#those two are on the same canvas for no reason other than I felt like drawing both of them in one sitting pf

[soup-for-ghosts]

doodle dump go!

[slu7formen]

MDNI. luke castellan x fem!reader (halloween) 🎃

you prepare luke’s make-up for halloween night

warnings: just pure sexual tension 🫦

₊˚⊹♡

"You´ll be taking care of me, little Red Hood?" Luke asked, sitting down on the wooden chair placed in the middle of the room at cabin eleven.

Your silk red skirt brushed the back of your thighs as you turned around, cleaning the last bit of face paint from a thin brush. "I will, Mr. Castellan" you joked.

The cabin is packed, like most of the time, but today was for a different reason. A bunch of Hermes´ boys were getting their make up done by you and your sisters, the reason? Halloween night. It was kind of a tradition for the Aphrodite cabin to help out with the costumes for the big party. And as much as a pain it is to help all the campers, you couldn´t deny that it was fun to pick out what your friends should be dressing out as for tonight and then doing their makeup to match the costume, and right now, it was time to help the worst breed; the boys.

They were men, therefore, they were basic, they´ve all decided to dress up as skeletons.

Soft pop music was playing inside the cabin as you felt a faint smell of cherries and hot chocolate. It was a comforting yet fun place to be at right now, like a beauty salon, but chill and without the white lights and burning chemical smells. More of your sisters were currently taking care of some other boys´ make up, painting their faces in black and white scary features that would barely make them look human at night, and now, it was Luke´s turn.

Luke´s face was already quite chiseled, like those marble Greek statues. You stepped back a second to take a good look at his face; sharp features, big nose, small eyes, plushy lips. Good, this would be fun.

"Alright" you state, "Just stay still and let me do all the work"

You leaned in slightly, starting to draw the outline of Luke´s face with a white make-up pencil. You and Luke stood silent, unlike the rest of the campers who kept on chatting and screaming at each other due to failed skeleton features. You planned on doing the simple; a white or pale base with black features like eyes, nose, cheekbones and mouth, maybe even some shadows, just like you did with Connor and Travis, who specifically asked for you to prepare them.

"I didn´t know you were so good at this" Luke finally spoke, anticipating to break the ice a little.

"What can I say?" you smiled, "I have many hidden talents"

You continued on, working in the lines, making the transition between the white and his perfectetly tanned skin. He was such a lovely canvas, his skin was clean, and smooth. You were actually a little scared to end up making him look bad. "Your jawline´s perfect" you muttered as you dragged the pencil there, more to yourself than to him.

Luke chuckled, "Is it now?"

You only dart your eyes away from your work to look into his eyes for a second, then back to your progress. Your teeth barely show as you smile a little, glossy red lips only shining brighter. "Okay, don´t get all cocky now" you tease.

Luke was used to flirting with everyone he met, and of course, people flirting back. But seeing you so focused on his face, the pen working on his face with you so close to him, gave him a weird feeling in the pit of his stomach.

You felt so close. Luke could smell a faint scent of cherries coming from you, and the hairspray of your hair. He could almost feel the warmth of your body too, standing so close to him, your body leaning down towards his face, making him look upwards to take a look at your face. You hissed then, taking a soft grip of your lower back, "Shit" you whisper. You were uncomfortable, being hunched over for so long.

"You okay?" Luke asked.

"Yeah" you reply, "Just-, my back´s killing me. I´ve been like this for an hour" you explain, you´ve been in the same position for the past other two boys you prepared.

Luke looked concerned for a second. So he shifted on his seat then, opening his thighs, basically welcoming you.

You stood speechless, pencil in hand as you chuckled softly, unable to react, or move.

"Come on" he urged you softly, his eyes locking on yours as he patted his thigh. You knew he wasn´t inviting you to sit there, —even though he wouldn´t complain if you did—, rather than in between them. "I don´t bite"

You scoff then, shaking your pencil in between your fingers. Your boots step into the tiny space then, back straightened as you only have to look down to Luke´s face, "Sure you don´t" you reply.

He lets out a short chuckle, tilting his face up to maintain eye contact. The air feels weirdly tense. Your fingers take a soft hold of his chin as you tilt his head a little more up, dragging the pencil over the lines once again; just in case. Luke´s eyes remain open, taking a look at your costume.

A deep scarlet skirt almost too short paired with tall, heeled backboots and a white button-up that hugged your figure just perfectly, and the black corset over it did just the rest of the magic, along with, of course, the red silk cape and hood.

"You look great" he muttered out, trying to get a reaction out of you.

You stop your movements for a second, looking at him dead in the eye again, but with a serious face, only to go back to your job as if he said nothing. "Great doesn´t cover it" you reply, tilting your head slightly.

He chuckled at that. You had no idea how right you were. You were gorgeous in that outfit and he could swear you looked like a damn goddess, a vision come to life just to taunt him.

"Cocky-" he muttered with a playful smile.

"Don´t move" you interrupt, leaning down a little bit more just for a second, the thin pencil brushing past the outline of his lips.

Your face was closer to his now, the scent of his cologne made you feel lightheaded.

Luke had that type of aura; the one that was always surrounded by a nice scent. The type that made you want to lean in closer, the type that was warm and comforting, yet he was no sweet pea, but a little more rough. Manly, with his legs spread open like that for you to stand in between, or for you to sit whenever you liked.

And with his face so close to you, you made and observation; Luke was handsome.

Very.

Just when you finished tracing the outlines of his eyes, lips, and cheekbones, you turned around to dip a pencil into some black face paint. Luke remained politely silent, lips closed and hands over his thighs as he followed your every movement. He was watching you intently as you worked. You looked so focused and careful, like it was an important and serious job, and for gods sake, it was Halloween makeup. He wondered if you were just doing it so perfectly to impress him, which was working, and Luke had to admit it was cute to see you so fixated on his face.

He could feel his heart pound in his chest. Sitting there, having you so close, all he could think of was touching you. How could he not when you were wearing such clothes that he loved?

Of course he wouldn´t. He was patient, and he was very much enjoying the game so far. But you were so close , it was so tempting. And he did have a very bad self-control.

You took your sweet time blending the black paint over Luke´s face with a small brush. He was being an obedient boy, sitting still, with no smart remarks coming from his mouth. How rare.

He enjoyed just watching you, watching your expression change slightly as you applied more and more paint on, watching the tip of your tongue dart out of your mouth every once in a while. It was so hard to keep his hands tucked into balled-up fists on his thighs.

But he wouldn´t stop staring at you, your face.

But you stepped back, pencil on your hand and a small smile growing on your glossy lips, but your brows furrow. You were slightly confused. Luke stared back, not a single expression on his face. His face was sharp looking, focused, stone. And the black paint was doing nothing but only making him look more-, attractive.

"Don´t look at me like that" you smile barely, more confused than actually chilled about what was happening.

"Like what?" He asked, the black paint only remarking the scary and sharp features on his now painted face.

You looked a bit flushed, your makeup and hair perfect. But he wanted to mess it up , ruin it a little. He kept staring at you, not bating an eye. "Like-," you cut yourself off, turning slightly to the side to grab a different pencil before dipping it in more black face paint, "Like you´re undressing me with your eyes or something" you say, too shy to say the words loudly, stepping in between the space of his thighs again, too afraid that somebody else would hear you.

Oh, but Luke heard you just right.

He hums quietly, a smirk pulling at his lips at your embarrassed expression.

You´re standing there, in between his thighs again, and he has to force himself to keep his hands in place. He looked up at you, eyes focused on you as you applied the paint on him. And you were so concetrated on the task in front of you, on his face, you didn´t realise how badly he wanted you.

He was hungry, and it took every bit of his self-control to keep from touching you.

"Maybe I am" he responds quietly.

His voice is low, and the tone he uses makes you freeze. His eyes burn into your skin, like he´s daring you to respond, to say something, anything, back. And for the first time, you have nothing to say, no witty response. You just look back into his eyes.

And there is something in them, something that makes your heart beat faster.

He stares back, not moving, not speaking, and the tension is almost palpable. You swallow hard, your throat suddenly dry, and you try to ignore the way your body is reacting. Luke has never had this effect on you before.

“Perv" is the only thing you manage to reply, not even a full sentence, not even speaking fully, just whispering into his face as you go back to your task, you only wanted this to be over now.

You can tell by the way his shoulders are tense that he´s struggling not to move. But he doesn´t, and his silence makes your stomach twist and turn. You know he´s enjoying this, and the fact that he knows what he´s doing to you is almost enough to make you snap.

Luke saw the way he made you blush and trip into your own thoughts, and that was enough for him.

You remained awfully silent for the rest of the time, with Luke´s eyes still piercing through your soul until you´re done. "There" you say as you finish touching up the last bits of shadows onto his lips, "All done" you say softly, walking back to the small table to start cleaning brushes again.

Luke stood up, turning around to face you. His face was completely covered in white and black, his skin was unrecognizable.

He walked over to you slowly, and the way he was moving was almost predatory, like he was stalking his prey. You felt a shiver run down your spine, and the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The rest of your sisters and his brothers didn´t seem to notice a thing or even try to look to your direction, too busy invested into their own conversations.

You grab a towel, and you feel it-, oh you feel it. Like when someone´s standing behind you, the cold feeling that drips down your spine, ready to attack. Luke places his hand on each side of the table, his chest so close to be pressing to your back, trapping you against the table; and you couldn´t even see him properly.

"Just a question-," he says, clearing his throat briefly, "How effective is the make-up remover?"

Your breathing hitches for a moment. His voice was ridiculously low and whispery against you. You swallow, and the room suddenly feels too hot.

“Um-" you reply, trying to focus on cleaning the brushes instead of the man standing right behind you. "Very. It´ll clean right away, don´t worry" you reply poorly.

"Oh-. no, I wasn´t asking because of me", he replies, and he leans in a little closer, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. You can feel the heat of his breath and it sends a jolt of electricity through your body, "I was asking for you. I don´t wanna leave any mark on your face after you´ve worked so hard on yourself"

Well, who would´ve though this guy was a poet? Hiding meanings behind words?

"That´s very considerate of you" you reply, trying not to sound too eager, but the way your voice cracks tells him all he needs to know.

Luke nods once, a smirk on his lips, and you can practically hear it in his voice. He leans down, his lips grazing the skin of your neck and his nose ghosting over the shell of your ear.

"I´ll make sure you find me", he whispers.

And with that, he steps back, his presence gone as fast as it arrived to the scene. Your hands tremble slightly as you finish putting the last brushes away, and your face burns hot. He had suddenly left you wanting, a feeling you didn´t even have when you first started working on him.

But you had to head back to your cabin now, and fuck-, were you mad you couldn´t get what you wanted now.

Luke surely knew he had started some type of game, your pretty little self caught in between his webs… but the night was only starting, and soon enough, you would be the one trapping him.

[marvelobsessed134]

Life imitates art

A/n: whewww this is one of my favorite things I ever written

Pairings: Beefy!Art Professor!Natasha x Fem!Student!Reader

Warnings: age gap (not specified), Nat has a dick, smut, blowjob, degradation, painting a nude person, reader being that nude person, pervy Nat (?), student/teacher dynamics

Okay so you’ve been failing your art class in college. But it’s really not your fault you’ve just been so caught up with your other classes that you’ve been slacking off.

And of course your professor noticed. Natasha knew she had to talk to you after class because you were one of her top students and now you’ve fallen off the deep end.

So after the lecture and after everyone leaves, leaving their canvases up to dry, the redhead calls you to stay after class.

You walked towards her desk with a nervous feeling in your stomach. You know you’re gonna get some kind of lecture of your own.

“Yes Professor Romanoff?” You asked in a sweet tone hoping you won’t be getting into any trouble with her. Not that she’s a mean professor per se but when a student fails she makes them do an extra project to get their grades up. It’s almost like she loves to torture people!

“Miss Y/n you’ve been failing very miserably in my class. Any particular reason why?” She asked.

You gulped, “Well…you see professor I’ve just been so caught up in my other classes that I’ve kind of been slacking on this one but-“

“So is my class not important to you?”

“No! It’s very important to me I love art and I love painting but I have these two big tests coming up so I haven’t had the time to finish my projects and you know I don’t do half assed work when it comes to my art.”

The redhead smiled a little bit at that, “Yes, which I do admire and appreciate but I’d like you to put more effort into my class.”

You looked down at your feet shamefully, “Yes Professor Romanoff.” You sounded like a scolded child.

“Well,” she stood up and walked over to her empty easel and put a large blank canvas on it. She also put a chair right behind it.

Then she walked back over to you. “You know how to get your grade up in my class. But instead of you painting I want you to be my model. Can you do that?”

The thought of you being her model made your flush, “I guess.”

“Great. Now strip off your clothes.”

“W-what?”

“You heard me. I’ve personally always wanted to have a live nude model in my presence to paint so nows my chance.”

“Professor Romanoff…this is highly inappropriate im your student plus you’re like a decade older than-“

“Do you want those grades or not detka?” The nickname gave you a shiver down your spine.

“Yes I do but-“

“Then do as I say and take your clothes off.” You quickly complied, shakily pulling your shirt over your head and unclasping your bra. Your shoes, socks, jeans, and panties came off next.

“Go sit on that chair over there.” She pointed to the chair that sat in front of the easel. You took a deep breath and walked over to sit down. Your arms resting on the armrests and your legs clenched together.

As Natasha got set up behind the easel she said, “Don’t hide your pretty pussy from me baby.” Your eyes widened at her words but you complied. Desperate for the grades, you slowly spread your legs. Unfortunately you were embarrassingly wet.

It’s no surprise you have a crush on your professor. She’s beefy with a pretty face and exudes dominance. Her shirt sleeves are always rolled up to her elbows and her slacks fit her perfectly. Along with the occasional blazer she wears.

Unbeknownst to you she noticed how wet your little cunt was and smirked.

She began to paint you, taking in every breathtaking detail of you.

You felt so vulnerable in this position. Sitting naked in front of your fully clothed professor as she painted your naked form.

She didn’t even bother to try to hide the erection in her pants, because she knew you felt the same way about her. It was only a matter of time before she could finally taste you and have her way with you.

Once she had gotten most of the painting down-she can finish it later she will remember every inch of your body-she walked over to you.

You sat up straighter, not daring to close your legs. Natasha towered over you and looked down at your pretty perky nipples and your wet pussy.

“I think my model needs a reward for being such a good girl don’t you think?” She asked and you sucked in a breath.

She tilted your chin up with her index finger, “Yes or no babygirl.”

Oh you knew it was wrong so, so wrong. But you found yourself saying, “Yes.” It came out as a whisper you were surprised she even heard it.

The redhead smirked, “That’s what I thought.” She got down on her knees, her hands sliding up your bare legs before she licked a bold strip against your pussy. You moaned, throwing your head back at the little piece of friction you just got.

“If my student didn’t want to get naked for me then…why is she so soaking wet?” As she said this she ran her finger up your folds. You hissed in response.

“I know you’ve wanted me since the first day of class. Don’t worry, I want you too.” She kissed the inside of your thigh before licking your folds again, eating you out with such passion that you forgot where you were.

Her mouth attached itself to your clit and you gripped her hair tightly as she sent you closer and closer to the edge before you drenched her face with your release.

“Oh god!” You moaned breathlessly.

“You taste so good detka. Care to return the favor?” She asked with a cocky smile. You immediately got on your knees in front of her and unbuckled her pants, pulling them and her boxers down to free her large cock.

Your eyes widened at the size and you wrapped your hand around her shaft and began to jerk her off.

“I wanna see those pretty lips around my cock baby.” She commanded dryly.

You gulped before wrapping your lips around the tip and sinking down onto it, bobbing your head up and down and jerking off whatever you couldn’t fit in your mouth.

Natasha gripped your hair as you sucked her off. “Such a slut for me huh. Who knew you’d be so eager to taste my dick.” Your pussy was dripping onto the floor both from your previous orgasm and your arousal at the mere action of sucking her cock.

“Shit baby I’m gonna cum.” Your professor moaned before shooting her load down your throat. “Ah fuck that’s it swallow it.”

You swallowed it all and pulled of her cock, opening your mouth to show her you did in fact take it.

She caressed your chin, “Such a good girl. Come over here.” She made her way to the chair you were once sitting on and sat down. Her cock still sticking up in the air. She unbuttoned her shirt and pulled it off revealing her abs. Your mouth watered at the sight and you quickly made your way over to her.

The older woman smirked, “Ride my cock baby.” It was a simple command that you were more than happy to obey.

You straddled her waist and sunk down on her thick cock, moaning at the stretch.

“God you’re so tight.” She hissed as she gripped your hips and started moving you up and down her length, treating you like her own personal toy.

You were a moaning mess, rolling your eyes at the back of your head as she continuously hit your g spot. “Oh fuck professor! Feels so good!”

“Yeah? Oh god who knew my student wanted to be slutted out so bad.” She also thrusted her hips up as she moved you. Your hands gripped her muscular shoulders.

The only sounds that could be heard in the room were the sounds of skin slapping, moans, and grunts.

“I’m gonna cum again fuuuuck.” You cried.

“Cum again for me sweetie.” You reached down to rub your clit as you were sent to a land of ecstasy.

You clenched around her cock and your vision went white for a second. You absolutely drenched her cock.

“Oh yeah drench my fucking cock. I’m gonna cum again.” She quickly pulled out of you and forced you on your knees. You watched as she jerked herself off till she came on your tits.

“Holy fuck. You’re unbelievable.” Natasha breathed and you giggled.

“Did I get the grade?”

“Oh yeah you got the grade. And if you keep this up then you’ll be passing every exam too.”

[justblades]

⌕ LUSTFUL REQUIEM, 18+

⟢ yandere! blade x afab! reader wc : 1.7k

⟢ cw : fxck buddy! blade, dubcon, cervix kissing, degradation, toxic themes, filming, choking, somnophilia

❝ you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's. ❞

blade is not one to typically fall for eye candies as if it was a part of his everyday routines, no one piques his attention nor does the male has his eyes set on a person. it was not until long once he gets a taste of flavors of lust: commixing together, making a concoction he would never forget, that one day, he decided to yearn for more.

every beginnings are sweet nothings that eventually become bitterly endings - one could draw that conclusion as scenes continue to unfold, blade's grasp on your wrists tightening as he bucks his hips upwards, thrusting into your slit with little to no difficulties.

adorned by your melting features are the weak sighs you let out everytime he slips his cock into you, sweat and drool racing down your dewed skin. "louder." his voice was flat and stern, an intonation that pierces through your wary self. you part your lips wider so more natural moans come out just as the male orders you to, a smirk of satisfaction following suit once his wish is finally fulfilled.

"were you moaning this loud for that asshole earlier?" another question rises from blade's dry throat, dehumanizing queries coming out one by one the longer the session prolonged. you shook your head vigorously and shut your eyes, but blade bucks his hips with more force now, his cock's tip eventually meeting with your cervix. "don't give me that nodding and shaking your head, i only take words for an answer."

his brows tightly knit, frustration seethes out of his gritted teeth. "answer!"

uncertainty fills your heart to the brim as you slowly take a trip down the memory lane, recollecting the events that unraveled earlier that lead to this now-present, once future.

crimson hues seep out of the man's wounds, several of his teeth had fallen out already - his body failed to keep himself stable and the navy haired across him doesn't falter. he only continues. "i can do this all night." blade says with utmost confidence lacing his words, the bandages of his hand come undone, revealing such deep wounds that seemed to have never recover.

ah. you understand a part of blade's destructive behavior now. the reason he's like this was because you slept with another man behind him— "fucking slut. how could you do that to me?" he lets go of your wrists for a short moment, only for them to land back on the silhouette of your waist, cupping the margins to make your body shudder the deeper he pushes in- "come on. rock your hips like how you did as you fucked that loser."

it was only a connection solely established to cope with ephemeral temptations. shortlived feelings yet the hardest to resist is what describes lust best, especially for two beings who feed on nothing but these urges. it was a mutual bond, a shared understanding to not be cuffed by the confinements of this relationship, but blade crossed that fine line like it was a a puny boundary for him.

you should've known from the beginning. you should've been able to discern from the way his glassy eyes scrutinize your appearance everytime he realizes you just got back from the hands of another man. you should've been able to know from the way the words roll out of his tongue when he speaks out of frustration, no rational thoughts behind those lashed out actions.

amidst of all of that - it feels good to be filled to the brim by your fuck buddy's dick. regardless of how he beat the guy you were with into a pulp with no hopes of recovering, here you are, basking in the pleasures intercourse with blade had to offer. it felt gratifying, but it's also heavily contradicting.

the same hands he use to inflict wounds on people who got close to you are the same hands now gradually becoming tender in his touches as he pounds into your velvet walls - blade picks up this little detail, a sneering smile replaces his scowl in an instant. "are you feeling good now?" he leans to your face, the tall bridge of his nose few inches away from yours.

your eyes burn in crystalline reflections, perfectly reflecting blade's image as he presses his lips onto yours, tongues next in action, twisting and twirling altogether— fighting for dominance. "h. . hmm." you hum as a response, much to blade's delight. he quickly breaks it off however, a hoarse chuckle slips out next.

"i've become so whipped for you," blade muses, catching you off guard. he bats his long lashes as he trails your facial features up and down. "i can't bear the thought of anyone else fucking you like this." his dominant hand at present cups your cheek, the thumb finger drawing viscules on the dampened skin. blood rushes into your cheeks as you mewl at how his grip once more tenses, "at last, i can call you mine now." his smile felt rather eerie that you could only return a mere "huh?"

he shifts his gaze elsewhere, a coy smile replaces the eerie one in a blink. "i can't believe my fantasies are finally coming to real life." a crease between your brows forms but the male has your body flipped in 20 machs speed, your back now lays flat on the matress while his cock is nestled in between your lower lips, he rocks his hips forward to make friction, another string of mewl escaping past your mouth.

"but . . but didn't we agree there's no strings attached in this?" the atmosphere grows suffocating, blade's looming presence tripled, leaving no room for you to breathe. a click of tongue then chimes into your ears, "those agreements hold no meaning any longer. i've fallen for you . . and you have too. right?" the airway from your throat proceeds to become scuffed as his two hands wrap around the part, "b-blade i can't b—!"

he reinserts his cock back into your entrance and your cunt gladly accepts his intrusion, clamping around his shape as he continually molds your insides. "say you're mine. say only i have the privilege of relishing you like this."

'blade has gone insane', is what you thought upon hearing those bizarre words of choice. you're starting to fear for your life underneath the contrasting touches of your sexual partner, you had no choice but to fall prey to his temptations. his navy dipped scarlet strands tumble on his shoulders in every thrusts he does, he sports a look you've never seen before: a predatory gaze as he watches your lust ridden body, "i-i'm yours. . i'm all y-yours!" you yelp.

you could only hope he gives you a slack, even just a minute would be nice to indulge without him bombarding you with insults and offensive questions. "finally." he rejoices with another arrogant smile, solferino irises turning inwards at the halfhearted sentence that rang to his ears like sweet tones.

"ride me again." for the nth time, he commands you once more. you could feel all the fatigue gnawing at your bones, unable to register how much energy the mental state can drain oneself. blade sees you struggle and he helps you get into position with the help of his fists on your feet, "no, turn the other way around."

your back faces him while your hands are propped on his sculpted, bandaged thighs. this position out of the dozen ones you've already tried with blade strikes you as the most embarrassing one. your legs continue to tremble as you try to keep yourself up, but only now a late realization dawns in your mind as you get a clear sight of what's placed in front of the cabinet across the bed: a cellphone camera accurately leveled to catch both your bodies in one frame.

"hah, you just saw that now?" he pants as he reinserts his dick back into your entrance, your pussy spasms from being ravaged by his cock. "it'll be for our eyes only. i can never share such intimate moment with others, they're simply undeserving."

you wished that reassurance could've ceased your worries, but it didn't.

"this video will be our proof of love and my proof of property of you. this day marks my ownership of you." he murmurs, his deep voice meshes with the squelching sounds emitted from his cock kissing your pussy, and the jagged breathy mewls. "i'm so delighted all of my hardwork paid off, mmh. . ." low moans continue to bubble from his throat, his fingers sinking deep to your body.

"i don't want to share you anymore."

.

.

.

"those days are long over."

.

.

.

"hmph, are you listening?"

blade ascends from his position only to see your passed out state - he cracks a hoarse chuckle afterwards, seeing your frail figure right in the solace of his arms.

"this is fine. i can still worship your body regardless of your consciousness." he murmurs to himself, readjusting your position laid back again in the soft cushions. he coils his hands around his dick, tightening his grip to merit himself waves of pleasure. "ah, haah, i feel so good." blade's guttural moans bounce off the room's four walls, the male then swiftly rubs his tip on your entrance, and with little force, it slips back in. "i'm happy. i . . i know you are too."

all blade is a filth of sorrow, regrets and sadness. growing up, he never understood the charm of owning something. he'd always watch by the windowsill, a blank expression carved on his face, seeing children around his age gleefully claim what's theirs. perhaps . . his upbringing was molded that way for today. for today, he finally owns something now. something that fills the cup of his heart to the point that it's overflowing - something that could satisfy his perpetual yearning.

it is no doubt he'll never let go of you now— at present, you're nothing but a bird inside of a rotten cage. you're merely a canvas, and his longings are stains— to etch on your skin that you are none other than blade's.

that you're merely a timeless fodder for his everlasting hunger: a hunger to own and a hunger to love. at long last, he finally has one.

"i really love you."

A/N : the upbringing part is just my own and obviously not canon, it's more to expound on how he became a yandere for reader ^^ my masterlist !

[mrk236547789]

In the small town of Bellwood live Ben Tennyson and Kevin Levin, two high school students who had been best friends since kindergarten. Ben was known for his quick wit and unpredictable adventures, thanks to the Omnitrix, a watch-like device that allowed him to transform into various aliens. Kevin, on the other hand, was the strong and stoic one, often acting as the voice of reason to balance Ben's impulsiveness.

Their friendship grew into something more profound over the summer, as they discovered shared interests and a deep emotional connection that transcended their usual banter. One warm evening, while watching a meteor shower from the hilltop overlooking the town, Ben's hand found its way into Kevin's. They both felt a jolt of excitement, and their eyes met, filled with a silent understanding that they were no longer just friends.

The months that followed were a whirlwind of stolen glances, lingering touches, and secret kisses in the quiet moments between battles and school. They kept their newfound romance hidden from their friends and family, not because they were ashamed, but because they cherished the privacy of their budding love. It was a secret they guarded fiercely, a treasure that belonged only to them amidst the chaos of their alien-filled lives.

SUMMARY^1: Ben Tennyson and Kevin Levin, lifelong friends in Bellwood, develop a romantic bond as they grow older. Their relationship deepens over the summer, marked by a moment of intimate connection under a meteor shower. They maintain secrecy about their love, cherishing the private moments between their public lives filled with battles and school.

“I don’t want to be a superhero anymore,” Ben whispered to Kevin, the words heavy with the weight of his burden. They were sitting in the shadow of a large oak tree, the last leaves of autumn rustling above them. The sky was a canvas of deep blues and purples, painted with the final strokes of the setting sun. Kevin looked at Ben, his eyes searching for a hint of a joke, but finding only earnestness.

“I want to settle down with and have kids, Kevin,” Ben continued, his voice filled with a mix of hope and doubt. “But how can I do that with the Omnitrix?”

Kevin took a deep breath, his grip on Ben’s hand tightening slightly. He had always known Ben’s fears and dreams, and he understood the gravity of what Ben was saying. But he also knew Ben’s heart—his bravery, his kindness, and his unyielding desire to protect those he loved. “We’ll figure it out together, Ben. Maybe the Omnitrix has a way to help us with this, too.”

The two of them sat in silence for a while, the cool air hinting at the approaching winter. Ben’s gaze drifted to the distant horizon, where the last sliver of light disappeared behind the treeline. He sighed. “But what if it doesn’t? What if I can’t be the dad I want to be?”

Kevin leaned in closer, his voice firm and reassuring. “You’re already the best dad those aliens could ever ask for. And we can always ask Professor Paradox for advice. He’s seen more than we can imagine.”

A year later

SUMMARY^1: Ben confesses his desire to leave the superhero life behind for a family with Kevin. He expresses his fears about the Omnitrix's impact on this dream. Kevin, understanding and supportive, suggests they tackle the challenge together and possibly consult Professor Paradox for guidance, hinting at a potential solution within the device itself.

Kevin was 18 now and Ben was 17 graduating from high school. Their relationship had grown stronger with each passing day, filled with stolen moments of joy and quiet resolve in the face of the ever-present danger the Omnitrix brought. They still haven’t told anyone about their love, but it was a secret that seemed to burn brighter with each shared glance and whispered endearment.

After graduation Kevin married Ben in a small, private ceremony atop the same hill where they had first confessed their feelings.

“Follow me Ben,” Kevin said, his eyes gleaming with excitement as he led Ben through the dense forest, their footsteps muffled by the thick layer of leaves beneath them. Ben’s heart raced with anticipation. What could Kevin have planned?

There was a house waiting for them in the heart of the forest, a beautiful wooden structure built with love and care by Kevin himself. It was their sanctuary, a place where Ben could safely transform without fear of discovery, and where they could live a life as close to normal as their circumstances allowed. The scent of fresh-cut lumber and the faint aroma of paint filled the air, mingling with the earthy scent of the surrounding woods.

“I told the media Ben 10 was dead, to give us some space," Kevin said, turning to face Ben with a proud smile. "It’s ours now, all of it."

SUMMARY^1: Kevin and Ben, now 18 and 17, tie the knot in a private ceremony on the hill of their first confession. To ensure a life of safety and normalcy, Kevin constructs a secret forest retreat where Ben can use the Omnitrix without fear. This deception from the public allows them to start a family in peace, as Ben steps back from his superhero identity.

Ben took off the Omnitrix and handed it to Kevin, his eyes wide with disbelief and gratitude. He couldn’t believe Kevin had gone to such lengths to give them a chance at a normal life. Kevin took the device and placed it in a hidden compartment inside the house, sealing it away from the world. For the first time in years, Ben felt the weight of his alien powers lift from his shoulders.

“Now that your my husband, we can start a family, right?” Ben asked, a hint of apprehension in his voice as he gazed at the serene beauty of their new home.

Kevin’s smile grew even wider as he took Ben’s hand and led him into the house. He had been working on a secret project for months, something that would change their lives forever. Inside, the walls were adorned with blue and green paint, creating a calming atmosphere. A crib stood in the corner of the living room, filled with soft, plush toys that matched the color scheme.

“I figured we might need this soon,” Kevin said, gesturing towards the crib. Ben’s eyes filled with tears, overwhelmed by the love and thoughtfulness his husband had shown.

3 months later

“Babe I am home from work!” Kevin called out as he opened the door to their little forest house. Ben emerged from the kitchen, his cheeks flushed and his eyes sparkling with excitement.

“There is my 3 month pregnant husband!” Kevin exclaimed, sweeping Ben into a gentle hug, mindful of the baby bump that was just starting to show.

SUMMARY^1: Kevin surprises Ben with a beautifully crafted forest retreat designed for a family. The house includes a secret compartment for the Omnitrix and a prepared nursery, revealing his hope for their future. Three months later, Ben discovers he is pregnant, marking a significant milestone in their journey toward parenthood. Kevin expresses his joy and excitement for their impending arrival.

SUMMARY^2: Ben and Kevin, friends turned lovers, marry secretly and plan a family, with Kevin building a secluded retreat for their safety. Ben, concerned about the Omnitrix's influence, is soon pregnant, and Kevin is thrilled.

Ben chuckled, his hand resting protectively on the small bulge in his belly. “How was your first day at the garage?”

Kevin squeezed him tighter. “It was good. But nothing compares to coming home to you and our little one.” Ben felt a warm glow spread through him, the reality of their future settling in.

“So, what’s the plan for tonight?” Ben asked, his eyes lighting up with mischief.

Kevin raised an eyebrow. “Well, I was thinking we could stay in, maybe watch a movie?”

Ben’s expression fell slightly. “But we do that every night.”

Kevin stepped back, his hands on Ben’s shoulders. “What’s wrong?”

Ben looked down at his stomach, his voice filled with a hint of insecurity. “It’s just, I don’t know if I can handle this, Kevin. What if something goes wrong with the baby?”

Kevin’s expression grew serious as he cupped Ben’s cheek. “We’ve been through worse, remember? And we’re not alone in this. We have each other, and we’ll face whatever comes together, like we always have.”

The comfort in Kevin’s words was palpable, and Ben felt his anxiety ease. “You’re right,” he said with a nod. “But maybe tonight we can do something a little more... adventurous?”

“Like what?” Kevin asked, his curiosity piqued as he followed Ben into the kitchen.

“Like you lick my pussy until I scream your name and the baby kicks in excitement!” Ben said, his voice laced with a seductive growl that made Kevin's cock twitch in his pants.

SUMMARY^1: As Ben's pregnancy progresses, the couple maintains their usual routines with Kevin working at a garage and Ben managing the household. Despite occasional anxieties about the baby's health, they continue to support each other. One evening, Ben suggests a more intimate activity, proposing that Kevin perform oral sex on him, which excites both of them. This act symbolizes their deep connection and shared desire for a fulfilling relationship amidst their extraordinary circumstances.

Kevin's eyes darkened with desire, and he didn’t need any further convincing. He followed Ben into their cozy bedroom, where the faint scent of incense filled the air, setting the mood for a night of passion and exploration. Ben had always had a knack for making their life feel like an adventure, even in the most mundane moments.

Ben lay back on the bed, his shirt lifted to expose his swollen belly. The sight of him, so vulnerable yet so powerful, sent a thrill through Kevin. He kissed Ben's stomach gently, feeling the soft skin and the firmness beneath. Ben moaned, his body reacting to the tender touch. Kevin looked up, his eyes questioning. Ben nodded eagerly, giving his consent.

Kevin kissed a trail down Ben’s stomach, reaching the waistband of his pants. He unbuckled them with trembling hands, his heart racing with excitement and love. He pulled them down, revealing Ben’s pussy, already glistening with anticipation. Ben spread his legs, inviting Kevin in, and Kevin didn’t hesitate. He kissed and licked his way down, savoring every inch of Ben’s body as if it were the first time.

Ben’s moans grew louder as Kevin’s tongue danced around his clit, teasing it before plunging into his warm wetness. The room was filled with the sounds of their passionate whispers and the occasional gasp as Kevin hit just the right spot. Ben’s hips bucked upward, and Kevin’s grip tightened on his thighs, holding him in place as he explored deeper.

SUMMARY^1: In the private sanctuary of their bedroom, Ben initiates an intimate act with Kevin, who is overwhelmed by the sight of Ben's pregnant body. Kevin approaches with care and love, engaging in oral sex as a testament to their bond. Their shared passion and trust are highlighted as they continue to find joy and connection amidst the changes in their lives.

Kevin’s tongue circled Ben’s clit with an expert touch, feeling it swell and pulse beneath him. Ben’s nails dug into the bedspread, his eyes squeezed shut as he tried to hold back the orgasm building within him. Kevin’s hands slid up to massage Ben’s swollen breasts, his thumbs flicking over the sensitive nipples. Ben arched his back, his chest heaving as the pleasure grew unbearable.

“Kevin, I’m gonna cum!” Ben’s voice was a desperate whine, his body tensing in anticipation. Kevin’s eyes met Ben’s, a silent challenge in their depths. He increased his pace, his tongue working in tandem with his fingers. Ben’s eyes rolled back, and he screamed Kevin’s name, the sound echoing through the quiet house. The baby inside him kicked, as if in response to the intense pleasure its parent was feeling.

Kevin wanted to see Ben cum, to watch the ecstasy play out on his face as he gave in to the pleasure. He increased the pressure, his tongue flicking and swirling, feeling Ben's body tense with each stroke. Ben’s moans grew more frantic, his legs quivering around Kevin’s shoulders. And then it hit—Ben’s orgasm, a crescendo of pleasure that left him trembling and gasping for air. The baby inside him kicked again, a little more insistently this time, as if eager to join in the celebration of their love.

SUMMARY^1: The intimate scene escalates as Kevin's skilled oral ministrations bring Ben to the brink of climax. Ben's body responds fervently, culminating in a powerful orgasm that resonates with the baby within. This shared moment underscores the deep love and connection between them, with the baby's movements acting as a symbol of their union and the life they've created together.

SUMMARY^2: Ben and Kevin maintain their relationship's intimacy through Ben's pregnancy with an evening of oral sex, emphasizing their love and bond amidst their new life chapter.

Kevin pulled back, smiling up at Ben, who was now panting heavily, his cheeks flushed and eyes hazy with satisfaction. Ben reached down and pulled Kevin up to kiss him deeply, tasting himself on Kevin’s mouth. The kiss grew heated, their tongues dancing together in a passionate tango. Kevin’s cock was rock hard, straining against his pants, and Ben could feel it through the fabric.

“Save this for the next 3 months, stud,” Ben murmured, a mischievous smile playing on his lips as he gently pushed Kevin away. He knew that Kevin was insatiable, but he also knew that they had to be careful. The baby was their priority now, and Ben didn’t want to take any unnecessary risks.

Kevin’s eyes searched Ben’s, a mix of desire and concern swirling in their depths. He nodded, understanding the gravity of the situation. “But I want you to know that I’m here for you, every step of the way,” he said, his voice thick with love.

3 months later

Ben was 6 months pregnant now, and the changes in his body were becoming more pronounced every day. His stomach had grown significantly, and he could feel the baby's movements with increasing strength. It was both thrilling and terrifying. He had never felt so alive and yet so vulnerable.

SUMMARY^1: After their intimate encounter, Ben teases Kevin but insists on caution due to the pregnancy. The story jumps ahead three months to Ben at six months pregnant, feeling the baby's strong movements and experiencing a mix of excitement and fear. Their bond remains steadfast, with Kevin reassuring Ben of his unwavering support during this transformative time.

It was 8 pm when Ben came in the living room with just a robe on, his bulging belly leading the way. Kevin was already on the couch, playing a video game. The room was lit by the flickering blue light from the TV. Ben leaned over the couch and whispered, "Kevin, I'm feeling it again."

“Feeling what?” Kevin asked without looking up, his thumbs dancing over the game controller.

“Horny again?” Kevin smirked, finally setting down the game controller and looking up at Ben. Ben’s cheeks reddened, but he nodded. Pregnant hormones had done a number on Ben’s libido, and it seemed like he was always in heat. Kevin paused the game.

“We need to fix that,” Kevin said with a grin, setting aside the video game controller. He took Ben’s hand and gently led him back to their bedroom. The room was warm and inviting, the perfect place to escape from the cold outside.

Kevin helped Ben out of his robe, revealing his naked form. Ben’s breasts had grown fuller and more sensitive, and his stomach was a round mound of life. Kevin couldn’t help but feel a sense of awe as he traced the outline of the baby with his fingertips, feeling the little life inside his husband.

They lay down on the bed, their bodies entwined, Kevin’s cock pressing against Ben’s thigh. Ben reached down and took it in his hand, stroking it gently. Kevin’s eyes closed, a low groan escaping his lips. They had to be careful with penetration now, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t find other ways to satisfy their desires.

SUMMARY^1: Ben, experiencing heightened pregnancy hormones, expresses his arousal to Kevin, who quickly sets aside his game. They move to the bedroom, where Ben's enhanced sensitivity is revealed. Despite the need for caution, they find alternative ways to satisfy each other sexually, maintaining their intimate connection while honoring the life growing within Ben.

Kevin leaned down and took one of Ben’s swollen nipples into his mouth, suckling gently. Ben’s back arched, and he moaned, the sensation sending waves of pleasure through his body. He could feel the baby stirring, but instead of feeling uncomfortable, it felt like they were all part of the same dance of love.

With his other hand, Kevin reached down and slid a finger into Ben’s pussy, finding him already wet and eager. Ben’s eyes never left Kevin’s, the intensity of their connection only growing stronger with each passing moment. Kevin’s thumb began to circle Ben’s clit, and Ben’s breath hitched.

Kevin had figured out what turned his pregnant husband on: licking his pussy made Ben go wild, but penetration was off the table for now. He was happy to oblige, eager to give Ben the pleasure he craved while keeping them both safe.

Ben’s moans grew louder as Kevin’s thumb worked in tandem with his mouth, teasing and tormenting his nipple. His hand stroked Kevin’s cock in time with the rhythm of Kevin’s thumb, creating a symphony of pleasure that resonated through both their bodies. The baby kicked again, as if eager to join in on the fun, and Ben couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I think he—or she—likes it too,” Ben murmured, his voice husky with desire.

Kevin grinned, his eyes never leaving Ben’s as he leaned down to kiss him. “Then let’s give them a show, shall we?”

SUMMARY^1: Kevin learns Ben's pregnancy-induced preferences, focusing on oral and manual stimulation. Their bond strengthens as they navigate intimacy with the baby's presence, leading to a passionate exchange filled with love, care, and shared pleasure, all while keeping the baby's safety in mind.

Their love-making was slow and tender, a delicate dance of pleasure and restraint. Kevin played on the bed as Ben lined up his pussy with Kevin’s cock, sliding down gently until the head was nestled at the entrance of his wetness. They both paused for a moment, savoring the anticipation. Then, with a deep breath, Ben began to lower himself, taking Kevin in inch by inch. They had figured out that with Ben on top, they could control the depth and speed, reducing the risk to the baby.

Kevin’s eyes never left Ben’s, watching for any sign of pain or discomfort. But Ben’s face was a picture of pure bliss, his eyes half-closed and his mouth slightly parted in a silent moan. The baby inside him kicked again, and Ben gasped, the sensation a strange mix of pleasure and pressure. He leaned back, his hands on Kevin’s chest, and began to rock his hips.

The friction between them was exquisite, a sweet agony that built and built until Ben was sure he couldn’t take it anymore. He rode Kevin’s cock with a gentle rhythm, their bodies moving in perfect harmony. The bed creaked softly with each thrust, the only sound in the otherwise quiet room.

Kevin’s hands roamed Ben’s body, exploring every inch of his new curves, marveling at the changes that pregnancy had brought. He cupped Ben’s breasts, the weight of them surprising and arousing in his palms, and tweaked his nipples gently. Ben’s eyes rolled back in his head, his hips moving faster now.

They had discovered that sex was different now, more intimate and more intense. Every touch, every kiss, every stroke seemed to resonate through the baby, connecting the three of them in a way that was both thrilling and overwhelming. The bond between them grew stronger with each shared moment of pleasure, a silent testament to the love they had built together.

As Ben’s orgasm grew closer, he leaned forward, his hands on Kevin’s shoulders, and began to ride him with more urgency. Kevin’s grip on Ben’s hips tightened, his own climax approaching. The room was filled with the scent of their desire, the air thick with passion. Ben’s breath came in ragged gasps as he felt the baby move in response to their love-making.

Kevin still in the bottom rubbed his hands around Ben huge belly feeling the baby kicking as Ben rode him. Kevin was so hard and ready to explode. He had never felt so connected to Ben than at this moment. The baby was a part of them, a part of their love, a physical manifestation of their bond.

Ben’s breaths grew quicker, his body tightening around Kevin’s cock as he approached climax. The baby’s kicks grew stronger, almost as if it knew what was happening, adding to the intensity of the moment. Kevin watched Ben’s face, the way his eyes screwed shut and his teeth dug into his bottom lip as he tried to keep his moans quiet.

“Let go, Ben. Let me hear you,” Kevin whispered, his own need building. Ben’s head fell back, and he let out a low, guttural cry as he came, his body shuddering with pleasure. The baby responded with a particularly strong kick, and Ben laughed breathlessly.

“Oh, oh my God, Kevin!” Ben panted, his orgasm subsiding but the aftershocks still rippling through him. He leaned forward, resting his forehead against Kevin’s, their breaths mingling as they both tried to catch their breath. Kevin’s cock was still hard, desperate for release, but he didn’t mind waiting. This was about Ben, about their baby.

Kevin’s hands slid to Ben’s ass, gripping him firmly as Ben began to move again, his hips rolling in a sensual dance that had Kevin’s cock sliding in and out of him in shallow, teasing thrusts. The baby kicked again, and Ben’s eyes widened in surprise.

“Kevin, I think the baby is enjoying it too!” Ben said with a laugh, his voice a little breathless. Kevin couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride and excitement at the thought of their child joining in on their intimate moments.

They continued to move together, their bodies speaking a language of love and need that was more profound than any words could express. The bed creaked rhythmically with their movements, the only sound in the quiet house that seemed to pulse with the beat of their hearts.

Kevin’s eyes remained locked on Ben’s, watching the play of emotions across his face: pleasure, love, and a hint of concern for their unborn child. He knew Ben was worried about the baby’s safety, but he also knew that this moment was a celebration of life, a declaration of their unity and a promise for the future.

Ben’s strokes grew more deliberate, his body moving in perfect rhythm with the baby’s kicks. Kevin’s cock swelled with each thrust, the pressure building until he could feel the familiar tightness in his balls. He knew he was close. Ben’s breathing grew ragged, his eyes fluttering shut as he rode the waves of pleasure.

“I’m gonna cum, Ben!” Kevin warned, his voice strained. Ben nodded, his own orgasm building again. They had become so in sync that their climaxes often came close together, a testament to their deep connection.

Ben leaned in to kiss Kevin, their tongues entwining as the tension grew. The baby kicked harder, and Ben felt a warmth spread through him, a mix of love and arousal. Kevin’s hips bucked up, driving him deeper into Ben, and Ben could feel the coil of Kevin’s orgasm tightening.

“Come for me, Kevin. Give it to me, all of it,” Ben whispered against his husband’s lips, his voice thick with need.

Kevin’s eyes darkened, and he responded with a low groan, his hips snapping upward, burying his cock into Ben’s welcoming pussy. The pleasure was intense, the culmination of months of pent-up desire and love. With a final, powerful thrust, Kevin came, his cock pulsing within Ben as he filled him with his seed. Ben’s orgasm hit him like a tidal wave, crashing over him in waves that seemed to last an eternity. He cried out, his nails digging into Kevin’s shoulders as he felt their baby kick in response to the intense sensations.

They lay there for a few moments, their bodies trembling with the aftershocks of their shared release. The room was quiet except for their heavy breathing and the distant hoot of an owl. Kevin’s arms wrapped around Ben’s waist, holding him close, their bodies still joined.

“I love you, Ben,” Kevin murmured, pressing a soft kiss to Ben’s forehead. Ben’s eyes fluttered open, a serene smile gracing his lips as he looked into Kevin’s eyes.

“I love you too, Kevin,” Ben replied, his voice still shaky from the aftermath of their lovemaking. He leaned in closer, nestling into the crook of Kevin’s neck, feeling the warmth of his skin and the steady beat of his heart. The baby kicked again, and they both chuckled, feeling the bond between them grow even stronger.

3 months later

Ben was 9 months pregnant now, and every moment was a new adventure for them both. The house had become a bustling hive of activity, filled with the sound of their laughter and the occasional grumble from Ben as he navigated the discomforts of his final trimester. The due date was approaching, and Kevin couldn’t contain his excitement. He had painted the nursery a neutral color, filled it with a crib, a changing table, and a rocking chair, and had even started a collection of baby toys and books.

“Baby I am off to work, I’ll be back soon, okay?” Kevin kissed Ben’s forehead gently before heading out the door. Ben nodded, his hand on his swollen belly, feeling the little kicks of life beneath his palm. He was nervous, but ready for this new chapter.

Ben started to jerk off while Kevin was at work, feeling the baby's movements in his belly as he stroked himself. The sensations were intense and foreign, a reminder of the life they had created together. He moaned quietly, not wanting to disturb their little one, but the need was too much to ignore.

He called Kevin “Baby I need you home I want to fuck so bad!”

Kevin chuckled over the phone, his voice a comforting rumble in Ben’s ear. “Hold on, love. I’ll be home soon. Just think about the baby, okay? We’re in this together, and we can handle anything that comes our way.”

Ben nodded, taking a deep breath and focusing on the baby’s kicks. He knew Kevin was right. They had come so far, and their love was stronger than ever. He could wait a little longer.

The minutes stretched into hours, and Ben filled his time with light housework, trying to distract himself from the constant need to touch his own body. By the time Kevin arrived home, Ben was practically vibrating with anticipation.

Kevin took one look at Ben and knew exactly what was on his mind. He set down his tools and took Ben’s hand, leading him to the bedroom. They had been careful these last few months, but the desire between them was still as strong as ever.

Ben lay on the bed, his giant stomach taking up most of the space. Kevin kissed him deeply, his hands caressing the soft skin of Ben’s belly. The baby kicked, as if eager to join in the affection. Ben’s eyes fluttered closed, his breath hitching as Kevin’s kisses grew more insistent.

They had agreed to keep their intimate moments gentle and safe, but the desire between them was undeniable. Kevin kissed a trail down Ben’s body, his hands tracing the contours of his swollen breasts and belly. Ben’s breath grew shallower, his skin flushing with arousal.

“Kevin, I need you,” Ben whispered, his eyes pleading. Kevin nodded, understanding the urgency in Ben’s voice. He gently positioned Ben on his side, his swollen belly cradled by a pillow. They had read up on safe positions for pregnant sex, and this was their favorite—it allowed for deep penetration without putting too much pressure on the baby.

Kevin slid in behind Ben, his hard cock pressing against the cleft of his ass. Ben gasped, the sensation of being filled both comforting and electrifying. They had discovered that anal sex was the best option for them now, keeping the baby safe while still satisfying their needs. Kevin’s hands found Ben’s hips, and he began to rock into him, their bodies moving in a rhythm that was both slow and steady.

Ben moaned softly, his body adjusting to the new sensations of Kevin's cock sliding into his ass. The pressure was intense, but the pleasure quickly overwhelmed any discomfort. His hand found its way to his own cock, stroking it in time with Kevin's gentle thrusts. The baby inside him squirmed, as if in response to the love and connection between the two men.

“I am going to cum, baby!” Ben's voice was strained with passion as he felt the familiar tension building in his balls. Kevin’s thrusts grew stronger, and Ben could feel the baby’s movements syncing with their lovemaking. It was a strange and erotic symphony of pleasure and anticipation.

When Ben released it was almost like water Kevin noticed. “Damn that is a lot of precum!” Kevin whispered with amazement. “Babe I don’t think that is all pre-cu-“ Ben was cut off by an intense pain in his stomach.

“Ben? What’s wrong?” Kevin’s face was a mask of concern as Ben’s eyes went wide with fear.

“I think that was my water breaking!” Ben’s voice was filled with a mix of excitement and fear as a gush of fluid soaked the bed beneath him. Kevin’s eyes widened, and he pulled out quickly, his own orgasm forgotten in the face of the impending birth.

They both stumbled out of bed, Ben’s hands supporting his belly as a contraction hit him hard. “Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit!” he panted, trying to breathe through the pain. Kevin helped him to the bathroom, his mind racing with thoughts of what to do next.

“Okay, okay, we’ve got this,” Kevin said, trying to keep his voice calm despite the panic rising in his chest. He grabbed a towel and handed it to Ben. “We need to get you to the hospital. Now!”

Ben nodded, his breaths coming in short bursts as another contraction took hold. “Call an ambulance, Kevin. It’s happening too fast!” he exclaimed, his eyes wide with fear.

Kevin didn’t need to be told twice. He dashed out of the room, his heart racing as he grabbed his phone and dialed emergency services. “My husband’s water broke! We need an ambulance right now!” he barked into the phone, his voice a mix of panic and determination.

As Ben leaned against the bathroom counter, panting through the contractions, Kevin raced around the house, grabbing their hospital bag and making sure they had everything they needed. The adrenaline coursing through him made his movements swift and precise.

“Ben, the ambulance is on its way. Just hang in there, okay?” Kevin called out, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Ben nodded, gripping the towel between his legs to stem the flow of fluid.

“Mmmmmmmmmmmm,” Ben groaned, his body tense with each wave of pain that rolled through him. The contractions were coming closer together now, a stark reminder that their baby was ready to make its grand entrance into the world. Kevin hovered anxiously by the doorway, watching his husband and feeling utterly helpless.

The sound of sirens grew louder outside, and Kevin felt a mix of relief and dread wash over him. This was it. They were about to become parents. The reality of it all was finally setting in.

The EMTs burst through the door, and Ben’s contractions grew more intense. Kevin was a blur of action, guiding the paramedics to the bathroom, explaining the situation as calmly as he could. They quickly assessed Ben’s condition, confirming that it was indeed time to go.

“Let’s get you to the hospital, Mr. Tennyson,” one of the EMTs said, her voice firm but kind. Ben nodded, his eyes glazed with pain.

Kevin helped Ben to the stretcher, his hands shaking as he held on tightly. “You’re doing so well, baby. Just a little longer,” he whispered, kissing Ben’s forehead.

The ride to the hospital was a blur of lights and sirens, Ben’s moans of pain punctuating the tension-filled silence. Kevin held his hand, his eyes never leaving Ben’s face, willing him to be strong.

“What do we got here?” The doctor on call, a no-nonsense woman with a kind smile, took in the situation as Ben was wheeled into the hospital.

“17 year old male, approximately 9 months pregnant, water has broken, contractions 3 minutes apart,” one of the EMTs recounted as they transferred Ben’s care to the hospital staff. The doctor nodded, her eyes assessing Ben’s bulging belly and the pain etched on his face.

“Alright, let’s get you prepped for delivery,” she said, her tone calm and reassuring. Ben nodded, his eyes squeezed shut as another contraction took hold. Kevin hovered nearby, watching in awe as the medical team moved around them with a sense of urgency that was both comforting and terrifying.

In the delivery room, Ben was hooked up to monitors that beeped a steady rhythm, tracking the baby’s heartbeat and the intensity of the contractions. Kevin held Ben’s hand tightly, his own heart racing as he watched the numbers climb.

The doctor, a short, stern-looking woman with a kind smile, checked Ben’s progress. “Looks like you’re already dilating nicely. This baby’s eager to meet you both. Are you ready to push?”

Ben nodded, his face a mask of determination. He trusted Kevin implicitly, and together they had prepared for this moment. Kevin took his place beside the bed, coaching Ben through each contraction, reminding him to breathe.

“Come on, Ben. You can do this. Just like we practiced,” Kevin encouraged, his voice steady and strong. Ben’s eyes were squeezed shut, his teeth gritted as he pushed with all his might. The pain was unlike anything he had ever felt, but the love and support from Kevin helped to anchor him.

The doctor’s voice grew more urgent. “One more big push, Ben. I see the head!”

Ben’s eyes snapped open, and he bore down, his body straining with the effort. Kevin’s hand was squeezed so tight it felt like it might break, but he didn’t flinch. “Come on, Ben. You’re almost there!”

With a final, powerful push, Ben felt the baby’s head emerge, the crowning a mix of pain and relief. The doctor instructed him to stop pushing for a moment, allowing the baby’s head to stretch Ben’s body and avoid tearing. The room was tense, the air charged with anticipation.

Kevin’s eyes were glued to the doctor’s face, his grip on Ben’s hand unyielding. “Almost there, Ben. You’re so close,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion. Ben’s eyes searched for Kevin’s, finding strength in their shared gaze.

On the next contraction, Ben pushed with every ounce of energy he had, and with a final, triumphant cry, their baby slipped into the world. The doctor caught the squirming bundle, and the room erupted into a cacophony of noise: the baby’s first wail, the doctor’s instructions to the nurses, and the rapid beeping of the heart monitor.

Kevin’s vision blurred with tears as he watched the doctor lift their child into the air, the umbilical cord still attached. “It’s a boy!” she exclaimed, and the gravity of the moment hit him like a ton of bricks. They had a son.

“Kenny?” Ben whispered, his voice hoarse from the exertion of birth. Kevin nodded, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Kenny Levensque,” he confirmed, his voice choking with emotion. They had chosen the name together, a blend of their surnames that signified their unity and love.

[avatar-anna]

Better Man

just a little angst about better man (taylor's version)!

Sometimes in the middle of the night I can feel you again, but I just miss you and I just wish you were a better man.

You knew letting him past the front door was a bad idea, but you didn't always have the strongest resolve, especially when it came to your ex.

Harry was laying on the other side of your bed, his back turned to you as he slept soundly on familiar sheets. You should've been asleep, but it didn't come. So you stayed awake, staring at Harry's back as it rose and fell. You admired his broad shoulders, the constellation of freckles all over, the birthmark. It was a familiar canvas, but it wasn't yours anymore. Him being here didn't change that.

"I can feel you staring," Harry mumbled, words pushed together like he was still half asleep.

"Sorry," you said before turning over.

There were only a few beats of silence before you heard sheets rustling as Harry shifted and draped an arm across you. The scent of his cologne was dizzying as he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head.

"Out with it then," he said, sounding a little more awake.

"I don't know what you mean."

"I know you, Y/n. You sleep like the dead unless something is on your mind."

He was right, of course, but that was part of the problem. He knew you too well.

"I just…miss you, that's all."

And God did you miss him. Harry was…well, you thought he was everything. For years, the two of you were inseparable, so incredibly in sync with each other. Harry brought out the best in you, made you comfortable in your own skin. He made you feel seen and taken care of and loved.

Until he didn't.

Breaking up with Harry was the hardest thing you'd ever done. It was messy, he didn't see it coming—which was another problem of its own—there were periods where you would somehow end up sleeping in each other's homes for days at a time afterwards, and the periods when those days ended felt soul crushing. Losing him felt like losing a part of yourself. Harry loved you, that was never a question. He just…he wasn't what you needed anymore.

"I miss you too. Constantly," he said. "But you don't have to, you know. Miss me. I've always been right here."

You kissed his arm. "I know, but we broke up for a reason, Harry."

He sighed, because he never could grasp why things ended, he couldn't figure out why you would ever want to leave him. As much as you loved each other, you were on different pages, wanted different things, became different people—or rather, he changed and you stayed the same. Harry was at a point in his career where the whole world was at his fingertips, and he wanted it too, wanted to reach and reach and reach. You didn't blame him for that, he was good at what he did, out of this world. But he'd made promises before, when he was just yours. When the world called, he changed his mind, and he wanted you to change yours with him.

Part of you knew that perhaps he'd made those promises out of fear of losing you, that he wasn't the type to believe in a simple kind of love. It always had to be more with Harry. And perhaps he wasn't aware, but you knew it was because he was afraid of love, of letting people see the worst parts of him along with the best. You knew that and fell in love with him anyway. He would be the one to break your heart but you let him do it happily.

"I love you. Can't that be enough?"

You did your best to hide a sniffle. "I wish it was, but something has always held you back from me," you said, your thumb running along his arm. "I won't settle for anything less than what I deserve."

"Then why keep letting me in?"

"Because you're a hard man to say no to, Harry Styles," you laughed, but it was more sad than humorous. Even as you talked about being apart, all you wanted to do was pull him even closer. In a lot of ways, Harry still felt like home. You were safe right there in bed wrapped up in him. "And despite my best efforts, I'm still in love with you."

Harry sighed and pulled you closer to his chest. "I want you. I can't even think about anyone else. It makes no sense for us to be broken up when we both want the same thing."

"But we don't," you said. "You want me on the sidelines cheering you on with no ambitions of my own."

"That's not—"

"You want me to watch while others throw themselves at you and pretend like it's fine because it's all for show. You want me to be another trophy in your collection, Harry, and I—I'm so much more than that."

You twisted around to face him, only to find that there were tears lining his eyes. You hated seeing him cry. It always twisted your gut into a tight knot.

"Is that really what you think of me?" he asked, sounding hurt, betrayed.

"You told me you loved me, that you wanted me in your life, but I was never a part of it," you said.

Harry had promised that nothing would ever change, that he only wanted to take on the world if he had you by his side. And you believed him at first, but somehow you'd fallen to the wayside. He left you to fend for yourself at parties with people you didn't know, took on more opportunities and projects that kept him and you apart for longer periods of time, going out almost every night and sleeping through the day, leaving you such little time alone with him. Sometimes it felt like the only way to see him was in an interview or music video.

And the moments when you had him all to yourself were perfect. He was completely and totally yours. He doted on you, took you on dates, made you breakfast in bed. He made you feel like the luckiest girl in the world, and in those moments, you knew he loved you, that he would never be tempted by anyone else. Harry really was yours, you could feel it with every cell of your body.

But those moments were fleeting. He was gone for longer periods of time, and you didn't know how to make him understand that you needed him to stay longer than the few days off he got while touring. For a long time, those stolen moments were enough, until they weren't anymore. Harry stayed away longer, and you felt him slipping. The hand you had wasn't a winning one, so you folded before he could break your heart. Well, more than breaking up with him did.

This wasn't a life together, it was just his, and you were along for the ride.

"I wanted to build a life for us. I wanted to make myself into someone you would be proud of," he said.

Your smile was sad as you threaded a hand through his hair. "I've never not been proud of you. You've always been enough, H, I don't know why you've never seen it."

To say Harry was complicated was an understatement. Even when you met he had his fair share of demons. But everyone did, and you loved him as he was. As he began to gain notoriety, he began reinventing himself, to be someone that was loved by everyone. You knew who he was was enough, but you couldn't get through to him, he needed validation from the world. Once you realized how deep that insecurity was rooted, you knew you couldn't fix him, he needed to do it himself. And you deserved someone who wasn't so obsessed with seeking approval from others that they overlooked the people that loved them most.

"All I ever wanted was to give you the world," he whispered, his gaze trained on where your hand was still on his cheek.

"All I ever needed was you," you replied, moving your hand to rest it over his heart. "I'd like to believe that the man I met so many years ago is in there somewhere, but I can't count on waiting to see him again. I—I'm not going to put myself in a position to make you choose when I know what your choice would be."

You didn't really believe that fame was something that would ever change Harry, but it did. Or it preyed on his deepest insecurities, and he let it happen. You loved him, and it hurt to see him so broken, especially when he didn't even seem to realize it, but you couldn't hold his hand while he untangled his messes anymore.

"I love you," he said again. "I have never stopped loving you."

"I have seen every facet of who you are, and I've never loved you less, flaws and all," you said, and it was true. Despite everything, Harry was a hard person not to love, and there were moments where he made you feel like you were more important to him than anything else in his life. The secret smiles and stolen kisses and songs that were made just for you. He was the kind of person that burned so brightly, but that also meant he cast just as big a shadow, and those shadows could be all-consuming. "You're a good man, Harry. I just…I think I just deserve better than you."

Harry didn't argue with you about it. He didn't try to contradict you or give you a list of reasons why you should be together. He just hung his head and held you close, a shuddering breath escaping his lips. You let yourself rest your cheek against his chest, his skin warm and familiar. It felt so right to be there, you couldn't fathom anyone else feeling as good as Harry did. Maybe no one ever would.

Wrapped up like this, your eyes grew heavy, and it became harder and harder to stay awake. Harry hadn't fallen asleep yet, you could tell just by the erratic beat of his heart against your cheek. Moving your head just to the side, you kissed him right there, right where his heart laid beneath his chest. Your heart squeezed, as if it knew this was the last time you would be letting Harry through your front door.

Turning your head to the side once more, you let yourself fall asleep on his chest, a couple tears slipping past your tired eyes.

Still awake, Harry ran a hand through your hair, letting the silky soft strands fall through his fingers. "I can be better," he whispered. Not to you, but to himself. "I'll be better. I promise."

[bettyfrommars]

A blurb of biker!Eddie posing for reader for a future painting. The painting imagery of your choice, snarky jokes about being her French girl would be icing on the cake.

Thank you so much for this ask, Angie, it made my heart happy❤️

18+Only for mature themes. wc: 892

from the I'm on Fire au

biker!Eddie x fem!artist!Reader

“Babe,” you gave Eddie a look around the side of the big canvas you had propped on a wood easel.  “You’re doing it again.”

Forever fidgeting, the man could never sit still. On the couch in front of you, Eddie rubbed his hands down his face with a groan and sat forward, placing elbows to knees.  He’s shirtless, in a pair of jeans, with his guitar resting on the floor next to him. The wash of tattoos over his chest, stomach, and arms would be a challenge, but you planned to fill those details in later.  You’d considered having him strip all the way down, but you didn’t want to traumatize Dustin’s family when they brought the baby over for a visit.  

“I never realized how hard it would be to stay in one place for so long,” he mused, running his fingers through his hair.  “How did those people in the old days do it? Just standing there.  No wonder they all look like they are all mean muggin’ or trying to take a shit.”

You put the brush down and went over to him, softly taking his chin to make him look up at you, your hand stained with charcoal and white paint flecks.  You swept the curtain of his bangs to one side with your other hand, meeting the weariness in his maplewood eyes with love and patience.  

“You’re on your bike for hours some days. This is just like that,” you tried to reason with him.

Eddie reached up to settle his hands at your hips.  “No but that’s different.  On the bike I’m moving fast and the wind is in my face, my mind is clear.  Now, all I can think about is everything I need to fix and work on in this house. I want it all to be perfect for you, for us.”  

It’d been almost six months since Eddie surprised you with the keys to the old Ferguson farmhouse, the one you’d both had your eye on for a while. Indeed, the place was over a hundred years old and needed a lot of work, but you had your paints and you had Eddie, and the rest just didn’t matter as much.  

You let go of his chin and he leaned in to plant a kiss on your stomach before tilting his chin up to meet your gaze again.  

“This is really important to me, baby,” you tucked hair behind his ear, and then untucked it, and you could feel him searching your face.  “One day, Oliver or one of the other kids will put this painting in their home to remember their uncle Eddie.  And they’ll know the person who painted it loved you more than life.”

Eddie’s arms were suddenly around your waist, pulling you down into his lap, pecking kisses all along your neck and face, making you squirm and giggle.  He was fresh out of the shower, smelling like Irish Spring; his hair air-dried and fluffy.  When he came up for air, you caught his face between your hands.  

“Please, baby. For me,” you pleaded.  “Just an hour or two a day, I know you can do this.”

“For you, I will,” his lips met yours, brushing them as he spoke, but then a smile cracked the sides of his mouth.  “I want you to paint me like one of your French girls.”

“I thought you’d never ask,” you beamed, batting your eyelashes, pushing out of his lap and onto your feet.  You decided not to remind about the time you rented Titanic, and Eddie was the one with wet eyes, holding you close as if he were about to lose you to the frigid, dark waters.  He held you so tight that night in bed, waking up every hour to check and make sure you were still there.  

When he felt you shift and knew you were awake, he’d whispered into the back of your neck: “If something ever happened to you, I don’t think I’d be able to move on.” And even though you were not privy to the mysteries the future held, you assured him that you’d both grow old together and pass away at the same time. 

Back in the art room, you brushed your hands off on your apron and got in front of the canvas.  “Okay, let’s try this again,” you picked up one of the charcoal pencils to sharpen it.  “You can have a smoke if you want, baby, just don’t move your legs.”

“Anything for you, Jack,” Eddie chirped, eager to pop a cigarette between his lips, cupping his hand over the end to light it. 

In the end, the smoldering cigarette between his fingers made it into the painting.  Legs wide, guitar propped to one side, one hand resting on his thigh, the other arm hooked around the back of the couch so he could flick the ash into an empty can of Coke.  His jeans were unbuttoned, purple scar on one side of his stomach, and he wasn’t smiling, but the light of love in his eyes was unmistakable as dark hair spilled around his shoulders.  

Decades later, Steve’s son Oliver would never tire of telling the story when people asked about the painting.  The story of a down and dirty biker named War Machine and the woman he devoted his life to.  

[minecraftbookshelf]

hello this is an invitation/request to ramble about textile production in rivendell vs the swamp in the arranged marriages au I am very curious about this thank you

Most of this is going under a cut because it is going to get a bit long and rambly and is 100% as much an info-dump as it is a worldbuilding post.

the TLDR is Wool VS Linen

MOSTLY INFO DUMP PORTION

Rivendell:

The majority of Rivendell textiles are wool-based.

They do import some silk from the Overgrown but that is reserved for special occasions and items. Mostly silk threads are used for magical stitching and silk fabric as a center lining for leather and chain armor.

Almost everything else is wool.

Most of their wool comes from sheep but they also have llamas, rabbits, and goats that all are domesticated for this purpose. (Wool as a term refers to any fiber obtained from an animal, even if some of it is technically hair, for textile purposes it is wool)

Most of their export is sheep wool, they have, in fact, increased their sheep herds specifically to accommodate export in the recent decade or so as they open their borders and form alliances beyond the Overgrown.

Wool is an incredibly versatile fiber. It's water resistant and thermal properties make it ideal for the snowy mountain terrain of Rivendell's territory. It can also be made into fabric so fine it is literal gauze. It can be felted it can be knitted it can be woven. Saying Rivendell's textiles are almost 95% wool does not accurately convey how varied those textiles are. Generations of Rivendell elves have spent their ~500 year long lifespans coming up with new things to do with wool.

And its not just from sheep.

Rabbit wool is most commonly used for items like underclothes or baby clothes and blankets.

Llama wool actually comes in two distinct forms, because Llamas have layered coats. Originally they were used as beasts of burden but were also, over the generations, bred for fleece as well. Their rougher outer coats are used more for things like rope and cordage, the inner fleece is similar to rabbit.

Llama is also the least common wool, since it takes about two years for a llama to regrow its coat after shearing and they aren't exactly the most space efficient of livestock. The fleece is one of the luxury exports sold mostly to foreign nobility who want to feel fancy and brag about their "exotic [insert item here]". The outer coat fibers are mostly sold as cordage, which is excellent quality and in high demand in the seafaring nations. (This is also due to elvish craft-magic, more on that later in the worldbuilding-focused section)

Goats are a full range from coarser fibers to fine soft ones. It functions much the same as sheep fiber, just with a lower yield. Goats are primarily used in the outer villages of Rivendell in the highest, sheerest cliffs where they are more suited to the terrain than their moor wool-laden cousins.

The Swamp:

Most Swamp-made textiles are linen.

Mostly made from flax and/or hemp. (Yes, that kind of hemp, go ahead, make the jokes.)

(Hemp grown for fiber is a different variety than hemp grown for more recreational reasons. It has a much lower THC and the plant itself is a lot larger. I'm not saying they don't grow the other kind, and use it medicinally, but it isn't relevant to anything I will be writing. If that's your wheelhouse you are welcome to take this and run with it.)

Linen is a lightweight and absorbent fabric that is ideal for hotter climates so it is very common to see in the Northern kingdoms. It's absorbency does mean it dirties and starts smelling fairly quickly but it is also a very resilient fabric that takes washing well. It also has the default state of "wrinkled" which, to someone accustomed to other types of fabric, does lend itself to looking rather unkempt. (You see where I'm going with this.)

Like wool there is a wide range of fabrics, ranging from the ultra fine and soft to coarser, more Textured pieces. (basically, the underclothes to sail canvas range) both flax and hemp, especially the latter, are also used to make cordage and hemp in particular is often used to make macrame and beaded jewelry, irl and in the Swamp. Fishing nets are also a common product.

Textiles are not a notable export of the Swamp so there is less to say there.

IRL flax linen makes up some of the oldest surviving fabric and clothing samples, dating back thousands of years.

Flax fibers are not elastic, they don't stretch and shrink while worked with and don't have a lot of give. This does make working with it in the process of fabric making somewhat difficult and requiring a lot of skill. The resulting fabric though is incredibly durable so its a trade off.

The Mostly Worldbuilding Portion

This is just going to be a bunch of disorganized bullet points really

A significant portion of the flax used by the Swamp from linen production is grown and harvested in Helianthia and brought to the swamp for manufacture. This is actually the primary threat Mythland represents, (you know, besides rampant destruction and harassment along the border) is interrupting that trade route. They do also grow their own but do not enough for what is needed.

Elvish magic is almost entirely based around fiber arts. Embroidery, knot-work, charms stitched into seams and knitted into the very makeup of a garment. Wool and Gold. (gold-thread embroidery is powerful stuff) A side effect of all of this is that when small Xornoth started setting things on fire and small Scott sneezed frost it was a pretty solid indication that their magic was a bit more directly divinely sourced.

Related, elvish rope is reliable. It doesn't degrade or break or even cut easily. (This is straight from Tolkein but it works too well not to poach)

Elves build things to last, a single elf-made garment can last for several human generations. At least.

Net making/repair in the Swamp is one of those community tasks that a lot of people sit down together and do while socializing. Almost everyone has at least the basic skills required.

Generations worth of irreplaceable historical tapestries were lost when Xornoth burned down the Rivendell palace during their coup and every time the weavers and artisans and historians of the kingdom remember that they come very close to being assassinated.

[cutegirlmayra]

Boom Sonamy, Lyric comes back trying to achieve immortality. He needs an exhange of life for a life so a live sacrifice but can't read the rest of the inscription. So he kidnaps Amy again to read the rest of the message otherwise he'll destroy the village and plans to sacrifice her. The gang come to save her and stop Lyric. You can add more to make it more dramatic if you want with a better ending than I can think of ^_^'

I do tend to always just add more, don’t I? XD I’m sorry for those who I’ve taken your idea and ran with my own thoughts on it, but I hope it’s been satisfactory nonetheless! Working a lot lately, so when I do have time to do the Tumblr Prompt Series (also posted on all my writing sites for viewing pleasure!) I usually do something fun but small. I’ll give it my best, Precious Anon!

Also, Lyric is a very… how do I put this… There’s not a whole hecka lot of information on him. I did some research to look back over the games he was in, and even then, it was pretty generic and bland, sorry Lyric fans!

However, sometimes, that’s actually good news. You know why? Shocking, I know! But it means the character is wide open for interpretation and expanding upon them. I won’t be doing that for this fic, necessarily, but I think characters with great potential are usually those that have little information but just enough to peak interest. It’s one of the reasons I felt Amy Rose was a character I could put more lore and backstory on, because although I did study her character, there wasn’t a whole lot on her. It made her a canvas that felt ‘half-full’, able to be influenced and expanded upon.

However, in recent times, Amy Rose and many other characters like her in different franchises (Not necessarily in personality or role, but just the same level of character-depth and lore, I guess?) have really been given love and more games are coming out with better writing quality than ever before! I’m so glad that so many ‘side characters’ are treated as main cast mates, and not just thrown into trope roles anymore.

That being said, you can’t escape the occasional ‘One-time’ appearances like Lyric being a ‘Pops up in maybe Two Games and never again’ villain. But it does leave room for us Fanfiction writers to make some interesting depth to further their small legacy! <3

That being said–TUMBLR PROMPT REQUESTS ARE CLOSED, SHUT DOWN ON INBOX, lolol you were waiting for that, weren’t ya? >:3c

Hugs and blowing kisses, everyone. I’m definitely taking more time to heal from burnout and also work on Fanfiction Edits (Which are coming along nicely, I’m now back to Instincts, for those who are a fan of that one.), Original Stories (Sorry, probably won’t post them tho :( But books are important! lol), and of course, Tumblr Prompt Series so yall know I’m not dead xD

The tumblr inbox for prompt requests will remain down probably for a few more years. I know that upsets a lot of you, but if they ever do open again, I will be blocking ‘Anon’ because I think some people are posting more than the actual limit of how many they can submit. Due to this, I’m overwhelmed with hundreds (not joking, by the way.) of requests that I really don’t want to do? So we’ll be taking time to go back to stories I’ve wanted to write and solo-writing for my fanfictions/other works. I’ve gotta set up stronger boundaries! Haha XD

That being said, please enjoy this Sonic Boom (Feels ancient now) Prompt!

Prompt:

“Ultimate power… Although sounding like sweet nectar to one’s ambitious desires, tends to lead to a faulty conclusion…” A snaky whiplash from his claw-tail sent a impulse reflex through Amy’s spine, causing her to flinch and her ears to withdraw back again.

She was so mad, tied up to a pillar inside an ancient tomb, having been ambushed while excavating what looked like a madman’s attempt at immortal life.

Roughly translated, a doctor related to Eggman, known as Ivo Robotnik had first discovered this tomb and kept it a secret. He researched and found a successful way to immortalize someone… but he failed to interpret the last section of the stone slab’s text…

A life for a life… to give Shadow The Hedgehog, his ultimate creation, immortality–to live and breathe forever in the purpose of curing the world of its vital mistakes and sins–he accidentally let his granddaughter, Maria Robotnik, die in the process…

As she read the inscription, Ivo’s account tells that her life was being drained from her… and eventually, was converted in some miraculous way into what was necessary to mechanically engineer this ancient tomb’s purpose: Infinitely Sustained Life.

Shadow, overwhelmed by the loss of his friend, turned on Ivo Robotnik, and sealed the tomb to never let the tragedy that had befallen here happen again… until now.

‘Opps.’ Amy thought to herself, annoyed by Lyric carrying on with his wicked monologue about being the last of the ancients, having envied and coveted this technology, but had lost before he could even begin to understand it. ‘I’ve been following the late Ivo Robotnik’s work in hopes of finding the ancient world… I didn’t think I’d stumble upon this buttless snake again…’ She sighed quietly, blinking her eyes as though counting subconsciously the seconds before she was to be daringly rescued by her friends.

Again…

‘Why was it always me?’ She grumbled in her thoughts before the second whipping crack of his tail colliding with the ground near her snapped her out of her thoughts again.

“You remain awfully quiet… that’s offssssseting.” He hissed to her side, which made her lean as far right as she could muster, trying to get away from his anciently stanky breath.

“Upsetting,” She appeared to be clarifying, “That I have to have my peaceful afternoon so rudely interrupted by the echoes of a delusional reptilian, but I mean, at least I’m complaining internally.” She smirked up to him, showing she wasn’t trying to help him, she was just making a snarky comeback.

He shook his head, his lips swerving in their rage as he lifted himself up, completely over her cocky and irritating behavior.

“You will read the slab for me!” He smashed down his robotic arm by her, and she had to turn her head away from the dust and flying debris of shattered rock taking off from the impact.

“Like I’d die for you!” She badmouthed back, “Sonic and my friends will be here any minute. Seems you’ve become very fond of our combined butt-whooping, Lyric! I can’t fathom any other reason you’d keep wishing it upon you, unless it truly makes you feel like you even have a butt to whoop.”

“Silence!” He roared up, having the whole of the tomb shake from his vibrating, strong sound before Amy just scoffed.

“Finally, we see snake-eye to hedgehog-eye now.” She leaned back on the pillar she was tied to, taking a nice breath out. “Ah~ Now, to await the inevitable victory-WUOO!” She was yoinked practically up, snapping her restraints around her wasit but her arms still behind her back.

Lyric had taken hold of her head, as she kicked the air and tried to hit him while he held her uncomfortably high.

She could probably be alright, but she couldn’t use her Enerbeam… Nor her Piko-Piko Hammer while her arms were still tied-up, although her legs free.

She could feel the squeezing of his robotic claws digging into her cranium, and for the first time that day, she actually showed the tire and wear of having struggled against him for so long.

Not only did she dig her way carefully as she could in here, trying to preserve the ancient relics to study them later, but she had to fight Lyric, and now…

“If you will not comply…” He pulled her face towards his own, using his tail to grab her legs and keep them tightly clamped together, making sure her struggle just became ten-times harder…

Her eyes were twitching under the pressurized hold the claws had on her head… Looking up as she couldn’t help but show the strain.

“Then you’ll remember an old friend, I’m sure…” He attached a new mind-controller on her, as he let her go and she fell to all fours,... then looked up to show she was fully under his power.

“Perfect~” He chimed, laughing manically, “Now, read it to me!” He slashed his tail against the wall, turning for her to get up and walk towards the slab.

She knelt and held out her two hands to it, reading the rock…

“At last! My robotic empire! To erase the weak and insipid existence of all living organisms…” He slithered and opened his arms to the murals around the tomb. “To eternally strive for perfect power… the influence of which only the vast superiority of machines can dictate! Eggman was a fool to try and rival me… You and your friends were mere insects to my reign! Biting and taunting me, getting in my way to distract me from the ultimate purpose of my recreation!” He twisted the wrist joint of his robotic arm and held up his claw-like hand, admiring it. “Soon, even I shall become fully mechanized! With immortality, I can improve my own being once more! No longer half-complete, a mutated cyborg with still my fleshy prison! But… I shall shed this weakling flesh to become truly–the immortal mechanized god of this new world!” He struck an all-powerful and imposing pose, but an explosion of rocks and rumbling of the tomb’s unstabilized structure shook him out of his gloating aside to himself once more.

“Wh-what? OFFPH!” A red, shiny shoe smushed with great force against his face, crushing it as Sonic sped into the fight, and Shadow rushed to Amy’s side.

“Snap out of it!” He could tell by her faint breathing that she was already losing her life force, the stream of which was moving through the air into the large center dome-like structure above the tomb.

“No… not again..!” Shadow cried out, seeing as Lyric was able to actually combat Sonic, who had tried to pin him down but was flung off of him.

Lyric laughed again with the added strength of immortality slowly being converted into him by the strange process of the powerful stream of light waving through the air, coming out of the ball, to then attach to him like a leash.

“Soon, Sonic, all your friends will contribute to is merely delaying the eventual takeover of this planet..!” Lyric, slithering towards Sonic as he kept backing up, felt his body powering up. “Every muscle in you will eventually wither and die… while mine shall stay immaculate… and whether you continue to prevent me from my destined course of fate or not, sooner or later… You will die.” He lunged into Sonic’s face, who looked horrified at what he was saying. “While I’ll still yet have endless time left in me… to conquer, maim, and entirely transform this pathetic mossy rock into yet another perfect rendition of what I shall become… Immortality pristine, everlasting, and most importantly…” He rose himself up into the air, his tail whipping around underneath him. “A robotic masterpiece..!”

“Amy..!!!” Shadow gripped at her mindcontrolling device on her head, but it was wedged on tightly this time, “Darn it, woman!” He looked to the slab, she was almost done..!

He closed his eyes, realizing what he must do.

“Forgive me… Maria.” He covered Amy’s mouth so she couldn’t speak. “I will have to belay my promise to you… and save this pathetic excuse for a world… if only to bring your perfect idealisms to light… perhaps… another day.”

He lowered his head and read the last of the inscription, which took his immortality and-

The beam redirected.

“WHAT?!” Lyric landed back on the ground, looking at his robotic arms before turning to finally notice Shadow as he held Amy, giving her back her life force…

“NOOO!!!” Lyric began to move quickly towards him, but Sonic thomped him yet again to the ground.

He folded his arms, standing triumphantly over him, “Looks like your brilliant plan at eternal robotization backfired yet again, Lyric! Now, you’re just softly singing the poetic justice of what happens to those who try and metallically make their own butts to be kicked!” He kicked Lyric as he moved forward with a humorous cry of pain from it.

“Shadow?” Sonic then raced to his side, looking at Amy in his arms and having her transferred to his own.

Shadow… slowly shook his head.

Sonic, worried now, looked down at Amy. “Amy?”

She didn’t move… the light breeze from their entrance now sending the wind to move her three bangs.

“... Amy?” There was a long… hard pause…

The air was still, even Lyric pushed up off the ground, holding his push-up position, and looked to see with a swishing tail if immortality could still be his afterall.

Then… her eyes blinked…

“Miss Rose?” The little blonde human girl was bending down to speak to her, as she got up, rubbing her head.

“Wha-... H-huh?” She looked around what seemed like a white space. “Am I… dead?” She looked at the girl, gasping, “Maria Robotnik!?”

The little girl shyly giggled, gently covering her mouth, “Oh, I’m sorry for laughing, this isn’t the time nor place for that.” She then curtsied and offered her her hand, “You’re not dead. I’m giving you my life’s essence… the same essence… that was used to give Shadow his immortal life.”

“W-What?!” Amy scooted away, kicking her feet out from the girl’s hand. “That’s ludicrous! I don’t want eternal life!” She exclaimed, “I… I want to grow old with my friends, and have countless adventures… a family and eventually… make global peace and end world hunger.” She looked down, “Set up an all-women government and prove that we can organize a better democracy and-”

Maria just giggled again, “Many. Big. Dreams.” She gave each word a single note and pause, not necessarily for dramatic flavor or effect, but to show how much they meant to her.

“Many times have I wished for a better world. Bigger and bigger have my heartfelt prayers become. Dreams of an absolution… from misery and fire, to passion and compassion reigning evermore on the earth.” She gently offered her hand to Amy again.

“If you can’t accept an immortal life… then accept entirely your own life. All it’s happenings. Even the mistakes…”

Amy looked at her hand… realizing that without Maria, she would likely never be able to return to life at all…

“Is this… really the only way?” Amy held up her hand, but hesitated, looking sweetly at the girl. “I’m sure… W-We could ask Tails… We could find a way to bring you back!” She formed a fist, “We can reverse what this place has done to you!”

Maria just smiled like the angel she was. “... This is the only way…” She quietly stated, “Come, be at peace. Your friends are waiting for you.”

Amy dropped her head, her hand loosening from a determined fist to an open hand again, and looked at it. “... Dying sure does suck… doesn’t it?” She looked with teary eyes up to the kind, optimistic girl. Her heart wanted to help her, but she was sacrificing herself–yet again–for the greater good.

“Thank you… Maria.” She took her hand… as a white light engulfed them.

“No, Amy Rose. Thank you… for never giving up on the world we live in. In it’s present, so many seek to extend their lives, in fear that they will live to short or not greatly enough. The real life we should long for, is the one we’re currently on right now. With so much possibility, with so many endless adventures to take… When one begins to stop fearing the future, then can we really live and create it at last… the way-...”

“We want to.” Amy finished, as Maria’s voice faded and she opened her actual eyes.

Sonic and Shadow were over her… Shadow having lost his Immortality, but Amy not gaining it.

Instead, Amy had died and Maria used her life force to give it back to her.

Both mortal now, Amy looked from Sonic to Shadow, and held up a hand to grace his cheek, “She’s lovely.” She smiled kindly to him. “Maria was such a beautiful young girl.”

Shadow couldn’t hold it back, and cried.

He ducked his head as her hand came gently off and moved to Sonic’s chest, patting it lightly, “Boy, does that heart never cease to slow down?” She teased, as Sonic sighed in relief.

“Happy to have you back… Ames.” He gave her a fond expression, and she leaned her head into his embracing arms, resting in that soft gaze of sweetness he gave her.

“ARRGGGAHHH!!” Lyric arched his back, crying out in further outrage. “HOW!? You fools! I will return, I will bring a bigger robotic army, I’ll have you ruing the day you-!”

There’s was a large ‘KONK!’ sound as mechanical birds flew around his head while he circled a little in the air and then fell forward, revealing Tails with a large wrench held like a thrown baseball bat, Knuckles with his fists positioned as though they had just hit something as well, and Sticks with her boomerang and one hand on the ground to show she had just caught it.

“Man, to think. We’ve stumbled upon a literal ANCIENT secret governmental conspiracy! Whoo! Glad I’m only living in a time where we have to deal with our modern governmental conspiracies!” She spouted out, looking relieved for some odd reason.

“Oh, hey Bestie!” She waved enthusiastically to Amy, who lightly waved back at her, giggling as she came over.

Completely unaware…

Of what just happened here moments before.

“What were you up to?” She asked, innocently.

Shadow covered his face from the view of the others, as Sonic looked to him and then to Amy, and helped her to lean up more so she could be sitting comfortably as she twisted her torso to address the others, and mostly answer Sticks’s question.

“Changing fate.” She replied, smiling from ear to ear. “And hopefully…”

“Making all of ours a good one.”

[rose-tea-and-strawberries]

Celebrating Ramadan With Kalim and Jamil

Masterlist

First of all, I would like to say that all of this is incredibly self-indulgent. I know that everyone has their own traditions and ways of celebrating Ramadan but this is how my family observes this month. I would love to hear anyone else’s input.

Okay, my mother would love to meet them because they are good, respectable boys.

Every year my mother goes abaya shopping where she has to buy three different abayas (one for Eid, one for Taraweeh/Jummah prayers at the mosque and one for everyday wear) and she always gets upset because I’ve been using the same abaya for the past three years and I only get another one once my previous one has been worn down. Well, now she shall be disappointed no longer because not only would Kalim buy me three wardrobe’s worth of the most luxurious abayas known to man with the fanciest matching shawls but he also, most probably, would get her the fancy abayas as well.]

Kalim would win her heart by buying her those really luxurious hijab shawls.

Oh my god, Eid dress shopping would be a whole other monster. After finding out that I buy two dresses/outfits for Eid, he would be like ‘ha you thought’ and just pull up a thick magazine and ask my mother to point out anything and everything she wants me to have - since she’s the one that does all of the Eid shopping - and the next day I’d find a pile of readily tailored clothes in my bedroom.

A few weeks ago, my mother bought me a golden bracelet with my name written in Arabic on it and honestly part of the reason I love it is because it is exactly the kind of gift Kalim or Jamil would give me.

Iftar and Suhoor would be a feast with Kalim, Jamil and the Al-Asim wealth. Like these boys would stroll up with the rich people dates and my mother would be sold (my mum and her dad love dates).

This has nothing to do with the rest of the post but I know for a fact that the Scarabia boys would get my name right on the first try and I love them for that.

(Context: I have an Arabic/Muslim surname and I spent all my life going to a whiter-than-the-antaractic primary school that used to be a church. That place was so white that we didn’t even have proper assemblies, we had ‘service’ where the priest from down the road would come and talk about the Bible to the entire school whilst the 10-20ish Muslim kids would sit at the back of the hall and read books. So whilst I was there everyone would pronounce my last name as the way you would spell it out in english whereas the actual arabic pronunciation is different but since everyone including my teachers, the librarians, my mum and dad’s coworkers etc called me by the western pronunciation, I thought that that was what my name is. It was only after my Arabic/Quran teacher pronounced my surname in its Arabic way that my dad told me that it's the proper way of saying it. Not going to lie, it felt kind of weird knowing that I’ve been getting my own name wrong for over a decade and I still use the English pronunciation to this day)

Similarly to how Kalim would win my mum with dates and clothes, Jamil would win my mum with handmade kunafa. Trust me, my family loves kunafa.

Also, my parents love arabic tea. My mum collects tea sets and her two favourite sets are her Turkish tea glasses and silvery metallic Moroccan tea set. Jamil would see her arabic mint tea leaves and he would offer to brew it for her and it would taste like perfection, I just know it.

There was this one Ramadan where my mum got into Arabic calligraphy so she bought this big canvas and some black paint and my sister and I tore out pages from my cartridge paper pad and used my calligraphy pens and we just sat and tried to replicate the arabic calligraphy art we saw on google images whilst listening to nasheeds and I KNOW that Jamil would love to do this. Like he would come out with a masterpiece after ten minutes and then judge watch me try to make mine look half decent before trying to help me. 

I don’t think Jamil would be allowed in the kitchen when my sister, mum and I prepare food for Iftar since it’s a girls only zone but if he could enter it, I know that he would be all calm and everything would be ready at least ten minutes before the adhan compared to the rat race that happens in my house where there are some days where we are laying the table like a minute before it’s time to break fast.

So the day before or two days before Eid, my mother or her friends would invite all of the ladies and their daughters for a henna party where we pay a professional to come and put henna on our arms (and sometimes feet) and we play music and sing and dance and eat sweets and it's a whole thing. Kalim would be upset that he can’t join us but he’d understand since it’s a girls only party and there will be women who want to take off their hijabs and relax but he would pay for like ten of the best henna artists he knows and order food for us and he’d be such a sweetheart like he’d be so happy when I’d show him my designs and he’d talk about how his siblings would wear henna and he used to wear it before he got tattoos.

So, my family likes to celebrate my dad’s lunar birthday since he was born during Ramadan and then, since my sister and I made a big deal of it, my parents decided that they’ll also celebrate our lunar birthdays as well - and by ‘celebrate’ I mean that my mum would order takeaway from our favourite restaurants for dinner - and I can so see this as a thing that Kalim would do only he would treat my lunar birthday as an actual birthday with cake and presents and the whole she-bang.

I kind of want to introduce Kalim to my grandma only to see his reaction to her calling my little sister ‘shaytan’ (satan/devil) as a term of endearment.

Speaking along those lines, I also have a very artistically talented friend who shares the same morbid humour as me and as a gift she made me a canvas with the words ‘Kullu nafsin thaiqatu almawti’ (Every soul shall taste death) written in arabic calligraphy that I have hung up in my bedroom and I would love to see Jamil or Kalim react to that just being one of the first things they see.

[elitadream]

I love how you’ve stressed the understanding of Junior not TRULY being able to pick sides when it comes to his father and Mario. With him being a young child, making that distinction between what is good and bad pretty much comes down the that nature vs nurture aspect.

I can see almost see both ways happen, as a child who’s strived to impress a parent that isn’t the best role model, there have been moments where I’ve had to ignore or hide what I know as right and wrong and follow what they think as to get that sweet sweet parental praise and love. Maybe as Junior gets older the expectations of taking the throne outweigh his true feelings, and his love and loyalty to his father becomes his downfall. It’s not healthy for this unconditional familial love, especially on both ends. Even if the end goal is to help or provide, if the parents morals are warped or skewed then the child they put out will have those learned behaviors (our nurture aspect) if any of this makes sense.

I can also see an event in which an older Junior comes across a situation in which he does not agree with a decision. Perhaps Bowser has tried to rope an now older Junior into capturing Peach and attempting to rid of Mario and Luigi in a more aggressive fashion. In a fit of desperation and fear, Junior pretends to “defeat” the bro’s. Maybe it was something Mario said, or how sad he looked to be fighting the koopaling he’s come to know and cherish (a pseudo-son of sorts), but in the end Junior just can’t see the reasoning to hurt someone, especially when he knows deep down that him and his father are the ones at fault. Perhaps the bros make it to the Dark Lands and make it to Bowsers and him, leading to a final standoff. Junior doesn’t want to hurt anyone, it’s not fun to see others in pain or suffering, and the conflict of interest between him and his father may drive that decision to turn away from Bowser. Presumably leading to a Father vs Son, a Generation vs Generation, a true Right vs Wrong. (Maybe our nature aspect)

The speculation space you provide is fantastic, from the short blurbs and scenes we have gotten and the bread crumbs of text show that Junior appreciates and loves his father while respecting and looking up to Mario as well. The conflict of role models and with just how young Junior still is shows that he could still be swayed in either direction. The fantastic part to me is there is still no way to tell yet.

Your AU and everything you’ve put forth so far is gorgeous and I am so happy to have been able to come across you blog on more than one occasion. Please continue your world building, what you have is something you should be proud of. (*´꒳`*)

Ooh yes, Junior is a very conflicted character on that front! 🥺🙇‍♀️ He loves his father greatly and wants to make him proud, but he's also deeply and genuinely fond of Mario- and finding himself torn between radically opposing forces creates a very intense struggle for him, emotionally and morally speaking.

The tragic beauty in this conflict is that Junior finds candid motivation on both ends due to the very strong affection and admiration that he feels for the two. His intentions originate from the right place regardless of who they're directed at, and he will inevitably sway back and forth because of this.

While I've shown him as being a "good" kid (in the sense that he isn't inherently evil, but rather a blank canvas like most children are), his father's influence in his life is still huge and incredibly potent, the same way Mario's impact on him is felt very strongly despite him really wanting to be worthy of his father's esteem.

I love Junior's character for that reason- the ambiguity, the incertainty and the constant dilemma that comes with trying to meet contrasting expectations. He's a paradoxical figure, his heart leaning in two different directions at the same time, and one that is bound to evolve in a very non-linear way because of it. 🎇

I really enjoyed reading your thoughts on this!! That was a beautiful analysis, and I'm delighted that you like my portrayal of the small koopa. 🙏 Thank you for your wonderful compliment on my work, that's immensely appreciated. ☺️💟

[damnfandomproblems]

758648137243049984

First of all, like someone else said, the same logic and arguments you apply to ships also applies to violence in fiction. The two are kinda interchangeable. Murder, terrorism, torture, those kinds of things are wrong and hurt people in real life so I don't know why most antis are okay with it in fiction even when it happens to kids. If ships influence people then fictional violence will too. If it really worked like that, then the fact you're up in arms over ships but okay with violence is kinda worrying. If one is wrong, then both are wrong. If one doesn't work like that, then neither does the other.

Lastly, what people think romanticizes something is often subjective, and in my own experience, just writing about it makes them think you're condoning it. For example, before I joined Tumblr this year I used a different app where I often posted some of my writing. Including an old one I wrote in high school and reworked. The narrator suffered from depression and would often self-harm. The short passage I uploaded was her in the middle of attempting suicide. She self-harmed because she felt she needed to 'atone' for perceived slights. She attempted suicide because she wanted the pain to end and thought that was the only way it would. I based this writing on my own personal and my friends' experiences. I wasn't encouraging anything, I just wanted to work through things in hs and writing helped me. That work was taken down. It was my fault because it went against the rules of the group, but the reason the other person gave wasn't that it wasn't allowed by the rules, they called it "pro-self harm". They thought I wanted people to hurt themselves because my narrator had depression which caused her do do unhealthy things/think unhealthy thoughts, because that's how I feel sometimes.

I'm not saying everyone who writes this stuff is trying to work through trauma/pain in a healthy way. And they don't need to be a victim to write this stuff or write it for that purpose. Maybe they wrote it for fun or it's a fantasy kink, and there's nothing wrong with that. Maybe others will read it for the same reasons. But maybe a victim will read it and maybe it'll help them come to terms with what happened. And maybe you'll read the same thing but think it's glorifying something you hate.

Whether something glorifies a bad thing or not is often subjective. Just because you personally hate it doesn't mean it doesn't have a purpose or shouldn't exist.

And banning this stuff won't do anything. It will still be made, just in secret. It will still be posted, just on a hidden website. And the associated crimes irl won't decrease. Maybe they'll slightly go down, though I'd argue they'd most likely go up. Because if people are reading these things and hurting others cause of it, they already had those thoughts in their minds. If they're going after kids or abusing their partners after reading about it, then the fiction didn't create that desire out of nothing, it was just the final push they needed to do something they already wanted to do. And anything could be that final push, they could have seen someone else do it irl. In that case the fiction was a key that unlocked the door to a desire they kept hidden, not a paintbrush that painted an image of that desire on a blank canvas. Anything could be a key. Don't place more blame on fiction than on the criminal. That allows them to not have to take personal responsibility and you're ignoring the root of the problem, making it harder to protect people. Don't waste time and energy going after depictions of abuse instead of actual real life abusers.

Posting as a response to a previous ask.

[anthrotographer]

Challengers (2024) | A review w/ spoilers*

Tumblr is not going to like my review, I already know. I acknowledge this movie wasn't made for me, but I feel I give credit where it's due.

Last night I had a staggering movie going experience. I felt like I was being sold a lie a minute sitting through the agonizing commercials, the movie previews, and till the end of Challengers. Back to back promos for military branches, painting them as organizations of peace and innovation (a rally during war time). I understand there’s nothing new about that experience. Consumerism and propaganda tactics have a long tradition at the cinema. We’ve been advertised a false reality for so long it’s hard to think about our world without using the images fed to us to line that canvas. Take how modern horror treats rural living. It’s very common to see (in fact I saw) a movie trailer where a young couple vacations in a secluded part of the country to get away from it all. The idea of ruralism as a peaceful alternative to stressful urban living is benign and actually has some merit to think about in a country as urbanized and unhappy as ours. Yet the common movie trope is that there are evil forces lurking in the dark outskirts, that living ‘out there’ turns people into kooks or murderous cultists. One movie by itself with this premise can be harmless, but within a whole genre that trends this way it feels insidious. Almost like we are supposed to all fear each other. Challengers is another example of a genre movie that warps human reality into a lifeless opportunity to sell things. 

When a movie feels more like a commercial or a music video then why even bother with the movie going experience. The distinguishers between television and film are fading away over time. In one particularly unabashed scene we cut between three different product placements for Coke, Adidas, and the U.S. Open. It was shameless, the way Josh O’Connor was most likely told to hold that CocaCola label perfectly centered in the frame. Those three brands are far from the only ones displayed. Tennis, and sports events in general, flash a ton of advertising so I understand that the film’s stuck in that universe. Still there are ways to artfully sidestep brazen product placement. 

I don’t want to spend much time trying to analyze the relationship between Tashi, Art and Patrick. The film doesn’t give you enough about why these three are fatefully attached to each other besides vapid attractions. Yes all three are enamored by one another but what’s the motivation to stay in this toxic ménage à trois dynamic for so long? Zendaya plays Tashi, a master manipulator trying to mold her husband Art Donaldson into the star tennis player she was supposed to be before her injury. And her “little white boys” Art and Patrick feel like pawns that are content to be pawns. Men who don’t have any freewill and are solely motivated by their lust for this supermodel of a woman. In a way I don’t blame them. My disconnect comes because there’s a lack of depth with the characters and their relationships. Each of them seems to have a singular focus; Tashi wants vicarious glory through Art, Art wants to be loved, and Patrick wants Art’s life. But there is no depth to the desires. Time is never spent on why Tashi loves tennis more than people or why Art and Pat let their, supposedly strong bond, get broken so easily by a “home wrecker” that forecasted her own home wrecking. And look, as a seductive art piece it succeeds, for the most part, but as a story about real people it reduces its characters to their base desires while pretending they are complex. Maybe I don’t understand Romance—as I’ve been told. I am content to treat it as just a romantic fantasy and give it credit for being hot, but it was also a long drawn out tease. 

There was no reason for this experience to be more than two hours long! Half of it was in never ending slow-mo where I felt like the same tennis ball was being served for half an hour. The dreaded slow motion, which can be good for a sporty movie to capture athletic movements and build suspense, but here it was overused to a point where it left us thinking “get on with it already”.  Thank goodness some of my theater neighbors were also moaning about this because I felt alone, trapped in a drugged fugue state. So much of the film was disorienting. For a period you are meant to feel like a tennis ball being battered around through the camera. Editing wise this movie had the same problem that so many modern movies have; death from a thousand cuts. And the slowly unraveling chopped timeline executed so many arbitrary flashbacks and flash forwards. Eight weeks before, two days forward, then a five year flashback, all when you could tell this story sequentially with similar suspense building and less confusion. 

Seeing this movie was a spur of the moment, going in blind experience. I know now that I was not the target audience. Today I mentioned it to a friend and he ended up watching the trailer. The text I got back: “looked like a bit of a teenager movie”. I don’t mean to spoil the enjoyment for anyone with this review. From a certain angle I did have fun with Challengers. Sometimes simply devouring some eye candy is what the mood demands. 

If you found my writing at all interesting please visit and follow it on Substack!

[trozeikylis]

The Human Heart, Divine Judgment, and Mechs

Spoilers for the OG series and End of Evangelion. I’d highly advise you watch those first so you can make your own opinion before looking at this.

I recently watched all of Eva for the first time recently since my friend invited me to watch End of Eva for its special theater viewing. To be honest, I didn’t know really what to expect when I went in, but I had heard a lot of things and had figured now would be a good time to finally bite the bullet and have one large, cathartic session of child soldier trauma. What I didn’t expect would be a 10 hour binge-fest of tears and a major reconsideration of myself in the process.

I knew that this show was heavy and wasn’t going to pull punches. It’s kinda why I opted to binged the initial 26 episodes by myself on one day. And while I wouldn’t recommend it for everyone because I felt absolutely horrendous from the messed up state of mind it left me in, it’s definitely something I’d suggest doing if you have the guts for it.

As for the show and movie itself, I’m glad that I watched them both sometime during my life. As I said earlier, this is not for everyone. It’s mature, unadulterated emotions splayed on the canvas for all to see. If you couldn’t stand something like Devilman Crybaby, then this is probably not for you. But by the same token, it’s a deep retrospection of yourself and (Japanese) society as a whole when you look at it from an analytical lens. The concept of merging every being into one, essentially eliminating the self is such an extreme that I’ve never even considered would be possible, and yet, they made it work. There’s numbers and logic and science, but by the same token, nothing explicitly explains why the Evas are capable of taking matters into their own hands through the inhibiting armor. But it doesn’t need to.

Are we worthy to continue existing? Are we worthy of our lives as a whole, or as an individual? These are the two questions that Eva proudly poses, with each group giving different answers. And it’s very obvious of the stances of each party: the pilots and those that stand with them, and the Seele. However, because the opinions of the children are cast aside, it very much reflects the mentality humanity has put into its youth: disregarded due to the lack of experience. But those that do acknowledge them understand that once, they too were in their shoes. It’s why those that sided with them had similar situations of absent or neglectful parents, those that barely had an appearance, and thusly, carved a determined individual out of spite rather than praise and attendance.

And while Shinji gets a lot of flak for being hesitant to his fate, I have to firmly disagree on the logic that those fans have for him. It’s obvious from the beginning that while he wishes to not cause harm, it’s the fate he’s drawn to and eventually a key part of his identity. If he wasn’t an Eva pilot, would anyone else ever hear his cello? Would anyone else bother looking at him? He’s an average guy with average grades on purpose, and yet one who must answer the call and push past his neglectful childhood in order to sprout the seed of humanity.

As for Rei and Asuka, this is the first series in a long time that made me ask myself: “why were you written in this story? For what purpose do you have to the message of the plot?” Rei was quite simple, but Asuka? Asuka drove me mad. I could not comprehend her reasoning for existing. Without Asuka, Shinji was on a steady platform for growth and acceptance, for understanding flaw and fault and yet being able to hold his head high and make positive relationships regardless of what others think. When she came in on the 7th episode, I was excited. I was curious as to why so many people were attracted to her character, but it fell incredibly flat. Her stubborn ego and standoffish attitude clashed with the sheer positivity I had seen from online. She was asinine and cruel to Shinji, who clearly had a lot of visible issues going on, even if he was silent about them. Even after the explanation of her mother going insane to eventually committing suicide, I felt nothing. I had figured that she had ongoing familial issues (as did the rest of the cast that directly interacted with the pilots), but at this point when everybody’s special, nobody is.

It wasn’t until I had watched the movie that it finally clicked for me. Asuka, standing proudly in the apartment, staring at Shinji, echoing what had already been stated throughout the show. The confidence that Shinji could never have stared back at him, the woman within his grasp undesirable. One who is lauded and praised endlessly for her accelerated education and incredible synchronization with the Eva, and yet… everything Shinji despises. She is the truth that he rejects. She is the foil to Shinji, one who accepts and runs toward the truth, and gets hurt because of it. After all, while they both watched their mothers’ lives end, Asuka is the only one who made it shape her thoughts. It festered and built after all that time, allowing her to finally accept her AT fields and use them until the end.

It doesn’t matter how many times Shinji’s train-space in his head has to attempt to process the same information. It doesn’t get through until that very scene, and in a strange sense, made me truly enjoy Asuka as a character and thusly, that entire scene. It’s truly a shame it was resolved via domestic violence, but by the same token, has Shinji ever had such an authority with his voice to realize that it may have been effective in that moment? Not to say “boys will be boys” or anything of the sort, but by the same token, when you know nothing else aside from biting the hand that feeds, what will a wild beast do when they are taught nothing?

I’m honestly surprised that words are not talked about more in the series. Like the Spear of Longinius, they are more than capable of cutting through AT fields and resonating with the soul. You see them work and be effective with the improving synchronicity rates, when he surpasses Asuka. The positive reinforcement truly bolsters him and lets him stand for himself again after she initially arrives. Maybe it’s even what makes him desperate for her approval. Perhaps his loneliness had truly started to eat at him and she was the fastest person he could contact. There are a lot of different reasons that he could be so stuck on her. At the same time, though, from the perspective of a child deep in depression and torment, words are simply just noise that fill the air.

Speaking of which, many laud the series for an accurate depiction of depression and anxiety, and while I didn’t really get the feeling of the latter until End of Eva, Shinji’s self-affirmations and hesitance always had resonated with me. The feeling of not knowing what tomorrow will be or how the world will elect to view you always creeps in the back of your mind.

And before I forget: the original ending, while technically fantastic to break down and the message being amazing in its open-endedness, definitely left a lot to be had. That said, I am grateful it exists as it helps build more context for End of Eva. It gives an introspection on Shinji, and how he defines the human heart. The turmoil that fights at him while he sits under the staircase during the Seele raid, the thoughts that rush through his head while a giant Rei stares expectingly at him, the collective consciousness flooding through his head whilst he becomes fanta, they’re all proudly on display through those initial last two episodes.

However, I will definitely appreciate the End of Evangelion for tying everything very neatly. Knowing the fate of Shinji and the world appends to the message of the show. That despite everything, despite the apocalypse and nobody wanting to join you, you can find hope. You can carry what others have dropped and make sure your own dreams can be within reality. What others think of you shouldn’t matter. While external appreciation is nice, it shouldn’t define you as a person. However, it’s ok to be afraid. Otherwise, we would all be one person with several different bodies, and without each other being different in our own ways, there would be no reason to carry on anymore.

So, what do you wish for? What do you want? Would you like to be one, in body, in mind, and in spirit?

I didn’t realize I had this many words to say about Eva, but it did resonate with me pretty intensely. If you’ve read this far, thank you for listening to my rambling. It’s insane how content that’s produced from a region that is resistant to understanding mental health and from such a long time ago still has merit in this current age, but life finds a way. I definitely wish to watch the rest of the content that came out for this because it’s been an incredibly validating experience despite how unrealistic it is. Once I’m done with Eva, I’ll probably watch other things to make me feel absolutely horrendous and write about them here. Or not, who knows?

[luxi-storyteller]

@reallygroovyninja. You got Lexa's POV for the next chapter.

Chapter 2

The apartment key never fit the hole quite right. One of those things that should have just worked, but like everything else in Clarke’s life it required just a little extra. A turn in the opposite direction, then a jiggle back and forth. Angle the key upwards, and twist the handle, before the key would turn correctly.

Rolling her eyes, she muttered, “If I’m not doing the most, then what am I doing?” Then she kicked the bottom of the door with the side of her foot because one of her toes still hadn’t healed from the last time she’d lost her patience with this process.

The answer to her question was trying to survive, and the single light bulb that lit inside was a reminder of how expensive survival actually was. So expensive that she sold her knot. She tried to laugh about it, even chuckled aloud lightly.  Faking it until she made it had been her most current motto. It was failing her, just like she was failing herself.

Adjusting herself in the loose briefs she’d been instructed to wear so her balls could adust themselves to the appropriate temperature, she tried to hold back the thought of Lexa’s warmth around her. It had been a year since the last time she’d had sex, and that wasn’t even with an omega capable of taking her knot. That wasn’t the part she missed though, which probably made her a crappy alpha.

Closing her eyes, she tried to remember how Lexa’s skin felt against hers. She’d wanted to take her time mapping the smooth curves of her thighs. Memories the way feel of her breasts so if she ever had the type of money to invest in clay, she could pretend to be sculptor recreating the image of the goddess like figure.

That was a level of intimacy she’d held back seeing how nervous Lexa was with the interaction. She didn’t have the desire to lay for hours as Clarke worshipped her, so she took the time they were tied together to learn what she could. Tried not to get lost in the fairytale of dream as she strummed her fingers across Lexa’s stomach that protruded just slightly from the third release Clarke had locked inside her.

Her head hit the door, while she set in place the four locks on the door to the studio. Two more strikes diverted the blood from her dick to her forehead that might even bruise with the force she’d used to remind herself that the life she gave the woman wasn’t going to be apart of hers.

She didn’t need to look at the table to know the past due bills and collections notices were still where she’d lined them up. Each one was a reason why she couldn’t back out of the contract and just ask the gorgeous account out to coffee instead.

No, Lexa moved with a grace that said she’d made better life choices than Clarke had. The kind of choices that made it possible to not just start a family on her own but pay off Clarke’s poor choices at the same time.

For three knots, Lexa paid for three things. An incomplete Ivy League education that didn’t care Clarke didn’t finish the program and couldn’t afford the student loan payments. The ambulance transport bill for the lives of her parents that weren’t saved. And another round of substance abuse treatment for the little sister whose world shattered when Clarke failed to save their parent’s lives.

There was no reason for someone like Lexa to see Clarke. She knew they were electrons of different elements that had were only briefly bonded for one purpose. Their connection was a covalent bond, not meant to last because they weren’t innately attracted to each other. Not when Lexa was steady and had all the pieces of herself working together, while Clarke was spiraling out of control. Their pairing was to complete a task. Nothing more.

She refused to look at the tear stained pages and chose to finish the canvas she’d started after meeting Lexa. The DNA she’d left in Lexa would never know her, but she wanted to do something that Lexa may place in the home the child would grow to love life.

It hadn’t been a lie that she’d spent time in her studio yesterday, she just didn’t tell Lexa that her studio was home to a stiff mattress atop a platform she’d constructed from pallets fixed to a mismatched headboard and footboard found on two different trash days. The springs would dig into her bones when she finally laid down.

That would come later. For now, she needed to get the shade of Lexa’s eyes right.

Her brush mixed two shades of green with just the tiniest hit of a blueish grey. The biggest challenge was how the woman’s eyes had shifted color in the lighting. When they’d met at the agency, the woman’s eyes had been lined in a deep black. The green had popped under the bright office lights. A striking hue that pulled Clarke in and had her wondering if life had ever felt so real before seeing those eyes.

Today they were different though. She hadn’t worn eyeliner, and the cream cotton of her blouse didn’t shift the saturation. The soft glow of the hotel room lighting transitioned them into something softer. A shade so smooth, they looked like precious stones resting against the delicate sandy tone of her skin.

Sitting on her stool, Clarke tried to picture the type of apartment Lexa lived in. If woman allowed the canvas to live in her world, would it hang in poorly lit hallway or would she shine a light on it like it was valuable. That would change what color she would need to make the eyes gazing down at the head of wispy dark curls, because the likelihood of the child coming out blonde like Clarke was unrealistic when her own mother had dark hair.

She’d taken enough courses on genetics before dropping out to know that Lexa’s dark features would dominate over her own fairer ones. Something she would have loved to see if they’d met differently. It was the thing that had her stomach tied in knots. Never having the chance to mix a paint to match the child’s eyes or sketch the curve of their lips in a playful smile.

Clarke decided to paint the picture as though Lexa would value it enough to not hide it in hallway. The sharper green was spread out from her the pupils, but she added greyish spires. The woman’s eyes reminded her of the one astronomy course she’d taken for a general ed credit in college, so she painted the woman’s eyes to resemble a plant in a far-off galaxy. A planet capable of sustaining a life worth living.

The corners of Lexa’s eyes crinkled just slightly in the corners as she gazed down at the infant. A child sleeping as Lexa held her in her hands. The blanket swaddling the baby girl was left open for the tiny fist to be raised above her head. Clarke painted the fist fiercely raised in triumph at having landed in her best life.

A single tear slid down Clarke’s cheek as she added the tiniest details to the blanket in blue. The child they created would undoubtedly be a girl, but Clarke needed to leave a piece of herself in the painting. She slowly created a tiny double helix detail on the cream-colored blanket. One side of the helix was the same green she’d used for spires in Lexa’s eyes. The other side she’d matched to her own eyes, then connected the strands with a subtle grey.

Lexa was a numbers and spreadsheets person. She measured things like her words with such care and grace. Every addition to the painting would have to match that care and grace, so the child wouldn’t see it as out of place. Never feel like she didn’t belong in Lexa’s world, like Clarke knew her own self could never belong.

A child.

Clarke felt the tear drop from her chin. A single tear that she’d not meant to shed. This was supposed to be business, but a child wasn’t transactional.

A part of her hated that she’d sold her knot. Created a human like one of those asshole alphas running around trying to fill the world with their own duplicates. It wasn’t something she’d ever wanted to do. Never wanted to carelessly drop a part of herself into the world and walk away. She’d seen the damage that had caused in Octavia. Her childhood omega friend who was created and left to survive without anyone but her bitchy beta brother.

Clarke’s chin rose and her gaze fell on Lexa’s love. She’d swirled the off white with a cream in soft waves around the woman and child. Wrapped them in the comfort of almost cloud like spirals that added texture to image. She traced her finger over the dried paint. It wasn’t soft like Lexa’s skin had been, so she pulled her touch back.

Touching Lexa had been a privilege. One she wouldn’t get again if the timing had been correct. She’d assumed Lexa was on some form of hormone treatment, but she hadn’t been in heat. The pre-med course work had taught Clarke enough to know that if Lexa had been in heat, then there would be no question regarding the pregnancy. There was a question though. A question that would linger for two weeks before Clarke would find out if she’d been enough.

Never in her life had she been enough. Not capable enough to stop the bleeding when the car struck a deer just outside the cabin. Not observant enough to see Charlotte spiraling after the accident through her own grief. Not steady enough to hold the scalpel to continue her studies.

Her hands didn’t need to be steady to continue the swirls. The lack of steady hands had created the first swirl of emotion from Lexa’s body, and Clarke continued to let the brush flow against the canvas as she added her own love into the world surrounding the child.

They’d not talked of after. There wasn’t a discussion of if Clarke would ever get to even know the infant’s name. Ever get to see a sonogram or a picture from the day she took her first breath. She just knew the child would be a girl. The gender would of course present later, but the child would be born a girl because that was all a female alpha was capable of producing.

Her brush froze, and she wondered if Lexa knew that she would have a daughter. If her world of numbers and facts would have a place for mythical creatures and prisms of color to be danced into. Clarke had loved to dance as a girl. Loved to paint on the walls of her room and sing at the top of her lungs. If Lexa brought that side of Clarke into the world, would the woman cry over her ruined walls or cover her ears at signing that was too off key?

These were questions she should have asked instead of talking about painting canvas like it paid the bills. No, painted canvas only paid part of the bills if someone purchased something. Getting someone to see a painting felt impossible some days.

If Lexa knew that her main source of income was actually from painting newly developed apartment complexes, would the woman have chosen her?

Clarke shook her head. She didn’t even choose herself, so Lexa definitely wouldn’t have wanted her if she knew.

The brushes were washed, and the canvas left to dry when her eyes became heavy. She’d find a hundred mistakes that would need correcting tomorrow night, after she dragged her off white speckled body home from the train.

She was so tired, she barely noticed how terrible her mattress was. Her body fell into the well-worn hole in the center of the mattress. It wasn’t anything like the cushion of the luxury room she’d left Lexa in with her hips raised on a pillow. Sleep overtook Clarke before she was able to dwell on the desire to know the woman and the child in the painting.  

I want to preface the story I am about to post is garbage. No, really, it's bad. There are moments in it you can see my brain think oh shit, I need to explain myself.

If you want to read a story I am very proud of, check out The Fallen. It does have a shocking ending, which I am very sure turns people off, but I stayed faithful to the story that inspired it.

Anyway, here is unfinished Word Document 20. It's so bad I had to hide it under a cut. lol

Lexa was seated in a quaint office adorned with countless baby pictures, each snapshot a vignette of new beginnings and cherished memories. The walls, a gentle palette of pastel hues, were lined meticulously with these joyful expressions, casting a soft, hopeful glow throughout the room. The ambiance was both serene and surreal, as if Lexa had stepped into a gallery of future possibilities. 

At the desk, a woman named Marlene, who ran the agency, extended a packet of papers toward Lexa. "Based on your criteria and the comprehensive tests you completed, these are the candidates we believe match your needs," Marlene explained, her tone both professional and empathetic. She knew that the choices contained in these documents could change lives. "Once you have a shortlist, let us know. We can then provide you with their photographs. This decision is profound—it should transcend mere physical appearances." 

Lexa appreciated the process's discretion and thoroughness. She had longed for a child, a desire unmet in her past relationships, none of which revealed an alpha compelling enough to share her life's journey. Now, she sought a different route—a sperm surrogate, an alpha who would contribute to the life she wished to create and then step away, allowing her the autonomy she desired in raising her child. 

They would meet intermittently, their encounters solely intended to achieve conception. It was an arrangement devoid of traditional romantic entanglements, focused instead on the singular goal of motherhood. 

Taking the packet, Lexa began to leaf through the pages. Names, occupations, medical histories, personal hobbies, and more—details designed to paint a picture of each potential candidate. Yet, as she skimmed the information, the details seemed to meld into a blur of text. She knew she would need time and quiet to pore over these sheets, to consider who these people were beyond the data. 

Marlene watched her with a calm understanding, accustomed to the weight such decisions carried for her clients. "There’s no rush," she reassured Lexa. "Take the packet home, think over your options carefully. We're here to support you every step of the way." 

Grateful for the empathy and professionalism, Lexa nodded, clutching the documents a bit tighter as she prepared to leave. The smiling, innocent faces of the babies seemed to bid her farewell and good luck. Stepping out of the office, Lexa felt the gravity of her decision resting on her shoulders—a burden, yes, but also a beacon of the profound joy and love she hoped to welcome into her life. 

Later that evening, Lexa settled onto her couch, a glass of red wine in hand, the soft hum of her quiet home enveloping her as she spread the stack of profiles across her coffee table. The light of her living room lamp cast a cozy glow, perfect for the introspective task at hand. She had decided on a methodical approach to review each candidate: she would create two piles—one for definite no's, and another to review again. 

Taking a sip of her wine, Lexa began. One by one, she carefully read through each profile, considering the potential of each candidate not just as a genetic contributor, but as someone whose traits might mesh well with her own for the child they would share. Her fingers brushed against the papers, shifting them between the two designated areas on her table. 

There was Jacob, whose profile intrigued her right away. His interests in environmental science and community gardening hinted at a thoughtful, perhaps gentle soul. Then there was Bellamy, a police officer whose tone in the self-description came off a bit too brash for her liking; his profile radiated a certain arrogance that Lexa found off-putting. He was promptly placed in the no pile. 

As she continued, a few others passed her review—some with potential, others lacking the certain je ne sais quoi she was searching for. Finally, she reached the bottom of the stack, where a profile named Clarke rested. At first glance, something about Clarke's description didn’t quite resonate with her, and she was tempted to add it to the no pile. Yet, something—perhaps a detail she had missed or a gut feeling—nudged at her to reconsider. 

With a thoughtful frown, Lexa picked up Clarke’s profile again. This time, she read slower, trying to capture the essence behind the words. Clarke was an artist, deeply involved in local community projects, which spoke to a creative and civic-minded spirit. His brief mention of a love for old cinema and classic books hinted at depth. Lexa waffled, her initial impression clashing with the intrigue now sparked by her second, more careful reading. 

Setting Clarke's profile down on the "review again" pile, Lexa decided not to rush her judgment. She finished her wine, her mind actively weaving through the impressions each profile had left. Tonight was just the beginning. She knew the importance of this choice, not just for herself, but for her future child. She’d return to these profiles after a night’s rest, perhaps seeing them anew with fresh eyes and a clearer perspective. 

The next morning, Lexa found herself with a phone pressed to her ear, recounting the previous evening's deliberations to her cousin Anya. Anya had always been more like a sister to Lexa, providing both support and candid advice whenever Lexa needed it. 

"So, I've got these two piles," Lexa explained, her voice carrying a mix of resolve and uncertainty. "The no pile is pretty straightforward—those profiles just didn't click for me. But the 'review again' pile, that's where it gets tricky. There’s Jacob, who really seems like a gentle soul, and Clarke, who I almost passed on but decided to give another look."  

On the other end of the line, Anya listened intently, her occasional hums of agreement punctuating Lexa’s detailed descriptions of the potential alphas. When Lexa finished, there was a brief silence, the kind that hinted at Anya's deep consideration before she spoke. 

"Lex, are you sure about all this?" Anya’s voice was gentle, yet probing. "I mean, it sounds like you're really trying to convince yourself here. Aren't you giving up a bit easily on finding the right alpha? You know, the traditional way?" 

Lexa sighed, a soft sound of mixed emotions. "I know it seems like I'm rushing into this, but I've thought about it a lot. I just haven't met someone who fits what I'm looking for in a partner... someone I want to share my life with. This way, I can focus on what I really want—a child. I don’t need a romantic relationship to make that happen." 

Anya was quiet for a moment, likely weighing her next words. "I get that, I really do. But it’s a big step, Lexa. Just make sure you’re choosing this path because it’s truly what you want, not because you feel it’s your only option." 

Lexa nodded to herself, appreciating Anya's concern. "I understand, and I appreciate you looking out for me. I’m not closing the door on finding someone someday, but right now, this feels right. I want to be a mom, Anya. And I feel ready to do this on my own terms." 

Anya’s response was warm, supportive. "Then you know I'm behind you one hundred percent. Just promise me you'll think on it a little more, okay? And whatever you decide, I’m here for you." 

"Thanks, Anya. That means a lot to me," Lexa replied, feeling a comforting sense of reassurance. She knew Anya only wanted the best for her, and having her support strengthened Lexa's resolve to move forward thoughtfully and confidently. 

After ending the call with Anya, Lexa set aside the 'review again' pile of profiles on her dining table, deciding not to revisit them until later that evening. She knew the importance of the decision ahead and recognized the need to approach it with a clear mind and a settled heart. 

The conversation with Anya had stirred a mix of emotions and considerations, reinforcing the gravity of her choice. Lexa felt it crucial to give herself space—to let her initial impressions simmer and her intuition align with her logical reasoning. This pause, she believed, would help her return to the profiles with fresh eyes and a more decisive heart. 

During the day, Lexa busied herself with her usual activities, allowing her subconscious to process the morning’s conversation and her own feelings about each candidate. She went for a long walk in the park, the rhythmic steps helping to clear her mind. She met with a friend for coffee, enjoying the distraction and the normalcy of casual conversation. 

As the day turned into evening, Lexa felt more centered. She prepared a quiet space at home, with minimal distractions, lighting a candle for a touch of calm ambiance. She poured herself a glass of wine, similar to the night before, setting the stage for contemplation and decision-making. 

Sitting down, she slowly began to revisit each profile in the 'review again' pile. Lexa’s goal was to narrow her choices to two or three potential alphas—individuals who not only met her criteria on paper but whom she felt could genuinely contribute to the life and the values she hoped to nurture in her future child. With a deep breath, she delved into the profiles once more, ready to make one of the most significant decisions of her life. 

As the evening wore on, Lexa methodically revisited each profile, reflecting deeply on the characteristics and values of each potential alpha. Slowly, her list began to narrow until she was left with three names: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

Jacob’s profile had an immediate and strong appeal. His dedication to environmental conservation and his gentle demeanor resonated with Lexa's own values. It seemed a natural alignment, one that suggested he would bring the kind of thoughtful and nurturing influence she desired for her child. 

Roan presented a different allure. His profile portrayed him as a resilient and ambitious individual, someone who had overcome significant challenges to achieve personal and professional success. There was a strength in Roan's narrative that Lexa admired, a testament to his character that she believed would be a valuable trait to pass on to her offspring. 

Yet, despite the compelling cases for both Jacob and Roan, Lexa found her thoughts continually drifting back to Clarke’s profile. There was an intriguing blend of creativity and intellect in his background— an artist with an Ivy League education, deeply involved in community service. His profile hinted at a complex, multifaceted personality; he was someone who valued both expression and academia, who understood the importance of giving back to the community. 

Clarke’s interests in the arts and his commitment to societal contribution painted a picture of a man who was not only educated but also empathetic and engaged with the world around him. These were traits Lexa admired and sought for her child’s upbringing. 

The more Lexa thought about Clarke, the more she realized how much his qualities appealed to her. He represented a balance of intelligence, creativity, and civic responsibility—elements that she valued deeply and imagined could foster a rich, nurturing environment for a child. 

With a thoughtful sigh, Lexa placed Jacob and Clarke’s profiles side by side, with Roan's just slightly below them. It was clear these were her finalists, each bringing something unique and valuable to the table. She knew her decision would not be easy, but she also felt reassured by the strength of her final choices. As she prepared to retire for the night, Lexa felt a quiet confidence that among these men, she would find the right partner for the journey ahead. 

On a quiet Sunday morning, with a cup of tea steaming gently beside her laptop, Lexa settled down to compose an email to the agency. The decision to request photos of her three final candidates—Jacob, Roan, and Clarke—felt like the next logical step in her carefully considered process. She knew the agency wouldn't respond until Monday, but drafting the email gave her a sense of progress and control over her choices. 

Lexa typed with deliberate care, her words reflecting the gravity of her request. She explained that she had narrowed her selection down to three potential alphas and would now like to see their photographs to aid in her final decision. Lexa stressed that while she understood the importance of not basing her choice solely on physical attraction, she believed that a certain level of physical compatibility was essential for her comfort and confidence in this unique and intimate arrangement. 

As she hit send, Lexa felt a wave of anticipation mixed with satisfaction. Each of her chosen candidates brought distinct and strong qualities to the table. Jacob with his gentle nature and environmental passion, Roan with his resilience and proven ambition, and Clarke with his creative spirit and intellectual prowess—each was appealing in a uniquely compelling way. Lexa appreciated the diversity in their profiles, which she believed would allow her to make a balanced choice based on a combination of intellectual, emotional, and physical attributes. 

Leaning back in her chair, Lexa allowed herself to feel hopeful about the next steps. She hoped that the upcoming photos would not only confirm the impressions she had formed from their profiles but also ignite a spark of attraction. The thought of conceiving a child necessitated a certain level of physical appeal, and she hoped to find that in at least one of these men, making the process of becoming a mother not just a fulfillment of a desire but also a comfortable and pleasing journey. 

With her part done for now, Lexa spent the rest of her day engaged in preparing for the new week, her mind occasionally wandering to her three candidates. The blend of curiosity and excitement for what Monday would bring was palpable, as she envisioned a future where one of these men would help her realize her dream of motherhood. 

In her office, Lexa found herself repeatedly glancing at her phone, which lay beside her keyboard—a silent testament to her growing impatience. Each time the screen lit up with a notification, she felt a jolt of anticipation, only to find emails unrelated to her personal inquiry. The response from the agency, it seemed, was taking its sweet time. 

Lexa tried to anchor her focus on the reports and spreadsheets that crowded her desktop. Her work, typically a realm where she excelled and found clarity, now felt like a cumbersome distraction. Her thoughts, disobedient and wild, fluttered incessantly towards the potential images of Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

She knew their basic features—hair color, eye color—but these details painted no vivid picture in her mind. What were their smiles like? How did they carry themselves? Were they tall, broad-shouldered, or had a more slender, athletic build? These unknowns spun around in her head, each a question mark adding to a mosaic of curiosity and expectation. 

Her concentration broke again, and she reached for her phone, scrolling through her inbox fruitlessly once more. With a sigh, Lexa set the device down and tried to realign her focus on a particularly complex data analysis. But even as she parsed through numbers and trends, part of her mind wandered, sketching imaginary portraits of the three men based on the scant information she had. 

The morning dragged on, each tick of the office clock a reminder of the waiting she had to endure. Lexa found herself tapping a pen against her desk, her gaze drifting towards the window, where the city below seemed indifferent to her internal turmoil. The blend of excitement and nerves was palpable, like the quiet tension that fills the air before a storm breaks. 

Finally, acknowledging her distracted state, Lexa decided to take a brief walk around the building, hoping that a change of scenery and a bit of movement would help her regain her concentration. As she strolled through the quieter parts of her workplace, she reminded herself that the decision she was about to make was significant and deserved this level of anticipation and thought. Returning to her desk refreshed, Lexa resolved to put her personal feelings aside and dive back into her work—determined to keep her professional prowess intact, even as her personal life beckoned with unanswered questions. 

As the end of the workday approached, Lexa had almost resigned herself to the idea that her eagerly awaited email from the agency wouldn't arrive until Tuesday. She felt a mixture of disappointment and relief, the delay giving her more time to prepare mentally for what those photos might reveal. 

She set her phone down one more time, focusing on shutting down her computer and organizing her desk for the evening. Just as she pushed back from her desk, her phone buzzed with the distinct chime of a new email notification. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw the sender: the agency. 

Quickly, she tapped on the notification, her eyes scanning the email's contents. The agency apologized for the delay, explaining they had taken extra care to ensure the photographs matched her request for confidentiality and respect towards the candidates. Attached to the email were three files, each labeled with the name of one of her potential alphas: Jacob, Roan, Clarke. 

Lexa's thumb hovered over the attachments. A part of her wanted to open them immediately, to finally put faces to the names and profiles she had been pondering over for days. Yet, as she sat in the stillness of her office, a wave of hesitation washed over her. Was this the right place to make such a personal, potentially life-altering discovery? 

Her office, usually a space of professional decisions and work-focused thoughts, suddenly felt too impersonal, too public for this deeply private moment. She contemplated the weight of what these images represented—not just potential genetic contributors but possible co-creators of her future child. 

Deciding she needed the privacy and comfort of her own home to experience this moment, Lexa locked her phone and slipped it into her bag. Once home, she could take her time, process her reactions in her own space, and make thoughtful decisions without the confines of her professional environment. 

As she walked out of the building into the warm evening air, Lexa felt a reassuring calm settle over her. Tonight, with a cup of her favorite tea in hand, she would meet, in a way, the men who might help her fulfill her dream of motherhood. It was a meeting that deserved her full presence and undivided attention, best done in the sanctuary of her home. 

Lexa's evening unfolded with a mixture of routine and restless anticipation. After a quiet dinner, she methodically washed her dishes, the warm soapy water running over her hands as she scrubbed. This daily chore, usually a mindless task, felt different tonight. Each plate rinsed and set to dry was a moment to stall, a brief reprieve from the decision that awaited her. 

As the dishes were put away and her kitchen returned to its usual tidy state, Lexa brewed a cup of calming chamomile tea. The steam curled into the air, carrying with it a scent that usually relaxed her, but tonight it was just another step in delaying the inevitable. 

Part of her meticulous post-dinner clean-up was borne from habit, but another part was driven by a palpable apprehension. She was about to make a decision that would significantly shape her future. The man whose image she was about to view might very well be the one to help her fulfill her deep-seated desire to become a mother. This wasn't just any routine interaction; this was about selecting an alpha who would provide the genetic material to conceive her child and then, as per the agreement, step away. 

With her cup of tea in hand, Lexa finally settled onto her couch, her usual spot for unwinding after a long day, but nothing about tonight was usual. She took a deep, steadying breath, feeling the warmth of the tea seep into her palms. Her phone lay next to her, an innocuous presence that now seemed daunting. 

Finally, she picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over the email app with hesitation. This action, so simple and routine, felt momentous. She opened the email once more, and there they were, the attachments waiting just a click away. Each file bore the name of a potential alpha: Jacob, Roan, and Clarke. 

Lexa tapped tentatively on the image file labeled "Jacob," her breath catching slightly in anticipation. The photo that materialized showed a man with boyish good looks, his smile gentle and inviting, eyes sparkling with a warmth that reinforced the impression of kindness his profile had suggested. Jacob's image aligned perfectly with what Lexa had envisioned—a friendly face that could bring comfort and reassurance. 

Next, she opened the file for Roan. As his image came into view, Lexa noted his longish hair and the unmistakable intensity in his gaze. His strong jawline and the serious set of his mouth gave him a rugged appearance, one that spoke of resilience and a certain sternness. Roan looked like a man who faced challenges head-on, a stark contrast to Jacob’s softer, more approachable demeanor. 

Finally, Lexa clicked on the last image, labeled "Clarke." She expected to see another male alpha, similar to the first two. However, as the image slowly loaded, her expectations were upended. The photo revealed not a man, but a striking woman with deep blue eyes and long blonde hair. Lexa stared, taken aback, as she processed the unexpected sight of a female alpha. Clarke’s presence in the photo was compelling; her gaze was direct and confident, radiating a strong sense of self-assuredness. 

Lexa’s initial shock slowly gave way to a mix of emotions. Clarke’s appearance was stunning, and there was an undeniable beauty in her features that Lexa found herself unexpectedly drawn to. This twist in her journey made Lexa pause, her mind racing through the implications. She had not considered the possibility of a female alpha, yet here was Clarke, challenging her preconceptions and expanding the horizon of her choices. 

Sitting back on the couch, Lexa took a moment to reflect. Each candidate brought something unique to the table: Jacob’s kindness, Roan’s intensity, and now Clarke’s unexpected presence—a female alpha who exuded strength and allure. Lexa knew this decision required more than a cursory glance at photographs. It was about finding a connection, a match that felt right on multiple levels. 

As she continued to gaze at Clarke’s image, Lexa felt a curious pull, a fascination that urged her to reconsider what she thought she had been looking for in an alpha. Clarke’s striking blue eyes seemed to beckon for consideration, asking Lexa to step beyond the familiar and entertain the possibilities that lay in unexpected quarters. 

As Lexa continued to sit on her couch, the images of the three alphas lingered on her phone screen, each one offering a different possibility, a different future. The room was quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside her window. Lexa found herself lost in thought, trying to envision what a child with each of these individuals might look like. 

First, there was Jacob, with his warm brown eyes and dark hair, features that gave him an approachable, boy-next-door charm. Lexa imagined a child with similar soft, dark locks, perhaps inheriting Jacob's easy smile and the inherent kindness that seemed to radiate from his expression. 

Then there was Roan, with his intense blue eyes and dark, slightly wild hair. His features were sharp, his presence in the photo almost commanding. A child with Roan might inherit those striking blue eyes, Lexa thought, along with a likely strong-willed spirit and perhaps that same sense of resilience that Roan seemed to embody. 

Finally, her mind drifted to Clarke. The image of the blonde-haired, blue-eyed alpha with a distinct chin dimple was vivid in her mind. Lexa found herself particularly curious about this feature—a charming little dimple that added so much character to Clarke's smile. Would a child with Clarke inherit that same dimple? Lexa pictured a little one with light hair and those piercing blue eyes, maybe running around with a mischievous grin punctuated by that adorable dimple. 

Each mental image brought a smile to Lexa's face but also added layers of complexity to her decision. This wasn't just about choosing a partner for conception; it was about choosing half of the genetic makeup of her future child. Each alpha not only offered different physical traits but also different backgrounds and personalities that would influence their child. 

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling both overwhelmed and excited by the possibilities. As she sipped her tea, now lukewarm, she realized that this decision would shape not just her future, but that of her child. She knew that beyond looks, she needed to consider which values and qualities she most hoped to pass on. The process felt daunting, yet the thought of motherhood filled her with a profound sense of purpose. As the evening waned, Lexa knew that these reflections were just the beginning of her journey towards making one of the most significant decisions of her life. 

After a period, Lexa felt the need to share her thoughts and get some feedback. She reached for her phone, dialed Anya, and quickly forwarded the email with the images of the alphas she was considering. 

"Hey Anya, can you check your email real quick? I sent you something important," Lexa said as soon as her cousin answered the phone. 

"Got it, let's see these candidates," Anya replied, her interest piqued. They started with Jacob, whose soft features and kind eyes made a good first impression. Then they moved on to Roan. "He looks exactly like what you’d expect an alpha to look like, doesn’t he?" Anya remarked, clearly impressed by his strong, intense demeanor. 

Lexa chuckled, "Of course, an alpha would pick the most alpha-looking of the three." 

However, the conversation took a turn when Anya opened Clarke’s image. "Oh, wow, this is a female alpha. That’s unexpected." 

Lexa nodded to herself, feeling a mix of emotions. "Yeah, it adds another layer to Clarke. I've always been attracted to female alphas, but I was open to a male alpha, thinking it might be simpler for the whole baby process." 

Anya paused, considering Lexa's words. "How do you feel about Clarke being in the mix now? This is a bit of a curveball." 

"It is," Lexa agreed. "But honestly, seeing Clarke in there, it kind of stirred something. My ex was a female alpha, too. There’s a familiarity there." 

"Sounds like Clarke’s presence is challenging some of your initial thoughts," Anya said thoughtfully. "But Lex, this is about what you want and need right now. If Clarke resonates with you more, maybe there’s more to think about here than just going the straightforward path." 

Lexa took a deep breath, feeling the weight and truth in Anya’s words. "I guess you’re right. I need to think about what each option could really mean for me and the future. Clarke being a female alpha isn’t just a detail; it’s significant to how I feel about this whole process." 

As they wrapped up their conversation, Lexa felt grateful for Anya’s insight and understanding. Discussing each candidate openly had clarified not just the practical considerations but also the emotional ones. Now, more than ever, Lexa knew her decision would not only be informed by what was expected but also by what felt right for her personally. 

With the images of the alphas now in her possession, Lexa faced a self-imposed deadline: by Friday, she needed to make her decision. The choice she was about to make was not just about selecting an alpha but choosing a co-contributor to a life-changing journey. It would set the course for her long-held dream of becoming a mother. 

Over the next two days, Lexa immersed herself in deep reflection. She had swiftly eliminated Roan from her list of potential candidates. His intensity, though initially striking, felt somewhat overpowering upon further consideration, and she realized it didn't align with the kind of parental influence she envisioned for her child. 

Now, it was down to Jacob and Clarke. Jacob, with his gentle demeanor and environmental passion, seemed like a safe and rational choice. His traits aligned well with Lexa's values, and she could easily envision him as a positive genetic influence on her child. Yet, despite the logical fit Jacob presented, Lexa found her thoughts repeatedly drifting back to Clarke. 

Clarke's presence in the selection process had been unexpected and impactful. As a female alpha, she brought a familiar dynamic that resonated deeply with Lexa, reminding her of the past. Lexa had to admit, there was a certain allure and comfort in the idea of choosing a female alpha. 

Sitting at her dining room table with both profiles laid out before her, Lexa pondered whether her inclination towards Clarke was primarily influenced by her being a female alpha. Was it the novelty and emotional resonance of Clarke's status that drew her in, or was there something more substantial in Clarke's profile that connected with her own aspirations and dreams? 

Lexa spent hours dissecting every detail in their profiles, weighing not just the emotional but also the pragmatic aspects of each choice. She considered not just who they were on paper, but who they might be in her life while conceiving a child. As she mulled over her options, Lexa tried to separate her feelings about their alpha status from what each could potentially offer as a co-contributor to her child’s genetic and cultural heritage. 

By Thursday evening, a decision began to crystallize in her mind. Lexa realized that her choice needed to be based on a balance of emotional resonance and practical considerations, a decision that felt right both in her heart and her mind.  

Friday morning dawned with a sense of resolution for Lexa. She had made her decision, and though nerves fluttered in her stomach, she was ready to take the next step. Sitting at her dining room table with her phone in hand, she dialed the number for the agency, her finger lingering over the call button for a moment before she pressed it. 

"Marlene speaking, how may I assist you today?" came the familiar, professional voice from the other end. 

"Hi Marlene, it’s Lexa Woods," she responded, her voice steady but with an undercurrent of anxiety. "I’ve made my decision regarding the alpha. I wanted to discuss it with you and see what the next steps are." 

"That's great to hear, Lexa," Marlene replied warmly. "I know this has been a thoughtful process for you. Who have you decided to go with?" 

After a slight pause, filled with a momentary doubt, Lexa affirmed, "I’ve chosen Clarke." 

"Clarke, excellent choice," Marlene said. "She brings a unique perspective and strengths. What ultimately led you to this decision?" 

Lexa hesitated, feeling a brief resurgence of her earlier indecision. "Well, there’s a lot about Clarke that resonates with me, her background, her values... and I guess the fact that she's a female alpha adds another layer of connection. I just hope I’ve made the right choice," Lexa confessed, a hint of uncertainty lacing her words. 

"Choosing an alpha is always a significant and personal decision, Lexa. It’s normal to have some last-minute doubts, but it’s important that it feels right to you. Let’s arrange a meeting with Clarke. You two can discuss everything openly, and it will also be a chance for you to address any concerns you might have before moving forward." 

"That would be very helpful," Lexa agreed, feeling reassured by Marlene's calm and understanding tone. "I think meeting her will give me the clarity to move forward confidently." 

"Perfect," Marlene responded. "I’ll arrange for you both to meet and discuss the details. You’ll also have the opportunity to sign the contracts, ensuring everything is transparent and agreed upon. I’ll look for some potential dates and get back to you as soon as possible." 

"Thank you, Marlene," Lexa said, relief washing over her. "I appreciate all your help." 

"You’re welcome, Lexa. We're here to make sure that you are comfortable and confident in your decisions. I’ll be in touch very soon with some dates for the meeting," Marlene assured her. 

As Lexa ended the call, she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. The decision was made, and a plan was in place. The thought of meeting Clarke and discussing the future brought a mix of excitement and a newfound peace. Lexa knew that whatever doubts she had would likely be settled once she and Clarke could sit down and talk face to face. 

Marlene had been efficient and considerate in her arrangements. She set the meeting for two weeks out, giving Lexa and Clarke ample time to prepare for their first encounter. The date was marked on Lexa’s calendar, each day inching closer filled with a blend of anticipation and nerves. 

Finally, the day of the meeting arrived. Lexa stood in front of her closet in the morning, her mind racing with the unusual complexity of choosing the right outfit. "What do you wear to a meeting with someone you are contractually going to be sleeping with in order to create a child?" she muttered to herself. The question was as surreal as her situation. 

After much deliberation, Lexa opted for something that struck a balance between professional and comfortable—an elegant blouse paired with well-fitted trousers. It was important to her that she present herself as both serious about the arrangement and approachable. 

Driving to the agency, Lexa’s hands were slightly shaking on the steering wheel. Her mind was a whirlwind of what-ifs and hopes. As she parked her car and walked toward the office building, she took deep, deliberate breaths, trying to calm her racing heart. 

The agency’s office was a space Lexa had become familiar with over the past weeks, but today, it seemed to hold a new form of gravity. Marlene greeted her warmly at the door, her smile reassuring. 

"Clarke just arrived. She’s waiting in the meeting room," Marlene informed her, leading the way. 

Lexa’s steps felt heavy yet determined as she approached the room. Marlene opened the door, and there sat Clarke, just as striking in person as she was in her photo. Her presence seemed to command the room, yet there was a softness in her eyes as she looked up and met Lexa’s gaze. 

"Lexa, meet Clarke. Clarke, this is Lexa," Marlene introduced. 

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke said, standing up to shake her hand. Her voice was calm, carrying a hint of warmth that eased some of Lexa's tension. 

"Hello, Clarke," Lexa replied, her voice steadier than she felt. The handshake was firm and brief, but Lexa felt a surprising jolt of connection—an electric mix of nerves and excitement. 

Marlene excused herself, leaving them to converse privately. "I’ll give you both some space to discuss. If you need anything, I'll be right outside," she said before closing the door gently behind her. 

In the quiet confines of the meeting room, the air thick with anticipation, Lexa and Clarke faced each other. Their initial nervousness was palpable, each aware of the significance and unusual nature of their meeting. Clarke, sensing the growing tension, decided it was time to steer the conversation towards more familiar ground. 

"So, Lexa," Clarke began, her tone casual yet curious, "Marlene didn't tell me much about your professional background. What do you do for a living?" 

Lexa, slightly surprised by the shift towards personal details, replied, "I'm an accountant. I spend most of my days surrounded by numbers and spreadsheets." 

Clarke chuckled softly, her eyes lighting up with a mix of amusement and relief at the shift to lighter conversation. "Oh, numbers and I have never been best friends. I was always the one in class who thought 'algebra' was a foreign language," she joked, a playful smile crossing her features. 

Lexa found herself smiling genuinely for the first time since the meeting began, the tension easing from her shoulders. Clarke's humor and light-heartedness were infectious, and it helped Lexa feel more at ease. Encouraged by the more relaxed atmosphere, Lexa decided to learn more about Clarke's interests. 

"I saw in your profile that you’re an artist," Lexa said, her tone shifting to one of genuine interest. "What kind of art do you do?" 

Clarke’s face brightened at the question, clearly passionate about her craft. "I work mostly with mixed media. I love exploring textures and layers—there’s something about the tactile process of creating something tangible that really excites me. It’s a way to express emotions that words can’t always capture." 

Lexa nodded, intrigued. "That sounds fascinating. Art seems like such a freeing way to express oneself." 

"It really is," Clarke agreed, her enthusiasm evident. "And every piece feels like a part of me, yet once it’s done, it belongs to the world, not just to me." 

Their conversation flowed more naturally now, the earlier awkwardness fading as they discussed their respective careers. Lexa felt a newfound appreciation for Clarke's artistic perspective, contrasting yet complementing her own methodical, numbers-driven approach. The dialogue not only bridged their understanding of each other’s professional lives but also built a deeper, more personal connection that eased their initial apprehensions about the arrangements ahead. 

After Lexa and Clarke had spent some time getting to know each other and discussing their backgrounds, the door to the conference room opened, and Marlene re-entered, a stack of papers in hand. She approached the table with a professional smile, setting down the documents before them. 

"Looks like you two have been having a good conversation," Marlene observed, taking a seat at the head of the table. She then shifted into her role as the facilitator of the process, her demeanor becoming more formal as she prepared to discuss the contracts and legalities. "I have here the draft contracts for your arrangement. Let's go through these together to ensure everything is clear and that all parties' expectations are met." 

Marlene spread the documents out so both Lexa and Clarke could see them. She began to go through each section meticulously, explaining the legal jargon and what it meant in practical terms. "This section here outlines the obligations of both parties, including medical examinations, confidentiality agreements, and the planned schedule for the conception process," she explained, pointing to each clause as she spoke. 

She then moved on to a critical part of the contract. "It's very important that both of you understand that this agreement is based on mutual consent and comfort levels. If at any point, for any reason, either of you feels that this arrangement isn't working out, you can withdraw from the contract." Marlene looked at both Lexa and Clarke earnestly, ensuring her point was clear. "This clause here provides the details on how to terminate the agreement respectfully and legally without facing any penalties." 

Marlene paused to allow Lexa and Clarke to absorb the information, checking their faces for any signs of confusion or concern. "Do either of you have any questions about this part, or is there anything in the agreement that you would like to discuss further or modify?" 

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a glance, both appreciating the agency's emphasis on their comfort and autonomy within the process. Clarke nodded, indicating she understood and appreciated the terms, "It's reassuring to know that there's flexibility if the circumstances change." 

Lexa echoed Clarke’s sentiment. "Yes, I agree. It's important to have a way out if things don’t feel right. It makes the whole arrangement feel safer, more considered." 

Marlene nodded, pleased with their responses. "Absolutely, we want to make sure you both feel secure and supported throughout this process." She then continued to go through the rest of the contract, covering financial arrangements, the handling of medical data, and the support services the agency would provide. 

As the meeting drew to a close, Marlene handed each of them a pen. "Take your time to read through everything once more on your own. If you’re ready, you can sign today, or you can take the contracts home and think things over. We want you to make a decision when you're completely ready." 

As Marlene finished outlining the terms and left the choice to sign immediately or take the contracts home for further consideration, Clarke turned her gaze towards Lexa, silently seeking her input on how to proceed. The moment was charged with significance; the decision to sign now would cement their agreement, setting them firmly on a path toward a shared, albeit unique, journey. 

Lexa held Clarke’s gaze for a moment, the weight of the decision pressing down on her. She could feel the flutter of nerves in her stomach, but beneath that, a steady current of resolve. This was what she wanted, and every interaction and discussion up to this point had only solidified her confidence in her choice. 

Finally, with a nod to herself, Lexa reached for the pen that Marlene had placed on the table. Her hand was steady as she picked it up, and with a decisive motion, she signed her name on the dotted line. The sound of the pen scratching against the paper seemed to echo in the room, marking a significant milestone in her journey to motherhood. 

Clarke watched Lexa sign, noting the determination and clarity in her actions. Seeing Lexa make her decision with such resolve helped dispel any lingering hesitations Clarke might have had. Inspired by Lexa's confidence and encouraged by the thoroughness and fairness of the contract, Clarke picked up her own pen. With a thoughtful look at Lexa, acknowledging her readiness and mutual commitment, Clarke signed her name as well. 

As they both put their pens down, a sense of relief and anticipation filled the room. Marlene, witnessing this, offered them both a warm, reassuring smile. "Thank you both for your trust and courage in this process. I’ll make sure everything is processed promptly, and I’ll be here to support you both through every step that follows." 

Lexa and Clarke exchanged a look, a silent acknowledgment of the journey they had just agreed to embark on together. There was a mutual understanding that while the road ahead would be uncharted and not without its challenges, they were now linked by a shared commitment to bring a new life into the world, each in their respective roles. 

As Lexa and Clarke gathered their belongings and prepared to leave the conference room, Marlene interjected with one final point of order, outlining the next steps in their newly formalized agreement. 

"Before you both go, I want to discuss the logistics of your first official meeting," Marlene began, her tone shifting back to her professional demeanor. "The agency has protocols in place to ensure the safety and comfort of all parties involved, especially during initial meetings." 

She pulled out a small tablet and tapped a few times on the screen, pulling up a schedule. "We prefer to arrange the meetings on neutral ground. It helps maintain privacy and provides a secure environment for both of you." Marlene looked up from her tablet, making sure she had both Lexa and Clarke’s attention. 

"For this purpose, we usually arrange for a hotel room. This setting not only ensures confidentiality but also allows you both to meet in a neutral, comfortable environment without the pressures or personal biases that might come from meeting in a more personal space," Marlene explained. She assured them that the agency had longstanding arrangements with a reputable hotel chain known for its discretion and high standards of service. 

"We’ll handle all the bookings and logistics. You won’t need to worry about any of the arrangements," she continued. "I’ll send you both the details and date options for your first meeting. You can choose what works best for both of you." 

Marlene’s explanation provided a clear framework for how the initial stages of their agreement would proceed, emphasizing the agency’s commitment to maintaining a professional and secure process. "Safety and comfort are our top priorities. We want to ensure that both of you feel secure and at ease during your meetings." 

Lexa and Clarke nodded in understanding, appreciating the thoroughness with which the agency was handling the situation. The idea of meeting in a hotel for the first few times made sense, and the agency’s attention to detail and safety was reassuring. 

"Once I have everything arranged, I will send you an email with all the information, including the date, time, and location of the hotel. You will both have access to the private suite, and agency staff will be available on-call, should you need any assistance during the meeting," Marlene concluded, her tone both serious and comforting. 

With everything laid out so clearly and professionally, Lexa and Clarke felt more confident about the steps ahead. They thanked Marlene for her assistance and left the office with a sense of readiness for the next phases of their journey together. The agency’s meticulous planning and support made a complex process seem manageable and secure. 

As soon as Lexa got back into her car, she couldn't resist the urge to share the events of the meeting with Anya. She quickly dialed her cousin, who picked up after just a couple of rings. 

"Hey, Lex, how did it go?" Anya's voice was eager but tinged with concern. 

"It was... good, really good," Lexa began, her voice carrying a mix of relief and excitement. "Clarke is nothing like I expected. She’s very grounded and seems genuinely interested in making sure this works out for the best." 

"Oh? And how does she look? Did she match up to her picture?" Anya asked, her tone playful yet probing. 

Lexa laughed softly, a blush creeping across her cheeks even though Anya couldn’t see it. "Yes, she looks just like her photo. But her eyes, Anya, they’re this striking shade of blue. It’s almost mesmerizing." 

There was a brief pause before Anya responded, her voice now carrying a note of caution. "Lex, remember this is a business arrangement. Don’t get carried away because of pretty eyes. You told me she’s there for the money, right?" 

Lexa sighed, knowing Anya was just looking out for her. "Yes, I know. And yes, the financial aspect is a part of this for her, like it is for many alphas. But she doesn’t make it feel transactional, you know? She's professional but also really considerate." 

Switching topics slightly, Lexa then shared more details about the arrangements that had been made for their upcoming interactions. "Marlene arranged for us to meet in a hotel. It’s a neutral place, which the agency has set up for safety and privacy. They’ve really thought of everything to make sure both parties feel secure." 

Anya listened intently, her initial skepticism giving way to understanding. "That sounds sensible. They seem to be handling things very professionally. Just... be careful, Lex. I know you, and I know how easily you can get attached." 

Lexa nodded to herself, taking in Anya’s advice. "I’ll be careful. I promise. I’m going into this with my eyes wide open—figuratively and literally," she added with a chuckle, trying to keep the mood light. 

"Good to hear," Anya replied, her tone softening. "Keep me updated, okay? And if you need to talk, anytime, I’m here." 

"Will do. Thanks, Anya. I really appreciate it," Lexa said, feeling grateful for having someone like Anya to confide in. 

With that, they ended the call, and Lexa sat for a moment in the quiet of her car, reflecting on the conversation. She felt a blend of caution and excitement—a cocktail of emotions that she would need to manage carefully as she navigated this uncharted path. 

Lexa stared at the computer screen, her eyes tracing over the details outlined in the email. The room at the Arkadia Hotel was booked under the agency's name, providing an added layer of privacy and discretion with the room number assigned to Lexa being "439". The preparations were meticulous, reflecting the seriousness and sensitivity of their upcoming encounter. 

As she absorbed the reality of the arrangement, Lexa's mind wandered to the intricate details of alpha and omega biology—a fundamental aspect that dictated the unique way they could conceive. The biological necessity for an alpha to 'knot' during intercourse to successfully conceive was an evolutionary trait, deeply embedded in their genetics. It was a process designed to enhance the probability of conception, ensuring that during the crucial moments, the alpha's body could maximize the chance of fertilizing the omega's egg. 

This biological imperative was at the forefront of Lexa's thoughts as she contemplated her meeting with Clarke. The concept was still somewhat surreal to her. On one hand, the scientific aspect of it made sense, and she respected the biological processes involved. On the other hand, facing the reality of engaging intimately with someone who was essentially a stranger, even with mutual agreement and understanding, was daunting. 

The part of Lexa that hesitated wasn't concerned with the logistics or the biological necessities—those were facts she had come to terms with when she decided on this path. Instead, it was the emotional aspect, the vulnerability of sharing such a personal experience with someone she hadn't known long. Yet, despite these reservations, the stronger part of her—the part driven by her deep desire to become a mother—was prepared to move forward. 

As she sat there, Lexa reminded herself why she had chosen this path. It wasn't just about fulfilling her desire to have a child; it was about doing so in a way that felt right to her, under terms she had carefully considered and agreed upon. Clarke, too, had her reasons for participating, and their prior meeting had laid a foundation of mutual respect and understanding. 

With each passing moment, Lexa's resolve grew stronger. She knew that the biological processes were just one part of the equation. The more significant component was her readiness to embrace the responsibilities and joys of motherhood. By the time she closed her laptop, Lexa felt a quiet confidence. She was ready for Saturday—not just to meet the biological demands of the process, but to take a significant step towards a future she had long envisioned for herself. 

Lexa arrived at the Arkadia Hotel promptly at 4 PM, her heart pounding with a mixture of nerves and resolve. The hotel's lobby was bustling with activity, but she navigated through it with a sense of purpose, her focus fixed on the task ahead. At the front desk, she confirmed her identity discreetly, referring only to the reservation number and the agency's name. The clerk handed her a key card with a polite, professional smile that didn't probe too deeply into the reasons for her stay. 

With key card in hand, Lexa made her way to her room, her steps measured and her mind racing. The hallways of the hotel were elegantly carpeted and softly lit, creating an atmosphere of privacy and tranquility that helped soothe her escalating anxiety. Each step brought her closer to a moment that might very well define her future. 

Standing before the door marked with the number 439, Lexa paused, her hand hovering over the key card reader. She knew that behind this door, preparations would need to be made, both mentally and physically, before Clarke's arrival. The agency had arranged for Clarke to arrive later, giving Lexa ample time to acclimate to the environment, to settle her thoughts, and to prepare herself emotionally and physically for what was to come. 

All she had to do was swipe the key card and step inside. Taking a deep breath, Lexa steadied her trembling hand and slid the card through the reader. The light blinked green, and a soft click signaled her access. Pushing the door open, she stepped into the room. 

The room was tastefully decorated, neutral tones and soft lighting crafting a calming environment. There was an understated elegance to it, conducive to both comfort and privacy. Lexa let her gaze sweep over the space—the king bed, the sitting area with its inviting sofa, and a small work desk that faced a large window with curtains drawn. 

Closing the door behind her, Lexa allowed herself a few moments to just stand and absorb the reality of her surroundings. This was the setting where she hoped her dream of motherhood would begin to materialize. It felt surreal, yet incredibly real at the same time. 

She placed her small overnight bag on the bed, unpacking a few personal items to make the space feel more familiar. Lexa then spent some time simply sitting on the edge of the bed, collecting her thoughts. She reflected on her journey to this point—the decisions made, the fears confronted, and the hopes cherished. 

As the time ticked closer to 6 PM, Lexa prepared herself, changing into something comfortable yet appropriate for the occasion. She reminded herself why she was here, focusing on the positive outcomes she hoped to achieve. This was about more than just the mechanics of conception; it was about taking control of her destiny and shaping the future she desired. 

By the time Lexa heard a knock at the door just after 6 PM, signaling Clarke’s arrival, she felt a renewed sense of purpose and clarity. She was ready to open the door, not just to Clarke, but to the possibilities that lay ahead. 

Lexa walked to the door, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. She reached out, her hand almost trembling as she turned the handle. The door swung open, and there stood Clarke, her presence as compelling in person as it had been in their previous meeting. Clarke offered Lexa a shy, somewhat tentative smile—a softening of her usually confident demeanor that made her seem more approachable in this intensely personal setting. 

"Hi, Lexa," Clarke greeted with a quiet warmth, her voice carrying a hint of nervous anticipation. 

"Hello, Clarke. Come in," Lexa replied, stepping aside to allow Clarke entry into the room. Her heart was beating fast, but she managed to maintain a composed exterior. 

Clarke stepped past the threshold, her eyes quickly scanning the room as she entered. The soft lighting and tasteful decor seemed to impress her, and a small, appreciative smile appeared on her face. "This is a nice room," she commented, her tone carrying genuine approval. "The agency really does ensure comfort, don't they?" 

"Yes, they do," Lexa responded, closing the door behind Clarke. She felt a slight relief that the initial moment of greeting was over, and now they could proceed with the reason they were both there. "They try to make this as comfortable as possible for everyone involved." 

Clarke nodded, setting down a small bag she had brought with her. She looked around, taking in the environment that would play a significant role in the next steps they were about to take. The room, was designed to be calming, a sanctuary from the outside world and the weight of the decisions made within its confines. 

Turning back to Lexa, Clarke's initial shyness seemed to melt away slightly as she became more accustomed to the setting. "I appreciate the effort to make everything feel serene. It helps," she admitted, meeting Lexa’s eyes with a more steady gaze. 

Lexa nodded, feeling a similar gratitude for the care taken to create a space that respected the gravity of their meeting. "I agree. It makes things a little easier," she said, managing a small smile. 

There was a brief pause as both women acknowledged the situation, the room serving as a silent witness to their agreement and the hopes tied to it. Then, almost instinctively, Lexa gestured towards the small sitting area. "Would you like something to drink? Maybe some water or coffee before we... start?" 

Clarke agreed, appreciating the offer to ease into the moment more gently. "Water would be great, thank you," she said, her voice steady but still carrying a trace of the nerves they both felt. 

As Lexa went to get the water, the air between them filled with a quiet acknowledgment of the partnership they were about to embark upon, each aware of the significance of their actions, yet comforted by the shared understanding and the meticulously arranged environment that surrounded them. 

Clarke made her way to the sofa, settling into the soft cushions with a slight exhale that betrayed her underlying nervousness. Lexa opened the mini-fridge, retrieving a bottle of water which she handed to Clarke with a gentle, reassuring smile. The small, ordinary gesture seemed to anchor them both amidst the swirling emotions of the occasion. 

Lexa lingered by the edge of the sitting area, her hands clasped in front of her, unsure of her next move. The room, while comfortable and inviting, suddenly felt too vast, filled with unspoken expectations and the weight of their impending decision. 

Clarke noticed Lexa's hesitation and patted the space next to her on the sofa. "Why don't you sit here?" she suggested, her voice carrying a soft but clear invitation. "It might be more comfortable to talk this way." 

Lexa nodded, grateful for Clarke's lead. She moved to the sofa, taking a seat at a respectful distance that still allowed for private conversation. She could feel the warmth of Clarke's presence beside her, a comforting reminder that they were in this together. 

Once settled, Clarke unscrewed the cap of her water bottle and took a sip, then turned slightly to face Lexa. She initiated some light conversation, perhaps recognizing the need to ease into the deeper discussions that lay ahead. "So, how was your day before coming here? Anything interesting happen?" 

Lexa took a moment to switch gears from the intense internal monologue she had been engaged in all day. "Oh, it was pretty routine," she replied, managing a small chuckle. "Just some last-minute work stuff and mentally preparing for today. What about you? Did you find time to do any art today?" 

Clarke shook her head, a rueful smile playing on her lips. "Not today, unfortunately. But I did spend some time in the studio yesterday. It helps clear my mind, you know?" 

"Yeah, I can imagine," Lexa responded, feeling the conversation begin to flow more naturally between them. "Art seems like a great way to express and maybe even sort through feelings, especially with everything that's going on." 

Clarke nodded, visibly relaxed as the topic turned to her passion for art. "Exactly. It's not just about creating something beautiful or interesting. It's also therapeutic. It gives me a space to process things—a bit like an escape, but also a way to confront emotions directly." 

As they continued talking, the atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke began to shift subtly. Clarke's discussion about her art opened a window into her inner world, showing Lexa the passion and depth that motivated her work. The conversation seemed to flow effortlessly now, with each topic leading seamlessly into the next, covering everything from favorite artists to the influence of different art forms on society. 

The air lightened around them, filled with shared laughter and nods of understanding, as the initial awkwardness melted away under the warmth of genuine connection. They found common ground in unexpected places and differed in others, which only added layers to their interaction, making it richer, more textured. 

About 30 minutes into their conversation, as they were discussing the emotional power of color in visual art, Clarke reached out and gently took Lexa's hand. Lexa felt a sudden impulse to retract her hand, startled by the unexpected contact. The moment hung between them, charged with the potential for deeper connection or withdrawal. But as she met Clarke’s eyes, Lexa saw the intention there—soft, unassuming, aiming to add a layer of intimacy and reassurance to their conversation. 

Understanding Clarke’s gesture as an effort to bridge the gap between them further, Lexa relaxed and allowed her hand to stay in Clarke’s gentle grasp. The touch was comforting, grounding, and it brought a new level of openness to their dialogue. 

Clarke’s thumb brushed lightly over Lexa’s hand, a soothing motion that seemed to anchor them both more firmly in the present moment. "Art is my way of understanding the world, and sometimes of escaping it," Clarke shared, her voice soft but resonant. "It's personal, yes, but sharing it feels like extending a part of myself to others, hoping they might understand or feel something too." 

Lexa nodded, feeling the truth of those words resonate within her. "I think that's brave—putting a piece of yourself into your work and then putting it out there for the world to see and experience." 

The atmosphere between Lexa and Clarke thickened with unspoken promises as the moments stretched on, each second building upon the last. Clarke's gaze intensified, conveying a mix of curiosity and boldness as she leaned in closer to Lexa. Her movements were deliberate, aimed at closing the distance between them with a cautious yet clear intent. When their eyes met, there was a silent exchange, a question posed and an answer given without words. 

Clarke's lips touched Lexa's softly at first, a gentle test of boundaries that was sweet and tentative. The world around them seemed to pause, holding its breath along with them. Lexa's response was subtle but encouraging, enough to spur Clarke on. Pulling back slightly, Clarke searched Lexa’s eyes once more, seeking reassurance. What she found was a quiet acceptance, a willingness to explore the emotions that were beginning to simmer between them. 

Emboldened by Lexa's silent affirmation, Clarke leaned in once more, this time with a firmer resolve. Her lips met Lexa's with more purpose, conveying a deeper intent. The kiss deepened, driven by a blend of newfound affection and a shared desire to discover more about each other through this new, unspoken language. 

As the intensity of their kisses grew, so did their need for each other's closeness. The initial cautious exploration gave way to a more passionate expression of their burgeoning connection. Clarke’s hands found their way to Lexa's cheeks, holding her gently yet firmly, anchoring her as they navigated this new terrain together. Lexa responded in kind, her hands threading through Clarke's hair, pulling her closer, deepening their embrace. 

The kisses evolved, becoming a profound dialogue of their lips and breaths, each kiss building upon the last, growing more fervent, more insistent. The connection sparked between them ignited something deeper, a flame that had been cautiously kindled now threatening to burn brightly. 

Eventually, the need for air forced them apart, and they pulled back, each catching their breath, their foreheads resting against each other. Their breaths mingled in the small space between them, heavy and warm. The room around them came back into focus slowly, the sounds of the city beyond the walls creeping back into their awareness. 

Clarke and Lexa remained close, neither willing to break the connection entirely. Their eyes met again, this time reflecting a mix of wonder and a hint of vulnerability after sharing such a potent moment. The initial purpose of their arrangement still loomed in the background, but what had transpired between them now added a profound layer of intimacy and complexity to their relationship. This was no longer just about an agreement or a process—it was about them, here and now, together in a way that was unexpectedly profound. 

In the quiet aftermath of their breathless exchange, the air between Clarke and Lexa was charged with a new, palpable energy. Clarke, sensing the shift in their dynamic, slowly stood up from the sofa. There was a silent invitation in her posture, a gentle yet unmistakable beckoning as she extended her hand toward Lexa. 

Lexa watched Clarke's movement, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. There was a moment of hesitation, a brief internal debate visible in her eyes as she considered Clarke's offered hand. It symbolized more than just a physical gesture; it was an invitation to continue exploring the depth of connection they had unexpectedly discovered. 

With a subtle nod to herself, as if making a decision, Lexa placed her hand in Clarke’s. The contact was electric, reigniting the spark that had flared between them moments before. Pulled by a force that felt both thrilling and inevitable, Lexa stood, bringing her face to face with Clarke once again. 

They stood there, hand in hand, close enough to feel each other's breath. The world around them seemed to fade, narrowing down to the space they shared. Lexa's eyes locked onto Clarke's, searching, questioning, and finding answers in the deep blue that stared back at her with an intensity that matched her own. 

Without breaking eye contact, Clarke leaned in, her movements deliberate and full of intention. Lexa’s breath hitched, her body and mind anticipating the contact that was to come. As their lips met again, the kiss was different from the ones before. This time it was charged with the energy of standing together, of the decision to step into this space as equals, partners in whatever was unfolding between them. 

The kiss deepened naturally, their bodies instinctively moving closer until they were embracing fully, the world around them completely forgotten. Clarke's hands moved to Lexa’s lower back, pulling her closer, while Lexa’s arms wrapped around Clarke’s neck, anchoring herself to the moment, to Clarke. 

In that kiss, they communicated more than could be expressed in words. It was a promise, a commitment not just to the process they were undertaking but an acknowledgment of the vulnerability and strength found in true intimacy. 

As the intensity of their kisses deepened, Clarke gently guided Lexa towards the bed, their hands intertwined, conveying trust and mutual desire. The steps were few but filled with anticipation, each one marking a deeper commitment to the moment and to each other. As they reached the edge of the bed, their lips barely parted, sustaining the connection that had now become their world. 

Standing beside the bed, Clarke’s hands slowly found the edge of Lexa’s shirt. Each touch was careful, measured, filled with an unspoken question that Lexa answered with a slight nod, a breathless "yes" whispered between kisses. Clarke’s fingers trembled slightly—not with hesitation but with the gravity of the moment, aware of the trust Lexa was placing in her. 

With each piece of clothing that Clarke gently removed, Lexa felt a layer of her defenses dissolve, not just exposing her skin but opening up deeper parts of herself. Clarke’s touch was reverent, filled with care and attentiveness that spoke volumes. She took her time, ensuring that each movement, each kiss that followed the removal of a garment, honored the vulnerability and strength Lexa displayed. 

Lexa, for her part, felt an overwhelming sense of being cared for. It was not just the physical undressing but the way Clarke managed every action with such gentleness—it made her feel cherished in a way she hadn’t anticipated in this arrangement. Each kiss Clarke planted on her newly exposed skin wasn't just sensual but comforting, affirming their connection and Clarke’s respect for her. 

As Lexa stood there, with Clarke’s hands skillfully and tenderly ensuring her comfort, she found herself more assured with each passing second. The vulnerability of being undressed was overshadowed by the security Clarke’s demeanor provided. It was a strange, beautiful dichotomy—standing there exposed yet feeling entirely safe. 

When Lexa was finally free of her clothing, Clarke paused, giving her a moment to adjust. She looked into Lexa’s eyes, seeking any signs of discomfort or withdrawal. Seeing none, only a quiet gratitude and trust, Clarke leaned in for another kiss, this one conveying her appreciation for Lexa’s trust. 

They moved together onto the bed, their movements synchronized, a dance guided by mutual understanding and the desire to maintain the emotional connection that had become as vital as their physical one.  

As they shifted together on the soft expanse of the bed, Clarke carefully positioned herself between Lexa's legs. The air around them was thick with anticipation, yet Clarke made no immediate move to continue. Instead, she paused, her eyes lifting to meet Lexa's in a silent, searching communication. The intensity of her gaze was soft but intent, probing gently for any sign of hesitation or uncertainty in Lexa's expression. 

Lexa, feeling Clarke’s gaze upon her, understood the unspoken question hanging between them. The world seemed to hold its breath as she considered her feelings, the warmth of Clarke's body an anchoring presence. In Clarke's eyes, she saw not just desire but a profound care and patience. It was clear Clarke was ready to stop at the slightest hint of reluctance, ready to put Lexa’s emotional well-being above all else. 

Feeling a surge of trust and a deep, affirming connection to Clarke, Lexa reached up, her hand gently caressing Clarke’s cheek. Her touch was tender, meant to reassure as much as to give consent. With a soft smile that spoke volumes, Lexa nodded slightly, her eyes conveying her readiness and appreciation for Clarke’s considerate approach. 

Clarke, receiving the clear, affirmative response she had sought, allowed a relieved and grateful smile to curve her lips. But still, she moved slowly, maintaining eye contact as she gradually resumed closing the distance between them. Her actions were deliberate and unhurried, ensuring Lexa remained comfortable. 

As they lay together on the bed, the world outside the soft cocoon of their room seemed distant and unimportant. Clarke's kisses were tender and deliberate, focusing solely on Lexa's lips with a gentle insistence that spoke volumes. Each touch was filled with the silent communication that had become their language—a language of looks that asked and answered without words. 

Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and readiness, made no attempt to escalate beyond their kissing. She was content to explore the contours of Lexa's lips, the soft exchanges grounding and deepening their connection. The slow, purposeful pace she set was like a melody, soft and rhythmic, designed to soothe and affirm. 

Lexa, enveloped in the warmth of Clarke's nearness, felt a blossoming desire to move forward, driven not just by physical need but by the emotional intimacy they were weaving with each kiss. Feeling a growing urgency, Lexa began to gently shift her hips beneath Clarke, a subtle movement but a clear indication of her readiness to deepen their physical connection. Her movements were hesitant at first, testing Clarke’s response, seeking to communicate her desires without disrupting the harmony of their current engagement. 

Clarke, ever so perceptive to Lexa’s cues, felt the gentle undulation of Lexa's hips against her. She paused, their lips parting slightly as she sought Lexa's eyes. In them, Clarke found not just the green light she needed but a spark of deeper desire, a silent plea to bridge the gap between affection and passion. 

Sensing Lexa's readiness, Clarke allowed a moment for them both to acknowledge the shift in their dynamic. She gave a small, affirming smile, her hands framing Lexa's face as if to say she understood, and she was there with her, every step of the way. 

Encouraged by Lexa's clear communication, Clarke deepened their kiss, her movements becoming more assured, more aligned with the rising tide of their desires. Her hands, which had been content to cradle Lexa’s face, now wandered with purpose, tracing paths down her neck and shoulders, mapping the terrain of her skin with a reverent touch. 

Lexa responded in kind, her own hands exploring Clarke’s back, pulling her closer, reducing the space between them to nothing. Their movements became a dance, a give and take that spoke of mutual desire —a dance that promised to carry them forward into the next chapter of their night together. 

As the depth of their connection grew more intense, Clarke remained acutely aware of the trust Lexa had placed in her. With every move she made, Clarke was considerate, her actions measured and gentle to ensure she maintained the sanctity of that trust. When the moment came to deepen their physical connection further, Clarke approached it with a profound sense of responsibility and care. 

With a reassuring look into Lexa's eyes, Clarke sought silent permission to continue, waiting for a nod of assent before proceeding. Lexa's response, a soft affirmation accompanied by a nervous but trusting smile, gave Clarke the green light she needed. Very slowly, Clarke began to slide closer, merging their bodies in the most intimate of ways. 

Clarke's movements were slow, almost painstakingly so, as she carefully navigated this new level of closeness. She was acutely conscious of Lexa's reactions, watching her face for any sign of discomfort or hesitation. As Clarke gradually slid into Lexa, she made sure to control her movements, giving Lexa time to adjust to the new sensations. 

"Are you alright?" Clarke whispered, her voice low and soothing.  

Lexa, feeling the care with which Clarke moved, nodded, her initial tension easing under Clarke's attentive gaze. "Yes," she breathed out, a hint of relief in her voice as she found the sensation different but not unpleasant, her body slowly adapting to Clarke's presence. 

Clarke paused, allowing Lexa a moment to get accustomed to the feeling, her hand gently caressing Lexa's arm in a comforting gesture. The room was filled with a tense but tender energy, each aware of the significance of the moment. 

As Lexa relaxed more, Clarke continued, still cautious, moving in a rhythm dictated by Lexa's responses. Every slight adjustment, every careful motion was made with Lexa’s comfort in mind. Clarke’s focus was entirely on Lexa, ensuring that her experience was as gentle and loving as possible. 

As Clarke and Lexa continued their intimate connection, the intensity of their movements gradually built up. Clarke, ever attentive to Lexa's comfort and reactions, had initially maintained a slow and gentle rhythm, ensuring that every motion was measured and considerate. However, as the moments passed, the natural progression of their physical responses began to drive the pace. 

Clarke could feel the building pressure of her own impending release, a physical response that would soon reach its peak. She knew it was crucial for Lexa to be ready for her knot. This required a careful balance, speeding up her movements to match the escalating intensity while ensuring Lexa was not overwhelmed. 

With a deep breath to steady her nerves and focus her intentions, Clarke began to gradually increase the rhythm of her hips, her movements becoming more deliberate. "Lexa," she murmured softly, her voice a blend of desire and concern, "I'm getting close. Just let me know if you need me to slow down, okay?" 

Lexa, caught up in the rising tide of sensation, nodded, her breath coming in quicker gasps. She placed her hands on Clarke's hips, a silent signal of her engagement and readiness. Lexa's eyes, wide and focused, locked with Clarke's, communicating her trust and willingness to continue. 

Clarke, reassured by Lexa's response, carefully monitored her own body's signals while also watching Lexa's reactions closely. She adjusted her movements, aligning them with Lexa's subtle cues and the increasing demands of her own body. The tempo of her hips quickened in a controlled manner, each thrust deeper and more purposeful. 

As Clarke navigated this critical juncture, her focus was split between her own physiological responses and Lexa's comfort. She was acutely aware of the importance of timing and coordination in this moment for achieving their goal. 

The air hummed with the rhythm of their synchronized breaths, the faint whisper of skin gliding against skin. Clarke felt the imminent onset of her climax, the pressure mounting inexorably. She continued to move with a mixture of urgency and care, prepared to guide both herself and Lexa through the intensity of the experience. 

Their connection, both physical and emotional, had deepened throughout their encounter, each moment building upon the last to create a profound bond. As Clarke approached her peak, she held Lexa's gaze, seeking and finding the reassurance she needed to let go, trusting that Lexa was with her every step of the way. 

As the crescendo of Clarke's movements reached its peak, the inevitable moment of release washed over her with overwhelming intensity. Her body tensed, every muscle straining under the force of her climax. The world narrowed to the profound connection between them, a visceral link that pulsed with each beat of her heart. 

Overwhelmed by the surge of sensations, Clarke's strength waned, and she could no longer support herself. Gently, she collapsed onto Lexa, her breath ragged and heavy, echoing in the quiet of the room. Her body molded against Lexa's, a perfect fit that spoke volumes of their physical and emotional synchrony throughout this intimate journey. 

After her release, Clarke sought to maintain their closeness, turning her face towards Lexa's neck. She pressed soft kisses there, near Lexa's pulse point where she could feel the rapid beat of Lexa's heart against her lips. Clarke’s breath warmed Lexa’s skin, her exhales becoming slower and more measured as she gradually regained her composure. 

The room was filled with a palpable sense of completion and tranquility, the lingering tension dissolving into a peaceful stillness. Lexa murmured gently into Clarke's ear, her voice low and soothing, "Thank you," a simple phrase that carried the weight of her appreciation for Clarke’s participation in such a profound moment. 

Lexa, feeling Clarke's weight comfortably against her, wrapped her arms around Clarke, holding her close. She responded in kind, her own breathing syncing with Clarke’s as they both relaxed into the afterglow. Lexa’s fingers trailed softly down Clarke’s back, grounding her with gentle, reassuring touches that conveyed her own deep sense of connection and care. 

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Unit 04: Nature Interpretation through Art and Planning for “All” Scenarios

In my own opinion I believe it is important to acknowledge that interpreting nature through art is extremely valuable. When people hear this their mind often goes to appreciating art from a purely critical lens. They look at how difficult the piece would be to make, the production value, and even the entertainment value, but, the reason I believe art is so useful in interpreting as you say, “the gift of beauty”, is due to perspective.

Everyone perceives nature in their own way. It’s no secret that when I see a wetland I see a gorgeous natural ecosystem full of biodiversity, whereas someone else would see a pile of muck that should be drained, paved over, and made into housing lots. The two perspectives exist unanimously in regards to one plot of land despite the fact that it looks the exact same in a physical sense to each party. Similarly, any plot of land viewed by two separate people will be viewed with very different perspectives. Someone who lives on the coast will have years worth of memories to draw from to make that area look more beautiful than it already is, whereas someone new to the area has no idea what they are looking at. And that's just the people who are lucky enough to visit these areas in the first place.

This is where interpreting nature becomes extremely useful. To me, interpreting the gift of beauty holds many different purposes. Firstly, it acts as a documentation service, not just in showing the facts of what a place looked like when and where the art was made, but in how the creator felt when making the artwork, what they saw, and why they decided to document it. There could be a million things to look at in nature, but what the artist decides to focus on shows what they value most, what they believed was most beautiful, and most importantly why that place is worth preserving. Additionally, art is so personal to the artist creating it that oftentimes that personal attachment to a region bleeds through to the audience. I have never seen the areas presented in the Group of Seven’s artworks, but I can feel the hundreds of work hours they put into their paintings of Canada’s landscapes, the frigidness in their hands as they spent hour upon hour in subzero temperatures attempting to replicate the beauty of the north. And that's just in paintings. Music, dance, writing, and other forms of interpretation all display the beauty of nature through the emotions felt by the creator, and in perceiving those emotions we suddenly understand why those people chose to document these areas as they felt that way once too. 

The Passionate Fact (Strauss, 1996) lists several tips for artists trying to engage their audience through nature interpretation, and on that list one of the things that stood out to me was that you needed to show a sense of relationship and context on with the nature you are interpreting in order to provide a sense of journey. I especially liked this tip as I never understand lessons more than when I feel like I am experiencing a sense of adventure or fun. I believe that if you can translate nature through music, or story, or dance, or painting into said journey, the audience will never forget it, and as such, the message will successfully come across.

Strauss, S. (1996). The passionate fact : storytelling in natural history and cultural interpretation. North American Press.

Lawren S. Harris (1885-1970), Lake and Mountains 1928, oil on canvas, 130.8 x 160.7 cm. Gift from the Fund of the T. Eaton Co. Ltd. for Canadian Works of Art, 1948 © 2001: Art Gallery of Ontario