing with his cock. You know he wants it, and god, are you going to let him have it. 

He grins when you ask him, and he nods proudly at how your arousal coats his mouth and chin. He can smell the entirety of you on his face and it truly does feel amazing to him. Like he’s spiraling into a world of bliss simply for getting to lick your pussy. 

You can barely contain yourself as you watch him. It’s like you’ve lost him completely from reality with the way he’s smiling, and the way his eyes remain drowsy and hooded. You could argue that the man acts cross-faded, but the fact that he acts like this over your pussy? 

“I bet if I asked you to fuck me right now, you’d beg like a little puppy, wouldn’t you?” 

His groan is long and drawn out with his slow nod, his hips fucking forward instinctively when his eyes trail down and sees that your pussy is practically pulsing. 

“Do you want me to beg?” He says in a shaky voice, his chest heaving as his grip on your thighs grow tighter and you drag him back up to your face. 

There, the two of you look at each other for a brief moment before you feel him fuck forward again, sliding his cock against your drenched core and letting out another pained whimper.

“You’re so wet, please.” He cries against your lips as he drops his face lower. 

Your arms shoot around him, feeling his back muscles tense with each intentional thrust against you. The weight of his cock is sliding consistently up and down your pussy, bumping your clit and overstimulating it to the point that all you’d need to do is tense your muscles and you’d be releasing. 

He said please, and you can argue that he’d probably do a flip if you so much as asked him to right now. As much as you wanted to choke on his dick, at this point you’d rather feel what it’s like to have him losing control inside of you. You want to know how he uses it, and you’re already well aware that he very well may make you lose grasp on reality. 

Even now, you can feel his slack lips moving up and down against your own as he continues to hump against you. You can feel his breath on your tongue when you try to see if he’s too lost to even kiss you. And that, he was.

“Go on,” You encourage him, running one hand down his arm and the other up to his hair to grip it again. There, you pull his head back, watching his neck crane and eyebrows furrow in a wince at the feeling. “Fuck me then.”

His unintentional moan comes out strained with the way you have his head pulled back, but he moves one arm to one side of your head and the other straight to his cock, where all he needs to do is press it down and hold it there. As he continues fucking against you, that small motion lets him slide in with ease. 

You can feel his arm beside your head shake at the feeling of his length spreading you open. You can see the way he swallows thickly at the feeling, moaning out and staring at your ceiling as he feels your walls slowly hug his entire length. 

He enters you slowly so that he can feel his sock squeeze your wet out of you, feeling it run down his balls. He shivers at the feeling and the sound of it, and you shiver at how deep he manages to slide in. 

It’s so deep. His thick cock aches inside of you and with the way your walls squeeze him, and even when he tightly fucks forward once again once he’s already bottomed out, he manages to fill you just just that much more. 

You groan out, releasing his hair from your shaking fingers and feeling his lips immediately kiss against your jaw and neck. 

“Fuck, fuck.” He whimpers, relieving you of an inch of him before sliding back in slowly. “Fuck, you feel so tight.” He continues, moving a hand down to your thigh and swirling his fingertips there to try and calm your shaking legs.

You can’t really comprehend anything other than the fact that this man is so fucking hot, and the way he slowly moves his hips just to feel each and every clench of your pussy has you seeing stars. You feel like he’s filled you up beyond belief, and each thrust somehow makes his cock feel heavier, bigger. 

Even as he babbles against your neck, his other hand falls to your tit and he can’t help but mindlessly play with it as he begins to actually fall into a rhythm. You’re still rendered completely speechless as you focus on every single touch he gives to you.

Those gentle, soothing circles of his fingertips on your leg, the other hand harshly pinching your nipple and sending a sharp pain down your body, his cock being driven in, somehow, deeper and deeper as he continuously manages to hit your g-spot and– god, the way his lips slowly trail down to your other tit, biting you there.

“So tight, so good.” He babbles on, slamming his cock into you once before lifting from your breast to see your reaction. 

When he looks up at you, a permanent shit-eating grin is planted on his face with the way you roll your eyes back in a silent moan. Perhaps he wasn’t so much of a liar in those texts. Seeing you react this way has his confidence skyrocketing as he continues to keep that pace. The sound of your pussy being pounded and dripping all over him. He can’t even believe how wet you are, how tight you are still.

He stays like this, staring at each reaction and silent moan as he focuses solely on fucking you as hard and deep as possible. He may not be fast, but he’s making sure you can feel every goddamn inch he has to offer, and it appears that you’re relishing in it. 

Those silent moans you try to release always end in a small hiccup each time his hips meet your inner thighs, and it’s not long before you’re losing grasp all together. You shoot your hands to his arms, gripping his biceps as your only link to reality as you feel him continuously bump the back of your pussy in an immaculate show of how well he knows how to fuck.

“Jake,” You hiccup out, gripping his biceps harder as you clench around him. 

Still, his cock drags through your attempts of speaking, and he continues to stare at you with a grin before hovering his lips over yours.

“What is it?” He whispers in a shaky breath, sucking in his bottom lip and only now picking up the pace so that he can render you speechless again. 

You can feel his lips ghosting over yours, and you really thought you had something to say but the only thing that comes out is a sobbed out moan. You throw your legs around his waist now, moving your own hips to meet his and that alone has him spiraling again.

“Yeah,” He chuckles, dipping his head to your neck and resting it there, “Fuck me,” he whimpers this time, stilling his hips to feel the way you slide him in and out of you.

Still, your strength amazes him. He thought he had control for a few minutes there and yet here he is, acting much like you are with his trembling hands and trembling thoughts. 

You continue to work your hips from under him, and you don’t even know when he stopped playing with your nipple but it doesn’t entirely matter. Not now, not when you need more of him. 

He’s thrown off when you grab his hair again, and he still loves it as much as he did the first two times you did it to him. Then, he can hear your raspy voice whisper out to him as you drag his face, once again, to yours.

“Lay back.” 

That’s all you had to say to have him immediately listening and maneuvering his body in a way that keeps his cock buried deep but still managing to throw himself back on the bed for you to take full control.

Now, he looks up at you and the way your darkened eyes devour him. He’s so fucking turned on right now that he thinks he might cry, especially with the way your knees hug his hips as you immediately start fucking yourself on him.

He’s in awe, hands reaching behind you to grab at your ass and spread it as you bounce on him. Each time you sit yourself down, it’s like you’re being impaled in the most pleasurable way possible. The way he keeps eye contact with you is intense and dangerously intimate, but you can’t bring yourself to look away either.

That smile forms back on his lips as you pick up your pace, and through that smile are moans so erotic you can feel your pussy drench him over and over again each time he does it. Never, have you had sex so fucking good in your life and it’s making you feel almost helpless as you work yourself up to an orgasm.

He still watches you though, before flicking his eyes down and taking in the image of your bouncing tits. He’s quick to remove his hands from your ass to fondle them before sitting himself up aggressively and sucking one into his mouth.

You moan out at that, stilling your bouncing as you opt now to sit with his cock entirely inside of you. You swirl your hips and plant your fingers in his hair, hugging his head as he sucks and bites a swollen spot against your chest before he holds you in an even tighter hug. 

“I’m so, so close.” He says in a broken sigh, trying to move his hips up under your weight and failing to do it.  You listen to his cries though, and resume your bouncing even through his harsh and suffocating hug. 

“Yeah?” You ask, bouncing once, swirling your hips, and then pressing your weight on him to have him falling back into his rightful spot against your bed. 

His grip around you remains, dragging you down with him as he breathes himself through the pleasure and babbles out strings of curses when you manage to still work your hips on him even though he’s gripping onto you for dear life. 

“Gonna let me feel it?” You ask again, this time more playfully as you intentionally press your clit against his pelvis each time you slide him into you. 

He nods brokenly, squeezing his eyes shut and loosening his grip on you, letting you break free and ultimately, intentionally fuck him until he’s pumping you full of everything he has to offer.

You watch as he lies there, seemingly lost again in the bliss of your pussy clenching around him. He barely notices your fingers circling your clit, and is shocked to realize that you’re releasing before him, despite how close he is.

He can feel your walls massage his aching cock as you begin to let out strained moans. He knows you’re coming the second he feels how tight you’re clenching, sucking his cock so deeply inside of you that he has no choice but to release. 

He fucks into you as best he can at this moment, only stopping when he feels the first release inside of you, and there, he tenses his muscles and allows his stiffened length to nearly tear you in half as you continue to work through your own pleasure. 

You can barely open your eyes to see his face, and the way his jaw is slack and his eyes are very nearly crossing before squeezing them shut. God, that alone could have made your orgasm last another ten seconds.

By the time you’re done, he’s still releasing somehow. The sheer amount of cum he’s spilling into you is arguably more than you’ve ever felt, and he trembles through it with whimpered apologies, begging you to stay on him, apologizing with a small “ fuck, wait, I’m still coming–”

And you do, especially through his shaking whisper of “please, take all of it.” 

・・・・・・・・・・・・・・

He’s back to his timid self just an hour later, lying on your bed wondering when you’re going to tell him to leave. Wondering if you like him enough to let him do this again with you, hoping you don’t erase his number. 

He’s pleased to know though that, you not only ask him to sleep over but you also make it your mission to go down on him the moment he wakes up next to you. Reminding him that even if he was different upon coming over, he still fucked you better than he ever promised. 

You’d be stupid not to choke on it for him. 

[casscainmainly]

Cassandra Cain and Asian Stereotypes

So I've seen people debating whether Cass is a racist character or not because she falls into certain Asian stereotypes. While this discussion is valid and important, a lot of the conversation (on this website and beyond) is steered by White/non-Asian people, or people who haven't read a lot of Cass' stuff. This is my take on Cass and Asian stereotypes as a Chinese Cass fan. I do not speak for all Asians, or even all Chinese people, who are absolutely free to disagree with any of these arguments.

Stereotypes I will cover here: Silent Asian, Model Minority, and Hypersexuality.

The Silent Asian Stereotype

The most obvious stereotype Cass runs into is the Silent Asian. I would recommend reading the linked article for more information. Silent Asian characters are Asians who are part of a core cast, but rarely speak. Kimiko Miyashiro in The Boys, Lilly in Pitch Perfect, and Katana in Suicide Squad are all examples of this. The article also mentions Ben from Umbrella Academy, who can only communicate with one character, thus limiting his dialogue.

Why does this happen? Removing Asian characters' dialogue reflects the Western conception of Asians as demure, rule-following, and meek, never speaking up or acting out. It also means writers don't have to spend as much time writing these Asian characters, who are secondary to White protagonists.

The problem with the Silent Asian, then, is not the silence itself, but the consequences of silence. Mute Asians exist, as do Asians who don't speak much; in media, Silent Asians are harmful because they indicate an unwillingness to focus on the Asian character.

This is why Cass, even before she learns to speak longer sentences, is not a Silent Asian. While her conception undoubtedly has unfortunate echoes of this trope, she defies it by being the protagonist of the story. A protagonist cannot be a Silent Asian, because a requirement of the trope is being a secondary character. Cass' feelings and actions are the center of Batgirl (2000), so allegations of this stereotype don't actually make sense.

Furthermore, the trope is about passivity and acquiescence to a White authority. From her introduction, Cass is neither passive nor acquiescent - her origin story is literally about defying David Cain, a White male authority figure. Beyond her not speaking much, she ticks none of the boxes for this stereotype. I think it's time for people to stop mentioning this stereotype in conjunction with Cass, who in every possible way subverts it.

The Model Minority Stereotype

The model minority myth is the belief that Asians are more successful and talented than others, particularly other minoritised groups. Like the Silent Asian, the model minority myth paints Asians as obedient and submissive. This is, in many ways, more insidious than the Silent Asian - there are still people who believe this stereotype (and jokes like 'of course you're good at math, you're Asian') is somehow not racist.

Though this myth seems positive, make no mistake that White people invented this tale for two reasons: to put down Black and Brown communities, and to prevent Asians from ever fully assimilating into White culture.

Cass plays on this myth very interestingly. I've discussed in this post how David Cain and Bruce's assertion that she's 'perfect' is a blatant reference to the model minority myth - by describing her as 'perfect' to them, they are centering their own desires, erasing Cass' individuality.

This is partially why I don't like 'Cass is Bruce's favourite' and 'Cass is an angel who can do no wrong' interpretations when people are just saying it without context. Cass being Bruce's favourite, or Bruce seeing her as an angel, is not a good thing - it is a representation of his biased attitude towards her. He is unable to accept her being a murderer because he is trapped within the model minority mindset. This is not saying Bruce is a full-on racist, but that his actions and perspectives are coloured by his Whiteness.

Cass' abrasive personality, willingness to defy Bruce and David, and very real flaws (her inability to see grey areas, communication difficulties, etc.) make her avoid this stereotype. Additionally, her close relationships with Black characters like Onyx and Duke are essential to combating the anti-Blackness at the core of the model minority myth. Her character evokes the stereotype (perfect martial arts silent fighter), but ultimately defies it through being the star of her own story (and also not being good at math. The fact she doesn't have anything to do with tech is actually one of my favourite aspects of her character, because I am TIRED of tech Asian characters).

The Hypersexual Asian Woman Stereotype

Asian women are often exoticised and fetishised as the ideal sexual partner; think of the term 'yellow fever', which describes men lusting after Asian women. The hypersexualisation of Asian women in media once again goes hand-in-hand with Asians being submissive. They are seen as innocent and child-like, while simultaneously being seductive and sexually experienced.

This stereotype is genuinely perpetuated in Batgirl (2000), mainly by the art in Horrocks' run. Where in Puckett's run there is refreshingly little sexualisation of Cass, once you hit Horrocks' run you get a LOT more shots of her lying down, sexually suggestive covers, etc. People have discussed this already, probably to more effect than I will do here.

However, as I wrote in my Gender and Sexuality posts, the writing is actually fairly defiant of this trope. Cass is vocally uncomfortable with hypersexualisation, and neither of her male love interests stick around. The problem with the Hypersexual Asian Woman is the focus on White sexual interests, where the woman is objectified for the White male gaze. Simply because Cass is the protagonist, the writing focuses on her sexual interests, and in the end it's about gaining control of her gender presentation and sexuality.

Cassandra Cain Vs. Asian Stereotypes

The through-line that connects all these Asian stereotypes is a lack of agency. There's a reason passiveness is the main trait for all of these tropes- the Asian body must be weaker than their White counterparts, in order to be tools or weapons against other minoritised groups.

Cassandra Cain, a character born from a choice that defies White male authority, rises above this passiveness with flying colours. The details of her character certainly fall into some of the above tropes, and the way her character is handled later (evil Cass, New 52), is certainly racist. However, the reason she means so much to me is because at its core, her story is a story of Asian agency. And that in itself is unstereotypical.

[yazthebookish]

Maybe I'll spoil you guys and talk about Gwynriel and ACOTAR5 and anything related to it overall. I recently finished my HOFAS reread and have some fresh thoughts. I'll let my thoughts guide me and some of these points I've already addressed in my insta stories yesterday. I just rather share a lengthy post here since I'll only tag under #gwynriel.

I often see arguments about how Gwyn and Azriel can't move the plot forward because the series is centered on the Archeron sisters.

First, that's not true because Sarah is following what she called "a traditional romance route". She's following the same patterns of Nalini Singh, Kresley Cole, and Lisa Kleypas where they publish multiple books in the same series following different couples.

This is fitting for a series like ACOTAR because it's romance-centered. And Sarah have already said that each couple is getting one book and there will likely be more books beyond ACOTAR6.

Saying that doesn't dismiss the importance of the sisters to the story, Feyre already has a trilogy centered on her. The spin-off just follows different characters including the sisters.

I won't try hard to convince people on this because I've already posted almost everything Sarah said about the spin-off series and what's it's about. So if the next book is not centered on an Archeron sister, that's for Sarah to bamboozle the fandom with.

One thing that stuck out to me is when I compared the ending of ACOSF with the scene of Bryce giving Nesta Gwydion and seeming like she left Nesta with a new quest.

First, this is what the text says, and this is Chapter 80, the very last chapter in ACOSF:

Succeeding in the Blood Rite didn't mean the training stopped. No, after she and her friends told Cassian and Azriel most of the details of their ordeal, the two commanders had compiled a long list of mistakes that the three of them had made that needed to be corrected, and the others wanted to learn from them, too. So they would keep training, until they were all well and truly Valkyries. Gwyn, despite the Rite, had returned to living in the library.

1. The Valkyries are not yet a unit.

2. SJM only and specifically highlighted that Gwyn, despite the Rite, returned to living in the library. It was like "hey, remember all the talk Gwyn did about wanting to leave the library after two years? Yeah that's on hold a bit but keep that in mind". She didnt even add Emerie or the other priestesses to that sentence.

With Nesta being left with Gwydion to find out why the 8-pointed star was tattooed on her, I don't think the next book will start with "hey Elain take this sword and deal with it". Who are Nesta's main companions now? Gwyn and Emerie.

I'll be back to the Valkyries but let's just talk about Azriel for a bit.

It is so painfully obvious to me that Azriel is being handed the Illyrian plot on a golden platter. How big or small of a plot it is depends on SJM, but it's important based on the fact that she fleshed out the Illyrian's origins and tied them to the crossover AND making Truth-teller the knife of Enalius.

That is a big deal for an Illyrian like Azriel.

And I quote my friend Lacie on this, it is very poetic for Azriel to be the owner of the knife that originally belonged to the person who freed his own people from the Daglan's clutches, perhaps because he saw his people are more than just slaves to the Daglan—how powerful would it be for Azriel, who loathes his own people, to parallel Enalius.

And for years some people were against Azriel dealing with this plot because he shouldn't make peace with his "abusers", its true his own family and some Illyrians failed him but he is condemning an entire population. Good people like Emerie and Balthazar. Even Rhys's mother, who had valid reasons to hate her people especially as a female, still made sure to make Rhysand connect with his Illyrian heritage and he even goes on to say that his mother didn't forget what they did to her but still loved her people.

If both Cassian and Rhysand (and by extension the author) continue to flag Azriel's hatred of the Illyrians as an issue—then it is a damn big issue for it to be addressed repeatedly.

Okay so to address my final point about Gwyn and Azriel and how they can move the plot forward.

Now I didn't detail out much about what the next book will deal with because that's another post (and I already have a post on that).

All of our theories and predictions are based on information that is available to us. Saying Azriel and Gwyn cannot move the plot forward does not make any sense because the central plot is tied to multiple characters, Archeron or not.

If SJM wants to make a character move the next book's plot forward, she can do it because she's in control of the story. She's in control of the narrative. She's in control of the characters.

The characters are puppets and this is an unfinished story. If some characters would add more value and make for a more interesting story before the others, she can decide on that. If she wants to make Eris the protagonist of the next book, she can easily do that whether the fandom wants it or not.

Let me give you an example of minor characters that pushed the plot forward and became main characters: Yrene Towers and the Hind. These kind of arguments could've been used for them in HOEAB or HOSAB and Pre-TOD. Before HOSAB/HOFAS and TOD, could we have predicted that they would have played a crucial role before those books? Not likely because they had minimal appearances and were not part of the main cast. This is what I'm talking about.

You can't know how a character will contribute to a story until you see how it all unfolds. We can make guesses on the information we have which is why I believe three characters are likely to join the main cast: Gwyn, Emerie, and Eris.

Why is it so easy to accept that Emerie might be sharing a book with an original character like Mor but it's hard to comprehend the fact that Gwyn could also share a book with Azriel? Because Emerie showed up in ACOFAS? To me that's not really a strong argument based on Sarah's writing and what we have in the books, she doesn't really pick based on who showed up the earliest. Here's a good example: Hypaxia, who showed up earlier, didn't even get her own chapters but the Hind did.

And there's one argument I recall about how I need to rely on Nesta to have a plot focused on Gwyn or the Valkyries in the next book. Nesta's arc is clearly not over based on HOFAS, but does that mean she's getting a POV? Not necessarily. I don't think she is. Gwyn is the perfect candidate for us to see what's going on with Nesta post-HOFAS and how they all deal with the Valkyries and whatever Sarah will set up with them.

There is this whole Valkyrie/Illyrian conflict that could be triggered as a result of the Blood Rite, with Ramiel definitely being an important location to explore in the next book, we also have the Pegasi and the Prison and the implications of the crossover. It makes sense to have an Illyrian and a Valkyrie POV to deal with some plots in the next book.

"Gwyn contributes to nothing" we can't know until the book is out. How sure are we that maybe SJM won't connect her to the crossover by making her mysterious father a Worldwalker? Or Prince of Hel? Or an Asteri? Maybe I'm right maybe I'm wrong.

"But Koschei! And the Human Queens!" Koschei will always be a background player pulling on the strings until the final book as it's obvious he is the big bad in the series, unless someone even worse is revealed. But no one is dismissing Koschei or the Human Queens messing around.

Literally what's the point of the story or the fun elements of surprises or plot twists if you need Sarah to list down everything that the next books will deal with. That's not how a story develops to me. I don't need to know everything in advance to just know how it will go. That's like knowing spoilers early on and checking off with each book what happened and what didn't happen. I feel like it's close to how a lot of readers were disappointed with not having enough ACOTAR in HOFAS, because Sarah implied half of the book would be set in Prythian. So by the time the book came out and it wasn't that, people were vocal about it.

In my opinion, SJM set a good foundation for Gwyn's arc to build up on in ACOSF and her arc is not over. We won't get mentions of her still carrying the guilt of her sister's death or not leaving the library after she said she's sick of being there for two years without us seeing resolution for that. She wouldn't be in Azriel's bonus chapter if she is not involved with him.

To conclude, my reread still affirms to me that the next book with an Azriel/Gwyn book. Azriel is clearly being set in the forefront.

[ineffableteeth]

So I was rewatching Good omens and I realized something.

Season 2 brings up Memory. A lot

Specifically Crowleys memory

In every episode something is said about it and I find this really interesting

I’m only going to bring up what I think are major, I want to note there are more instances than this. This is gonna be messy and a little disorganized since I’m just throwing my words on this post as I think of them and read the episode transcripts but I had to write it out.

In Episode 1 we see pre-fall Crowley and are introduced to our amnesiac archangel. This will be important later

We don’t see much of Crowleys memory loss in this episode but the biggest example I could find was the way Beelzebub had said Extreme Sanctions after Crowley misunderstood

It was as if they were expecting him to remember

In Episode 2 we get the first blatant hint of Crowleys memory loss

When Gabriel said he couldn’t remember, Crowley doesn’t say “Well try anyway”

He says “Yes you can.”

Crowley knew Gabriel could remember, he knew he could make himself remember. As if he knew it from experience.

Also in this episode we get Crowleys “I’m a demon, I lied.” As well as several other instances where he lies in this episode.

I also feel like his “Lonliness” is important to point out, because I feel like that goes much much deeper than “[I’m on] my side”

In Episode 3 we get Crowley and Gabriel’s Conversation about “Gravity”

Crowley knows what gravity is on a base level. But he says “I don’t remember” when asked why gravity exists and proceeds to give a very nondescript explanation

Now for Episode 4. This episode is actually what triggered me to start looking for these instances.

Because of Furfur

Near the end of the episode when Furfur enters the dressing room he mentions that him and Crowley were directly next to eachother during the Great War, as well as the fact Crowley used to jump on his back “Like a little monkey in a waistcoat”

And Crowley didn’t remember

All he remembered was going to war

Why does Furfur — A demon — remember but Crowley doesn’t?

In Episode 5 we get one of the most crucial ‘memory’ scenes imo

The aftermath of Crowley threatening Gabriel

When Gabriel tells Crowley “It hurts to remember, my head isn’t built for that” Crowley replies with “I know, do it anyway”

Again it sounds like Crowley is speaking from experience

The most important quote to me though is when Crowley says “I know, looking at where the furniture isn’t.”

Because after the fact he proceeds to ask Gabriel if he wants a hot chocolate

This wasn’t a sympathetic action. It was Empathetic.

He feels for Gabriel, he knows what it’s like to not know

Finally in Episode 6 we get context.

This is where the whole amnesiac archangel comes into play.

Before I get into that though I want to bring up Crowleys meeting with Saraquael. Because something interesting stood out to me while reading her voicelines. After Crowley asks “Do we know eachother?” Saraquael says “When you were an Angel” and pauses before she says the following voiceline “We worked together on the horsehead nebula”

Those were two different sentences. I’m definitely looking too far into this but to me it sounded like she knew he wouldn’t remember so she gave unnecessary context. This as well as the fact she didn’t respond when Crowley essentially said he didn’t remember her.

Back to my original point though, during this episode we finally learn how (and why) Gabriel lost his memories. Angels can remove their own memories as well as have their memories removed by other angels.

But clearly Furfur still has his memories, as well as Shax, Dagon, and Beelzebub

And anytime Crowley mentions “remembering” something it’s post-fall

Adding on Neil’s post about “Crowley not being a reliable narrator on his fall” as well as showing Crowley pre-fall in episode one leads me to believe there’s some foreshadowing in there and something happened to Crowleys memory.

But What?

Why doesn’t he remember?

What did they do to him?

[dusterbishop]

i hear you call my name (and it feels like home)

summary. || three timelines, you have watched remy lebeau die. you didn't believe you would earn a fourth chance to save him until you find a variant with no memory of his past, lost in a void of existence.

pairing. || gambit x f!reader (past relationship with current enemies-to-lovers)

count. || 6.4k

notes. || posted on ao3 here. warning for character death and violence. this is the end! thank you all for the lovely words of support, it means so much that you all loved this duo as much as i do. i have ideas of oneshots for the future, but for now, i leave you all with this!

part one. || part two. || part three. || part four.

Your ears are ringing.

Awareness floods you in slow, uneven strokes. You can hear the roar of battle buzzing through the fog in your mind, guttural screams of pain cutting through in sharp starbursts. There’s a staff in your right hand, and you spasm your grip on it, testing its weight.

It is Remy’s.

Once, that staff had been too heavy for you to properly swing around. He had watched you practice with a pained grimace for a week before he surprised you with your own to train with. The two of you were nothing more than colleagues at that point, simply two mismatched X-Men crossing paths by sheer fate. Until he had handed you your own staff, its weight balanced with delicate perfection in the palm of your hand, and showed you how to use it.

You had never told him that you only used the staff because you could see it in every timeline, a slow conversion of your fighting style across lifetimes. Not every life you lived shared Remy, but his influence still lingered at the edges, seeping in like ink. Fighting with a staff, learning to pick locks, using sleight of hand to swap items from timelines with ease. It was all an extension of your life with Remy. Just echoes, over and over, spreading out in rippling waves.

Echoes, which could never replace the thrill that sparks your attention when a blazing playing card whizzes past your ear. There’s a muffled explosion as the card makes contact with the enemy swinging for your head, and you gracefully sidestep the half-dead man that staggers into a collapsed pile at your feet.

“Watch where you goin’, mon coeur,” Gambit calls. Another whistling hum of kinetic energy, another flash of blazing purple as he throws another card and cuts down another blank faced enemy. The base that Nova commands has a strangely illusive layout, and the war-starved bodies seem like an endless, writhing thing to overcome.

Time is a limited resource, after all. You can taste it just as surely as the blood in the back of your mouth.

“Maybe I’m too distracted watching something else,” you call back. You don’t take the time to see the expression on his face, but you hear his delighted laugh before he starts slinging explosives again. It’s easy to fall into battle. Even easier while you’re wearing your old suit, and the fabric is soft and well-worn just as you remember it. The clothes you wore in the Void were fine for travel, but you felt strangely out of place last night watching Remy adjusting his coat for the upcoming battle.

You are one of the X-Men, technically. It’s been more than a lifetime since you felt like one, but you know their colors and their mission. The suit always did feel more like a formality. There is nothing that could prevent you from fighting for people who cannot protect themselves. Everyone else only has one life, and you have an infinity of them. The gold and blue of your suit is meant to inspire hope for the people you are defending, not to boast about your position, and yet Remy had stuttered mid-sentence when he turned to see you suddenly dressed in your original suit, prepared for battle.

Been a’while since Gambit seen you wit’ those colors. Though, Gambit t’inks you look better out of ‘em, too...

“Pot callin’ the kettle black,” Gambit says. He’s closer, now, as if magnetized to the orbit of your battleground. You smash the skull of a man trying to catch a cheapshot to Gambit’s ribs, and Gambit slips an explosive card into the pocket of the man’s coat for good measure. Briefly, his hand catches the curve of your elbow, brushing his fingers over the pulse-point. Even through the sleeve of your suit, you can almost feel the heat of his skin, searing bone-deep.

“Just calling it as I see it, Cajun,” you say. It doesn’t sound as breathless as you feel. Gambit still has that infuriatingly pleased look on his face, though, so you give him a half-hearted shove with a raised brow. “Save the world, remember?”

“Mais la, all bluff no play,” he complains. “S’il vous plait, mon coeur —”

Time slips.

One moment, you take the chance to catch your breath, falling all-too-easy to the lure of sparring with Remy. The next moment, you’re on the ground. There’s blood beneath you, pooling under your head, dripping from your nose and down to the hard-packed soil.

“Remy,” you choke out. Your ears are ringing with echoes of voices, though you assume it’s across timelines based on the range of emotions. You can hear crying as soul-wrenching as fresh grief, and laughing as bright as bells. It’s like picking up a landline and hearing a conversation you’re only privy to as a passing voyeur.

You blink away some of the dirt and sweat stinging your eyes. You’re still on the ground. Something weighty and warm is settled over your back, tucked into the curve of your sides. The scent of smoke and cologne curls around you as familiar as the back of your hand.

Remy draped his coat over you. You spit a wad of bloodied saliva onto the ground, grimacing at the dark thickness. How long have you been out? You don’t remember charging up to leave the timeline.

Even worse, you don’t remember going anywhere. Time may change around you, but your mind keeps itself sharp with a constant awareness. Even when you would travel time in your sleep, you knew you were moving based on the pressure changing in the air. There had been no pressure change, this time. Only standing with Gambit, teasing him in the way that blazed adrenaline through your veins. Then, it is you laying on the ground, curled up underneath his coat, tasting blood.

You blink again. You think you’re shivering, or maybe you’re trembling, because you aren’t cold. That hazy, all-consuming fever pulses across your skin in waves, burning across your every nerve. It takes effort to turn your head just a fraction, searching the scattered battlefield. You’re still in Nova’s compound. You can see Blade and Elektra distracting any enemy seeking the weaker prey, luring them away from where you lay.

It had taken two more days before you and Gambit had met back up with the resistance. Initially, you had been wary of the strange collection of mutants, reflecting their own suspicion of you back like a mirror image. Yet they had seemed relieved that Gambit was back unharmed.

Now, far past the initial skepticism of your arrival, they treat you with the same consideration they give Gambit.

Though Gambit is… the same, and yet he’s more. The way he fights is far different than the way he did during the days when you both worked with the X-Men. He doesn’t linger near the boundaries of the fight anymore. You used to breathe easier knowing he had been prowling the edges of a fight with his cards at the ready, always protecting your back.

Now, when he fights in the Void, he storms the battlefield as a raging violet-blaze tempest. You find him easily through the crowded clusters of skirmishes, his staff humming with kinetic charge. He wields a handful of cards with careful scarcity, and you know it’s because you have his coat draped over you, holding all of his extra ammo.

He is going to get himself killed.

That thought propels you into motion. Your arms tremble as you push yourself to sit up, the back of your mouth filling with blood and nauseating saliva. It hurts to breathe. It feels like there is a shard of glass lodged in your ribs, cutting up your insides. The only blood you can sense is the slow drip from your lips, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t damage you can’t see yet. Something in your being is dismantling in slow, even strokes, cast adrift from the timelines and stranded in the Void.

One of Nova’s henchmen gets too close to Remy and sideswipes him. The soft-muted grunt of pain from Remy sends a chilling lance of fear through your gut, though before you can move, Remy is already turning and taking down the enemy with a swift twirl of his staff.

They are going to kill him if you don’t get him out. You know it, and it hurts so much to move, but you push yourself to your feet with a strangled whine of frustration. Of all the times for your body to fail you, it has to be now, when Remy is exposed to an entire base of people trying to kill him.

His coat is a familiar weight over your shoulders, but that doesn’t quell the violent shiver that runs through you. Neither does it stop the sudden rush of dizzying pain, or the way you have to hunch over and spit out blood onto the dirt. No time. You don’t have any time.

“Remy,” you call out. You fumble to wipe away the blood dripping down your chin just as he turns at the sound of your voice, his face bright with relief. He doesn’t notice the blood. He moves quickly through the battlefield nonetheless, wrapping an arm over the shuddering arch of your shoulders.

“ Mon coeur,” he says, and he must see something in your face that makes him hesitate. “Enjoy your nap, chér ?”

You suck in a sharp breath. It’s always ‘chér ’ when he doesn’t know which version you are.

“Still with you, LeBeau,” you tell him. Your hand reaches up to cradle the curve of his jaw. He’s buzzing with energy beneath your touch, but it’s the simmering fire in his eyes as he gazes back at you that makes you feel set alight.

“Wanna play?” He says softly. One arm is still slung protectively over your back, but he uses his free hand to fasten his coat tighter over your shoulders, his hand lingering at the vulnerable curve of your throat. “I deal you in, mon coeur.”

You’re reluctant to let him go, so you pull him in and press a chaste kiss to his mouth. You don’t let him go deeper than that so he doesn’t taste the blood, even if there’s a savage wanting in your gut to sink deep into his embrace and never resurface. It’s not fair, you think, that you finally found him only to lose him all over again.

“Deal me in, Cajun,” you whisper to him. His fingers drop from the hollow of your collarbone to the seam of his coat sleeve, drawing a card. He flickers it between his fingers to show you his dealt hand — the ace of hearts — before it disappears into the nothingness of time. You let Remy press another kiss to your mouth, and you have to close your eyes to fight back the burn of tears. Even with your eyes closed, you can hear the hoarseness in his voice when he pulls back.

"You an' me, chér, couple'a aces, non?" 

You have to turn your head to hide a sad smile. "A matched pair."

Like that, the two of you separate. He goes into the fray of battle, the air whirring violently with charged energy, and you step back into the shadow, pulling your ace of hearts from the timeline. You have caught nothing but glimpses of Nova since you arrived, but you can feel her presence at the edges of your mind, probing for weakness. 

So you look weak. It’s easy to slouch against the wall, your breathing coming in labored pants, the sleeve of your X-Men suit streaked red with the blood you keep wiping from your chin. Hurt prey is weaker, after all. You know what she must see when she sees you so far from Remy’s orbit: an injured fawn ripened for the kill.

“Don’ ya leave now, the fun just startin’,” Remy laughs. He sweeps his staff in a wide arc, warding off the enemies crowding closer to his position, but he only has eyes for you. He’s watching you, and you know the moment she arrives by the way his eyes harden with venomous hatred.

“Indeed,” Nova says. Her presence is a sudden, harsh strike to your mind. You have to grit your teeth to muffle your shocked gasp. Her hand is lax around your throat, but you are all too aware of the hand gently caressing the back of your skull. You can hear the smile in her voice when she whispers in your ear, “I’ve never seen something like you.”

“Took the words right out of my mouth,” you say. The air whirs in quiet contention around you,  but you’re more focused on the card still clutched in your hand. Come on, come on...

“You’re a little wanderer, aren’t you,” she muses. She runs her fingers through the locks of your hair with gentle fingertips, and it takes all of your self control not to spasm and jolt out of her touch. You clench your empty hands tightly, instead, and try not to stare at Remy when he suddenly tucks his hand into a tight fist, purple light buzzing ravenously through the tight clench of his fingers.

“What are you doing running with the swamp rats, hm?” Nova strokes your head again. “You don’t seem like one of their merry band of misfits.”

Remy makes an indignant sound at that, and just as Nova looks to him, the light in his hand dies to nothingness.

“His name is Gambit,” you say. The playing card in your hand whirs with pitched fervor. Almost there. “Make sure you remember that.”

Time condenses to your will, and you’re looking right at Remy when the ace of hearts detonates, rippling a shockwave through you and Nova. Kinetic energy consumes you in a wildfire, burning through the flesh of your body with fervent hunger. You see the ache of distraught cross his face, and then there is only the movement of timelines shifting in place, carrying you through lifetimes, blurring the world around you into a wash of muddled watercolors.

When you blink, the world rights itself.

When you breathe in, settling back into a body escaped unharmed, you see Remy fall.

“No!” You shout. Or perhaps it is a whisper. Or perhaps it is spread across every timeline, every particle of your being spread thin and calling out in pained fury. You aren’t sure of anything except the way Remy twists, losing grip of his staff, and collapsing to the ground.

A wordless scream of rage tears through you. You can hear its echo filling the air as you yank time into a heel, drawing yourself across the expanse of the field in moments. You aren’t sure where the others are, or if Nova truly perished in the kinetic explosion as you intended. All you can see is Remy, lying in motionless rigor, and the man that took the shot that put him down.

Time scrambles in your mind, but you reach your destination faster than the man can draw his weapon at you. Your hands take his head in a vice grip, the tips of your gloved fingers digging harshly into his dirt-streaked skin.

“How dare you,” you snarl. If you had the chance, you would tear him through time until he disintegrated. You break his neck instead, the sickening crack of his bone fading from your attention the moment you feel his body slip from your grasp. You don’t manipulate time to fall to your knees by Remy’s side, but the space between movements is a blur you don’t care to investigate.

“Remy,” you half-sob. You reach out and grasp his shoulder, turning him over onto his back, and nearly sob again in relief when you see him squinting back at you with dazed annoyance.

“Lucky strike,” he mutters. Your hand flutters down to brush against his side, your heart seizing at the grimace on his face. The warmth of blood against your fingers spreads a numbness through your gut. You only press your hand firmly to the wound, gritting your teeth against the roaring fury building in your throat.

“What happened to ‘the house always wins’?” You snap at him instead. The blood is sticky and warm, and it won’t be staunched by the pressure of your hand alone. He’s going to bleed out.

“Raising the bet,” Remy grunts. There’s a sheen of sweat across his brow, but it’s the ashen pallor of his skin that makes your chest tighten with panic. God, you’re going to lose him.

“I hate you,” you whisper. You hate the Void. You hate Nova, and her violent-driven henchmen. You hate yourself, most of all, for doing this to him. For not being able to do more.

“Tha’ sounds more like love than hate, mon coeur.”

“Just playing the odds,” you bite out. He blinks at you, sluggish, and you realize exactly what you have to do. It’s the only thing you can do for him. You draw your hand back from his side and try not to gag on the smell of it permeating the air. There’s a steady puddle beneath him, soaking the knees of your suit, but you hardly feel it. You can’t feel anything at all, in fact.

Just that whirring buzz of time, and the slowly approaching footsteps of Cassandra Nova coming up behind you.

“Go ahead, Remy,” you breathe. The timeline whirs to life beneath your palms, a composed symphony to the crackling buzz of kinetic energy. You cup his face, thumbs smoothing away the dust beneath his blackened eyes, and you will him to live.

He reaches up to try and catch your wrists. There’s that furrow in his brow, again, like he’s preparing to curse you out for this. He’s a pulsing livewire of humming energy in your hands, simmering with an explosive potential. If he stays here, he will be nothing more than a husk. Dying like a goddamn hero, slaughtered like a martyr upon the altar, just to give you the chance to take down Nova.

So you imagine him at your apartment, in your bed, instead. Tucked under the blankets, his hair mussed from sleep. Figaro curled up on his chest, purring his strange rattling hum, the other two boys stretched out beside him. The world is quiet, and safe. Nothing is there to hurt him.

The timeline sings in your hands. You want to kiss him, but you don’t. Kissing him will feel like goodbye, and you don’t think you could bear the thought of it, not right now. Not before you finish taking down Nova.

Your gaze locks with his. You can see the moment he realizes that you aren’t going with him. The annoyance at being forced to take the retreat cracks out of his expression with sharp, desperate panic. His hands nearly catch you at the wrist, his fingertips brushing against the sleeve of your coat, but then he’s gone. You stare down at the dirt where he once was, fighting to keep your breathing steady. He’s safe.

At least, you tell yourself, one of you made it home.

Yet it still feels like a gaping wound in your side. You betrayed him to save him.

“Touching,” Nova remarks. You can’t bring yourself to move. You’re still kneeling in the remains of Remy’s blood when she strikes you.

The world flickers in and out of focus, spinning in rampant circles. Distantly, you’re aware of your legs kicking weakly in the air, your hands scrabbling desperately at your throat to ease the choking grip she has you in. Except she isn’t touching you, not with her hands.

No, she’s standing just out of arm's reach, smiling like a sphynx.

“I have seen so many variants,” she says idly. You’re choking on nothing, fighting the headache rending through your temples. “There’s been some Jean Grays, a few Rogues. More than a few Gambits. Many, many Deadpools.”

“And yet,” she continues. “I have never found more than one of you.”

The release of the grip she has on your throat makes you gasp out a cry, sucking in air with deep, hoarse wheezing. You hardly feel the impact of your body collapsing to the ground, too relieved in the taste of air. You rub at your throat with shaking fingers, trying to erase the feeling of her grip crushing your windpipe.

“That isn’t the strangest part, however.”

You know where this is going. You close your eyes.

“I could feel you,” she shifts closer to you, but you don’t have the energy to flinch and create distance between the two of you. “In your mind, you are nothing but fragments.”

“Wayfarer,” you whisper. It comes out in a croak, but you are far beyond caring. “I am everywhere and everything.”

“Broken,” she agrees. You open your eyes at that. She looks vindicated, as if admitting your ability has only made you weaker. You suppose, hunched over and wheezing, you don’t look as threatening as you used to during your X-Men days. You must look like nothing but bleeding prey.

Good, you think. You smile at her with bloodied teeth. “Broken things are meant to hurt, you know.”

Like shuffling a deck of cards, you let time flutter through your hands, staggering into a timeline version of yourself where you can breathe without choking. Your body follows the commands of your mind with elegant obedience.

Your hands meet their mark, and latch onto Nova tight enough to turn your knuckles pale. The pair of playing cards pressed against each of your palms sizzle with hunger where they make contact with her body.

Pain lances through your skull, exploding into brilliant light behind your eyes. You think your hands are still clutching onto Nova, but you cannot feel them. The world is bright violet, time shuffling with a charged whir. The kinetic energy ripples down your hands in great, staggering waves, a faint prickle of pain among the agony of time rendering itself apart around you.

Nova is screaming. Distantly, you feel her hands pulling at you, yanking at the lapels of Remy’s coat, hitting your face. She must be trying to delve into your mind. She cannot catch you, though. You are plummeting through every timeline, shuffling from one version of yourself to the next, then the next, then the next. Over and over. Over, and over, and over.

Shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think you let go of her.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

No, it’s not your hands that have let go. Your arms are shuddering through time, but your hands keep locked onto her, holding her steady, burning violet. You haven’t let her go, but your body is being torn into pieces.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Nova isn’t screaming anymore.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You are.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You can’t hear it over the roaring of time rushing through you, but you can feel your throat blazing, screaming through every timeline, every version of yourself. This must be what dying feels like. It is infinite across all time. There is no other way out.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Her body dissolves with slow tendrils of violet light creeping beneath the exposed flesh, tracing whirls with the lines of her veins and arteries. It consumes her from the inside, spreading out with a meticulous, parasitic intensity.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Remy’s power consumes you, too. You see the light creep up your wrists, then your arms, then your shoulders. You can feel its warmth down to your bones. It almost feels, strangely, like it’s him hugging you. It feels like it did last night, tangled in his arms beneath the sheets, your ear pressed to his chest to listen to the rhythm of his heart.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You wonder, distantly, if his power is trying to keep your body together. The charge of kinetic energy is concentrated in your hands, but you can still feel the heat of it pooling in the pit of your stomach and scorching the back of your mouth. Remy had been dismissive when you asked him what it felt like to charge something, though you figure he had been exasperated by your own explanation of your ability. You doubt he would have known what it felt like to be torn asunder with only the kinetic lightning crackling through him.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think about Remy, for a moment. You think about the apartment that you both signed the lease on, furnished with a thief’s eye of luxury, cluttered with the little bits of memorabilia and creature comforts you curated over the years. You think about the cats that Remy dotes on, your own cats by marriage, all curled up in their favorite spots around the two of you. You think about the couch that you had teased Remy about for the price, only for him to turn around and gloat about the amount of naps you took on it. You think about the movie nights with you two intertwined on that couch, the cats pressed into your sides, the room dim-lit and safe.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

You think about how you would like to do that, again. To be able to sit on the couch with your husband and watch a movie. To be with Remy, and not be caught in this web of unraveling agony.

— shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull, shuffle, draw, pull — 

Like a loose thread, you unravel.

Shuffle.

It starts in your hands, with your fingertips, and it spreads from there.

Draw.

Your eyesight goes last.

Pull.

You see Remy in every lifetime, looking at you, his outline glimmering with that kinetic violet light. His mouth is moving. It almost looks like your name.

Shuffle…

Nothing comes to your mind. Everything comes into pitch black.

Shuffle…

Your hands are empty.

Shuffle…

Time is empty, now absent when it once was vast. You had been infinite, once. Like time, you had been endless.

Shuffle…

You had been lost before you knew what it felt like to be seen. You could never be sure what timeline was originally yours before you switched them. Even the smallest of details could escape your attention if you weren’t looking for it. At a certain point, you realized you had to choose a life to claim as yours and stop wandering. Even a Wayfarer needed an anchor to call home for when it was time to rest.

Draw.

You had wandered for a long time. Years, perhaps, though your physical bodies changed shape and form in ways you couldn’t predict. The face in the mirror had never been home, anyway. There were too many genetic variables to each timeline to preserve the way you looked. Your body was merely a temporary housing for your time-stepping mind. A body was not an anchor. It was simply a tool to be used and discarded.

Pull.

An anchor needs to be constant. It needs to be something that will not retreat when time grows teeth and begins to hurt. It needs to be loyal to the cause. It needs to be kind, deep down, even if the surface is skin-deep careless. It needs to make you feel safe.

It’s… warm. Soft.

You bury your face deeper into the pillow with a long, blissful sigh. You will never regret insisting that you splurge and spend the extra money on a memory foam mattress. It feels like floating in the clouds.

A soft, questioning mmrph rumbles next to your ear. It’s your only warning before a small, wet nose presses to your temple. You know it’s Oliver by the way he starts to knead at the pillow next to your head, purring a roaring chorus. There’s another weight on your legs, pinning them down, and a third is nestled into your side. Remy must be up, already, if they’re all stuck to you for warmth.

“Did your father abandon us again, boys?” You mumble sleepily. Oliver purrs louder at the sound of your voice. You can feel the weight on your legs shift, no doubt being that it’s Lucifer standing up to stretch before he starts to walk up the length of your body. He’s purring, too, though he resettles on the spot between your shoulder blades, the hum of his purr radiating across your back. Figaro doesn’t grace you with an acknowledgement, but neither does he unfurl himself from his spot next to your side.

Warm, soft, and safely nestled amongst your cats. It’s nearly heaven. You end up half-dozing back off, lulled to sleep by the purring next to your ear. You feel like you haven’t slept in a lifetime.

You don’t hear the door open, though you know something is wrong by the way Figaro leaps to attention and Oliver’s purr stutters to a stop.

When you open your eyes, it’s half-lit by the morning sun. It must be closer to noon than the time that you usually wake to train. Any trace of lingering sleep drifts away when the bedroom door creeps open with its usual squall of hinges.

You smile and twist to look over your shoulder, dislodging Lucifer despite his soft sound of discontent, and yawn, “Morning. I think.”

Remy is posed in the doorway. Your next words die in your throat as you see the look on his face, the staff still gripped tightly in his hand. He’s dressed in his usual armor, not his civilian clothing like you expected. His hair is longer, tied back carelessly from his face, flyaway strands curling around his temples. His eyes are near-black, both through his irises and the dark shadows collecting beneath them.

He looks like he has spent years surviving an apocalypse.

“Jesus, Remy,” you breathe. You’re sitting up in an instant, one hand out reaching towards him. His armor is dust-streaked and worn from battle. “Are you hurt?”

“Where’d you go, chér?” He rasps. His face is still utterly, terrifyingly still. You have never seen him at the brink of collapse like this, before. He looks like he wants to step further in the room, his hand twitching with a nervous tic of adrenaline, but he stays stock-still. Waiting for you.

“Nowhere,” you say softly. “I’ve been in bed with the boys, love.”

You have to resist the urge to spring out of bed and run your hands along his body to look for any sign of injury. You aren’t entirely sure what’s gotten into him, but if he’s hallucinating or delirious, you should probably reach out to the other X-Men. Maybe the professor would know why Remy’s in full gear and looking battle-worn at this hour. Why would he go without waking you first?

Remy wavers. He looks heartsick. “Don’ lie t’me, chér.”

“Never,” you agree. You offer the spot next to you in bed with a half-pleading, half-alluring gesture. “Come here. You look like hell, Remy.”

“You…” he starts, then stops. Abruptly, he drops his staff with a rattling thud. Within three strides, he’s in your arms, melting into your embrace. You clutch at him just as fiercely, burying your nose into the crown of his hair. He smells like smoke and dust, but there’s no indication of blood and pain. He simply sags in your grip, his breathing quick and unsteady against your collarbone. His fingers curl weakly into the back of your nightshirt, as if that’s all the strength he can muster.

He’s mumbling, even with his face pressed tightly to the curve of your throat, but you can’t make out much more than your name, over and over.

“Shh, Remy, I’m right here with you,” you whisper against his crown. With a free hand, you reach up to pull out the elastic band holding up his hair, letting it fall in uneven waves. When was the last time he took care of himself? Your Remy loved to indulge in fine-smelling soaps and lavish hair routines, surrounding himself in a luxury he earned himself. His appearance was just as much armor as his coat was. You had never been fooled by his demeanor: his weapon of charm was just as sharply honed as his weapon of playing cards.

Yet it’s the length of his hair that sours the back of your throat with nausea. You run your fingers through it, slowly massaging his scalp in the way that makes him pliant and sleepy. It’s not that you haven’t seen Remy with long hair before; it’s simply the fact that you haven’t seen him with long hair in years. Just last night, his hair had been just long enough to curl at the nape of his neck. You had run your fingers through it and mentioned a haircut, and he had been a deadweight in your lap, humming sleepily in acknowledgement.

You swallow thickly. Either this is not the same Remy you went to sleep next to the night before… or you are missing time.

“You should take a bath, love,” you murmur, gently scratching his scalp. You can feel smudged wetness on the collar of your nightshirt from tears, though he hasn’t made a sound other than a few deep, unsteady breaths. Back when you first got together during missions, the shower was the first place you two could unwind and start to sort through your fading adrenaline rush.

He pulls back from your embrace, just a little, and every word of encouragement dies in your throat at the look on his face. Rage. Betrayal.

Heartbreak.

“You been gon’ awhile, chér,” he says. It’s not an accusation, but there’s a simmering anger beneath that matter-of-fact tone. It’s always ‘chér’ when he doesn’t know which version you are. His eyes burn through you, intent on stripping you raw. You wonder what answers he could possibly expect from you. If it’s answers he wants at all, or rather an apology.

You have to offer him something.

“I —”

“Gambit go lookin’ for you,” he laughs, mirthless. “Got him spending two years lookin’ and you jus’ show up in bed. Like nothin’ happen.”

Two years. There’s a small itch in the back of your mind, like the whisper of a memory raking its claws down your back. There had been an unraveling. Utter destruction. Then it had been you here, you waking up in bed as if nothing had happened.

You blink back at him, struck speechless. You don’t have to offer a word, though, because there’s true anger in his eyes, now.

“I go to de Void,” he says. “I t’ink that’s what it was. Nothin’ left there. Dere’s no life around, hein? Mais, non, not even my wife, only the dead. Ev’rybody dead.”

 His eyes close as if he can ward away the images tormenting his memories. You’re grateful that he can’t see the way your face crumples at that. He went back for you. He had survived the wound, and he found a way back to come for you.

And he had found nothing but death.

“You’re such an idiot,” you choke out. His eyes snap open at that, but you merely cup his face in your hands and draw him in to bump your forehead against his, sucking in a shuddering breath. He is warm and alive under your touch. You didn’t think you could touch him like this again when Nova had been standing above you, prepared to tear you in shreds. “I sent you ahead, but I was coming with you.”

“We stay together,” he tells you. There’s a strain in his voice just as painful as yours, but the way he reaches up to swipe away a stray tear from your cheek with his thumb is careful. As if he’s marveling that he has the chance to touch you at all. “Mais la, don’ tell Gambit he wrote up those vows for nothin’, Mrs. LeBeau.”

“Matched pair,” you whisper back.

“Couple’a aces,” he agrees, and he kisses you just as gently as he wiped away your tears, as if you have all the time in the world.

[starry-bi-sky]

More Clone^2 or just Damian Clone Au because these two have my heart rn.

————

“Asmi Danyal.” Damian says.

“Asm- asmi Danyal.” Danny repeats.

There is a sharp jab to his leg.

Danny thinks this means he’s winning, and he grins goofily.

(He’s not, he did the pronunciation wrong. He has to say it again.)

Where he is, is his room. It’s nearing midnight, and him and Damian have been sitting in his room for the last three hours.

He has books about learning arabic sprawled at his feet, from beginner’s books to advanced, he got whatever he could get his hands on that would teach him Arabic.

And Damian, little Damian who has finally taken it upon himself to settle down over these last few months, has decided that he doesn’t really like the way Danny is teaching himself.

“Your pronunciation is bad.” He told him through the translator Danny downloaded onto his phone. And then he sat down onto the ground and pointed at the floor and said “‘Ardia.”

And then wouldn’t stop until Danny said it in a way that he liked. He moved on to the next object. And then the next, and then the next. And so this has been their dynamic for the last two weeks. They’re finally moving on to proper sentences.

(It’s not fool-proof, and that’s why Danny still has his books. Damian doesn’t know every word, and knowing words doesn’t mean he knows how to string them together into a sentence.)

(But never let it be said that Danny is not a quick learner when he sets his heart to something.)

“Asmi Danyal.” Damian says.

“Asmi Danyal.” Danny repeats.

(“My name is Daniel.”)

Damian nods, satisfied and sated. He points to himself, puffed up like a peacock showing off its feathers. “Asmi Damyan Alghul.” He says, “‘Ana abn aldam.”

(There’s a flicker of uncertainty on Damian’s face, a slump in his shoulders that exists for only a millisecond. It’s a look on Damian’s face that Danny sees on his own whenever he looks in the mirror.)

(A question of identity, an ‘I think’ - am I really who I say I am? Doubt comes in with fickle tongue.)

Danny - much to his own surprise - is able to piece together the second half of his sentence on his own. It’s slow, assigning words to translation, but he learns it.

(“My name is Damian Al Ghul. I am the blood son.”)

The blood son - he can only assume he means the blood son of Bruce Wayne, of course. He shares the same face as the very public figure’s youngest boy.

And Danny shares the face of the youngest boy’s father.

And much like him, this Damian was younger than the original, thirteen year old one. Much younger.

“Marhaban Damian.” Danny says, a sly smile creeping up his face. “Asmi Danyal Fenton —” his eyes glance to one of his books, a list of greetings going down the page. He finds one he’s looking for. “Tasharafna.”

(“Hello Damian, my name is Daniel Fenton. It’s nice to meet you.”)

(He’d hold out his hand in a customary, playful handshake, but his palms still sting and hurt from his last encounter with Damian’s blade. He’s got them half curled at his side, unmoving as much as possible.)

Danny got the last pronunciation wrong, much to his amused delight. Damian’s face darkens and his smug expression falls away into a scowl.

“‘Ant aldajaalu, wanha ‘tasharafna.”

(“You are the imposter, and it’s ‘tasharafna’.”)

And so here they go again.

[positivexcellence]

Jared Padalecki Joins ‘Fire Country’ For Guest Arc That Could Lead To New Franchise Offshoot

EXCLUSIVE: Jared Padalecki is returning to series television. The former Supernatural star, coming off a four-season run as the lead of Walker, has been tapped for a three-episode arc on the upcoming third season of CBS‘ hit drama series Fire Country, headlined and executive produced by Max Thieriot.

He will play Camden, a SoCal firefighter and maverick with a surfer swagger who is a force to be reckoned with and immediately recognizes Bode’s (Thieriot) raw talent.

The deal with Fire Country producer CBS Studios is strictly for the recurring role, sources said. Given Padalecki’s status as a popular leading man with two hit series under his belt, I hear there is a possibility for the guest stint to lead to a new spinoff headlined by him that would join the upcoming Sheriff Country.

Sources stress that the idea is still in its nascent stages. And similarly to the NCIS franchise, which originated on CBS and has generated four domestic offshoots on the network but has also expanded into streaming with the latest spinoff, NCIS: Tony & Ziva (as well as the streaming/broadcast NCIS: Sydney), a new Fire Country spinoff could be for broadcast or streaming. Reps for CBS and CBS Studios declined comment.

Fire Country, which was the most watched new broadcast series in its freshman season, was quickly identified by the CBS leadership as a potential franchise anchor that could spawn multiple spinoffs.

“We are focused on mass-appeal franchises,” CBS President and CEO George Cheeks said in June 2023. “This season’s number one show was Fire Country, which completely lends itself to building out a whole new universe… It became very clear that not only was the show special, it really felt like this could be a great example of us building together a franchise from scratch.”

The first Fire Country spinoff, the Morena Baccarin-starring Sheriff Country, which started off as a planted spinoff episode on the mothership series this past season, was recently picked up to series for 2025-26.

Keeping Padalecki in the fold has been a priority for CBS Studios following the end of its CW drama Walker, on which he was star and executive producer, leading to creating the opportunity for him on Fire Country. Walker was canceled for financial reasons despite being the network’s most watched series.

Fire Country averages more than 10 million viewers per episode in multi-platform viewing. (Live+35-day on Paramount + and CBS TVE)

Season 1 became available on Netflix in the US August 1 and has already reached #3 in the streamer’s daily rankings. This is an additional domestic streaming window for Fire Country whose first two seasons are on Paramount+. It is designed to give the show additional exposure ahead of its Oct. 18 Season 3 premiere on CBS.

From creators and executive producers Tony Phelan, Joan Rater and Thieriot, inspired by Thieriot’s experiences growing up in Northern California, the series follows Bode Donovan (Thieriot), a young convict seeking redemption and a shortened prison sentence by joining a prison release firefighting program in Northern California, which sends him back to his hometown.

Billy Burke, Kevin Alejandro, Diane Farr, Stephanie Arcila, Jordan Calloway and Jules Latimer also star. Tia Napolitano, who also serves as showrunner, executive produces alongside Jerry Bruckheimer and KristieAnne Reed of Jerry Bruckheimer Television.

Since the end of Walker, Padalecki also has discussed a role on the upcoming fifth and final season of Prime Video’s The Boys, developed and executive produced by Supernatural creator Eric Kripke. He is repped by UTA, Industry Entertainment and Fuller Law.

deadline

[declareqenius]

stitched up

warnings: blood, stitches

summary: you were sent on a mission with your father, tony stark, but something went wrong with the new prototype, resulting in you being injured. wanda needs the closeness and the confirmation that you’re right in front of her, but natasha’s emotions nearly get the better of her. 

a/n: this is not how i wanted to end this originally, but i’m having some writer’s block and just wanted to post something again. i may do a part two but it depends on if y’all would like to see a part two or not! 

“If your arm wasn’t bleeding this much, and if my mind and heart didn’t ache every time I glanced away from you, your father would be hanging from the ceiling by his ankles.” 

Of course, leave it to your girlfriend to say something so poetic, yet so vulgar, in a semi-serious situation. 

Wanda’s arms are crossed as she worriedly checks over the rest of your body, trying to keep herself from peeking at the gushing blood coming from your shoulder. The only thing that holds her back from storming down the hallway in search of your father is her need to see that you’re going to be okay. Meaning she has to sit there and watch on as Bruce slowly stitches the gash shut.

“We both know you would do so much worse than that, Wands.” You try to mask your slight wince with a cheeky grin, but of course your girlfriend notices. 

“You’re right. I think I’ll let Natasha have her fun first.” She makes it sound like a joke, however you both know it’s far from such a thing.

Wanda’s eyebrows are still tightly furrowed together, her eyes constantly checking over you as if the second she looks away some new injury will magically appear. Even though you’re the one covered in blood with the stitching needle in their arm, you can’t help but want to comfort her. 

“Hey, love,” you gently place your first finger under her chin and guide her head until her eyes meet yours, “I��m alright. It’s okay.” 

She searches deeply within your eyes, and it’s a miracle you maintain eye contact with her. The sheer build up of love, worry, and warmth you find within her soft green irises takes you aback.

“It shouldn’t have happened.” 

She says it so firmly. The sentence is so contradictory to the emotions she showed you seconds ago. The feelings she only allows you and Natasha- your other, probably furious, redheaded girlfriend- to read and memorize, to know like the back of your hands. 

Her Sokovian accent is thick, which only happens when she’s scared, angry, or safe. And, right now with Bruce in the room, you know it’s a combination of the first two. 

“You’re right, as always,” you give her a smile, which she mirrors, and you stow the memory away as a small victory. “But it did happen. And there’s nothing we can do about it now except let Bruce stitch me up, okay? I’ll be good as new afterwards. Right, Bruce?” 

Your eyes don’t leave Wanda’s because you know looking at Bruce will somehow make the stitching process hurt more. 

The man only gives a nod and soft grunt of approval. 

“See? Nothing to worry about, my dear.” 

“Nothing to worry about, huh?” 

A calloused voice cuts through the room. You’re the first to snap your head up and break the heartfelt moment with Wanda. The quick movement causes Bruce to tug the stitches more than intended, and you close your eyes and take in a slow, deep breath. The soft hand soothingly running along your uninjured arm is the only thing keeping you completely grounded at the moment.

“Cause from where I’m standing, detka, it looks like something we should be worried about.” 

Once you open your eyes again, they immediately fall upon Natasha, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed and undoubtedly pissed off. 

You’re aware her anger isn’t directed at you. You know _why _she’s pissed. Your emotions would most definitely get the better of you if either one of your girlfriends was injured and you couldn’t do anything to prevent it. It would be worse if you could have prevented it.

The certainty of your words and relaying the facts to her wouldn’t calm her down, but you know there’s no calming her down on your part. Not when you’re sitting on a stool injured and had to be carried to the med bay so you wouldn’t bleed to death.

“HYDRA got the jump on us, Nat. We weren’t expecting it and there was nothing that could have been done to ensure our safety. You know that. We had the Iron Man suit and the counteract prototype with us, and that’s it. Dad decided to use the prototype because it was all we had. It malfunctioned and I didn’t have enough time to move out of the way after the HYDRA agent pushed me towards it.” 

You’re clear with all of your words and your voice never wavers, nor does your eye contact. Natasha may be the Black Widow, and only a very select group of people could ever talk to her the matter-of-fact way you just did, but sometimes she needs a reminder that things happen no matter how much one tries to prevent them. 

“He could have kept you safe. That should have been his priority. You’re his daughter, Y/N. That’s way more important than barging into an intel mission unprepared! With only a prototype, no less. Especially when it puts your life in danger!” 

The two of you hold eye contact with each other for a few seconds until you glance away and focus on watching Bruce finalize his stitch-work. Watching the needle thread through your skin makes the pain undeniably worse, but you can’t seem to force yourself to look at your girlfriends. 

You don’t see the guilt-ridden regret that crosses Natasha’s features before she looks at the floor beneath her.

Tony wasn’t unprepared for the mission. Neither were you. Both of you surveyed the perimeter twice. Both of you were careful at every corner you turned. HYDRA just happened to outsmart two of the smartest people in the world.

Minutes later and Bruce finishes stitching your left shoulder up. Natasha stands at the door impatiently and Wanda watches her but still makes sure to have some physical contact with you. 

“Alright,” Bruce stands from his chair, “twenty-five stitches. No major physical activity for the next two weeks. That includes missions, working out, and... I don’t have to say it. Let’s give the wound time to heal itself, okay?” 

You nod and thank him before he takes his leave, passing by a very guilty, annoyed Natasha.

“Natalia, podoydi syuda, pozhaluysta.” 

Wanda is the first to speak once Bruce leaves, and you’re grateful she took the initiative. Neither of them like seeing you hurt since both have lost so much in their short lives, but Natasha eats herself up over your injuries. She always thinks she’d be able to do something to prevent them, especially in the field. Wanda’s reactions are slightly more reasonable, but her worry gets the best of her and she often needs physical contact to remind herself you’re still there. 

Natasha begrudgingly takes a seat next to Wanda, who immediately holds out her hand to give the former assassin the option of physical contact. Your shorter girlfriend hesitates before she gently take Wanda’s left hand in her right but makes no move to touch you or glance in your direction. 

The chairs they sit in are lower than your stool, and part of you finds it funny that you’re the one that’s been placed in that position. 

“Moglo byt’ gorazdo khuzhe,” Natasha mutters, staring at her boots and focusing on the way Wanda’s thumb rubs back and forth along the back of her hand.

It could have been much worse.

“Odnako eto bylo ne tak. Ona vse yeshche zdes', i my nuzhny yey pryamo seychas.”

It wasn’t, though. She’s still here and she needs both of us right now.

Wanda’s voice is soothing as she softly speaks to Natasha. 

You let them have their moment and offer the Sokovian a small smile when she sends a gentle wink your way. 

Both know you don’t understand the conversation. You’ve picked up some basic Russian, words or phrases they say a lot, but when they get into full conversations and larger sentences, all you can do is either pretend you’re busy or sit and watch their facial expressions to gauge the nature of the conversation.

They speak a minute longer and Natasha starts relaxing. Her furrowed brows even out, her drawn lips ease into a relaxed expression, and her eyes- although still holding an ounce of anger- start to glisten. She finds the need within herself to look at you, check you over for any other injuries- although Wanda has done that several times over- and finally, search your beautiful eyes with her own. 

“Nat-” 

You move to speak, wanting to voice your concerns and reassure both of them you’re okay even though they can see you sitting here in front of them. However, Natasha stands from her seat and takes a step over to you. She keeps her eye contact with you and gently, with a slight nod of confirmation from you, she slots herself between your legs. Her hand comes up to your cheek and she notices a small bruise forming above your eyebrow. It makes her eyes water a little more. 

“I’m sorry, muy lyubov. You’re injured and I’ve been acting like a dick. I won’t apologize for wanting to keep you safe, or wanting to make Tony pay for his lack of common sense, but I will apologize for directing my anger toward you. You didn’t deserve that. I’m sorry, detka.” 

“It’s okay, Nat. I forgive you. I understand why you were so angry, I mean, I would be too if you or Wands were in my position. So, I get it, but next time I need you to try and talk to me, okay?” 

Natasha nods her confirmation, and you know from the look in her eyes that she’s determined to work on her communication with both you and Wanda. 

“Thank you, my love.” 

Sometimes you all understand each other in different ways and need each other for different things, but in the end, the three of you fit together like nothing anyone has ever seen. The journey has been long and will continue to be, but none of you would have it any other way. 

Natasha’s eyes are still teary, and you can’t help but tilt your head up just enough to catch her lips in a slow, soft kiss. Enough to remind her that she’s forgiven and that you’re not going anywhere. You break apart after a few moments and see Nat’s small smile. It could be better, but you’ll take it for now. However, you notice Wanda getting impatient after having watched you kiss Natasha. 

You look over at Wanda with a grin on your face, “Anything you’d like to say, Wands?” 

“My turn.” 

Wanda gets up from her chair and stands to the left of Natasha. She gently cups your left cheek with her right hand and kisses you much like you did Natasha, except with more fervor- as if she could express gratitude for your life through a kiss. When she pulls away there’s a smile on both of your faces, and her eyes have replaced worry and anger with unconditional love. 

It never ceases to amaze you how willingly and openly your girlfriends give themselves to you. 

[wearebarca]

6. Captured // Alexia Putellas x Original character pt. 6

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

synopsis: Rosalie has never stayed somewhere too long. When the opportunity of a lifetime presents itself at critical moment in her life, the photographer decides to once again leave behind what she knows and joins the staff of Europe's best football team.

Word count: 4,3k

A/N: Hello, notify me if you'd like a little album of the pictures Rosalie takes. Spanish is from google translate so please be nice. French is my first language so all should be good on that part. Enjoy

“ You are telling me that tomorrow, Alexia Putellas is taking you on a date.” Lia Walti is a very calm and down to earth person, which is why Rosalie valued the woman’s advice and opinion. It had been a while since she had called her friend, the last time was her first week in Barcelona, but after her afternoon at the beach, Rosalie needed some of that calmness and a fresh set of eyes on the situation.

“ I mean, is it really a date? I basically forced her to spend the day with me. Besides, she could’ve just said that to confirm the time and not the fact that it’s a date. English is tricky as hell, you know.” Behind the Swiss, Rosalie could hear a loud laugh followed by a few sentences that made the player laugh. “ Is that Leah grumbling in the background?”

“ Yes, wait, she’s coming.” Shuffling could be heard as Leah Williamson appeared in the camera frame, next to Lia.

“ I said that of course, Alexia Putellas, twice Ballon d’Or winner, international football star, doesn’t know proper English. Of course Frenchy, that makes perfect sense.” Leah said, with a serious expression that soon faded once she saw her friend’s pout.

“ I didn’t ask for your opinion, Grumpy.”

“ It’s my pleasure to provide my valuable insight nonetheless.”

“ I just don’t know how to treat tomorrow, you know.” The two Arsenal players could see how this was affecting their friend, but they both knew that the French-Canadian was simply scared after what had happened in England. All she needed was that little push to dare let herself be comfortable with another again.

“Listen Liebling, tomorrow is nothing more than two people spending a day off together. Nothing more, nothing less. You simply enjoy the time you spend with her and the rest just comes naturally.”

“As much as I hate to admit it, she’s right.” Leah said, earning a small slap from the swiss. Rosalie took a deep breath. Her friends were right, this was no different from the supper they shared in Sevilla, but still, she could not help her anxiousness at the thought of spending the whole day with the captain.

“ Do you know what time she’s going to pick you up? Or are you meeting her somewhere?” Lia asked.

Rosalie froze. She had not realized that she had not discussed this with Alexia, nor did she get the blonde’s phone number before leaving the beach. “I don’t know, I didn’t take her phone number.” She all but whispered. A thud was heard in her phone speaker. She looked up only to see Leah’s head had made contact with their table. Lia was laughing.

“Can’t you just DM her?”

“What if she doesn’t answer her DM’s? She probably gets a hundred a day and doesn’t check them anymore. I don’t know, how am I…”

“Ok take a breath Frenchy, Grandma Bronze probably has her number.” Leah said, interrupting her friend that was clearly spiraling. Rosalie hadn’t thought about that. Otherwise, Ingrid probably had it too.

“Right, I should text her to see.”

“You do that Frenchy.” Leah said. “And don’t forget to tell us about your date, we’re invested now.”

“By the way, can you remind us of your marathon’s date so we can book our plane tickets.” Lia asked excitedly.

“ It’s the week after national camp.” The Canadian said checking her calendar where the dates were highlighted.

“ Are you still our photographer for camp and the Euros?” Leah asked.

“ I just confirmed it with the Lionesses management, yes! I can’t wait to see you guys, I’ve missed you.” Rosalie said excitedly.

“Are you flying with the Barcelona girls or leaving early to prepare?”

“ I’m flying with them, the marathon is three days after so I should be fine.”

“ We’ll meet you in Barcelona the day before the race. You should send us your address so we can book the closest hotel to your place.” Rosalie was about to answer when her phone started to vibrate. Upon a closer look, she realized that it wasn’t a number she recognized. She picked up the phone from the counter and opened her texts.

“ Hola Rosalia, Lucia gave me your number I hope it is ok:)”

Rosalie was silent, eyes fixed on her phone, offering the two Arsenal girls a perfect view of her wide eyes and forehead. There is only one person who called her Rosalia“ She texted you, didn't she?” Leah said matter of factly.

“ Mhm”

“ Answer her Frenchy, for fuck’s sake.” Leah said, exasperated by her friend’s behavior.

“ We’re gonna leave you to it Rosie.” Lia said, trying to calm down Leah who, even if she tried to deny it, was very much invested in the situation.

“ Merci les filles, I appreciate it a lot. Can’t wait to see you.”

“Go get her Frenchy.” Rosalie rolled her eyes then ended the call. And focused on the Spanish captain’s message.

“ Of course it’s ok :) I was wondering how you wanted things to work for tomorrow.”

“ I thought I could come pick you up around 10 if that’s ok with you, we could go get coffee and go to the market from there.”

“ Sounds good to me! I will send you my address.”

“ perfecto. See you tomorrow Rosalia.”

For the rest of the night, Rosalie spent her time deep cleaning her apartment. She wanted everything to be perfect for when Alexia would come. She picked her outfit, which consisted of flowy linen pants with a white tank top and a light sweater. After showering and making sure once again that her apartment looked presentable, she hopped in bed.

Unfortunately for the photographer, sleep did not come easy. An hour later, she was still tossing and turning, too apprehensive of tomorrow’s day to relax. After another half hour, she gave up and migrated to the couch with her laptop. If she was going to stay awake, she might as well make use of this time to get some work done.

A knock on the door woke the photographer up. It took a moment for Rosalie to realize that she actually never made it to her bed last night, and she had fallen asleep with her laptop opened by her side. Panic flooded her body as she jumped off the couch and ran to her bedroom to throw on the outfit she had chosen last night. Another knock followed by a small bark was heard and Rosalie all but ran to the door to unlock. She opened the door and bolted back in her room. “ I’m so sorry! I’m almost ready! Come in, make yourself home!”

She put her hair in a loose braid and grabbed the first cap she found in her closet and placed it on her head. Once satisfied with her appearance, she made her way to the living room, only to be met by a small excited ball of fluff. Alexia was still standing in the doorway, silently looking around the space. Rosalie picked up the small dog and made her way towards the footballer. “Allo! I’m sorry I seemed to have overslept.” she said with an apologetic smile.

Alexia broke out from her spell and smiled at the photographer. “Another late night working I see.” She said motioning towards the sofa where her computer and her pile of blankets from the night still laid.

“ Yeah, I couldn't sleep unfortunately.” A small smirk appeared on the captain’s features, but whatever she had been thinking about was eclipsed by Nala who had decided to give the smaller woman a deep face clean.

“Nala no!” Alexia said, reaching out to grab the little beast in order to make her stop her intensive licking.

“ Oh, it’s ok Ale I don’t mind.” She said, petting the small dog in her arms.

“ I hope you don’t mind me bringing her. We usually spend this type of day together, and she was very happy to know that we wouldn’t be alone today.”

“ I’m honoured to be allowed to spend the day with you guys.” She said laughing. “ I’m ready to head out if you are!”

They went down the stairs, Nala still in the photographer’s arms. Alexia’s car was parked right in front of her building. The footballer went ahead of her only to stop and open the door for the photographer. “ Merci! This is a nice car.”

“Si, we have a deal with the brand. It is fun to drive, more fun than your little car for sure.” She said with a teasing smile. Rosalie Let out a sound of indignation.

“Do not laugh at my car! It does the job very well!”

“ It’s so small, very cute.” Rosalie rolled her eyes which made Alexia laugh as she started the car and drove away. The drive was short and filled with laughter and fun banter, mainly about the photographer’s car.

“ I am only saying that you can’t carry a lot of stuff in this little car. It’s probably very uncomfortable.”

“It’s very spacious I’ll have you know!”

“It’s good for you I guess. Nina pequeña.”

“Hey! I’m average size!” The brunette said laughing as she turned around to look out the window. The streets looked familiar to the French-Canadian who realized that she had run here just before leaving for Sevilla.

“ I think I’ve run around here before.”

“This is my favorite part of the city. Only locals come here. The beach is nice and the little market is right next to it. It’s very calm.” She parked the car in a small street and got out to go around and opened the door for the photographer.as she stepped out of the car, she took a moment to really take in the blond. She was wearing a pair of light blue jeans, a loose shirt she had left halfway unbuttoned so her bralette showed. Her trusty white nike hat completed the look. She was gorgeous and Rosalie’s nervousness spiked a little at the sight.

Rosalie handed the blond Nala’s leash and they started walking towards the small shops that were lining up the street. It was a lot more lively then the last time she came here. Families were walking around and people were sitting outside the restaurants. The photographer turned to look at the footballer. Alexia smiled at her and beckoned her towards a small, rustic looking coffee shop.

“This is our first stop.” She opened the door and Rosalie was instantly met with the smell of freshly brewed espresso and baked pastries. A loud gasp was heard in the small shop which made the brunette jump a little. A small woman, who looked around her mothers age was currently making her way from behind the counter towards the duo.

“Alexia mija donde has estado! ¡Hace mucho que no te vemos!”

“Lo siento señora García, no he tenido mucho tiempo últimamente. » Alexia said, stepping forward, letting the tiny woman hug her fiercely. Rosalie stayed behind with a smile on her face as she witnessed the interaction. The woman and Alexia were chatting rapidly in Spanish, making it hard for the photographer to understand anything. She zoned out for a moment, taking in the space. This cafe reminded her of the one near the training center but, this one felt even more homy and intimate. The walls were full of art work which upon a closer look at the identification tag, were all made by local artists and available for purchase. The wall closest to the register was a floor to ceiling library with a multitude of books and board games available for the customers. A small children sized table in the far corner of the room was filled with coloring books and various types of crayons. The art work displayed around the area was very obviously made by children, and Rosalie laughed a little when she realized that they too, were available for purchase.

Strong hands grabbed her waist and turned her around.The photographer came face to face with the small older woman. Her smile was warm and her arms were already opened, ready to engulf the photographer in a bone crushing hug.

“¿Es esta la razón por la que has estado tan ocupada, querida?”

“No señora, ella es la razón por la que finalmente me tomo un día libre.” Alexia said with a fond smile. At her words, señora Perez grabbed Rosalie’s shoulders.

“gracias, ella necesita relajarse más” She told the photographer, who stayed silent, not being able to make the translation in her head due to the rapidity of their speech.

“Inglés, señora, Rosalia is still learning Spanish”

“Yes I am sorry. You take good care of Alexia. Gracias.” Rosalie smiled at that. Meanwhile, Alexia was watching the two interact. Señora Perez had dragged the Canadian towards a wall filled with pictures, no doubt to share the shop’s history with the brunette. This place was her pride and joy, she poured everything into making this place feel like home for her customers, which is why this was one of Alexia’s favourite places in all of Barcelona.

She made her way to the counter to order their drinks. Alexia had never brought anyone here, not even her sister. This was her little oasis in a city where everyone knew her name. Here, she was treated like a normal person, like a daughter even, not like the captain of FC Barcelona.

Her cups were placed in front of her by none other than Señor Perez. “ She must be important if you brought her here.” He said, leaning on the counter, watching his wife proudly showing the pictures she took of the world cup.

“Si, I feel good with her.”

“You keep this. It is rare.” Señor Perez was a man of very few words, which reminded Alexia of her own father. The man’s advice was all the more important to her. Her thoughts were interrupted by Rosalie’s return by her side.

“You really flew them to the world cup?” The brunette asked something close to admiration in her eyes. Alexia smiled at the fond memory.

“Yes I did, along with my mother and sister.” She said smiling. “They are big football fans. They deserved it, they helped me alot during my recovery.”

“Rosalia said she will come work in photos here sometime. She will get me match pictures for my wall.” The older woman said with a radiant smile, arm still hooked with the photographer’s.

“If you don’t mind me coming, that is.” The brunette said with a shy smile.

“Of course she does not mind. You come here like home. You show me ingles y me Spanish.” Señora Perez said in a tone that did not allow discussion. Alexia laughed at the woman and grabbed hers and Rosalie’s coffee.

“ Gracias María.” She said she let the smaller woman hug her. She turned to hug the photographer and whispered something in her ear that made the brunette blush furiously.

“You come back now, with pictures for my wall.” She said waving at the pair. Alexia held the door open for the French-Canadian. As soon as they stepped outside, Nala took off on the sidewalk seemingly knowing exactly what their next stop would be. They walked in the small street, side by side, sipping on their coffees while observing scenery around them.

“ How did you find this place?” The brunette finally asked.

“ When I ruptured my ACL, I got in a dark space. Even after I got the green light to walk again without the crutches, I did not want to leave home. My family started to get worried. They almost forced me to get out, go on walks. My sister told me that it was the perfect moment to really explore Barcelona, see beyond the training center and stadium.” The blond said, looking at her feet with a sad expression.

“I stumbled on this place during one of those walks. When I came in the shop was full of families and everyone seemed so friendly and happy that I decided to stay for a moment. I was scared I would get recognized but no one came to my table. I came back the week after, and the week after that as well. The third week, while I was ordering my coffee, Maria came around and asked her husband if “Senora Putellas wanted something to eat with her coffee.” That’s when I realized that they knew who I was, but simply did not treat me any different.” She said, smiling at the brunette.

“ At that moment, I truly needed that. I was still feeling like I was letting people down, or that I would never come back from this injury. It became part of my routine. Several times a week, I would go there to deal with my emails or simply to spend some time away from the football world. They always welcomed me with open arms. I invited them to my first game back. Antonio and Maria are both big Barça supporters, so I got them season tickets and to really thank them for everything they did, I paid for their trip for the World Cup.”

“ They seem like such warm, genuine people.”

“ They really are.” The blond chuckled. “ Maria seems to like you a lot. You’re gonna have to come back, otherwise she will not stop pestering me to bring you back.” The brunette laughed at that.

“ I promised her some pictures afterall.” the brunette said, already excited to see the nice couple again. The pair turned the corner and headed down a street that Rosalie recognized as the one leading to the beach. She could see that Nala was getting excited and pulling more intensely on the leash. “ You said that you found this place on one of your walks? You must live close then.”

“ Si, a few streets from her in fact. I’ll show you one day.” Alexia said, with a playful smile, which made the brunette blush slightly. They reached the beach soon after. There weren't many people around, only the odd couple walking with their dog or a few families having a picnic. Alexia pulled out a small ball out of her bag and took off Nala’s leash who barked happily at the sight of the small football her mom was holding.

Rosalie thought she would melt on the spot. The captain threw the ball and the small dog instantly took off. Rosalie sat in the sand with her coffee, closed her eyes and took a deep breath. The air smelted of the sea and something sweet, like strawberries and coconut. The photographer opened her eyes and was met with shiny hazel ones.

“Your eyes are really beautiful.” Rosalie didn’t know what came over her. It was as if she could not control the words that came out of her mouth. The blond blushed furiously at the compliment. The photographer was about to apologise in fear of having been too forward but, she was interrupted by something resembling a little rat running towards them with the small football in its mouth.

“Nala! Seriously!” Alexia said, pulling out a small towel from her bag. “ She does this every time I’m distracted.” She said attempting to dry the small dog who was too excited to stay put.

“ Might as well let her play now that she’s already wet.” The photographer said laughing as she took the ball and threw it in the direction of the waves.

They stayed well after Nala exhausted herself running after her toy. She was now laying at Alexia’s feet, happily receiving pets from her mom.

“The only thing I miss about Canada is the nature really. Endless green forests with so many lakes.” Rosalie said with a nostalgic smile. “ It’s so beautiful, even during winter.”

“ I heard it gets very cold.” Alexia said with a grimace.

“ oh oui, where I’m from it gets as low as minus 30 degrees or more.”

“ I don’t like the cold.” Alexoa said, shivering just at the thought of such frigid conditions.

“ I bet you’d like skiing. You feel so free going down the mountain, like nothing can stop you.”

“ sounds dangerous to me. Although the after-ski sounds great.”

“ Yes! With hot chocolate and cheese-fondues and all the good stuff.” At the mention of food, a loud rumbling was heard coming from the photographer’s stomach. Alexia stood up and clipped Nala’s leash on her collar.

“ Let’s go to the market. We can find you something to eat there.” She said, holding out her hand for the photographer to grab.

The market was just a bit farther on the boardwalk, and was buzzing with merchants selling different types of products. It went from food like fresh vegetables to the latest catch of the day, as well as different artisanal items like handmade jewelry or little souvenir shops. Rosalie stopped in front of a display showing some bracelets harbouring the colours of their club. She decided she would get one and give it to Alexia at the end of the day. Unbeknownst to her, a few stands away, Alexia was currently picking out a similar gift, along with something that would calm the photographer’s hunger.

They arrived at Alexia’s car an hour later with bags filled with everything they needed to make Alexia’s paella. Rosalie was surprised to see that the footballer did not ask for her address or any directions to get back to her apartment.

Rosalie felt nervous at the thought of Alexia coming into her home. She’d always been skittish about inviting people in her space. It was her sanctuary and she had just started feeling home here, but seeing Alexia in her living room eyes scanning over the variety of cameras and pictures on display with Nala already making herself at home on her couch, Rosalie decided rather quickly that she did not mind having those two around.

“This is you and your uncle right?” Rosalie did not need to see on which picture Alexia had stopped. It surely was the one where she was on her uncle’s back after an important college football game. This was merely weeks before he had passed and it was one of the most precious memories she’d made. Sensing she had touched a sensitive subject, Alexia moved away from the picture and joined the French-Canadian in the kitchen area.

“ Now, I have heard that you are terrible at cooking, so you will do as I say, si?” Her tone was firm, yet playful as she was already taking control of the space. Rosalie felt a chill run down her spine at the blond’s words, but quickly shook it off. Or she thought so, because as soon as she turned around, the brunette felt hands at her waist, guiding them towards the cutting board and knife Alexia had set up for her.

“ Would you mind cutting these for me?” She asked, with her hands still lingering on the brunette’s hips. She was so close Rosalie could feel her breath tickling the hair at the base of her neck. She closed her eyes for a second, attempting to slow her breathing which had quickened at the captain’s touch.

“ Mhm,” Was all that she was able to answer.

“ Bueno, you can start with the onions and peppers.” she said, finally letting go of the photographer. During the whole preparation, Alexia made it incredibly hard for Rosalie to focus on not cutting off any of her digits. Everytime she would move around in the kitchen she would make sure to brush against the brunette or hold her by the waist when passing behind her. It was almost as if the Catalan woman was doing it on purpose. If only the Canadian would have turned around, she would have her suspicions confirmed by the smirk adorning the captain’s face every time she would notice the photographer’s breath hitch or the goosebumps that would form whenever she would utter more instructions close to her ear.

Rosalie was sure it was due to divine intervention if she was able to be of any use in the preparation of this meal. Her apartment was filled with the delicious smell of freshly made paella and Alexia looked satisfied with what they had cooked together. “ I think this is the closest it’s ever been to my mother’s” She said with a proud smile. “ All I needed was the right partner.”

The brunette smiled as she took out plates and made her way towards the living room when she had set up the coffee table. “ So what do you usually do while eating? Watch a movie, listen to music?”

“ I normally watch old games of our next opponents to study their plays better.” Alexia answered, bringing the dish to the table.

“ Even on your days off?” The blond gave an embarrassed smile as she pulled out her phone.

“ You did say you wanted to see what I do on my days off.” She said laughing. She pulled up on her phone the most recent Madrid CFF match she could find and casted it on Rosalie’s tv. They both ate while watching, occasionally discussing plays and weaknesses they could eventually use in the upcoming game. As the evening went on, both women slowly gravitated towards the center of the sof. Alexia ended up with her arm on the back of the couch, with the photographer practically nestled in the crook of her arm. It had been a long time since the captain had felt this relaxed in the presence of another person. She could feel the exhaustion slowly gaining on her, making her limbs and her eyelids heavy. The photographer shifted slightly, giving the perfect opportunity for the blond to finally warp her arm around the smaller woman’s frame.

“ Are you comfortable?” Alexia asked, turning her head slightly to watch the brunette melt in her arms.

“ Oui,” The answer came as a whisper. Alexia could see that the photographer was too, fighting against sleep. Still, she simply could not bring herself to leave, not when she felt this relaxed and at ease. She told herself that she would leave at the end of the game, so she could enjoy this peaceful moment a little while longer. Only her body had other plans, because just a few minutes later the footballer finally succumbed to the heavy pull of sleep

[spnbabe67]

Make My World Go Black

Kinktober Day 4: Friends to Lovers (T.O.)

Pairing: Tyler Owens x Fem Original Character

Warnings: Smut, Drinking, Soft and Slow sex

Summary: While visiting Loretta's hometown, the newest Tornado Wrangler gets a request to come pick Tyler up. The problem? Boone has the hotel key.

Word Count: 2962

Authors Note: Title and fic based on the song "Black" by Dierks Bently. (And yes, I know the character in the GIF isn't Tyler Owens, I couldn't find one that matched what I had in mind)

The last thing Loretta expected when Boone texted her was a request to pick up Tyler from the local bar. Sure, The Tornado Wranglers were in her turf, back home in North Texas, but usually it was Boone or even Lilly’s job to nurse their leader back to soberness. She had just crawled into bed, the time nearing 11, when her phone started blowing up with texts from her coworkers. At first she’d tried to ignore it, eyelids heavy from a long day of driving, but after the 5th text she’d relented, squinting at the bright screen. Most of Boone’s text was incoherent, the videographer clearly had a couple drinks himself, but through his copious amounts of spelling errors and incoherent sentence structure she gathered his message: come get Tyler.

So, Loretta pulled on a pair of jeans and a hoodie and pointed the headlights of her two-door Chevy towards the bar Boone had managed to type clearly. Loretta knew the bar well, a little hole in the wall downtown. She wasn’t surprised Tyler chose this place out of the list she’d given him to celebrate a successful season. They’d raised a significant amount for the communities they visited throughout the last couple months, and as an end of season celebration Tyler suggested they come visit Loretta’s hometown. She was the newest member of the group, having joined towards the end of last season when The Tornado Wranglers were chasing an EF4 in the Panhandle and came across Loretta who was competing at the local rodeo. She’d always had an interest in inclement weather growing up in the southern portion of Tornado Alley she’d seen her fair share of tornados, seen the devastation they left in their wake. Here she was, a little over a year later, picking up her boss who she’d had a crush on since he swaggered up to her at the bar after she’d finished competing. 

“Hey Doll.” Tyler gave her a lopsided grin under the brim of his white cowboy hat as Loretta approached him.

Boone or whoever had sat him down on a bench outside the bar, thumping base still audible through the walls. The air was tinged with the smell of cigarette smoke and grilling meat; it was a familiar and comforting aroma.

“Hey yourself, Cowboy.” Loretta quipped, ready to mockingly scold Tyler for getting drunk but it died on her tongue as he pushed himself up from the bench with ease, no sign of alcohol impairment. When she had read Boone’s text, she’d assumed his request to come get Ty;er was urgent, that Tyler was drunk. But here he stood, not drunk at all, buzzed if anything. 

“Thanks for comin’ to pick me up. Boone and the others are drunk off their asses with no intentions of leaving any time soon. We all carpooled and Lilly refuses to let anyone drive her car, so.” Tyler trailed off, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Loretta tried not to linger on how stupidly hot the motion was, eyes bouncing back up to his face from where they’d trailed down to his biceps that were outlined by his white t-shirt.

Loretta gave Tyler a half smile, nodding her head back to where her truck was parked. “Come on Cowboy, let's get you back. You drove more than I did today and I’m exhausted.”

Tyler huffed a laugh. “Me too.”

She let Tyler follow her as she hopped into the driver seat, cranking the key until her engine sputtered to life. “Alright, where did you guys hole up?”

Loretta looked over at Tyler as he whispered a curse under his breath, patting his pockets. “They only gave us one key and Boone has it.” 

He’d taken his hat off, ever the gentlemen, resting it on the dash. His sandy blonde hair was all mussed up, flat against his skull in some places and sticking out like a rooster's crown. His skin was tanned from years in the sun and it looked so damn smooth.

“I’ve got room.”

Tyler looked over at her, eyebrows raised and a half grin on his face. “Really? You got a spare room?”

Loretta tilted her head back and forth, bracing an arm over the back of the passenger seat as she backed out of the parking spot. “Eh, not exactly. But I have a queen sized bed and sleep like the dead.” She shrugged her shoulders as she drove them down the singular main drag through her small town. “Not like you have any other choice.”

“I can crash in my truck. Really Lor I don’t wanna impose on you.” Tyler tried to reason, sinking down lower in the passenger seat and Loretta had to force herself to keep her eyes on the road rather than watch as Tyler set his legs wider.

“It’s not imposing if I proposed the idea in the first place. So shut it and just let me take you home.” Loretta paused, feeling her cheeks go warm as she dragged a hand down her face to hide her sheepish smile. “That came out wrong.”

Tyler chuckled at her from the passenger seat, grinning at her. “Yes ma’am.”

“Fuck off.” Loretta jested, playfully shoving Tylers shoulder.

She ran a hand through her brown hair, tucking a couple errant strands behind her ear, trying to convince herself that the blush that still clung to her cheeks was because of her embarrassing statement and not because Tyler Owens was sitting in her truck and they were driving to her house. This felt right. The sky was full of stars, her house was far enough out in the country the light pollution was nearly nonexistent. With nothing but rows and rows of corn and soybeans with the occasional break for pastures for cows or horses, including the one that belonged to her acreage of land. The gravel kicked up around the wheels of her truck as she pulled down her driveway leading up to her raised ranch. 

“Well, this is me.” Loretta unbuckled her seatbelt, gesturing for Tyler to follow her. 

“It’s” She heard Tyler contemplate from behind her as she unlocked the front door. “Not gonna lie, it’s exactly what I was expecting.”

Loretta furrowed her brows as she let him into her house. “Is that supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing?”

Tyler stuttered, running a hand over his head. “Good! Good! It’s a good thing I promise.”

Loretta giggled as she guided him upstairs. “I’m just fucking with you.” She stopped at the hall closet, pulling out a towel and a washcloth and holding them out to him. “Bathroom is the last door on the right, I’ll go grab you some clothes.”

“Thanks Doll.” 

Loretta held her breath as Tyler took the linens from her, tucking them under his arm before leaning in. It was everything she could do to not let her eyes flutter closed as Tyler's face got closer to hers, the heat of him leaking onto her. Loretta felt Tyler’s lips brush her cheek and immediately her chest tightened, that feeling of longing flooding her brain and heart. As brief as the kiss was, him pulling away was quicker, punctuated by that heartbreakingly sweet smile only a country raised boy could pull off. 

Loretta internally sighed, returning his grin with a toothless one of her own, patting his back. “Go get cleaned up Cowboy.”

Once Tyler snicked the bathroom door shut, Loretta retreated to her own bedroom, rifling through her dresser drawers. She knew her brother kept a spare pair of clothes in there somewhere for whenever he came to visit. There! She pulled a pair of boxers and another t-shirt from the back of her bottom drawer that seemed to be the right size.

“Just me.” Loretta knocked a couple times on the bathroom door before cracking the door open. The shower was running, the water hot enough to steam up the bathroom. “I found a pair of boxers and a shirt you can borrow for the night.”

“Oh, yeah, thanks.” Tyler said from behind the other side of the opaque shower curtain. 

Loretta hummed a response, fleeing the bathroom in the most nonchalant fashion she could manage, closing the door behind her. She let out a sigh, shaking her head trying to get rid of the images of Tyler naked not 5 feet from her separated only by the door and the shower curtain. He is probably soaking wet, lathered up with soap. No! Loretta went back to her own room, changing out of her sweatshirt and peeling off her jeans, changing them for a pair of sleep shorts and a long sleeve t-shirt from her alma mater. 

She turned the lamp on the bedside table on crawling under the covers, picking up the book she’d been meaning to finish, needing something to distract her from her less than pure road her thoughts her headed down. Absolutely not! He is your best fucking friend, your coworker! You fucking him would just make everything worse. 

Loretta’s eyes snapped up from the book cradled in her lap when she heard the bathroom door creak open and Tylers footfalls bring him into her room. She felt her mouth go dry at the sight of Tyler, dressed in just boxers and a shirt in her doorway. Sure, Loretta had seen him as well as the other Tornado Wranglers in various stages of undress. Chasing twisters required a level of get-up-and-go that didn’t leave time to worry about modesty. But it was the fact that he was here, in her room, about to sleep in her bed, that had her wanting to know just how good his muscled body would feel under her hands, against her body.

“Feel better?” Loretta managed to say, dipping her gaze back to her book to keep from ogling the man.

Tyler hummed somewhere from her right as she felt the bed dip under his weight as he climbed in beside her. “Nothing like a hot shower at the end of the day.”

It was Loretta’s turn to hum a noncommittal response, not trusting her mouth to filter the thoughts circling in her brain.

Tyler must have taken her minimal response as her being upset because his hand landed on her arm, causing her to flinch. “Lor, you okay? I can sleep on the floor, or on the couch.”

Instantly Loretta felt guilty, setting her book back on the nightstand.”No, no, no. Sorry, I’m just super tired. And don’t be spewing that bullshit. I’m not about to let you sleep on the couch let alone my floor.”

Tyler raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Alright, don’t get your panties in a twist.”

Loretta crinkled her nose at him,offering him a soft smile. She reached over, turning out the light with a quiet click, flooding the room into darkness save for the soft moonlight filtering through the curtains. She let out a sigh as she settled on her side facing Tyler, watching him do the same. Despite her bed being a modest Queen,Tyler was nearly chest to chest with her.

Loretta was glad the room was dark because she was sure her face was flushed red. The way the moonlight glanced off his face made her think Tyler looked like an actor in a black and white film, all James Dean with a titch of Marlon Brando.

“Hey Lor?”

“Hmm?”

Loretta could sense Tylers hesitation, the apprehension of her reaction to whatever he wanted to say. She felt him shift his arm like he was gonna reach out and touch her but the sensation of his hand against her arm never came, much to Loretta’s disappointment.

“Have I ever told you how beautiful you are?”

Loretta blinked, then blinked again, trying to process what Tyler just said. She huffed a laugh, thinking Tyler was joking. “You sure you didn’t have anything to drink Ty?” 

“Yeah, I am.” There was no mistaking the seriousness in his voice, no mistaking the way he was looking at her. “‘Cause I wanted to be completely sober when I did this.”

It was like Tyler was in slow motion, the way he carefully brought his hand up to cup Loretta’s face, thumb stroking the line of her jaw as he leaned in and brushed his lips against hers. Fireworks erupted in her belly at the feeling of finally having his mouth on hers after months and months of hopelessly pining. Well, not really hopeless now is it? Because here he was, deepening the kiss as she willingly opened her mouth to him. Part of her had a hard time believing this was real, that maybe this was just a dream. A really good, really real feeling dream. But the other part was hyper aware of the fact that one of Tyler's bare thighs had slid between her own, the hand not brushed against her cheek had slid to her waist, pulling her even closer to him.

Loretta felt like she was on cloud nine, a high not even Boone’s weed could touch. She threaded her fingers through his hair, whimpering as Tyler’s tongue swept into her mouth. His thigh was solid muscle between her legs, rubbing up against the ache that had slowly started to grow there. Loretta let out a small moan as Tyler’s hand slipped down to palm her ass, rocking her onto his thigh. Loretta moaned Tyler’s name as his lips made a hot trail of sloppy kisses down her jaw to her neck. 

“I know, Baby, I know.” Tyler murmured against her neck, his hands sliding under her long sleeve shirt, thumbs stroking the planes of her belly. “Let me make this feel good.”

Loretta arched her back, helping Tyler slip her shirt off before his hand pressed against her stomach, laying her flat on her back. She whimpered as the cold air hit her bare chest, her nipples hardening. The cold was short lived as Tyler's hot mouth closed around the right one, his hand kneading the other, pulling a gasp from her lips. Her hand shot to his head, holding his face to her chest. She arched her back, chasing the feeling of his tongue circling around the sensitive bud, his left hand tweaking and pinching the other, every action had wetness pooling in her shorts. 

Tyler pulled off of her breasts, a line of saliva connected her nipple to his lips as he kissed his way back up her body until his lips met hers again more heated this time. Loretta slid her hands under Tyler's shirt, pulling it up and off, letting her explore the soft ridges of his abdomen. As Tyler rolled them over back onto their sides, Loretta became aware of something hard poking against her lower stomach. A very large, hard something. Everything in her became focused on the fact that Tyler’s hands had slipped back down to her hips, pushing her shorts down. Loretta reached out, slipping her hand down Tyler’s boxers causing him to curse under his breath.

He reached down himself, shimmying out of his boxers until they were naked. Loretta kissed Tyler deeply as he ran the fat head of his cock through her soaked folds, hiking her top leg high on his hip. 

“Fuck, baby you’re so wet for me.” Tyler muttered against her mouth between kisses, rutting himself against her until the head caught on her core.

Loretta’s mouth fell open as the head of Tyler’s cock slid into her, Tyler hissing through his teeth at how tight she gripped him. His fingers dug into the plush of her ass and thigh, holding her leg up so that he could slot his hips between her legs. Loretta let out a keening moan as Tyler slid in and in and in, filling her until she wasn’t sure she could take it anymore from the amount of arousal coiling in her stomach. She gripped his bicep as Tyler settled into an easy pace, short and slow thrusts that had her moaning breathily every time his hips slapped against her own. 

“Takin’ me so good. Feel so good, Baby. Been wanting to do this for so long.” Tyler mumbled praises against her mouth as he fucked into her, his fat cock brushing against that sensitive spot deep inside her.

“Tyler.” She moaned feeling her climax starting to build

“I know, Baby. Me too. Let me feel cum for me, Doll.”

Tyler kept fucking into her at the same pace, slipping a hand between them to rub small circles on her clit. The sensation of his calloused thumb against her clit sent her over the edge, her pussy walls clamping down on him as her orgasm crashed over her in waves of euphoria. Tyler’s own thrusts became uneven and sloppy as he came, burying himself inside her as his cum spurted deep into her pussy. 

Loretta let out a shaky breath, smiling as she lazily kissed Tyler. Tyler gently shifted his hips, letting his softening cock slide out of Loretta with a low groan. She cupped his face, her thumb brushing his cheekbone as she pulled away from him enough to admire his face. 

“Been wanting to do that for a while, huh?” She teased.

“Mm.” Tyler hummed, pressing a kiss to Loretta’s shoulder. “Ever since I saw you after that rodeo last year. Just never knew you felt the same.”

Loretta huffed a laugh, stroking her fingers through his hair. “What about your saying.”

“My saying?” Tyler looked up at her from kissing her collarbone. 

“If you feel it?” Loretta grinned, watching Tyler’s confused expression morph into a grin of his own.

“Chase it.”

[chuuyasheaven]

♡ Addicted to your kisses ♡

♡ Tags: Dazai Osamu / afab! Reader, making out, pet names, praising, soft sex??, desk fucking??, idk what's acc happening rn, Reader distracting Dazai, p/without any/p? , might contain grammar errors, rushed drabble, cringe, etc.

♡ Notes: NEW FORMAT ?!?! But also srry for disappearing, school's already making me want to kms

Dazai had a lot to do this week, there were a ridiculous amount of documents and reports which had to be filled. He also didn't take a lot of breaks during all this, and the worst thing of all? Not being able to be around you. Not being around your sweet touches, your sweet voice and most of all, your addictive kisses. But it's probably better this way, he may be locked in his room at all times but atleast he's not getting distracted!

When you first found out, you were glad that he was catching up on stuff, but now it has been almost two days since you last been with him. Hell, you even started to get worried, so why not check up on him? Just a quick peak and small talk and then leave him be? That was your original plan, trying not to get him overwork himself, which started off innocently. . Until you kissed him. It was just a quick kiss on the forehead, how did it escalate to this?!

"S–shit, i missed you so much, 'donna.", Dazai panted between kisses, while you were just eager for his lips to touch yours again. From this one kiss, it all started from one innocent kiss for most of the paperwork to lay on the floor and you sitting on his desk, with your arms around his neck as he made out with you passionately. You were so deep into it that even his tongue entered your mouth, fighting for dominance even though you're submitting to him. Dazai's hands are now on your waist, holding you close to him. "Did you miss me too?"

"Yes, i did. . a lot, 'Samu.", you answered his question, just the way he wanted it. "Your kisses are so addictive, darling, i just can't stop after one.", he explained while looking you in the eyes lovingly. You needed him so bad, it was even a joke anymore, and trust me, he could tell. "You want more, love?", he asked, you nodded once more, eagerly and excitedly. Dazai only smirked and slid of your pants, leaving you in your panties. He then unbuckles his own belt. You could see his obvious boner, getting more excited yourself.

Dazai just took out his dick and pushed your panties impatiently to the side, sliding into you immediately. When he was in fully, you let out a quiet whimper. After waiting for a few seconds for you to adjust, you gave him the sign to start. Dazai moved his hips slowly first, already groaning in pleasure while your whimpers turned into moans. His hands were still on your hips, his head now on your shoulder trying to stay quiet. "You feel so good, f–fuck. .", he grunted softly into your ear, only getting you wetter. Dazai's thrusts got faster as this went on, he himself started to whimper slowly.

"You're s–so pretty, I can't–,", Dazai started, getting cut off by his cock twitching so good inside you, that it he had to take a deep breath to continue. Dazai giggled drunkenly before continuing his sentence. "I c–can't control myself. But you like it, don't you? You l–like the way you have me wrapped around fingers so easily.", You arched your back as he trusted into you deep, letting out a slutty moan during it. "Y–you're such a good girl, I love you so m–much.", he whimpered softly, twitching a second time.

The skin slapping in the room got louder and sloppier, meaning that you and Dazai got closer to your orgasm. You placed your legs around his waist, resulting into him going even deeper than before. "D–dazai,", you whimper loud enough for him to hear. "Y–yes, my love?", he asked while lifting his head from your shoulder, smiling drunkenly at you, very slight drool rolling down the corner of his mouth. "C–can I get a kiss, p–please?", he just leaned in, kissing you again. As his lips smashed against yours, your back arched again. Dazai twitched once more before cumming inside you, both of moaning into the kiss while you came with him at the same time.

Letting go of the kiss, you tried catching your breath and Dazai pulled out a few minutes later, sitting down back onto his chair and leaving you still on top of his desk. "Did you finish your work, 'Samu?", you asked, while Dazai just laid on your thighs breathing lightly. "Not really,", he stated. "Then go finish it. You know what happens when you don't.", you warned him until you felt his warm breath get closer to your inner thighs. "Relax, darling, let me clean you up first, hm?", before you could protest, Dazai was already breathing towards your cunt's direction.

"—I can't leave you leaking our juices onto my desk, can I, 'donna?"

AHHH I ACC LIKE THIS !! ♡

♡ Random tags:: @soukokulatte, @rxyyyyy, @miloofc !!

[freemansgirl]

showdown.

pairing: amber freeman x fem reader

genre: smut

summary: reader tries to make amber jealous after an argument as a way to get back at her but amber has her own ways to get back at reader

words: 3.2k

warnings: unhealthy on and off toxic relationship mentioned, dom!amber, g!p! amber (amber has a dick, so if you dont like it, dont read), daddy kink, degrading kink, bratty reader, blowjob, facefucking, dacryphilia, deep throating

hot on your heels, amber freeman searched everywhere for you at this party.

she was growing angrier and angrier because she couldn't find you anywhere she went. she started asking her friends have they seen any sign of you. tara? “no, haven’t seen her.” wes? “i last saw her on the dance floor, dancing on someone.”

at the sound of that, oh she immediately gritted her teeth and that’s when anger was seeping into her face. "She—what, now?" amber replied, holding two drinks in her hands—one for her and one for you—as her eyes pierced deeply into wes’s. the platinum blonde haired boy took notice of how amber’s pale hands begin to clench around the cups. she was began to turn on her heels to go to where the dance floor was, which was in the center of the living room until wes grabbed her wrist. knowing how scary amber can get when she’s mad, he immediately tried to calm her down, “amber, wait! i don’t know if she’s-“

however, his persuasion and grip on the raven haired girl’s wrist was not enough to stop her to go into the crowd. as soon as he grabbed her wrist, she yanked it away from him and said, "save it, wes." with a hand up to his face and started to walk away from the conversation. wes stood there, with his mouth shut from the sentence he originally was forming. he was going to warn your girlfriend that you may not still be there, he’s just going off the LAST time he saw you. regardless, he wasn’t wrong though, because you were currently out dancing on the floor with some girl.

you were currently tipsy off your ass and just wanted to have some fun to forget all of the drama and arguing that started between you and your girlfriend. the argument started as the two of you were getting ready for this party at her house, then it dragged on even more into the car. the argument was centered around the fact that you were spending too much time with your friends and not her, which caused lots of tension between you two. you guys were like that toxic but clingy on and off couple that everyone knew at school that would argue over the dumbest things but get right back together soon. even you and amber’s main friend group were so sick of you two. at this point, you honestly had enough of her jealous yet possessive antics, and could care less if the two of you broke up for good this time…. or so you thought.

that was a lie and you knew that. amber was unnecessarily overbearing and possessive, but there was just something about her that made you love her too much to even consider leaving her. she was irresistible and you found yourself always running back to her, which was the issue. right now, because things are tense, you wanted to let loose and take your mind to other places…. and other people too. this is how all of this started. when you two arrived at the party, a friend talked to her and caught her off surprise, so you had left to pursue other interests. you wanted a distraction and this was the way of getting it. the only thing that will make amber even more enraged than she already is, after seeing how she treated you throughout the trip to this party, you wanted to get even with her by making her jealous, which also made you feel attracted to her since you enjoyed it when she was jealous of you.

you had already kissed what felt like, 7 girls, for shits and giggles. now, you were on your 8th girl as you began to grind your hips against hers, getting lost in the beat of the music and enjoying yourself. you can feel the girl roaming her hands all over your body as you began to bite your lip to not let out any type of noises. in the direction across from you, there was amber steadily searching for you and she did not look very happy as you can tell from her body language. she was shoving and telling people “excuse me”’s just so she can find you.

a part of you was scared but also turned on by how she angry she is, everything is coming into play now. you can’t wait to see how she is going to react to this. you begin to smirk while turning around pulling the girl’s hand to go else where. you could feel her complaining about how you ruined the mood followed behind a “why’d you stop dancing?” sentence which causes you to roll your eyes as she was slowly tuning out in your ears. you began to search for a spot, your (eye color) eyes scanning until you found a spot where there are lots of people at for you to blend in at. the two of you head over to the kitchen, you have your hands all over each other.

back to amber, as soon as she was able to reach the center of the big crowd in the living room area, she saw absolutely nothing. she was too late is what she had realized. wes had tried to warn her but she didn’t listen… this is what she gets. she begins to push through the crowd all over again after she worked so hard to get this spot of the party in the first place. next option to ask would be chad and liv, but she scratched that off of her bucket list when she was face to face with the couple. she rolled her eyes in disgust, not even wanting to bother with them as they were getting it on the couch. she now began to search for mindy, who was also kissing a girl on the couch. no need to bother with that either. it’s time like this where amber wished that her friends could be a little useful. nether less, this wasn’t going to stop her, she was going to find you, with or without help.

as amber is searching once again, you are currently having a heated makeout session with the girl from the dance flor. you start to kiss her first, your eyes opening to side eye if you see amber coming. nothing yet. you felt an immediate grip on your thighs, as you let out a soft gasp and now you feel your mouth being explore with a lot of tongue. the makeout session starts to feel like forever, you feel yourself being enjoyed by all of this until you hear a lot of commotion from people complaining and muttering underneath their breaths, basically commotion coming from the left of you. you start to ignore it once you feel a harsh tug at your arm, the force pulling you back a bit.

before, you can even exclaim and yell at the person to see who did this while you were in the middle of something, it was …amber. oh, great, here comes the showdown. boy, did she looked PISSED, she knew she was going to have some words with you in a second. she started off shouting, gesturing with one finger before continuing, "I get distracted for one SECOND, and you're off kissing another girl?!” she exclaimed, her eyes filled with a great deal of rage as she regarded you. she began to grab your hand and look to the girl that you were making out with, the girl looked frustrated but backed off because she realized the situation she was in. amber could care less if the girl knew her place, she was upset at the fact the girl was kissing on YOU, her girlfriend. “oh, and if you haven’t noticed, i’m her girlfriend.” she started to toss both of her drinks on the girl you were making out with while she spoke in a matter-of-fact manner.

the crowd circling the whole situation began to let out dramatic “ooos” and gasps, clearly instigating what just happened. the girl was drenched in juice, too stunned to speak so she could not even form a sentence to say while amber grabbed your hand and walked away with you next to her. you started to try to tell her to slow down as you can barely keep up with her in this party, especially with how crowded it was. when amber is angry, she acts so stubborn and doesn’t bother listening to you. she knew she shouldn’t have let you wear that skimpy dress out to the party, if she knew you were going to behave like this.

“that was so unnecessary! you’re causing a scene!” you protest to her, playing dumb about what just happened, but deep down you didn’t care that the girl got drinks thrown on her. you and amber were a pretty big deal at school, the whole school practically knew you two were together so the girl clearly knew what she was doing. at the sound of your protests, amber was still ignoring you and not caring. you were about to open your mouth again, but she pulled you into a bathroom. your girlfriend abruptly slammed the door extremely loud, causing you to put your hands near your ears at the loud noise.

“don’t slam the door so loud!” you whined at her, your eyes getting big and sad like a puppy dog, the disdain for the slam showing in your face. your girlfriend was in one of her moods, not trying to deal with any small talk, especially that she took notice that you were drunk, but not THAT drunk as you can still function and respond to her. she pinned you against the door causing you to be taken back by this. you gasped as a blush spread against your cheeks, at how close she was to you. she leaned in your face, there was a lot of rage showing inside of her eyes, literally staring into you.

“so care to explain what that was back there, (your name)?” she said, getting right to chase, zero time for bullshit. god, it was so hard to focus on her when she was mad. it was so scary that it was hot sometimes. “what is there to explain, amber? you saw it with your own two eyes, now i appreciate it if you’d let me go now. i don’t want to talk to you.”

another lie was told out of your mouth because you did want to see her, but you’re playing hard to get. you tried to fight out of her grasp at how hard her grip was on you but you realize you’re actually in deep shit. when you were making out with all of these girls and dancing on them, you may have felt you were in big trouble, but amber is pinning you to the wall and her face is right next to yours. there is literally no way you can get out of this one, yeah, there’s no escaping this one. “so you can go talk to other girls, but not me, your actual girlfriend?” amber fumed, her voice raising a bit louder than usual, she was getting angrier.

“yeah, i can, because you know why?” you speak mid sentence, with a mischievous glint inside of your (eye color) eyes while you smirk as your girlfriend raises your eyebrow to see what you’re getting at, “those girls actually show me what a good time is unlike you, who always wants to be in control and limit who i can and can’t talk to…” you replied back to her, your slurring voice was now sounded confident and coherent for amber to understand. your voice had a really sassy tone to it, the smirk on your lips increasing more.

the love of your life began to catch on… oh. so, that’s the game you were playing. you were trying to make her jealous and it was working. she wasn’t even in the mood for your playfulness behavior, it was actually ticking her off more. that attitude, that damn carefree attitude, made her want to fuck it out of you to show you who’s really running the relationship. “oh, really now? i’ll show you what a good time is.” amber was amused now, ready to play along with this whole game you started.

“baby, it’s about time, you finally gave in and cut the anger bullshit out. with those eyes and the way you have me pinned to this wall, you’ve been dying to fuck me, cmon.” you teased, letting out a playful snicker at the sight of her face. “and oh my god, are you seriously hard, right now? you fell right into my plan.”

it was true, your girlfriend’s bulge was sticking up in her pants and it caught your eye quickly. why should she bother with all of the tension, when she can just make up to you with how she was acting in the car? this is all just a lover’s quarrel after all. after you kept making fun of your girlfriend and acting like it was a joke (which it was), her patience with you ran thin.

since you wanted to treat things like a joke, things won’t be so funny once you’re on all fours for her dick, begging to be let up. amber realized she had to teach you a lesson, a lesson that would punish you so bad that’d you never want to cross her again. she pushed your head down to her pants roughly. you quickly started working on her as you pushed her zipper down and there were her black boxers. it was sitting right in front of you, begging to be pulled down. “since you want to act like a fucking whore tonight, you’ll be treated like one.” she declared, grabbing your neck closer to her boxers, “now pull my boxers off.”

god, she looks so good when she’s half dressed. she let go of your neck so you can quickly get to work. you pulled down the boxers all the way to her ankles and her cock sprung out. you could feel your cheeks have blush all over them, as her hard cock literally right in front of your face. you started to give little small, kitten licks all over the dick, going slow and easy on her which you can hear a huff from her mouth. your girlfriend wasn’t happy with that. “faster, (your name). let’s get to it.” she demanded, her hand grabbing your head as she slammed it on her dick, cause you to whimper in a muffled tone. she started to push your head onto you, making your head bob up and down all over her dick.

you can feel your eyes getting watery, struggling to breathe from how you feel so suffocated around her dick. in order to grab onto something for support, you grabbed your hands onto your girlfriend’s pale thighs. “you can grab onto my thighs all you want, (your name) but that isn’t going to help you.”she taunted you, as she could see your nails were digging so deep into her thighs, that it could leave some scratch marks on there. yes, it was hurting amber but it didn’t even bother her because there were better things happening right now. your eyes were look up to your girlfriend’s pleading, your big eyes watering as you can feel your tears about to come out.

at the sight of this, she was definitely smirking and probably wasn’t going to shut up about this for the rest of the night. “look at you, looking so pretty and ruined all over daddy’s dick.” she breathed out in a rushed tone of voice, taking in so much pleasure while continuing to observe you. you wanting to talk such a big game to her was like playing with fire. she knew how to get you on your knees (quite literally) and get you right where she wants you. amber was letting out really quiet, low groans as she was running her hands all over your hair. she enjoyed seeing you like this, getting all hot and bothered to seeing you crying because of her length was such an exciting feeling for her. it truly made her feel on top of the world, knowing that she had a lot of control over you.

she can feel herself getting so close as she was letting out a breathily sigh. “fuck, you look so good taking all of me like the slut that you are.” she smirked more as she continued face fucking you onto her dick, holding back a laugh at how pathetic you looked. you were talking all of that shit just for you to be struggling trying to take it especially with how much pressure she held onto your head. instead of looking hot while giving her an attitude, why not look even hotter while sucking her off? she was groaning a lot and could feel her eyes rolling back at all of the tension and your tongue circling all over her. you could tell that she was about to be close with all of these noises she kept making. you started to get off of her, while taking your hands off of her thighs to look up at her.

god, you were such a mess, clear tears were streaming down your face, ruining the pretty mascara you wore for the party. you were particularly out of breath from all of the intense sucking you just did. if you thought the big globs of mascara staining your face was enough, just look at your hair being out of place, and lastly your lip gloss being smudged due to giving her a blowjob. to clean your mess up, you licked up the lip gloss you left all over her, the lip gloss tasting like candy made it even better. once you get it all, you immediately pulled back with lots of drool connecting from her dick to your lips. “clean your drool up, so you don’t look like such a slut than you already are.” the pale-skinned girl spoke as you immediately wiped it up with your hand.

now you can see your girlfriend jerking off as she began to slowly decorate your face with the cum that was coming out. once it was all gone, she began to pull her boxers up from her ankles and back to her private area then her pants following suit. you could feel yourself gasping all of this, the cum over your face. out of embarrassment and how flustered you felt, you immediately got up to turn on the sink in the bathroom.

while you’re in the mirror wiping off the mess all over your face, you can see your girlfriend in the view of the mirror as she walked behind you. “you look better like this, and not when you’re being such a brat.” she teased, lifting up the hem of your dress and giving your bare ass a nice smack for the work you did earlier. you can feel yourself blushing furiously at the smack, not saying a word back. after this whole fiasco, you definitely knew not to go around trying to make her jealous again after the humiliation you felt seeing your cum stained face in the mirror before wiping it off with soap and water.

“c’mon, let’s go and leave this shit party, this is the most fun i had tonight here.”

[mayuslob]

Leander character analysis but i am 100% wrong

Okay so disclaimer this is most probably a huge stretch and me going insane over every detail BUT i need to get it out my system

Yapping below the cut be ready 🦭

Starting off with what made me start this, the Bloodhounds’ motto. When i was playing the demo for the first time, i was very caught off guard when they mentioned the sentence “as above so below” due to its religious context and meaning. This sentence is mostly linked with the character Baphomet, a satanic figure written by the author Éliphas Lévi on the book “Dogme et Rituel de la Haute Magie” translated to english “Dogma and Ritual of High Magic", written between 1854 and 1856. It can be portrayed in a lot of different ways, but the most embraced is that there cannot be heaven without hell (thus Baphomet pointing up and down), good without evil and viceversa. Now here it gets more interesting.

At first i thought they just chose this sentence for other motives, but then i started to dig a little deeper and realised that every single detail in Leander’s character is very much on purpose, specially his color palette and abilities. Let’s start with the colors which are directly linked to his powers:

Leander’s distinctive color is green, a dark desaturated emerald green to be exact. Emerald portrays good luck and balance in common symbolism, but it also can be tracked to this. See the thing is, the sentence “as above so below” doesn’t come originally from Baphomet, rather Lévi quoted it from a — not known to really exist— text called “The Emerald Tablet”, a story with different theories around its origin; the story revolving around a fictional character named Hermes Trismegistus (this is important for later). So here we have that the color emerald is directly connected not only to Leander’s palette but to the Bloodhounds’ motto. But wait!

there’s more

See this is where you ask, okay but what does The Emerald Tablet tell? well around the years it was most referenced, it was used by the islam and european alchemists and considered fundamental. Of course as time went by, the text was implemented in other practices such as occultism and magic. This is where the figure of Hermes is pretty interesting regarding Leander, due to his character being described as a “physician, a magician and a spiritual person”. That’s right guys, a fucking magician much like our beloved Leander.

Going further into Hermes’ character, he is a syncretic combination of the Greek god Hermes and of the Egyptian god Thoth, the god of the night, wisdom, magic, and the final judgement (plus others but these are the ones we’re gonna focus on). With this we have some things that could describe Leander, specially wisdom and magic due to his vast knowledge surpassing the Senobium (as mentioned by MC if you choose The Alchemist path) but we still have two things left, the night and the final judgement.

We know from the game devs that Leander is not a good person to say the least, just showing a façade of his true self. So i think that the fact that his fatal flaw is crossed out and this fundamental detail could be related to those two attributes Thoth has. PLUS if you see Leander’s outfit he is wearing a belt decorated by two moons, linking him to the night.

Leander is mysterious but strangely sweet to the MC, even after being aware of their power and danger, even to a point of growing overly interested in them. He promises us balance, a normal tranquil life, the answer to all of your problems. From what he has shown us so far he is very protective and even a bit obsessive, always insisting on Mc coming to him for help, giving us an impression that maybe he is more than meets the eye.

In conclusion, i think Leander will be a wayyyy darker character than we expect, greedy for knowledge — fact shown in his trailer silhouette quotting “mages lust for power, it’s always their downfall” — which is why maybe he’s so obsessed with MC. He wants wisdom he’s thirsty for it to insane extents we might see in his route. Also not forgetting Bloodhounds’ motto and its meaning, i believe we’ll see his version of what justice is and how if he is so good with us in the beginning, how dangerous is he in reality?? specially if both Vere and Ais have tried to kill him. I’m super excited for this game.

Im a 100% sure there’s things i’ve missed, so if anyone wants to add any info or theory they have PLEAASE do id love to hear.

Little detail i left out because i think it would be too much but Leander wearing a key on his outfit is so made on purpose i can’t elaborate.