#I am desperately trying to get them to join the fandom | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

The Tumblr app for Google Glass was released on May 16, 2013.

#I am desperately trying to get them to join the fandom

spacedace · 1 year

Text

So I have an idea for a dp x dc fic and I'm going to throw it here since i need to get it out of my head and i'm not sure i'll ever actually write it (and as always if anyone finds my rambles interesting any/all of it us up for grabs to run with):

Elle ends up crashing into the DC universe while exploring, but despite all the dimension/multivariate nonsense that always goes down (or maybe because of it) she can't actually get back, and the levels of ectoplasm are a lot lower than most dimensions which weakens her quite a bit.

There's enough for her to survive, and use her powers a little bit, but using them too much makes her get really weak/maybe even causes serious harm depending on how much she uses.

She finds this out when she tries to open a portal home and both fails to open the portal & passes out as a result of trying. Cut to Elle waking up in Cadmus and realizing "ah, fucked up unethical science, I am familiar with this fuckery" and escapes.

In the process of escaping she comes across Kon, who isn't "finished" yet. He's alive and aged up to a teenager, but isn't quite done with his programming/whatever (this idea came to me based entirely off what I've gleaned through fandom so I don't know the canon of Kon's whole time with Cadmus). Elle immediately realizes "Oh clone baby, that's not good" and breaks him out and takes him with her.

Kon in this doesn't know he's a clone of Superman, he doesn't know a lot of things considering how early into the clone info-dumling process he was in when Elle broke him out. He barely knows language and how to read. What he does know for sure though is that Cadmus is Bad and Getting the Fuck Out is Good so he's down to go with Elle

Queue them becoming friends and being on the run together, learning about this world/dimension together and coming to see each other as family. Eventually they end up in Gotham because it's one of the places that naturally has a higher ectopalsm level and because if you're in the right area no one cares if you have no legal ID (in some circles it's a plus).

Kon gets a lot of odd jobs before eventually ending up working at a strip club or burlesque bar or something (my idea is that it's years after escaping so he's in his early 20s at this point and not just a fresh baby clone anymore and he gets into it because he likes it and it's good money) while Elle uses her ghostly knowledge/what powers she can to work as like a psychic or something like that.

Meanwhile Justice League (with alive again Superman) have found out about the escaped Superman clone and, along with Cadmus, are desperately trying to track him down. The info they have is a bit murky, so they think it's actually *two* clones, one that had Martian dnd also thrown in to the mix based off a short clip they managed to find of Elle phasing through walls.

My idea is that it'd all finally come to a head when Constantine pulls Tim (and maybe also Damian) in on a JL Dark case that involves the Lazerus Pit and for reasons ends up having to hire Elle to help. I'm thinking it's a thing that Elle is a pretty respected name in certain magic circles due to her expert knowledge on the Infinite Realms, though she refuses to work for most people who seek her out - even though the money would be good - because usually it's only evil assholes that want to hire her.

She makes a deal with Jon to help (in exchange for something that would let her get a message to Danny letting him know what happened or something like that) and Kon joins in because there's no way he's trusting a dude Elle calls the "drunk soul slut" with his baby sister unattended, he doesn't *care* if she could handle herself it's not happening.

Anyway, Tim/Kon (and maybe some Damian/Elle) shenanigans during a Lazerus Pit/demon hunting road trip where eventually everyone figures out who Kon & Elle are, Elle manages to get a stable portal setup so she can go home and come back whenever she wants (Kon getting adopted by Danny? Kon getting adopted by Danny) and Kon joining Young Justice and having a good relationship with Clark (who had a lot more time to deal with things before meeting Kon and learned about him as a person before learning he was Clark's clone).

Anyway there would be a scene at the end where Kon would be in his superhero suit for the first time and just:

Clark: Did you choose a hero name yet?

Kon: Yeah, I figured I'd go with Supernova.

Clark, feeling touched: Yeah? Any particular reason?

Kon: It's cool, it has 'Super' in the name, and really it just seemed the easiest option, I'm used to responding to Nova, so *shrugs*

Clark: Yeah? Why's that? Nickname?

Kon: I guess kinda? It's my stage name at the strip club I work at

Clark: what

Tim, brain shut down by this revelation: ...do you do private shows?

Clark: w h a t

2K notes · View notes

illusioninfnty · 6 months

Text

day 31 ; sex pollen

↠ buggy the clown x reader

fandom: one piece word count: 1.6k warnings: nsfw 18+, dubcon, semi-public sex, fuck or die-ish, fingering, banter, unprotected sex, squirting, creampie

kinktober m.list || read on ao3

You know Buggy’s going to leave as soon as he gets his body back.

You’re not going to let that happen. When he finally reattaches himself, and runs off with a see ya!, you run after him.

“Stop!” you call out to him. “You need to stay and fight. We saved your ass, didn’t we?”

He turns around and sighs dramatically seeing you. “You again? Seriously sweetcheeks, would ya let me leave?”

You cross your arms, and give him the most intimidating glare you can muster. You only recently joined the crew, and you wanted to prove that you were tough enough to fight with the rest of them. Making sure that Buggy helped you guys fight Arlong and his fishmen while Luffy went to go save Nami was a way to prove yourself to them.

“I can’t let you—” you're interrupted by a fishman coming out from behind Buggy and approaching you. You whip out a dagger to prepare for his attack, but before you can get a move in he sprays some sort of powdery mist in your face, completely taking over your vision.

“Good luck trying to fight me now when you gotta deal with that,” he snickers as he runs away.

You cough and bend over, hands on your knees, as the mist lands in your nostrils and mouth. You try to swat it away in the air surrounding you, but it feels as though the mist has already gotten inside of you, and there’s no way to escape it now.

“Well, anyways, I’m going to go then,” Buggy starts, slowly backing away as he gets ready to escape.

You’re too weak to try and distracted now to try and stop him, but then your body starts to feel different. Your internal temperature skyrockets, causing beads of sweat to start dripping down your face despite the fairly average temperature outside. You can feel your body not getting hot because of that, but also the sudden arousal that threatens your core.

Your legs begin to tremble as your body aches with need, a deep feeling in your gut that you never felt before. It’s like a hunger that needs to be sated immediately, as though it were a life or death situation. It has you wanting to just stick your fingers inside of your pussy and just fuck yourself silly until you can rid yourself of this itch you can’t seem to scratch.

“W-wait!” You call out to him. You must sound extremely desperate, because Buggy actually stops and turns towards you instead of ignoring your pleas.

You swallow hard and continue. “I need…help.” Your tongue feels heavy in your mouth as you grit out your words, embarrassed by just how much you want the stupid clown to fuck you. You can already feel how wet you are through your bottoms, and as the seconds tick by it feels as though your arousal is going to start spilling out onto the floor. “Need you to fuck me. Please.”

You’re too ashamed of your desperation to look Buggy in the face to see his reaction to your words. You only know of his answer when you fall to your knees, legs too weak to hold yourself up, and you feel his palm on your back.

“Well when you look like that, how can I say no?” Sarcasm drips in his voice, and you can tell he’s not really taking you seriously.

“I’m serious!” You try to sound as adamant as you can given how weak you feel at the moment.

“So am—” You interrupt him, finally having enough, by grabbing him by the back of his neck and smashing your lips against his own in a kiss.

His own hands move to cup your face, and you open your mouth up to let his tongue in. As the kiss becomes sloppy, you start to rid yourself of your clothes, needing your body to cool down.

He pulls away as he sees you baring yourself to him, eyes widening and a smirk overtaking his face. “Woah, didn’t realize you wanted to fuck me so badly. I would’ve happily done it if you were nice and asked.”

You don’t have it in you to protest him now. Instead you move your fingers inside of you, your juices gushing out of you despite the lack of attention your pussy had been receiving.

“The shit he sprayed me with,” you start. You lay yourself on the ground, arching your back as you piston your fingers in and out of you, praying that you find your release soon.

Buggy hums in thought. “I should be thanking him, then. Got myself a nice view.”

“You can do that after you fuck me.” The next thing you know his cock is inside of you, and he’s thrusting with the vigor of a man starved. You moan and arch yourself into him, your hands scrambling as they claw at his back. You wrap your legs around him, wanting to keep him close as his thick cock ruts into you.

You don’t think sex had ever felt this good before. Your juices are squirting out of you, proving to be a great replacement for lube, and your walls clench down hard on Buggy’s cock, like a vice. He groans above you as you tighten your grip around him, walls fluttering as they refuse to let him leave you.

The pleasure is too much for you to bear, and you can hardly talk. Your eyes roll back into your head and your tongue lolls out of your mouth, drool escaping the corners of your lips.

All that comes out of your mouth and pathetic whimpers and breaths of yes, yes, yes as Buggy fucks you with reckless abandon.

“Fuck, you’re so tight,” he grits out as his muscles bulge from holding you down with so much force. His hips collide with your own, the sounds of your skin slapping loud enough to draw the attention of anyone who would’ve been in the vicinity of the two of you. “Shoulda fucked you when I first saw you. Lookin’ all cute in slutty in your little pirate getup.”

You know you should feel insulted by the way he technically insinuated you were “playing” pirate, but the horny, afflicted side of you only chooses to focus on the yearning in his voice of wanting to fuck you, and how his cock is hitting parts of you that make you see stars.

It comes to no surprise to you that your orgasm is already closely approaching within minutes of having Buggy’s cock fucking into you. Your nails dig into his skin, and your whines increase in pitch and speed.

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” Buggy groans as you clench down even harder around his cock, as impossible as it may seem, and your orgasm crashes into you like a wave. You can only gasp out curses as you squirt all over his cock, your juices rushing out of you wildly.

Your release soaks yourself and him, both inside and out. Buggy’s orgasm isn’t too far behind as his hips begin to stutter in their rhythm and soon he’s moaning lowly in your ear and filling you to the brim.

A sudden rush of calmness washes over you as Buggy’s cum fills you up. It’s like all of the horniness and desperation for sex escapes your body as soon as it comes into contact with his cum. Your body temperature returns to normal, and the shaking of your body is solely in response to your orgasm instead of the deep aching within your core that seemed as though it could never be satiated.

You hold onto him for a couple of moments longer, catching your breath and coming down from your high as Buggy’s arms also remain wrapped around you and his cock stays nestled inside your entrance.

It’s then that you hear your name being called out in the distance. It seems as though while you were affected by the mist powder, your crew had completed all they set out to do.

Not wanting them to see you in the precarious situation you’re in, covered in juices and Buggy on top of you, still inside your entrance, you scramble away from him. Stumbling as you put your pants back on, ignoring the way his cum pools out of you, you give him a kick to his side.

“Ow!” He whines, rubbing the area you made contact with.

“Get out of here!” you whisper to him, despite no one being around you for probably miles out. “If they see us like this I’m totally screwed!”

He rolls his eyes, but still goes to stand up and get dressed again. “Oh, what? Embarrassed to be seen with me? Real original.”

Your eyes narrow and you cross your arms. “I am trying to make a good impression with my crew, and this—” your hands gesture to yourself and Buggy—“is not going to help that.”

Buggy holds his hands up in surrender. “Fine, fine. But you owe me one.” He begrudgingly begins to leave by walking backwards, his eyes on yours the entire time. “Next time we meet, I'll have you help me out with something.” He wiggles his eyebrows in a way that makes you want to cringe, yet you can’t find it in yourself to dismiss him completely.

You shoo him away, ignoring the way heat rises to your cheeks. “Maybe. Now scram.”

You see your crew approach just as Buggy is out of sight. Thinking about your encounter with him more, technically, your mission was a success. You’d call it a win in your books.

#kinktober #kinktober 2023 #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown #buggy the clown smut #one piece x reader #one piece smut #opla x reader #opla smut #one piece live action x reader #opla buggy #opla buggy the clown

1K notes · View notes

turbulentscrawl · 6 months

Text

Identity(V) Headcanons: Norton Campbell

I'm starting off the writing blog with some of these character analysis-esque headcanons! (Starting with Norton bc he's honestly the reason I made this blog.) They'll serve both as practice for me, and examples for any readers on how I write different characters.

Again, I am new to the IDV fandom, and I have never played the game. These headcanons are informed by ongoing lore dives sourcing the wiki, japanese twitter responses, comics, stageplay, and more! Some of these may relate to or even contradict character backstory, and some of them are just pure vibes for me. If you like it, consider shooting a request ;)

-Norton had always been a moodier guy, but the mining accident (and the lack of mental and emotional support he received after it) resulted in a much more obvious split of his temperaments. Without trying to put a name to something I’m no expert in, Norton has two distinct personality states which are both aware of and inform one another. The First is the more common state, wherein he is more level-headed, but prone to melancholy and isolation. His melancholy tends to be more intense after an episode with his Second state, wherein he is very likely to exhibit anger, mania, and cynicism. Likewise, his Second state tends to be more critical when he’s been uneventfully mellow for a good while. He tries his best to balance and regulate the two, but this particular emotional roller coaster is one he never had any say in getting on and has never had any assistance getting off.

-The First state typically lasts longer than the Second, sometimes stretching several days at a time. During the First, he’s at his most amicable and chatty. This is the best time to get to know him as a person.

-When in his Second state, which is usually triggered by something that reminds him of the accident, it’s better to give him a wide berth. Even in the case of a friend or partner who has thick skin and handles harshness well, Norton can become hypercritical of himself for being cruel to them.

-His mother died in childbirth, leaving Norton with only his father, who also worked himself to an early grave. Norton had to start working immediately to keep himself fed (and sometimes didn’t even manage that) so he has next to no education. He does not read or write especially well. He is also not particularly tech savvy and struggles with new concepts. That said, he's never been one to back down from a chance to improve himself, difficult or otherwise.

-Norton was mostly genuine in his visits to the elderly and sick. Many of them were other miners and laborers who helped him find his footing after his dad died. Their help may not have amounted to much in the long run, but they didn’t just look the other way and he understood the loneliness they felt on their deathbeds.

-The one exception to this was Benny, who Norton had also once looked upon in an appreciative light…until he learned how to read. It was then that he scoured his father’s old letters and discovered an infuriating truth: after the birth of Norton and the death of his mother, his father had been about to leave the mining industry. Benny was the one who convinced him to stick around and join the obsessive hunt for gold. It was through a mix of spite and desperation that Norton decided to swindle Benny out of his maps and take the chance at riches for himself.

-Norton does not talk about the mining accident. At all. Not even if he’s paid. Part of it is self-preservation—since he IS the one who stole and illegally ignited the explosives. The other part is that he is well and truly wrecked with guilt. Norton did not get along with most of his coworkers in those final days, was bullied and harassed by them, but he wanted to get ahead of them, not kill them.

-Because he’s been self-reliant from such a young age, he’s naturally distrustful of other people. He has trouble accepting people at face value and often rejects compliments, and other words of affection. He’s the embodiment of “actions speak louder than words.” In general, if someone wants to get closer to Norton they have to put their money (and their labor) where their mouth is and show a lot of patience. Any genuine relationship with Norton is hard-won.

-In line with the above, the best love language to give Norton is Acts of Service. Physical Affection would also work well once you reach a certain threshold in his trust. Gift-Giving is a decent third, but you would need to tread lightly here, lest he start to see the budding relationship as purely transactional. Holidays and birthdays are the best time to really go in on gifts for Norton, since he has a harder time arguing bribery with culturally dictated gifts.

-He genuinely does not find himself to be attractive. I wouldn’t go so far as to say he’s insecure, as he really doesn’t think about it much, but he’s least likely to accept compliments about his appearance. The burn scars certainly don’t help. If you do compliment his appearance, it’s better not to mention the scars at all than to try and make him feel better about them.

-He wholly, genuinely, hates the rich. Which is obvious enough, I suppose, but I think it’s more extreme than people give him credit for. And really it just comes down to unadulterated jealousy and bitterness, which are not easy feelings to overcome.

-Norton is of the opinion that all life is equal—and when he’s at his most cynical, this means he’s willing to take the balance of “an eye for an eye” into his own hands.

-His sweet tooth is limited to donuts and a few other carb-y baked goods. He prefers savory flavors, or sometimes bitter, such as in the case of his black coffee. He doesn’t eat as much as you might expect for his size, but he always eats quickly, and hunched over his food like it’ll be taken away. Old habits die hard.

-He has a terrible sleep schedule, due in part to frequent nightmares about the accident. He’s also somewhat claustrophobic and dislikes pitch-black spaces, so a window is a must in his bedroom. He prefers to have it open whenever reasonable.

-He doesn’t do well with thunderstorms, as the rumbles of thunder sound too much like the beginnings of a cave-in.

-If he has one singular strength, it’s perseverance. Hardships don’t deter him because he’s seen and overcome plenty. He’s a loyal friend as well, once completely won over. If he cares for you, you’ll never have to tackle a hurdle alone.

#identity v #idv #idv prospector #norton campbell #norton campbell x reader #idv x reader #turbulentscrawl

194 notes · View notes

blushy-tigerrr · 4 months

Text

Saved By The Bell - Naruto Tickle Fic

Fandom: Naruto Shippuden

Summary: During the second bell test, Naruto makes an interesting discovery about his Sensei.

Content Warning: mild language

Word Count: 2.7k

Author's Note: it has been SO LONG since i last wrote a fic so i'm v nervous about posting this, but i am pretty proud of it! i hope you enjoy!

Naruto and Sakura ducked behind a tree, breathing heavily as they tried to recover some energy from all of the failed attempts at retrieving the bells from Kakashi. Their brains were moving a mile a minute, trying desperately to figure out a new tactic. It’s been about three years since the first time they had tried to do this, and as strong as the two of them have gotten in that time, it was still incredibly difficult. It didn’t help that the pressure was up this time as Lady Tsunade, the Fifth Hokage and Sakura’s mentor, and Jiraiya, Naruto’s mentor, were watching and evaluating their fight. With the extra amount of pressure they were feeling, the two of them couldn’t help but wonder if they had even progressed much at all.

Kakashi, however, felt the amount of growth his students had achieved. As opposed to last time they fought him like this, he wasn’t daring to let even a little bit of his guard down. He knew how much stronger Naruto and Sakura had become, and because of this, he knew he’d be defeated easily if he relaxed for even a second. Even so, he couldn’t fully keep his mind away from his new “Make-Out Tactics” book that Naruto had brought him. He’d never dare to start reading while facing opponents like these, but the desire was there, and it was strong.

Naruto sighed, his breath becoming steadier. “Man, that Kakashi is ridiculously strong. I mean, he’s smarter than Shikamaru, he has a better sense of smell than Kiba, his Sharingan is better than Sasuke’s, his Taijutsu is better than Lee’s… and he’s got way more experience than us.”

“You’re right, but even so…” Sakura interjected curiously, “even he must have a weakness.” She squinted her eyes as if to see the possibilities written out in front of her. “We just have to think about it…”

“A weakness, huh?” Naruto wondered aloud, joining Sakura and becoming deep in thought. He cycled through every fight he’s seen Kakashi in, trying to figure out what his weakness could possibly be. It was hard to find the answer with an opponent so strong. Maybe, his weakness wasn’t a physical thing, like a blind spot. Maybe… Naruto gasped suddenly. “I’ve got it!”

Sakura’s head whipped towards Naruto in surprise, her brow slightly furrowed. “Really? You know Kakashi’s weakness? Tell me!” She leaned in, prompting him to whisper so no one would overhear their plotting. Naruto stifled a giggle, playing out his ridiculous plan in his head.

“Sakura, think about it for a minute. If you really look back at all of Kakashi Sensei’s actions, you’ll know what I’m thinking of.” Naruto smirked, waiting for Sakura to think of it, too. She did think very hard, in fact. Alas, she wasn’t able to see it the way that Naruto did so clearly. He beckoned her close to him and whispered his plan into her ear. As the words left his mouth, her face switched from a confused expression into a wide, scheming smile.

“Oh, I get it now! Naruto, that’s a genius idea!” She exclaimed, feeling her hands begin to shake in excitement. “You really are the most unpredictable knucklehead ninja I’ve ever met.” Naruto growled, lightly smacking Sakura in the arm, making her laugh.

“Hey! How dare you call me a knucklehead when I just came up with that amazing plan! You said it yourself, it was genius.” He smirked, crossing his arms in a playfully arrogant way. Sakura rolled her eyes at his actions.

“No matter how many great plans you come up with, you’ll always be a knucklehead to me, Naruto.” She teased. Naruto copied her eye roll, still smirking.

“Whatever. Let’s just go before Kakashi Sensei starts getting suspicious.” He began to move noiselessly in Kakashi’s direction, Sakura close behind him. They both focused on their movements, making sure to draw no attention to themselves while also making their way through the trees as quickly as possible. Before they knew it, they were crouched behind a bush about thirty feet away from Kakashi.

Kakashi couldn’t sense their presence yet, but his guard was very much up, anticipating a sneak attack from a direction that wouldn’t be expected. He would never admit it to his two students, but he started to feel a bit nervous. He couldn’t place exactly why. All he knew is that he should be expecting the unexpected. But then he wondered, what could be so unexpected that it warranted him feeling this nervous? When he saw his two students appear from behind a bush, that was when the nerves really started to kick in. They couldn’t possibly think a head-on attack would work, could they?

“Huh… attacking me head-on like this. Are you sure that’s the best course of action?” Kakashi questioned his students, keeping his voice even as he readied his defensive stance. The two stood before him, and Kakashi couldn’t miss the eagerness in their stances. What on Earth did they have planned?

“Now, Naruto!” Sakura’s sudden exclamation prompted the two of them to jump into the air, diving slowly towards Kakashi. He couldn’t help but gain a confused look. All three of them knew that Kakashi could destroy them easily in a frontal attack like this. He stood, still ready to attack at any moment, but he watched them closely, analyzing every movement down to the tiniest muscle twitch.

“Alright, Kakashi Sensei…” Naruto started to speak as they continued to descend. Kakashi cocked his head to the side slightly, surprised that he’d use a moment like this for conversational language. “At the end of ‘Make-Out Tactics’…”

Oh. Oh.

Those words sent a chill down Kakashi’s spine. There was no way Naruto was resorting to such a dirty trick. Spoiling the ending of the book he had just received that day? What kind of a monster did he train?! Kakashi covered his ears out of instinct, preventing himself from hearing any more of Naruto’s words. He kept his eyes locked on their movements, but then he realized…

“As it happens, the main character…” No! He could still read Naruto’s lips because of his Sharingan! His eyes clamped shut, determined not to find out any spoilers that Naruto might have known. He was also Jiraiya’s student, and he’s the author of these books, after all. It was more likely than not that Naruto knew exactly how this book went, and Kakashi would rather lose this fight than have his favorite series spoiled for him.

Kakashi felt a sudden jab at his right side, close to his hip. His eyes shot open with a gasp, as his hands flew down to protect himself from… that. Much to his dismay, the jabs kept coming one after another. He felt his face begin to flush in embarrassment as he choked back the laughter that was about to come out of his mouth. There was no way he was letting his students learn both of his weaknesses in the same day.

“Damn it, where the hell are they?!” A familiar voice mumbled to no one in particular. Kakashi looked down to see that the culprit of the pokes was none other than Naruto. He was obviously searching for something… wait. “Where are they? Where are the bells?!” Naruto’s hands kept searching as Kakashi felt his defenses begin to crumble. He inhaled deeply and held his breath. He could not, would not let this happen. Not in front of the Fifth Hokage herself.

When Naruto’s hands reached the bottom of his ribs, Kakashi felt himself involuntarily move away from the poking. This made Naruto stop what he was doing and stare curiously at his teacher. Kakashi stared back, his eyes a little bit wider than normal. His heart rate began to increase when he saw a devious glint in Naruto’s eyes. Naruto reached out to land another poke into Kakashi’s ribs, eliciting a quiet yelp from the older.

“Say, Kakashi Sensei…” Naruto’s voice was lower than before, almost a growl. Kakashi swallowed, his face growing more flushed the closer Naruto gets to him. “You wouldn’t happen to be ticklish, would you?”

Kakashi felt his breath catch in his throat hearing those words. “Now, Naruto…” His voice had a slight tremble to it, but he tried to keep his tone calm and level. “Is this really necessary? You would have defeated me just now. We don’t need to resort to such tactics.”

Naruto chuckled, stepping even closer to Kakashi with his hands reaching out in front of him. “If you’re hiding the bells from us, then I have no other choice.” He leapt at Kakashi suddenly, attaching his fingers to his sides and digging in mercilessly. Kakashi gasped, putting his hands over Naruto’s in an attempt to push them away. He gritted his teeth to prevent any laughter from slipping out of his mouth. He was determined to keep up his stoic facade for as long as possible.

“N-Naruto, this isn’t necessary. C-come on, stop this.” Kakashi’s voice came out a bit more strained than normal as he held back his laugh. As ticklish as he was, Kakashi was able to handle this spot pretty well. As long as Naruto didn’t get any other ideas, that is. Not satisfied with the reaction he was getting, Naruto furrowed his brow in deep thought.

“I think it’s very necessary, Kakashi Sensei! If you’re unfairly hiding the bells from us, I have to find them by any means.” Naruto moved his hands up to Kakashi’s ribs, scratching each finger between each of the bones. Kakashi let out a strong exhale, still holding his laughter in, but just barely. His hands still stayed on top of Naruto’s, trying to detach his fingers from his ribs. The feeling of all ten of Naruto’s fingers wiggling in between his ribs was almost too much to handle. Naruto grinned mischievously, noticing Kakashi’s face becoming more red as the tickling continued.

“You’re really not letting up? Man, I guess I have to do it, then…” Those words from Naruto made Kakashi’s stomach do a backflip. He started to squirm underneath the tickly touch, wondering what on Earth he could have possibly thought of to escalate the situation.

“Well, as I was saying before, the main character in ‘Make-Out Tactics’…”

Kakashi gasped, covering his ears and clamping his eyes shut once more. Damn, Naruto was much better at finding his weaknesses than he’d like to admit. “N-no! I’m not listening!” Kakashi exclaimed in a panic. What he failed to consider, however, was just how vulnerable he had made himself in this one motion. Naruto chuckled, taking the chance that was given to him. He shot his now free hands up into Kakashi’s underarms.

Kakashi’s arms came crashing down as his entire body curled in on itself. The laughter that he was fighting back finally bubbled to the surface in the form of soft, hysterical giggles. His face flushed even deeper than before, feeling embarrassed about reacting in such a way, especially in front of the people that were around. As Naruto’s fingers scratched in the sensitive spot, Kakashi couldn’t help himself but squirm even more than before.

Naruto was shocked. He had never heard Kakashi laugh like this. He didn’t even know if he’d heard Kakashi laugh at all before, so to see him reduced to a giggling mess was a hilarious sight. “Wow, Kakashi Sensei! You’re way more ticklish than I would have thought!” He continued to scratch his nails in Kakashi’s underarms, causing his teacher’s laughter to slowly get louder.

“N-Narutohoho, plehehease! This ihis soho childihihihish!” Kakashi cackled, trying half heartedly to bat Naruto’s arms away from him. Could he have gotten the kid off of him easily with one swift motion? Absolutely, but to be honest, he couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed his guard to drop this much. It had to have been years since he felt himself laugh even a little bit. As embarrassing as it all was, a bigger part of it felt refreshing.

“Oh, you think this is childish? I’ll show you childish!” Naruto taunted, throwing pokes all around Kakashi’s torso, making his laughter spike up an octave. “Childish is hiding the bells from me when I beat you, fair and square!”

Kakashi’s eyes were still squeezed shut due to his loud laughter. All of a sudden, the tickling sensations increased rapidly. He felt so many different spots being targeted all at once. While the scratching in his underarms continued, he additionally felt fingers wiggling against his stomach and his ribs. Then, there was a pair of hands scratching behind his knees, forcing a surprised squeak out of Kakashi’s mouth. His legs began to shake due to the new spot being targeted. How was this even possible? He forced open his eyes and finally realized: he was being attacked by Naruto and three of his Shadow Clones.

Once he found out what had happened, Kakashi’s body surrendered to the sensations. He let unfiltered laughter flood out of his mouth as his legs finally gave out, making him end up on the ground. All four Narutos followed him down, all of their hands staying attached to the spots they were targeting. Kakashi was almost in tears laughing, completely unable to get away from the eight hands that were attacking him. “Nahahaharutoho! Plehehease, stohohohop!”

“I’ll stop as soon as you tell me where the damn bells are!” The real Naruto yelled, his three Shadow Clones laughing along.

Jingle.

Hearing that soft, familiar sound ring through the chaos made both Naruto and Kakashi freeze. All of their remaining chakra was focused in their ears, listening intently for the sound of the bells.

Jingle.

Their heads whipped around to see Sakura standing a few feet away from them, holding both of the bells, one in each hand. Kakashi felt his face pale at the sight as Naruto bolted over to grab one of the bells out of her hand with a satisfied chuckle.

“Y-you had them the whole time, Sakura?” Kakashi stammered, slowly gathering himself and getting to his feet. Sakura had a small smile on her face as she blushed a bit.

“Yeah… I’m sorry, Kakashi Sensei! I just thought… you looked like you were having fun, so I didn’t want to make you guys stop so soon.” Sakura explained sheepishly. Kakashi couldn’t help but smile at her statement, his face remaining a deep shade of pink.

“Well… you aren’t necessarily wrong.” Kakashi admitted, making both of his students stare at him in shock. He shrugged as he continued his thought. “I mean, I can’t remember the last time my body was able to relax like that, and I don’t even think either of you had ever heard me laugh before.” Naruto and Sakura looked at each other, knowing that to be true. Kakashi smiled at them before looking around the area. “Now, I have one thing to ask, and this goes for everyone here, so listen up.” As Kakashi spoke, Tsunade and Jiraiya poked their heads out of the trees, their grinning faces focused on him intently.

“What is it, Kakashi Sensei?” Naruto asked, his eyes shining with glee. Kakashi sighed, directing this statement mostly at the two Sannin.

“Please, do not tell Gai about this. He will never let me live a peaceful life with this information.” Jiraiya snickered as he and Tsunade shared a mischievous glance.

“No promises.” Tsunade responded with a scheming smile. Kakashi sighed even deeper this time, holding his face in his hands.

“Don’t worry, Kakashi Sensei! We’ll protect your honor!” Naruto exclaimed, positioning himself in front of Kakashi, using a defensive stance.

Sakura giggled and mirrored Naruto’s actions. “Yeah! We’ll protect you no matter what!”

Kakashi smiled, grateful for the incredible Shinobi his students had become. “Thank you. Now, what do you say I treat you two to some ramen as a congratulations?” His students let out a yell of excitement, racing each other back to the village. Kakashi followed close behind them while Tsunade and Jiraiya lingered for just a moment longer.

“You’re going to tell him, aren’t you?” Jiraiya asked the Hokage.

Tsunade chuckled. “Oh, I absolutely am.”

#tickling #tickle fic #naruto tickle fic #lee!kakashi #ler!naruto #my works

55 notes · View notes

korereapers · 6 months

Text

Title: Tainted

Rating: Explicit

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Ship/Pairing: Astarion Ancunín/Gale Dekarios, bloodweave

Warnings: smut, Netherese orb shenanigans. LOTS OF FLUFF

AO3

Join the bloodweave server if you want to!

It has been a mistake on his part, and Gale can't help but blame himself for it. Who would be to blame, if not him and his foolishness? For how much he prides himself in his intelligence, evidence suggests that he has been, yet again, way too impulsive.

"It's more than fine, darling," Astarion says after a deep sigh, and Gale knows that he must be lying. It's not fine, nothing is fine, and Astarion's thumb on the corner of his own lips, licking it absentmindedly, tells him that he has, indeed, ruined the night.

"I swear to you, Astarion. In Mystra's name, I swear I had no idea-"

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Astarion exclaims, clearly irritated, baring his fangs dangerously, but Gale has learned to discern real danger from just a very visible frustration. "I know you had no idea! I know you wouldn't! Can you please keep that goddess of yours out of this?"

Gale bites his own tongue, because everything he can say would make the situation worse. He knows that Astarion blames Mystra for his situation, but Gale knows well enough that he has nobody to blame but himself. His foolishness, his impulsiveness. It wasn't hubris, not really, not as he understands it. He wanted her to like him, to admire him like he does, to-

"Honey," Astarion says, a hand with long fingers on Gale's cheek, a tentative touch that desperately makes him want to go back to reality, far from these thoughts. Can he allow himself that, though? Doesn't he owe him, them all, himself, and Mystra the guilt he is feeling? Isn't it better to do something useful with it, to use what he has inside of his chest for something good, instead of corrupting everything good that has ever happened to him? "Gale. Stop thinking. Look at me."

Gale smiles weakly at that.

"I am afraid, my vampiric companion, that ceasing all thought is kind of an impossible task-"

Astarion groans exasperatedly.

"Wizards… Fucking wizards."

"I mean. At this moment. I am brimming with thoughts. And not the good kind, I assure you."

Astarion's touch is cold, almost grounding. Red eyes look at him with worry, as if Gale was the one hurt, and not the other way around. It makes the hole inside of his chest feel bigger, the orb thrumming softly.

"Don't try and deflect again. That’s supposed to be my job."

Deep down, Astarion cares. He cares, because he reacts, sometimes viscerally, to the choices the group makes, to what Gale does to him, or to himself. Blood might not flow naturally inside of his body, but anger can make it boil just the same. Sadness does make his eyes sink, his movements slower. Happiness making his features shine, too young to what he had to endure, too full of life.

Gale doesn’t really want to think about when Astarion’s expression shows fear.

“I am aware of the… reservations you had towards us getting intimate. I of course intended to give you space. I tried my best at it,” Gale starts, his voice a little high, panic still fresh in his body. “I wanted to give you a special night. A night you would never forget.”

As if in cue, the starry sky becomes even more beautiful, its colors more intense. It’s a miracle that Gale hasn’t lost his concentration, given the circumstances, his magic still a wonder to Astarion, who looks up for a brief moment, only for his eyes to be back on Gale’s a second later.

It might be dark, but Gale works his magic for human eyes, and Astarion is an elf, and a vampire. He can see his warm eyes, rightfully worried, even if his worry is misplaced, this time. He sees how he gulps, he can almost feel every breath, even more because Astarion himself doesn’t have to, his lungs useless long ago. His blood, warm inside of him, the most tempting current, its flow a temptation he has learned to ignore most of the time.

He is aware, both of them are. Gale’s blood is corrupted, the orb inside of his chest making his body slowly rot from the inside, its magic taking Gale’s, and everything he touches with a purpose. Astarion hasn’t tried it again, Gale being adamant about it, about how dangerous it might be for him.

Gale is sure it is, at least. Not an acquired taste, as Astarion had tried to put it. As it turns out, it was not just his blood that got tainted by the Netherese orb, but many, many other parts of his body. Which is why, when Astarion had made the exact same face he did back when he first tried his blood while trying another completely different fluid of his, Gale had panicked.

Blood is one thing. It’s different when your vampire companion tries to bite you against your will, and he bites more than he can chew. Quite literally. Enjoying the… attentions Astarion’s mouth gives to him, after weeks of dancing around each other? After a well needed conversation about how Gale hasn’t had a partner after Mystra, while Astarion very much prefers not to be touched sexually until he feels ready? That’s a completely different thing.

Gale has ruined it all. Again.

It’s surprising, because he feels their illithids close, together, connecting. Astarion might not be able to understand, but wants to. His expression relaxes as Gale lets him connect, lets him see. There is no point in hiding anything anymore.

“You wanted to make it special. For me.”

Gale nods, closing his eyes when Astarion closes the gap between them, not to kiss him, but to touch his forehead with his own. Astarion, who doesn’t like physical touch, initiates it with someone like Gale, who caresses his cold face as if it was easy.

“You are afraid of this eternal feeling of yours. You feel that you are not good enough, that you have to impress me to make me think that you’re… worthwhile. That you have failed me and you have failed yourself.”

Gale doesn’t even try to hide, a sigh escaping his lips, his heart sinking when Astarion imitates the gesture a second later. He can feel his irritation through the tadpole, but Astarion keeps his cards close, he always does. The connection gets interrupted when Astarion moves, and Gale is, indeed, afraid. Afraid that he has ruined it even more.

Mystra didn’t deem him worthy. Maybe Astarion thinks the same.

The vampire shakes his head, graciously, and Gale finds himself looking, red eyes shining in what he recognizes as anger. Anger at him, maybe. That would be understandable, as Gale Dekarios seems to have a talent to make people angry at him.

“That’s… oddly self centered, don’t you think?”

Like that, Gale’s mind goes blank. He registers the words, but they don’t make sense to him. A part of him makes his blood burn with rage at the audacity, but the sad, heavy feeling that reminds him that he deserves it is too overwhelming for the rage to take place. It drowns its embers without effort, and Gale is left weak, his shoulders slumped.

Here it comes. The punishment.

“You don’t get to decide what to think and what to feel. Only I get to decide that.”

Gale wants to speak, really, he does. He has practiced speeches for situations like this, so usual with Mystra, having to use his silver tongue to get in her good graces again, until he couldn’t do it anymore. Until no words would appease her.

He can’t talk, though, because his lips are sealed with Astarion’s, whose anger seems to translate into a particularly rough kiss. A kiss that hurts, a kiss that heals. A kiss that makes him bleed.

He wants to warn him, he really does, but his brain feels foggy, almost as if it wasn’t his own. Gale kisses him back, selfishly, and he feels Astarion tense when he drinks, the taste probably hellish. Everything in him surely tastes like Hell.

But Astarion doesn’t relent, and damn, Gale knows that neither of them are particularly strong, but Astarion manages to push him into the floor, letting him breathe just before he kisses him again. A different type of hunger, he guesses. His red eyes burn like a predator’s, and Gale wonders, even if for a brief moment, what color they used to be.

“Stupid fucking wizard. When are you going to stop being lost in your own mind? I care about you, everyone cares about you. You feed and take care of this group of weirdos, you talk and talk, and Hells, talk so much and so eloquently it makes me angry at how much it makes me want you.”

Gale shudders at his words, not moving an inch when Astarion starts unbuttoning his robes, slowly, dexterous fingers tracing his skin. He is beautiful, the lines on his skin as he frowns, his eyebags of not sleeping properly in who knows how long.

A hint of fangs shine behind his lips as he admires Gale's body, his chest hairy, rising and falling, the rhythm increasingly quickly because of how excited he feels, his breathing so intense he is afraid of passing out. A slender finger plays around the orb on his chest, and Astarion finally smiles a little, Gale's body reacting to his touch, the weave reacting to his touch.

"I'm afraid I am not sure of what will happen if you toy too much with it, Astarion."

Red eyes glint when the vampire's smile becomes more visible, playful, almost cheeky.

"We'll be careful, won't we, darling?"

He feels exposed in front of him, all of his fake pride gone, not flaunting anything anymore. He feels insecure, even if he knows how good his skills are, maybe because he does, and doesn't consider them nearly enough. Blame the tadpole, Astarion seems to notice.

"I like the Gale Dekarios I see. Not Gale of Waterdeep, not Mystra's chosen. Just you. She doesn’t get to define you, and neither does anyone but yourself."

Gale does smile a little at that.

"You are sweeter than you claim to be, Astarion."

The vampire scoffs at his words, as if they were the funniest joke in the world. Gale doesn't need an illithid to feel the bitterness coming out of him.

"I speak the truth, my star. You know I do. And your words, your feelings, are more than welcome. They may hurt, but I can discern good intentions when I see them."

Astarion does groan this time, no energy to sugarcoat it.

"Can you please shut-"

"I want to kiss you again, Astarion. And do whatever you are comfortable with. The only thing that worries me is that I will burden you with a rotten body, and a rotten purpose."

He feels that the words lose their original meaning, his pants still unceremoniously unbuttoned, his robes half open, long hair disheveled, a clear blush almost everywhere. It’s Astarion’s time to shudder, though, his expression intense when he gets closer again, Gale’s breath on his face, and he feels it in Astarion’s features, he thinks it’s nice, that it feels nice. Astarion’s breath is, of course, absent, an intense red color filtering through beautiful, white eyelashes. Knowing. Waiting.

“Come and get it, then. Show me how much you want it.”

Gale feels a tug from inside. Something in his chest that’s not his orb. Something down his abdomen that’s definitely his cock, still hard, against all odds. Still, he has to ask. He would never forgive himself otherwise. A small gesture towards Astarion’s comfort.

“Do you want it? Do you want everything my body, mind, and soul can offer you? Even after having briefly tasted me and felt how far gone my body is?”

Astarion doesn’t move, almost not blinking, so clearly undead that it should make Gale’s skin crawl, but it doesn’t. It really doesn’t, not when Astarion’s hand is nervously on his own, his lips still a treat to Gale’s eyes. He feels the word before it abandons Astarion’s lips, a half casted spell that Gale feels against his lips.

“Yes.”

He is sincere, the word engraved into Gale’s brain, making him tremble in anticipation. Gale’s warm hand is on the cold cheek, just keeping him in place as he moves, closing the distance between them with a shaky breath.

The Nine Hells be damned, Gale knows what he is doing, but Astarion almost has it engraved in his muscle memory. He gets lost in the sensation, something that makes Gale’s heart flutter, because Astarion may be used to sex, but he is not used to this. He is not used to the way Gale’s hands shake, slowly and desperately trying to get rid of the vampire's clothes, until Astarion helps, his hands more skilled at the matter.

With a decent amount of collaboration they manage to show themselves, unclad, under the myriad of stars.

“Are you okay, darling? You look like you’re about to collapse…”

Gale nods, desperately, his lips letting out a soft moan when Astarion’s hands explore his body, every curve, the soft patches of hair. He shudders when a slender, cold hand is on his cock again stroking him softly, his mouth carefully biting Gale’s lower lip, dry blood on it that only seems to make Astarion even more eager.

“You won’t like whatever I can offer you, Astarion. Especially not you.”

Astarion huffs in frustration, a word in elvish that he doesn’t quite identify, but he doesn’t move when he is on the ground again, Astarion’s beautiful body shining under the artificial aurora Gale has created. Lots of small, little stars joining one of their kind, whose fangs slightly glint in a grin when Gale looks up at him, hands on his waist when Astarion straddles him with his legs.

“I wanna ride you. That’s what I would like to do.”

Gale��s throat is dry, eyes big and focused on Astarion’s face. There is no warmth on his skin, but that’s just another reason to keep him close. To try and remind him of when he was alive, before Cazador, before all of this madness. Warm hands move from Astarion’s waist to his chest, aware of the lack of heartbeat, still feeling in the tension of his muscles that he is, indeed, nervous. He caresses the scars on his back, and dexterous hands guide him downwards quickly, way too quickly. As if he didn’t want Gale to touch the words engraved into his back. He respects that, of course, his cock surely interested when Astarion’s hands guide his own towards his butt, and Gale blushes when the elf smiles knowingly.

“I assure you, my dear. Whatever your body and mind can offer me is more than welcome."

Gale isn't so sure about that, to be honest. Not about Astarion's… predisposition, but about his own body. Maybe if he manages to talk to Mystra one day… maybe she would understand. Maybe she'd forgive him, and grant him a body he doesn't deserve. Maybe.

Astarion brings him back to the present, far from possibilities, making him focus on what they are doing. A bottle of something Gale bought as soon as they got into the outskirts of Baldur's Gate floats in the air, courtesy of Astarion's invisible mage hand. He smirks at him, fangs showing slightly.

"Do you want to get me ready, or would you rather watch?"

Both choices seem impossible to Gale's own fragile mental health, to be completely honest. Still, the choice is obvious to him at the moment.

"If you do not mind… I would rather touch you myself. You might find that I have some… untapped skills."

He doesn't know how he manages to say that with a straight face, but Astarion's smile only gets wider. He believes him. He really does. He takes the small bottle from the mage hand, handing it to Gale carefully.

"I'm sure of that."

There is this thing about Astarion. About sexual matters, he always seems to be confident, experienced. Not a hair out of place, clearly a performance that has been honed for centuries. His façade breaks slightly when Gale's coated fingers caress his entrance, red eyes bigger, like a nervous animal. Prey, for once, and not a predator.

Gale is, still, very much not a predator, thank you very much.

"You know you can relax around me, Astarion. We can stop whenever you want."

Astarion's groan is supposed to convey frustration, but to Gale's ears is just yet another expression of fondness.

He feels tight and cold around his finger, eager and fed, having drunk from one of their enemies mere hours ago. He feels warmer when he is sated, Gale has noticed. More alive, also more sensitive. His soft sigh when Gale slowly fingers him is not performative, for it's not perfect, not calculated, not so beautiful for it to be irreal. He is sure that Astarion would blush if he could.

Gale likes it even more this way.

The way his red eyes shine when Gale looks up to kiss him are more than enough, though.

"Hurry up. I can take it, wizard."

Gale knows he can. He still doesn't rush it, arching his finger a little, his caress a little quicker, but not much. He kisses his lips, his chin, his sharp cheeks. Sadness fills him when he thinks about being unable to feed him, not in a way that matters. Meat and stew taste good, but do nothing to placate Astarion's hunger. He still eats, though, not saying a word about the taste, so Gale assumes he enjoys it. Astarion would never take anything less than what he deserves, after all. In that aspect, at least.

Gale is the living proof of the exception, after all. Why would he choose a human, with a rotten body, a damned future caused by the most damaging part of his ego?

"Wizard. Stop overthinking, or the gods help me…"

He doesn't even have to ask. Astarion rolls his eyes, as if it were obvious.

"You get a little frown when you think hard about something. It's not usually something happy, for what I know."

Gale sighs, teasing his entrance with another finger.

"I get lost in my mind way too often. For that, I apologize."

Astarion gasps as he enters him, slender legs shaking on Gale's lap.

What a sight…

"You're lucky you're kind of cute, Gale Dekarios. If you weren't, I might have stabbed you long, long ago."

Gale knows that he is joking. He also knows that it's not a coincidence that Astarion is saying that when he is feeling vulnerable, or that he is using his family name, and not the epithet Gale uses for himself. He has been since they met Tara, since Gale mentioned his mother.

"I am cute? You are gorgeous, my star."

Astarion's muscles tense around his fingers in response. He surely likes the praise, especially when it is sincere, when Gale is not just speaking about Astarion's good looks. For a second, Gale wonders about it, about those muscles tensing around him, tight and delicious, taking him eagerly. He blushes at the thought, and Astarion smiles, dashing and knowing.

"A copper piece for your thoughts?"

Gale mumbles something incoherent, burying his burning face in Astarion's shoulder, making him giggle.

"Nothing? That's a first… having rendered Gale Dekarios speechless…"

He doesn't get to tease him for long, because Gale actually gets to work, trying to focus on the task at hand. Which is both preparing and pleasuring Astarion until he feels ready to take him and… experience whatever doom is awaiting them when Gale fills him with his rotten seed and-

Astarion kisses his temple, and it does make Gale think, about how comfortable he seems to be with his new role, in which his lips are not a tool to prey on others, to lie and lie and keep lying until someone finally falls for his tricks. This, this soft caress, honest and without worry, suits him perfectly. Maybe, Gale himself suits him perfectly.

Maybe.

"I said no overthinking."

Gale smiles at him, brown eyes like melted chocolate, his motions slow but purposeful. Astarion trembles on his lap, his cock twitching in interest, and Gale tries his hardest not to just take him in his hand, no matter how much Astarion's eyes, drowning him in crimson intensity, are almost ordering him to.

"I would like for you to enjoy this longer, my star."

The petname seems to work, because Astarion begrudgingly, sighs, almost as if trying to relax. He frowns when Gale curls his fingers, carefully massaging his insides, fingers that were made for reading and handling powerful spells finding a sensitive spot, and Astarion does indeed make a sound. It's not dignified, or elegant, but it's natural, raw.

He guides him through the whole process. How he likes it, the intensity, the pressure, the pace. He murmurs it all, sweet instructions against Gale's lips, who follows them in between soft kisses, shuddering each time Astarion seems to especially enjoy something.

"You are a quick learner, wizard. Such a beautiful brain you have…"

Astarion is riling him up. He doesn't have to be smart to know. He is successfully doing it, and Gale hates himself for falling for it, weak and pathetic, panting against his smile, feeling his thighs tensing around him.

"Inside, Gale," he says in a low tone, demanding, almost a growl. "I want you inside."

Gale Dekarios is, well, currently untouched. He still trembles when Astarion speaks, a desperate sound leaving his lips. He feels pathetic, but Astarion's expression is unchanging. Honest, wanting.

"Shit," Gale enunciates eloquently when Astarion moves, making Gale miss him dearly when his fingers are no longer inside of him. Astarion takes the bottle of lubricant, manually, slowly coating Gale's cock with it, keeping eye contact. Which would be hell for Gale if not for the fact that he is currently mesmerized.

His orb pulses, the sound of electricity filling the air. Maybe this is the way he goes. Unable to keep himself under control, way too excited and reckless to think about the obvious. To have enough strength to care about the danger.

"You are not going to get hurt," Astarion assures him. "You are not going to hurt me either. Or anyone in camp."

"But-"

"You might be a self centered asshole sometimes, but you care about us. About yourself. About… about me."

Astarion may be unable to blush, but the way his tongue seems to twist and make him ponder about his words is maybe the closest thing he has.

"Deep down, you never wanted to off yourself. You just thought it was the only thing you could do. The right thing to do. Bullshit…"

Gale smiles at him, his hands on both sides of Astarion's face.

"Is that an insight… from self centered asshole to self centered asshole?"

Astarion chuckles at that, enamored.

"Oh he has some edge… I love that."

It's Astarion who guides Gale's cock towards his entrance, his experience still unmatched… which leaves Gale with a sour feeling. He shouldn't have had to deal with something like that. He deserved better. That's why he is trying to make everything beautiful, perfect for him.

"I can… I can do it all myself, if that helps you…"

Astarion gently rolls his eyes.

"Darling, I am indeed deeply grateful. But I want to do this. I want you to feel good, and I want to feel good with you. I do appreciate the pampering but… I'm fine, I swear."

Gale’s smile is nervous. Knowing what’s to come, knowing what to expect. His throat bobs slightly, gulping a little bit too loudly.

“If I understand correctly… that means that you want to pamper me, I am assuming?”

Astarion’s smile is devilishly sexy after he answers with a single word, but it’s not rehearsed, not so pretty it has to be unreal. It’s pretty, his fangs showing slightly, but it’s not too wide, not too flashy. There is a hint of nervousness in trembling lips, and Gale can only kiss them softly, feeling their cool touch that is starting to warm up to him.

His insides are not cold, but not warm either. Something is at work there, maybe that Astarion has fed recently, so his body is especially vigorous. He takes him slowly, almost like torture, and Gale has his hands on his hips, making sure that he doesn’t rush it. Astarion seems proud of himself when Gale lets out a breath that he didn’t know that he was holding, a little fanged smile that Gale makes sure to kiss yet again.

“Are you sure…” he tries to ask, nervous about his obvious problem, but Astarion is having none of it.

“Yes.”

“But-”

“Darling, you might be an incredible wizard. A wonderful man. But I’m pretty sure your cock lacks the skill to kill me, no matter how good of a cock it is.”

Gale’s face is flushed, both mortified and incredibly pleased. Trying not to let the compliment go too deep inside of his psyche. He can feel himself getting harder at it, and Astarion’s smile is amused, sinking himself more into him, making a sweet sound when the friction seems to be a little bit too good.

“Fuck… finally.”

Gale cannot say much in return, too overwhelmed by the sensation, not just the physical one. Astarion makes him lie down, the beautiful night sky above them. Pale skin reflects the light slightly, making Gale gasp in awe. The stars may be beautiful, but Astarion is the most gorgeous of them all.

“My star…” Gale manages to say, his voice strangled, before the vampire moves, hungry for him in a way that Gale hasn’t felt in decades. Before Mystra, before his own foolishness, before all this mess. Red eyes shine in recognition, in fondness, rocking his hips slowly.

He’s beautiful. That’s what he thinks as Astarion moves, his movements elegant. He thinks about him moving in the shadows, slicing an enemy without effort, his eyes hungry in a completely different way. He looks up at him, because he knows, he knows he might be doing this for him, and not for both of them, but his expression is not vacant. Astarion is there with him, moaning softly when Gale’s warm hands caress his thighs, tenderly, digging his fingers into his skin with both sweetness and lust.

“May I… may I touch you?”

Gale has to ask, wants to ask. Astarion confided in him, about his worries, his past, his relationship with sex. He won’t do anything Astarion is uncomfortable with, but it’s still refreshing to hear him chuckle, the gesture making his whole body tremble.

“Of course, my dear,” he murmurs, just a second after moving again, Gale’s hold on him tighter, moaning softly, a hand slowly moving towards Astarion’s erection. He takes him with no hesitation, sensing him tense, the eye contact making Gale’s insides burn. Astarion looks intense as he moves, as Gale pumps him, tight around each other, an exhalation escaping an undead mouth with effort. It is rewarding when he finally moans, and Gale just frowns, nodding slightly.

It’s funny, almost, how words elude him in that moment. He feels himself babbling at times, about Astarion, about how pretty he is, about how nice and sweet he is to him. It makes Astarion’s expression change, and Gale doesn’t feel any kind of disgust coming from him, if the tension around his cock is to be trusted. He has never been good at reading expressions, even less in this state of near climax.

That’s why it takes him by surprise, the way Astarion keeps moving, but gets closer to him, looking for his lips briefly before the kisses go down his chin, his throat. Gale is pretty sure the vampire is not going to bite him, given how revolting his blood is, but his lips are dangerously close to the Netherese orb.

Gale wants to warn him, to tell him he doesn’t know how volatile the orb might be, but he isn’t sure if Astarion would have listened nevertheless. His voice breaks when Astarion kisses it, tenderly, his face buried on Gale’s chest as he keeps rocking his lips.

If there was something to say, Gale isn’t sure he can find the words, his face so red he fears he might faint. He just moans, feeling the orb thrumming, Astarion’s own whimper making his sight blurry. His movements are erratic. He must be close, too.

“You wanted to keep this from me, wizard? You feel like electricity… Powerful and vigorous and…”

Gale wants to say something, anything.

“Astarion…”

“I love everything you have to offer. I love… I love everything…”

That’s a little bit too much for Gale’s heart to handle. He feels himself coming messily, with the strength of a sledgehammer, the orb dangerously close to losing its stability. He is, too, so he wouldn’t really blame it. The stars seem to flicker above them, and Gale doesn’t know how his concentration hasn’t broken or faded, after all. Astarion keeps moving, almost desperately, reaching his own orgasm shortly after, Gale’s hand erratic on him, but apparently still enough to make him figuratively or not, see the stars. He feels a smile against his chest, a small kiss on it afterwards, and Gale realizes, embarrassed, that there are tears on his face. He still kisses Astarion’s temple, both in relief and in gratitude.

“I stand… I stand corrected,” Astarion mutters, still kissing his skin. “That cock almost killed me, albeit not in the way you feared.”

Gale lets out a small chuckle, trying not to sniff too loudly. Still, he knows that there is something in the air. The orb seems to react to Astarion’s touch, even if weakly, as if drawing itself to him.

“Do you… do you feel the weave, like back when we practiced?”

Astarion nods, looking up at him, magic oozing from him, a faint purple glint in his eyes.

“If I compliment you too much, it’ll go over your head, so I’ll just say this. You may taste like hell, but this…”

Gale knows the feeling well. Completion, understanding. Fulfillness. He caresses Astarion’s face, feeling the magic under his fingertips.

“You are lovely. I know I might have said that already, but if you are not averse to-”

Astarion’s lips are on his own, trapping him between the vampire’s body and the ground. Drinking from him without draining him, just… sharing an experience. Connected in a way that makes sense to both of them.

“It feels good, to be like this with you.”

The netherese orb is like a curse, a punishment for his own hubris, but Astarion’s fingers circling it, his small kisses, almost make it all bearable. They both wear their marks, the weight of their past. Gale’s fingers ghost over Astarion’s scars as they kiss, not daring to touch them too much, not until it’s Astarion who guides him towards them, as if trying to repay his trust.

If Astarion realises that Gale is crying again, he says nothing about it. They just lie side by side, looking at stars that aren’t real, but that are proof of everything Gale wants to convey. Closer than they should be, even if the moment is technically over. Gale would love to cuddle a little more, but he doesn’t really want to push it and make him uncomfortable.

“Thank you,” he says instead, his warm eyes looking at him, at the beautiful start shining among hundreds of his kind. “For everything.”

Astarion doesn’t meet his gaze, still looking at the sky. At everything that Gale has created for him.

“You have been kind to me. That’s more than most people can say,” he offers as an explanation, but says nothing else.

Gale still notices how he gets closer to him, his head casually resting on Gale’s shoulder as he admires the sky. Gale, though? Bless the weave and its wonders, but in that moment, Gale can only keep looking at Astarion.

#my stuff #bloodweave #baldur's gate 3 #astarion ancunin #gale dekarios #gale of waterdeep #these hoziers kind of ship motherfuckers

46 notes · View notes

missmaywemeetagain · 1 year

Text

Pink Scarf - Part 19 (Elvis/Austin!Elvis x Reader)

Character/Fandom: Elvis - Elvis (2022)

Requested: kinda

(Read more here--Pink Scarf Series Masterlist!)

Prompt: You are part of Elvis Presley's coveted inner circle, and the currently-disgruntled wife of one of the members of Elvis' famous entourage, the Memphis Mafia. After Elvis' dynamite first performance in Vegas, you find yourself in deep water when his magnetism finally gets to you after all these years. [ Fem!Reader ]

TW: References to sex. Continued ANGST. Medication/drug use/overdose mentions. Dub con mentions(sort of?). Cussing. Infidelity. Historical inaccuracies in the Vegas timeline. Priscilla doesn't exist in this timeline.

Rating: Explicit/Mature (NSFW, 18+, so minors Do NOT Interact) || Word Count: 8.1k

A/N: Thank you for your patience, my beautiful lil mamas, Part 19 is finally here! We are back in Reader's headspace, and lordy, oh lordy, it's A LOT...just remember, I DID warn and promise y'all pain before a happy ending. And the end is coming soon. 😭 I know, babies, I know. 💖

If you so desire, you should now have the ability to tip my blog or different chapters in the story! Some of you have been asking about this, and of course, no one is obligated to do so! If you do choose to tip, thank you so much! I've never had anyone want to pay for my work before, so this is a big step towards my romance novelist dreams. 💜

I am so FREAKIN' GRATEFUL for every single one of you babies, honeys, and lil' mamas supporting me out there, YOU ARE EXTRAORDINARY! I didn't in a million years expect this kind of support and response for Pink Scarf, and your reactions, reblogs, messages, asks, and comments you've given me have been a blessing beyond expression. You all are the best community a writer could ask for! Thank you so much for your support. I am loving getting to know y'all better! I love every single reaction and comment and ask, and I'm sorry if I don't get back to them all as soon as I'd like but know that I love you all and am so excited to be making new friends! And a big "Hey, Y'all!" to our friends from Elvis Twitter, Elvis Discord, and Elvis Instagram--I see and appreciate you coming over to join us! 👀💋

If you feel so moved, please let me know what you think or how you're feeling (or send me asks)! I think I put everyone on the taglist who requested it, but please let me know if there are any issues or if I missed anyone. There seem to be some issues with tagging that I can't seem to fix, so please know I'm not leaving you out intentionally! Also, if you comment on a previous part that you want to be tagged, I might not always see it, so feel free to message me if I miss you!

I imagined this with Elvis in mind, but Austin!Elvis works here, too, whatever floats your boat!

Apologies in advance if there are any grammatical errors or TW that I didn't catch.

(I did start cross-posting Pink Scarf to my AO3 account, as well as my NEW Wattpad account. so if you are so inclined, you can check it out/support me over there with kudos and votes and whatnot!)

Silence.

For the first time in over a week, you aren’t bombarded with images of the past or worries for the future as your subconscious desperately tries to guide you places you are not ready to go to yet. As you stir awake, you feel somewhat rested, peaceful almost. Your eyes flutter open and even though the room is dim, you still squint and hiss at the light that pierces through your eyes and seems to rocket through your head like a spear. You can’t help but groan a little at the pain behind your eyes.

The room is not familiar, however, which sets you on edge, that peacefulness of good sleep draining from you quickly. Frantically, you try to puzzle out where you are and how you got here but thinking sends a wave of nausea through you that you can’t ignore. You groan again at the feeling and crack your eyes open the slightest bit.

A man, first crouched in the uncomfortable looking chair he’s perched in, sits up ramrod straight at your movements. Despite the dark circles around his eyes, he’s a vision to behold. You know without a doubt he’s the most beautiful man you’ve ever laid eyes on, what with his high cheekbones, lusciously pouty lips, and chiseled jaw covered in what looks to be a day’s worth of dark stubble. Raven hair frames his face, thick sideburns curling at his ears and locks haphazard on his forehead. And those eyes, dear lord, those impossibly long, dark lashes rim his eyes. His eyes, which feel as deep and dark blue as the ocean itself, cut through the fog in your head, widening and looking over you with care and concern.

You know those soulful, familiar eyes anywhere.

Elvis.

You blink and the world starts to snap into focus. Through the pain and nausea, you take in your surroundings. The uncomfortable bed you’re in. The IV in your arm. The dreary paint on the walls. The smell of antiseptic.

The hospital. You are in the hospital.

This must be why Elvis looks positively distraught, his large hand now frantically grasping at yours on the bed. You swear he is shaking, steadied only once he touches you and a wave of relief falls over his handsome yet worried features.

“Y/n. Oh thank God, y/n,” he murmurs. “Are you okay? How do you feel? What do you remember?” he barrages you with questions that you aren’t sure you have the answers to yet, especially with the way your head is pounding so distractingly. For some reason, the whole scene suddenly strikes you as silly, what with the most famous man in the world looking at you so damn seriously. You can’t help yourself.

“Who…who are you?” you croak out quietly, your unused voice cracking.

The look on his face is priceless as he rolls through shock, terror, and dismay all at once. His face falls dramatically then and there is no way you can keep up the pretense because the little boy look that comes over him is just too much.

“Gotcha,” you chuckle, cracking a smile that suddenly makes your face feel like it’s on fire and making you regret your smile instantly.

“You little minx,” he growls, a relieved grin spreading over his face before he sees the pain on your face. “You’re hurtin’. Goddammit, I should’ve killed him…” he mutters heatedly under his breath.

It takes more than a moment to process what he is saying and connect that with the burning tightness of the left side of your face. You bring your hand up slowly, gingerly touching the unfamiliar swollen, hot flesh of your cheek. You can’t help but hiss at the painful sensation that runs over you when you do so.

You close your eyes, feeling Elvis’ heavy but comforting hand squeeze yours.

What in the hell happened?

Reaching back in your memory, you attempt to piece together why you are here, why you are in so much pain. Dread fills your heart as flashes of memory come at you:

Jack accosting you in the bathroom.

Losing his mind at seeing the hickies on your breast.

Him dragging you out and humiliating you in front of everyone.

Then…then…

Oh, god.

Jack did this. He hit you.

Your head falls back, and you cover your eyes with your free hand. A wave of shock, then a wave of deep sadness overcomes you. Hot tears spring to your eyes and spill down your cheeks and you don’t attempt to stop them. The salt of them stings the abrasions on your face.

How could he? How could he?

Sobs wrack your body, each one a pulse of pain through your head, shooting red-hot through you. You knew, you knew deep down it was over, but you never expected it to come to this. You never thought Jack had it in him to truly hurt you. But you are lying in a hospital bed, living proof that the man you once loved was truly gone.

And it feels devastating, yet also strangely relieving, in a way you could’ve never imagined.

“Oh, Satnin, baby. Oh, I’m so, so sorry,” Elvis whispers at you, clutching your hand, his concern evident but unsure.

The wave of devastation crashes over you, both the physical and psychic pain nearly unbearable as it throbs in your head. You feel utterly raw. Humiliated. Gutted. Guilty. Relieved. Furious.

The sudden image of slapping Jack’s face as he knelt bloody on the floor resonates through you, the sting still evident in your palm.

Elvis had almost killed Jack, blinded by a protective rage, you now remember. You’d stopped him.

Part of you wishes you hadn’t.

It all feels quite unreal yet simultaneously overwhelming, all these flashes of memory hitting you in rapid succession. And you know there are more troubling memories waiting in the wings, ready to knock you off your feet once again. You can sense them lingering at the edges of your mind, somehow closer than they have ever been but still just out of reach.

All at once you don’t feel strong enough to bear them.

Everybody knows, you suddenly realize. Your affair with Elvis was now out there for everyone to see, for everyone to judge. You open your tear-filled eyes to look at the beautiful man before you, the one you love so much it feels as though it might destroy you, because god knows you haven’t forgotten that. You cannot bring yourself to regret being with him, no matter if it led you to be here, broken and battered in a hospital bed in Las Vegas.

But something is not right. Something besides the obvious. And it’s right there, just out of view.

Your head hurts too much to dwell on it, however.

“I’m gonna take care of you baby,” Elvis finally says after what you realize is too many moments of silence. “Don’t you worry about a thing. I won’t let him hurt you ever again.”

The way he says it so softly and with such righteous conviction strikes something within you. The clasp of his hand on yours is almost too tight, the look on his face both filled with remorse and determination. You know what he says is true—he will not leave you to face this alone.

Despite this, the uncomfortable elephant in the room lingers: you would not be here if not for Elvis, and you both know it.

But with the pain in your body and the ache in your heart, that is not a mountain you can begin to climb yet. There are too many unanswered questions that you need to figure out and this is not the time or place. So, you let Elvis hold your hand with that mournful look in his churning eyes and you try to heal.

“Watch your step, watch your step!” Elvis supports you gingerly, his strong arm holding you at the waist, as if just walking will shatter you into a thousand pieces.

“E, I’m okay. I promise I can walk on my own. It’s just one step,” you say, trying to keep the annoyance out of your tone. He’s been hovering as much as possible for the past two days you’ve been under observation at the hospital, only leaving when absolutely necessary to do his two shows a night. He sent the hospital staff into a tizzy with demands for your care while still managing to be charming and effusive to all the employees in a way that only he could get away with.

You’re not sure that he’s slept in the past few days, as he seems obsessed with making sure you are alright. Your pleas for him to go back to the hotel and get some rest fell on deaf ears. Hopefully, now that you’ll be in the hotel, he will relax a little.

While your face is healing, it is still covered in a nasty bruise, which you are reminded of every time Elvis looks at you because the wince that passes over his features, while nearly imperceptible to others, is quite evident to you. It serves to remind you how you got here and how he seemingly thinks him controlling everything about your recovery is going to somehow put you back together and make everything how it was before.

But it’s not like it was before.

Not with the looks that the Mafia are giving you. You can sense their pity, their judgement, their fear. Because Elvis having a known affair with you threatens them all. What if it was their wife or girlfriend? What if Elvis turns on them the way he turned on Jack? Jack was their friend, too. It’s written all over their faces. And you can tell they’ve been put on best behavior because more than usual they defer to Elvis, and they are suddenly wildly uncomfortable around you, even though you’ve been part of the group for years.

You can’t help but feel like the king’s consort. The mistress. The usurper.

The only exceptions are Jerry and Sandy, of course. And Charlie, in his usual Charlie way, has been kind and endearing. But the rest are quiet. Too quiet.

You don’t know what’s happened to Jack. You also haven’t seen Red, though you can’t say you’re upset about it. The few times you tried to ask Elvis, he brushed you off, saying you didn’t need to worry about such things while you’re trying to recover.

All of it has you unsettled. You knew there would be consequences, of course you did, but you didn’t expect it to be this strange.

Thankfully, your headaches are becoming less frequent, but when they do come, they are intense and debilitating, and weirdly, each one brings a host of images and fractured memories that you must try to make sense of. The doctor said this should hopefully get better as your brain heals from the concussion. A full recovery, he said, but it might take some time. Elvis takes this to mean you need constant care, and honestly you don’t have the energy to argue with the man about it right now, so you let him escort you into his bedroom suite as though you are frail and fragile.

“There you go, Satnin, all set,” he says, fluffing the mountain of pillows behind you, and then he gently takes off each of your shoes. You lean back with a sigh, suddenly grateful for the comfort of his huge bed in his penthouse suite because that hospital bed was truly terrible.

“Maybe you wanna to get into your pajamas?” he suggests. “I had all your things brought up, but I also went ahead and bought you some things, since I know you hadn’t planned on being here this long, and—” he rambles. The look on his face is almost childlike in his need to please you, to take care of you. It is quite the adjustment after spending a week basking in his masculine sexual dominance. You aren’t complaining at this change in him; in fact, it reminds you of when you first met, of those early years. It’s just giving you a bit of whiplash.

“It’s okay, honey, I’m fine for now,” you interrupt, trying to keep your tone light. Bringing your hand up, you pinch the bridge of your nose as another headache threatens. Overly attuned to you, Elvis grabs one of your feet and starts rubbing, using his strong hands to knead deep into the sole of your foot.

The hurts-so-good feeling has you groaning and your head falling back onto the pillows.

“That feel good, mama?” he drawls quietly.

All you can do is nod and hum in response. You’re certain if this had happened a few days ago, that statement, this action, would be laced with a fierce sexual energy. You imagine that it would last only a minute before he pounced and worked you into a state of pleasurable bliss. That latent desire is still there—you can sense it—but with everything that has happened, it takes a backseat to your pain.

This both saddens you and makes you feel grateful. You covet your sexual relationship with him, as it is the definitive thing you know he wants and needs from you. You know this for sure, and with your ever-present uncertainty about the rest of your relationship, it makes you feel off-kilter to not be able to share that with him. However, his commitment to being by your side despite the lack of sex, has been somewhat reassuring. You desperately hope it’s not just a sense of guilt that keeps him here with you.

You sigh, your eyes falling shut, and relish in the feel of his hands on you in such a comforting way as he treats one foot, then the other, to this intimate treatment. But he is uncharacteristically quiet.

He practically has you in a stupor by the time he finishes with the second foot, managing to stave off your impending headache. Opening your eyes, you catch him looking at you, those deep blues of his taking on a darker hue in the dim lighting. You can see the wheels turning, the way his hand flexes and releases over his tailored pants, how he worries his bottom lip with his teeth.

“What is it, E?” you ask gently, almost afraid it might spook him.

“I-I-I…can I hold you?” he stutters, changing tactics midway to get the sentence out, betraying his nerves.

“Of course, baby,” you respond quietly.

“I-I just don’t want to hurt you,” he says, crawling up the comforter to lie next to you. “Are ya sure you’re okay?”

“Yes,” you say, as he curls into you, his arm coming over you.

All at once, you are flooded with memory. Your teenage bedroom. Your single bed. Elvis nestling close into your side, his cheeks still salty with tears. The way your heart races at his proximity and the way his touch, though innocent, burns through you like wildfire. His breath warm on your neck, tickling your bare skin.

He shows up on your doorstep such a mess, coming to you, of all people. You don’t quite understand it. (You’re still not sure you understand it—why it’s you, of all people, at that point in his life, that he’d chosen to come to.)

You fall into caring for him so easily, like it is second nature to run your fingers through his hair and massage his back as he cries in your lap, even though you’ve never touched him like this, so intimately, before. When he asks to stay, those bedroom eyes of his begging, your heart leaps in a way you are ashamed of. Your entire body feels on fire, flustering you as you consider the implications, consider just how badly you do want him to stay, and if it’s worth it to see where this might go.

It only gets worse when you find him stripped down to his underwear, waiting for you innocently in your bedroom, a place no man has stayed before. Your heart stops in your chest at the sight of him sitting there, exhausted and emotionally spent. Before you take him into your bed, he’s so good in reassuring you he would never hurt you, that he won’t touch you like that. Of course, he wouldn’t; you know this. But your trepidation isn’t because you are afraid he’ll take advantage of you—it is because part of you wants him to.

The memory makes you blush furiously. Yet another important moment you had buried so deep that remembering it now makes it feel like it just happened.

After the initial tension of him being curled so close into you wanes, you relax and let your mind wander to places it shouldn’t go. Oh, how you relish in the softness of his skin against yours, the musky scent and heat of him surrounding you as he holds on to you through the night. You wake up multiple times, thinking you must be dreaming that Elvis is in your bed, but are pleasantly surprised to really find him there, his warm, lean, young body pressing into yours in various ways. The moonlight through the window lets you see just how innocently beautiful and vulnerable he is like this, like some kind of angel not of this world, his long lashes falling over his cheeks. You feel grateful to see him this way, tucking the moment away in your mind. Despite the rollercoaster of hormones coursing through you, you’ve never felt so safe before, not with Ted, not with any man.

Or felt so aroused. That terrified you, you think, as the wave of feeling crashes over you in the present. You want him with an intensity that shocks you to your core. But he is your friend, for god’s sake, and he’d come to you upset and trusted you to help him, and here you are, suddenly lusting after him like every other girl on the planet. Oh, yes, you are so very ashamed of yourself, for the dirty thoughts you’re thinking.

But, oh, how you imagine him waking to kiss you passionately, willing him to touch you everywhere, wanting him to run his long, calloused fingers up under your nightgown and into your panties. Thinking that, in an instant, he could easily slide between your legs, and you would let him. You’ll gladly give yourself to him right this minute if he wants you. You screw your eyes shut, trying unsuccessfully to block out the image of him slowly entering you, joining with you, rocking you into submission, into ecstasy.

Back then, those thoughts were more dangerous than anything, especially when the man in question was in your bed already, holding you close. It was a different time, and at nineteen, you were young and bound by propriety, and yet, in that moment, you hadn’t cared about that part.

But it is Elvis. Your dear friend. He doesn’t think of you that way. He’s on the brink of stardom and already has half the country fawning over him, with girlfriends in every town. You know this, logically. You know this, but for the first time, you allow yourself to think that maybe there is more to the two of you than just friendship. That maybe there is a reason he’d come to you in his hour of need.

A wave of heartache rolls through you as you recall that next morning. You blearily wake up from your fitfully aroused but somehow comforting slumber to him pulling you close, pressing the front of his body into the back of yours. The heat of him permeates through the thin cotton of your nightgown, which is quite a pleasing sensation in the cold of this late-winter morning. You sigh and wiggle back into him instinctually, before you can think too much on it, just needing to be closer to him. But then he jumps out of the bed in a flash, as if you were on fire, scurrying to clothe himself, and then he practically leaps out the window to get away from you.

He didn’t want you. Of course, he didn’t want you. He probably regrets the whole thing, with the way he leaves you lying there. He is Elvis Presley, after all. Your friend, but nothing more. You’d been foolish to think it anything more.

His abrupt absence leaves you cold, tears welling in your eyes, yearning for something you know you could never have from him (or so you’d thought, at the time). You pull the covers over your head, the scent of him on your sheets enveloping you. The grease he used in his hair left a stain on your pillow, but you don’t care in the slightest because it is something tangible, something that lets you know him holding you through the night had been real and not a dream.

Now it hits you suddenly that—oh, god—that was the day Jack had asked you out for the first time. You’d been sad all day, trying to push Elvis out of your mind and Jack had shown up at the diner, suddenly quite brazen in his attraction to you. While you weren’t entirely surprised, as the two of you had been dancing around each other for some time, the timing of it helped bring you out of your funk, reminding you that in the real world, a good man like Jack wanted you.

You’d quickly accepted because you liked Jack and there was no reason not to.

Elvis Presley was just your friend, after all.

Now you realize that in that short 24-hour period, the trajectory of your entire life changed. Maybe you’d fallen into Jack’s arms so quickly because Elvis’ rejection had upset you more than you wanted to admit. It had been easier and more realistic to date Jack, and it had taken your mind off the unwanted thoughts you had for Elvis.

Oh, no.

The intense discovery of this long-hidden memory and the emotions to go with it rocket through your skull with a shooting pain, causing you to hiss. Tears flood your eyes, from both the ache in your heart and the pain in your head.

“Baby, you okay? What can I do?” Elvis shoots his head up, noticing your distress, looking you over carefully.

You can’t explain, not now. “Bad headache,” you breathe out instead. “Can you get my medicine?” You didn’t want to take pain meds if you could help it, but in this moment, everything, pain and otherwise, is too overwhelming and you think maybe you just need some sleep.

So, you take the pill he gives you gratefully. You try not to think about how the way he looks at you now has that same boyish quality it had all those years ago when you’d taken him into your bed and into your arms, and he’d left you cold.

It’s okay, you think. He’s here now, taking care of me. He wants me now, even if he didn’t then.

And with that, you drift aimlessly away into welcome darkness.

Everything is fuzzy, the dull ache in your head muddling the flashes that are floating to the surface in your dreams.

You kiss Elvis’ forehead, the tears on his baby-faced cheeks, his pouting, full lips. You can taste the salt of his tears on your tongue.

Not Elvis now, you think, Elvis a long, long time ago.

But that doesn’t make sense. You didn’t kiss Elvis until two weeks ago.

He’s so sad, though, so alone. He needs you, he needs you, he needs you…

And you need him.

But it’s wrong, all wrong. And so right, all at once. Your body tingles through the ache in your head as you ever-so-gently press your lips to his. You’ve wondered for so long what he tastes like.

Soft and sweet, like marshmallows.

His bright blue eyes widen with shock.

“Y/n, baby, you don’t want this…” he whispers. The words echo and swirl around you.

He’s right, isn’t he? You can’t want this. You shouldn’t. Of course not…

You’re so angry, so sad, and he’s so beautiful.

Elvis. Your Elvis.

No, he’s not, he’s not, he’s not.

He belongs to no one. He belongs to the world.

Need pulses through you, a need so deep it brings you to your knees. It cuts through the pain in your head. It singes through your heart.

It’s unbearable.

It burns through you, from the inside out.

Those eyes, deep as the ocean, rimmed in black, plunder your soul. You ride the swell of the waves in them as they rise higher and higher and higher until they shatter underneath you.

The fall is blissful and terrifying, all at once, but Elvis is with you the whole way.

Free falling through the abyss, you are scared. It’s never-ending. You don’t know when you’ll hit bottom, and the anticipation of it runs like ice through your veins.

Guilt. Shame. That ache in your chest.

And then you hit bottom.

Your eyes pop open with a shuddering gasp. Gripping the sheets for dear life, you frantically try to piece out where you are, that you are not falling anymore.

Just a dream. Just a crazy, medication induced dream, you pray, seeing that you are in the darkened suite in Elvis’ penthouse.

But the unease remains, lurking more visibly now in the corners of your mind, trying to tell you something you don’t want to hear. Something you don’t want to see.

The door to the bedroom slowly opens and you jump, a hand flying over your chest in surprise. Elvis strides in quietly, clad in his white gi jumpsuit, sweat pouring over him. He must have just finished a show.

You had been asleep a while.

You are still amazed at how his presence fills a room, even when it’s just you here, even when there is no one to impress. He looks gorgeous and you know he’s riding the post-show high by the way his eyes sparkle and by the flush of his cheeks.

“You’re awake, baby. How’re ya feeling?” he asks, gliding over to you on those long legs of his.

You are still reeling from the dream. You shake your head, trying to clear that feeling of dread, of falling, and as he sits on the bed next to you, you are sucked into those oceanic eyes once again.

Your heart races.

“Are you okay?” He looks concerned, brushing your sweaty locks off your forehead, thumb grazing your cheek.

“Are you okay? he whispers, his thumb grazing your cheek. You sit still in his lap, saying nothing and can feel him begin to soften inside of you, the wetness of spent arousal leaking down your thighs under your dress…

The flash of memory hits you hard, because it was then, not now. Triggered by the same gesture, the same man, but it was a different time. He looked so young…

But that’s impossible. Impossible. The first time you had sex with Elvis was less than two weeks ago.

Your heart thunders in your chest because suddenly you don’t think that’s true.

You kiss Elvis’ forehead, kiss the tears on his baby-faced cheeks, and then, with a strange boldness, you kiss his pouting, full lips. You can taste the salt of his tears on your tongue.

His pants scratch at your bare thighs as you straddle his narrow hips. His tongue explores your mouth, sending searing heat through you. Boldly, you rock in his lap, feeling him grow underneath you.

You need him, oh, god, how you need him.

The flashes aren’t complete, but they are real. You are suddenly so sure that they are, and you don’t understand, not at all. You look at Elvis now, wild-eyed, silently seeking answers. How? How?

His long fingers are cold as they part your wet folds, and he pushes one, then another deep into your heat while his thumb massages that ever-sensitive bundle of nerves at the front. It stings at first, this surprising intrusion, but he’s gentle, letting you adjust around him, letting you decide when to move.

Your breath is coming fast now, and Elvis looks more than concerned.

“Satnin, what’s happenin’? You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” he says, eyes searching you.

You screw your eyes shut. This can’t be real. It can’t be.

You sink down on him slowly, the tightness of your canal stretching around his considerable size as you try to take him all in. It’s easier now, after he prepped you with his fingers, and the discomfort wanes quickly as you bottom out. He’s hitting places inside you that you didn’t know existed until this very moment.

Elvis looks utterly ethereal as you begin to ride him, his mouth open and pink, his freshly dyed raven hair falling in his eyes. Everything about him looks carved out by the gods, and his eyes drink you in in a way that strips you bare, right to the heart of you. He looks at you as though you hung the moon and the stars.

Those eyes are now looking at you in a panic.

He brings you to the brink easily and you crest the wave hard, your orgasm fracturing you into a thousand pieces as you fall. You’d never felt this way before, not with Ted, not with Jack, not even with yourself. The pleasure of it rips through you and he follows quickly, a warm, sticky heat pulsing deep as you cling to each other for dear life.

Oh. Oh god…

It was real. You know it now. You are more sure of it now than you’ve ever been.

Graceland, you realize suddenly, when he took you to see Graceland for the first time. That’s where it happened. Nineteen-fucking-fifty-seven.

Elvis and you had sex, a long, long time ago. And he kept it from you. Pretended it never even happened.

You push away from him and stagger off the bed in daze, flooded with so many emotions and sensations at once that you don’t know how to react. Dizzy, you sway a bit on your feet.

Flashes keep hitting you as you move. Waking in the hospital, not knowing how you’d gotten there. Elvis, worried at your bedside. The pills. The accidental overdose.

You think you might be sick.

“What the hell is happenin’? You’re scarin’ me. Talk to me, baby,” Elvis says from behind you. He feels so far away, but that deep seeded need to flee him is rolling through you and you walk unsteadily forward, though you aren’t sure exactly where you are trying to go.

Oh, he must have been so relieved when you didn’t remember anything about that night. That he didn’t have to take back what he’d—you’d—done. That it didn’t completely derail his friendship with you or Jack. That he got to keep being Elvis without any repercussions.

Twelve years. Over a decade built on lies and half-truths and pretending.

Tears are streaming down your burning cheeks now. You feel humiliated. Shocked at both yourself and at him. You’d cheated on Jack, with Elvis. It didn’t matter that Jack had cheated first. You’d had feelings for Elvis all the way back then, feelings you acted on in a moment of vulnerability for both of you. He’d been devastated about June, scared about his fame. You’d wanted to comfort him, but you had also wanted to prove to yourself that if a man like Elvis Presley could want you, then of course Jack should.

You’d thrown yourself at him. He didn’t stop you. And then he lied to you about it all.

If you’d have remembered…Christ, the repercussions would’ve been life altering.

Elvis grabs you then, in the present, his hot, long, ring-clad fingers circling your arm, pulling you back towards him.

And it is then that your anguish fully turns to anger. After everything that has happened these past two weeks, these past fourteen years…Suddenly, that sense of betrayal, your seeming lack of control of anything in your life, all the fear of the past, present, and future, pushes you to the brink. You feel done being at the mercy of the universe, done at being at the mercy of the lies and whims of men.

“Take your fucking hand off me, Elvis,” you hiss, venom in your glare.

You watch as his brilliant blue eyes widen in surprise, and with that, he releases you.

“Is this all a game to you?” you ask pointedly, voice shaking under the weight of your simmering fury.

“W-what?” he says, shaking his head. “Baby, I can’t emphasize enough that I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“You lied to me. You’ve been lying to me for years,” you throw at him. A fueled rage clouds your judgement. You are quickly becoming unhinged and near irrational, but you are unable to stop it, almost like you are possessed, out of your mind, and watching your unusual behavior from afar. It’s as though a part of you wants to blow all of this up and you are powerless to stop this destructive side of yourself.

Elvis throws his hands up in surrender and begins to turn away. “That concussion has you bein’ all crazy, honey. I don’t even know—”

“That day at Graceland, right before you bought it. When I accidentally took too many pills for my headache. You know the one, don’t you?” you interrupt scathingly.

He stops and looks back at you, that pretty brow furrowing, and you think you can sense his panic truly brewing now. “I-I-I thought ya didn’t remember nothin’ about that afternoon.”

“Oh, I didn’t.” You think now you do, but you have to be sure. “You were awfully upset that day because of June, weren’t you? Going on and on about how you’d never know if a women would truly love you. And, come to think of it, you never did tell me how it was that I fell asleep,” you add, turning the knife with both curiosity and fervor, glaring at him.

His eyes truly widen now, his pouty mouth popping open and then shuttering closed again, his pallor turning pale.

And there you have your answer. You are not supposed to know this. He’d told you about June all over again after you’d left the hospital because you hadn’t remembered him telling you at Graceland. But he definitely hadn’t told you again about his insecurity of not knowing if a woman would love him for who he really is.

It’s all true.

That realization is horrible and vindicating and almost relieving all at once. You weren’t wrong when that voice in your head was telling you he was keeping something important from you. You weren’t crazy. And you even think this isn’t all he’s been hiding, but you can’t go there now. It’s too heavy a punch to the gut, and all you see is red.

A frantic, small voice in your head tries to remind you that you should consider Elvis’ feelings about that day, how he was vulnerable and frightened when he couldn’t wake you, and that your concussion has you not in your right mind and missing pieces of all this, but your rage kicks those thoughts aside and you plow forward anyway. You have too many unanswered questions.

“We had sex, Elvis. In 1957! How could you…how dare you then pretend it never happened! How could you not tell me?!” you scream at him, in a way that is utterly unlike the passive and quiet woman you’d become over the years. The woman who had learned to cower instead of speaking up for herself. The stubbornness and fire from your youth flares, driving you forward recklessly. It hurts your head to do it, but you can’t help it.

Elvis just stands there, staring, silent, using that well-honed talent of his to make his beautiful, godlike face an unreadable mask. It kills you inside, but you wait, unwilling to let him off the hook. But he still does not speak.

“Did it even mean anything to you?” you then ask quietly, tears prickling your eyes again, “Or was I just another notch on your bedpost?”

He blinks slowly and presses his lips together, and your heart sinks because you can’t tell if being with him so intimately meant anything to him at all. You should be able to tell, but you can’t, not when he’s shutting you out like this. And that deepest fear being realized both destroys you and pisses you off even more.

Finally, Elvis breaks his silence, voice low and measured and too careful for him, like he’s reciting lines in a movie, “It wasn’t…You were high. Your judgement was impaired. I was mortified...” He trails off, looking away. Then he pauses, taking a deep breath before challenging you with his intense eyes, “And would tellin’ you have changed anythin’?”

You choke at that and shake your head as you turn away from him. The words linger in the air, and you are irate at them, at him. They whirl within you, stabbing you in their coldness. He was mortified by being with you. Good god. The wound of that cracks through you like ice shattering.

You know deep down you didn’t sleep with him because you were accidentally high. You are certain of it. It wasn’t just about getting back at Jack, or just about feeling attractive and desired. No, it was so much more than that. After remembering what you have, you know you’d given yourself to Elvis willingly, medication or no, doing something you’d sworn after Ted that you wouldn’t do again until marriage.

He presses you on this, this thing you can’t believe he’s asking. “Would it’ve? You were with Jack, you loved Jack. And I’d just gotten home and was leavin’ again just as fast. What would’ve it changed, y/n, other than to make things awkward between us and ruin our friendship? Other than to ruin what you had with Jack?” Elvis asks from behind you, his gravelly voice strained.

You’re shaking now, your whole being quaking with physical and emotional toil, another headache slamming down upon you. Yes, you’d loved Jack, you truly had. And you know you’ve fallen in love with Elvis these past few weeks. But all of this craziness—these revelations, these secrets, these memories—are finally confirming something your mind has been trying to tell you lately about all those years ago, something you suspected and feared, but didn’t want to admit:

You have been in love with Elvis since the beginning. You had loved him then just as you love him now. And if you had remembered that, if he’d wanted it, if he had asked you, at any point, you think would’ve dropped everything for him.

Even if it would’ve ruined you both.

A bile of panic rises in your throat because, besides the times you truly can’t remember because you’d literally been dying, there had been all those other moments throughout the years where you’d pushed down your love for him. Important pieces of your life that you’d just forgotten, sometimes right away, in order to spare yourself the pain of this realization, the pain of Elvis’ rejection.

Maybe it started in the diner when he comforted you after Ted broke your heart, or maybe it began even earlier because god knows you can’t trust yourself or your memory. In fact, you are quite sure that there are still things he’s keeping from you, pivotal things you still don’t remember and it’s maddening. But after the diner, it feels like every moment you repressed is a missing piece to the puzzle of your life and reminder of how everything has gone so completely wrong.

Oh, and isn’t it rich that you are laying into him about keeping this naughty little tryst from you when you’ve been conveniently forgetting all these crucial moments of your relationship over your lifetime, a logical voice in the back of your head hurls at you.

Fuck you, you throw back, dread seeping through you.

And now your deepest fears are confirmed—Elvis hadn’t wanted you, not like that. He was mortified by it, in fact. He had a taste of you in a moment of weakness, because he’s just a man after all, and got lucky when you didn’t remember. Thinking better of it, he kept it all to himself. All these years, he’d lied by omission. And for some goddamned reason, he’d swung back around to you after all this time, destroying your life as you knew it in the process.

You spin back around to face him. Nausea rolls in your stomach because, suddenly, you’re not sure you know the man in front of you at all.

“Fuck you, Elvis Presley. It would’ve changed everything,” you say vehemently, honestly, leveling him with your stare.

And it looks like you just slapped him by the way he recoils.

You can’t stop yourself from digging deeper, too angry to care, “But I’m sure that’s not what you wanted, since you were so quick to decide that I didn’t need to know, so fucking cocksure that you didn’t even deem to ask what I wanted. No, you just got laid and got lucky and moved right on to the next girl.”

“Th-that’s not—“ he sputters, those azure eyes a little frantic.

“Isn’t it, though, Elvis? Isn’t that exactly what happened? We fucked and you decided it was a bad idea, so you didn’t bother to tell me when I couldn’t remember myself. Who cares what I thought, right?! Then you went on with your life as though nothing happened.”

As if it hadn’t mattered at all, as though you hadn’t mattered enough to bother. You can’t bring yourself to say that part, though, as the icy pain of saying the rest out loud like this sends more tears pouring down your cheeks, despite your anger wanting to keep them at bay.

As if the rest isn’t bad enough, another thought hits you sideways, “My god, you even pushed Jack to marry me, didn’t you?” You look at him incredulously, remembering how Jack had joked about it after he’d proposed. The words ache through you as you say them, as you realize the implications of that. Yet another one of your deepest fears confirmed.

Elvis looks stricken as he backs up to the bed and sinks down on the edge, putting his head in his hands.

“I-I-I w-was no good for you,” he mumbles.

“You don’t get to decide that, Elvis! You took those choices away from me!” you cry at him.

You watch as he holds his tongue, as his body stiffens at your words. His jaw clenches and his breathing changes. You know the signs by now, but you don’t care. You don’t care that he’s getting ready to explode and that it’s you pushing him over the edge. You want him over the edge. You want him to care enough to be mad about it.

“And what? Did you finally decide after twelve years that maybe you did like my pussy after all, so you decided to come back for more?” you spit at him nastily, driving him right over the threshold.

“I was protecting you!” Elvis bellows, leaping to his feet, face red with anger. His eyes darken and flash in a way that might have caused you to pause before, but not today, not after this.

You don’t let up. “Protecting me from what exactly? A bad marriage? A man that doesn’t love me?” you laugh haughtily at the irony.

He doesn’t elaborate, just bites his tongue in frustration and glowers at you, pulling himself back.

Then, another sinking realization drags you under. “Good lord—you had your hands in my relationship with Jack every step of the way. From day fucking one. You pushed us onto each other, a-a-and then you took him away from me, over and over again. The women Jack ‘dated’…Jesus, that was when he went to Vegas to see you that first time, wasn’t it? Of course. I should’ve known that’s when he started fucking other women. Because of you,” you point at him, more fury boiling in your stomach as you ramble.

God, was it all lies and subterfuge? Every fucking thing in your life related to these men?

Elvis stands there, jaw gritted so hard he might crack his veneers, his hands fisted at his sides, his leg going a million miles an hour. But you don’t stop.

“And then you came back home to find me upset, pretended like you didn’t know why, and then you fucked me?” The memories come to you too quickly, too painfully, fractured moments flashing in your aching head, weaving back together what you’d lost for so long, fueling your pain, fueling you forward. “And that was just the beginning. You sucked Jack and me both into your world, then played with our lives because…why? Why, E?” you demand.

Still, he says nothing, eyes fierce and his body vibrating with energy, letting you continue your verbal assault.

Your heart is going so fast you fear it’s going to explode, but you continue anyway, knowing that this isn’t like you, that perhaps this isn’t truly what you want. I love him, don’t I? But you are so mad, so exhausted from feeling like a plaything in the lives of the men around you, that you can’t stop. They’ve treated you as if you have no agency of your own. As if you were nothing without them. And you are done.

You shake your head. “You screwed with our lives because you could. You and your fucking egomaniacal, insane, manipulative bullshit. Nobody can be happy unless the King is happy, right? What the fuck is wrong with you?” you hiss, beside yourself with anger at him, on what he’d done to your life. In this moment, your love for him is entirely consumed by your rage, as your addled and bruised brain tries to piece together just how screwed up this entire situation is.

Elvis roars then and sweeps everything off the nightstand, sending things shattering and flying to the floor. You do your best not to wince at the outburst, unwilling to let him shake you. Then, he looks at you, like a caught, caged beast, his chest heaving and eyes dangerous. But he isn’t blacked out, and you know it because you can see the gears working in his head. You can see that the emotion in his face is not anger alone. There is a deep pain there and it confuses you.

Dread settles into a knot in your stomach because suddenly you can’t shake that terrible feeling that you are still missing something vital here, something both Elvis and your traitorous brain are keeping from you, but your head is pounding and your blood is up and you can’t think straight.

You stand toe-to-toe, staring at each other, chests heaving in the heavy silence.

He breaks first, but with an almost frightening level of clarity that you don’t expect after his outburst. “Fine. Y-you w-w-wanna make me th-the-the villain in this story, then fine, I-I’m th-the fucking villain, honey. I-I-I always w-was,” he stutters wildly, cutting, his stormy eyes narrowing like a crocodile as he levels you with them.

He doesn’t deny any of it. He doesn’t even defend himself anymore.

You don’t know what to do with that.

All you know is you hurt. Everything aches, inside and out. You feel like an absolute fool. You are infuriated with him and maybe even more furious at yourself. Then, your heart breaks, sending a wave of sorrow flooding through your chest and down your limbs.

Everything with Jack was bad.

Somehow, this is worse.

It feels like your entire world has been pulled from underneath your feet. The devastation you felt about Jack feels like nothing now compared to Elvis’ betrayal, and the weight of both together is crushing you from all angles.

There is no escape. You can’t breathe.

Somehow, you’ve lost them both. Or maybe you never really had either of them to begin with.

You silly, stupid girl. I tried to warn you.

You manage to hold back the sob that threatens to break you.

Wordlessly, you nod, clench your fists, then turn and walk out.

Elvis doesn’t stop you.

Taglist:

@atombombbibunny @yesimwriting @uselessbutinteresting @mirandastuckinthe80s @dark-as-love

@domaniquessidehoe @im-lame-irl @allybrooke05 @hangmanswhore

@jazmin2211 @kvcssghbjbcd @coldonexx @dudinhahoff @whatstruthgottodowithit @tiredbuthappy @amiets2 @saintmagx

@kvcssghbjbcd @butlersluvbot @babydollie43 @vainbimbo @meladollsims @wstelandbaby @dre6ming @normatural @ash-omalley @xcallmetaniax @galvz-42 @thejezebel @fullmetal-falcon @robinismywife @dre6ming @seaweedbrain00 @amiets2 @mslizziesblog @heisatroubleinapinksuit @calusussss @dont-feel-so-good-peter @rainydayz101 @pizzaisrelationshipgoals

@liaaacantwrite @kittenlittle24 @kaitaesupremacy @butler-trouble @eliseinmemphis @russian-soft-bitch @tattywood

@sassanoe @re3kin @thella @suspiciousmidge @hiddlepiddlediddlewiddle @carolinesbookworld @juggernort @aesthetic-lyss @stitchattacks @donnamarie23 @ab4eva

@fic-over-cannon @lacyluver @littlebitofgreen @paigevis @godlypresley @bugg06

Reblogs, likes, tips, comments + feedback are extremely appreciated! Please help support your content creators!

383 notes · View notes

windsweptinred · 3 months

Text

Shipper tag game

Thank you for the tag @marvagon, you glorious human 💖💖💖.

What ship were you completely obsessed with as a teenager, but now you don't care about anymore?

None. I may not be as passionate about them as I once was. But I still hold all my past ships near and dear to my heart. I'll even occasionally nip into their tags on A03 and have a dip into newer fics.

What ship would you consider your first one?

Daiken/Kensuke from Digimon 02. I remember watching it on Saturday morning and wondering if anyone else was seeing what I was seeing. That led me to discover Fanfiction.net. And the rest is history...

Your first fanfic was about which couple?

My very first full length fic was Corinthiel, posted here on Tumblr. My first fic posted on AO3 was Dreamling, and I wrote both last year. I am a very, very, very late comer to fanfic 😅. I'm honestly much more at home drawing fanart then writing. But will occasionally give into temptation, when an idea obbsessively hounds me to the point of insanity.

Do you remember the first couple you saw fan art of?

I genuinely can't. 😅 I remember it was probably on deviantart.

Have you ever gotten into ship discourse?

I try desperately to stay out of ship discourse. To me people's ships are their joy... And I've got no interest in being a theif of joy. If there's something I want to see more of in the fandom, like a rare pair I'm fond of, I just try and create content and hope someone else joins in (@bobbole loves you 💚🤍😅) . If it's not for me, I just keep scrolling on by.

Did you use to have any NOTP or have one currently?

Again, no. I've always been happy to pick and mix my ships. I have my favorites ofcourse. But I've never outright refused to dip my toe into any ship. Maybe if it ventured into an area I personally deemed problematic. But mostly, I'm happy to try anything once.

Who were the last couple in the last fanfic you read?

I'm currently reading Remy Lebeau x Logan fanfic from Xmen. 😅 What sent me in that direction, I do not know. But I've found some amazing new fics in and amongst revisiting some old favourites.

Currently, do you have any OTPs?

I can proudly say until recently I've never had an OTP. Being a multishipper makes that kind of hard. But I don't know, I may be in too deep with Corinthiel. I'm not sure I could picture Danny and the Second Corinthian with anyone else but each other now. (Curse you @ibrithir-was-here. See what you have wraught! 😆). Them and Charmes (Charon x Hermes) from Hades. Because why would you split up the professional associates like that?! (Again very much your fault @mashumaru 😆) , Damn, I guess I've got OTPs now. If there's an established, happy couple in canon, most of the time I'll respect that and leave them be. So I guess that kind of counts too.

Is there any couple that, to this day, that you are extremely mad about not getting into?

Again no. If the juggernaut ship of a fandom doesn't really tickle my fancy, I'll sometimes stare forlornly at it. And sigh like a sad bohemian poet. But that's all content envy and I know it. 😆

Is there any ship you used to dislike but now you think they're kind of interesting?

🤔 I didn't dislike it, but I never really ventured near Corintheus until I started shipping Corinthiel. That made me backtrack and consider Morpheus and the original Corinthian's relationship from an entirely different perspective.

Do you have any ship that, in the past, would have been considered normal but now you would be cancelled over?

No I don't think so. As far as know they're all still alive, well and for the most part, living in peace and harmony in their respective fandoms.

What is your favorite crack ship?

Bookend, Destiny and his Book. The old book and chain. Living their best, grumpy old married couple, life together. @jazzy-a 🤜🤛🤣.

What is the couple you read the most fanfics about?

Most recently was Dreamling. I'm a bit of fandom butterfly at the moment, fluttering between multiple fandoms, waiting for the next all consuming passion to strike me down. I read, and reread ANYTHING Corinthiel 😅. But of all time?..... I couldn't say. I revisit so many of my ships so often.

What do most of your ships have in common?

Two bastards in love will always be my favourite. I'd love to boldly claim it's all about two morally dubious rogues, being despicable in the kinkiest ways together. 😅 But I know it's more about two people, often misunderstood and maligned... Finding a deep sense of belonging with each other. But I'm an eclectic sort and I've got a lot ships that don't fit that category I still love dearly.

What do you absolutely hate in a ship?

Absolutely nothing outright. I'll sometimes go off a ship a little once it reaches that point where fanon locks in too tight around it. But I think that's a very me problem, as I crave variation/new experiences/ideas. I'll still love the ship, I'll just know that's just my time to move onto something new and come back and visit every so often.

I'm tagging @martybaker @thelostkelpie @missingrache @thirrith @zigzag-wanderer @lucienne-thee-librarian and @tickldpnk8 and anyone mentioned above. If you want to have a go. 😁

#Ask game #My merry fleet of ships

21 notes · View notes

not-goldy · 4 months

Note

I use to think there was no way Jikook would ever come out. Together or even as individuals. Now I think its looking more and more like they will after MS and the reunion. I am leaning toward Jimin for sure, which is funny, cause I always said Jimin probably wouldn't because he's so OT7 and worries about BTS and he knows it would most likely harm his dad's business and his dad just opened a new place, but I can't see Jimin's dad being super damn selfish and telling him to stay in the closet to protect his business. Maybe to protect him, but not his business. He sees what his son goes through daily. The lies, defamation, slander, accusations. Called a queerbaiter and predator. And not sure how true this is, but this buddy system thing apparently has JK solos trying to research who the guy is standing next to JK, just to get goods on JK in the military and of course Jikook gossip, they are so mad and desperate. Not sure if that is true, but if so, Oh the SK government gonna snatch these MF's bald if they really track down these soldiers families and start harassing them. They don't even realize how fucking horrible that makes JK look. Tkk joining in as well. None of them have respect for JK. it reflects so bad on JK to try and involve other soldiers in their vendetta's and unfortunately for JK there are clout chasing people out there who will give up his privacy. He is gonna be so fucking humiliated and embarrassed if this turns out to be true.

Jimin probably knows at this point he is never gonna be free to live his life with Jk or his members or anyone for that matter, without harassment, unless he speaks his truth, which he's been trying to do for years, without out right saying it. Even if it means leaving korea and going somewhere else. Maybe Japan or even America who knows. Same with JK. I too think he will. In fact, JK has probably already been talked off the ledge by Hybe and Jimin not to out them, when he gets in his fed up moods. You can tell both are increasingly getting more and more frustrated. They even resorted to being private & working in silence, but BAM, when they wanna come out swinging, they damn sure do. The swing and knock fucking heads off. So I think its looking more and more possible that they aren't gonna hide much longer or at the very least make that glass closet even more clearer and stop putting restrictions on themselves after MS. I feel it in my gut. These so called fans are pushing them to their breaking point and its been brewing. Their public, we don't give a fuck about your feelings, private trip to Japan and now enlisting together was just the start. Wait and see if Jikook don't free themselves from this fandom. or I could be wrong and nothing will change, but I kinda think there will be change of some sort.

Jungkook got bad rep for the longest time for being "an asshole" "shitty" "fuckboy" with zero social skills- which time and again he's proven that's not the case. Being introverted don't mean you hate humans.

It's nice he's making friends in there- as he should. That is IF that's his even friend. I expect Jimin has made friends in there also. However Jimin is a private person who isn't going to expose his friendships accidentally. He can be guarded. Also, he's a Libra, he has the gift of foresight to know people would try to use whoever he's close with to get to him in there- like they doing with JK.

It's a shame these people can't live normal lives, smile at someone, stand next to someone, be polite to without all manner of theories being written about them assuming all sort of things about them and the poor stranger.

Jimin is growing, maturing, setting his priorities straight and since 2020 we've seen him gradually choosing his relationship, prioritizing it and making conscious decisions with that in mind.

Personally, I'm happy there aren't at cross purposes anymore and seem to be moving in the same direction in life.

I won't make any predictions for now, just observing and appreciating their bond, it's beautiful to behold as it unfolds. There's not much chaos within their relationship not much turbulence.

I want to see it to the very end. That's why I keep following their journey.

I want to see how they navigate a 7 way dynamic when they come back together as a group with the growth that's taken place in each of them.

Fully coming out is off the table, but they could surprise me who knows. We in uncharted territories here.

If Jikook do come out they will shock the skin off my bones honestly. That said, I'm still rooting for them.

36 notes · View notes

sorcerous-caress · 5 months

Note

Don't worry I'm definitely not rushing!! There's so much content and I'm still learning- stuff like wizards and warlocks scare me since they seem so complicated so I've been using Karlach and Lazael since they seem more straight forward for now. Astarion is definitely my favorite playstyle though- I've always loved Ninjas so being able to do 2 bonus actions is...*so* nice! Yeah- I can't say I'm surprised at the fixation 😅

Admittedly, I do absolutely adore him and am looking forward to writing for him; already have a fic in progress in fact- but I've seen a very similar thing happen to another character where he's either made entirely negative and insane or entirely positive and has to be "protected" when it's really a mix of both. Some parts of fandom I think are just like that 😅 Glad I found here and other more indie blogs who focus on npcs and niches though too so I get a wider variety!!

I'm so weak to being patronized and being talked to all condescending like and I just imagine this mean, bully male drow just targeting this crybaby Human in camp. They try to act all tough, but the drow just knows they're being a brat so he'll put them in their place. He's so damn *mean*- and he only gets worse when they run to their camp mates for help, or to hide. He steals your diary, telling you to "come get it" in a note he leaves them and they have no choice but to reluctantly leave their camp mates tent to go into the forest. It's dark- and even with their weapons, the Human's hypervigilant- but they still get taken off guard. Pulled back against a tree by their fragile little throat. Reading their most personal thoughts to blackmail them- ugh. Their crush in camp- how desperate they are, maybe even their secret kinks and desires? Gods, I'm so weak.

Oh God- or imagine a Human who's *scared* of the dark? Or a Drow who makes them scared of the dark by constantly frightening them during it? The predator/prey dynamic? *Please*. Also, self-indulgent(like all this *isn't* lmao-) because I'm sick atm and can't take large pills but Drow watching a Human work themself up to taking the medicine and just- taking it himself and then kissing them to force it in their mouth, not breaking it till they swallow, purple fingers dragging down their throat to make them shiver and raise thier shoulders. You've ruined me author. I can't do this. 😭 When I transfer my side blog to my new main blog I may have to write something for this dynamic because of you. So glad I could make your day a little brighter like you do ours lovely! Thank you for all that you do, as always! Sorry this is so long- the writer inspiration hit out of nowhere lol ❤️ -S

Fuck yeah ninja Astarion, let's fucking go!

That sounds wonderful anon, feel free to share your fic whenever you're finished <3 I'm sure it will be amazing.

And god yes, you get it, the whole human kink thing. Especially how condcending the elves would be with it, fuck especially the drows who already think they're above other elves.

Like maybe the other species keep their restraints a bit while in the party with the human, as much as their mind runs wild, they attempt to show some decorum and dignity. Only act like the perverts they are when the human isn't watching.

But once the male drow joins them? He's picking on the pathetic little human on his first day. Pulling and picking at your clothes, asking if humans really just walk around wearing slutty clothes all day?

He probably gets off on tormenting you, reminding you how he's hundreds of years older than you so you should shush your pretty little mouth and let him do what he wants, afterall aren't you humans so obsessed with showing respect for age? Then show him the respect he deserves whenever he pulls you on his lap, out of the blue and without a care to whoever is watching.

It's like second nature to him how casually he demeans your entire being, everything you ever hoped to achieved he probably has already, every place you wanted to see or travel to he has already seen, most historical events you read about he has lived through himself.

So in every way, he tells you that he clearly better than you. So don't go whining whenever he steals your diary and taunts you with all of your embarrassing secrets, or whenever he takes something precious from you and make you beg for him to give it back.

He teaches you some words in drow elvish, excepts they're completely not what he told you they meant. Watching you confidently call yourself his personal slut when you thought you were saying something else. Refuses to give you his name, makes you use all of these titles that are so humiliating to yell outloud midbattle, but he won't help you if you don't use them so poor you.

#♡human kink #♡drow kink #♡male drow #♡human reader #♡-S

16 notes · View notes

otherperson12 · 1 year

Note

First of all I am so excited about someone taking requests for this beautiful fandom with beautiful characters! And idk if anyone picked it up as well but I found Kiri x Spider so cute, could you write a first kiss and/or shy love confession for them? <3

Thank you for your request! This was the first one. It wasn't very fluffy but I hope you liked it. Any comments are welcome

The truth you deserve (Spider x Kiri)

He didn't know how to feel, he felt like he couldn't process it all. So much in so little.

After the battle and being with the Sully's again, seeing Kiri safe made his heart a little loose; to take her hand and feel it warm and trembling next to his, to know she was alive.

The next thing was hard, he knelt down between Kiri and Lo'ak to contemplate the body of his friend Neteyam, for some reason, Spider didn't feel it real, even with the big blood stain on the rock and on his still chest. He felt that at any moment Neteyam would get up and hug his parents and greet them, scold his brother for being a jerk and lovingly ruffle Tuk's hair. But he didn't. It was Tonowari who carefully approached and told Jake that they should move the body. All that time, throughout the funeral process, Kiri clung to Spider and he let her, but the human felt a bitterness he couldn't explain. Something didn't feel right. It didn't feel right. Unworthy.

"I don't think I can do it alone." Kiri told him, taking his hand to join him, Spider saw her now sad eyes and joined her. Kiri, daughter of Grace, his dear friend who always held her head high, who tried to stay strong for her parents and siblings, was now asking him for help, companionship and comfort.

Seeing the body of her friend from life, falling into the sea and being embraced by the sea grass, was hard, but the next thing was worse. He could hear the bubbles emerge from Lo'ak's mouth in tears; as he emerged from the water, Neytiri's empty eyes and Jake's defeated ones, Tuk's crying as he hugged his father. But Kiri's eyes, bathed in silent tears was the worst. And her hand always steady, now trembling...but she never let out a hiccup or a sound. She just cried silently. Needless to say, no one slept that night. Spider realized what he had done, what he was guilty of.

The Sully family stayed with the Metkayna's and Spider stayed with them.

With guilt on his mind and a broken heart, he walked away from everyone. Could he really stay? As the days passed, the grief stopped being very visible. Lo'ak would go for walks with Tsireya, Tuk would go swimming and Kiri would go to the ocean. It seemed that battle, blood and death were left with the passing of the sun for most, but not for Spider.

One beautiful morning, the scent of the ocean and sand, with the sea breeze calling you to explore it, Kiri invited Spider to see Pandora's sea.

"Come on, Monkey Boy. It's beautiful," she invited him with a smile.

"Maybe another time, Kiri." He replied muffled as he tried to get as far away from her as possible.

Spider didn't feel worthy of anyone's kindness, not the metkayna, not the Sully and certainly not Kiri's gentle and sincere smiles. He often wondered what would happen between them when he told her how he had helped Quarich and his kind, those who had hurt his family, those who had taken the life of his older brother. How he had saved him and let him go?

Would Kiri hate him?

Would he yell at him?

Or would she ignore him?

"It's your fault, Spider. It's your fault I'm dead," Neteyam was telling him, "you helped the one who tried to destroy the Na'vi, who tried to kill my family and who caused my death."

"It's your fault, you killed Neteya! You're just like all humans, I thought you were my friend, Spider!" Lo'ak shouted at him, enraged.

"You will never be one of us, you will never be my son." Jake told him with disappointment.

"No, stop! Listen to me, I'm sorry, okay?" demanded Spider desperately trying to explain himself. Moving around trying to give a face to everyone around him. Until he heard her, her voice. No, not her.

"Is that true, Spider? Did you help him?"

"Kiri-," he tried to speak as soon as he turned to see her. Her ears were drooped in grief, her eyes full of anguish as she hugged herself for shelter.

"Tell me, Spider, did you help him?"

"I can explain-"

"Answer me!"

Embarrassment and fear of the reaction she might get caused her to lower her gaze before answering, "Yes."

One by one they turned away from him, who in desperation, clutched his head and hair and in cries of despair tried to apologize. And he was left alone. Once again he was alone, without parents, siblings or friends. Without Kiri, who didn't even turn to look at him one last time.

"You're just like me, son."

Spider woke up startled, luckily he didn't wake anyone. He wasn't alone, everyone was still there, Kiri was close to him. No one knew, but he wasn't sure how much more he could keep the secret. More than one. Spider spent the rest of the night watching Kiri sleep, his dear strange girl. He wasn't ready to tell Jake or Neytiri, or Lo'ak, but Kiri, she deserved the truth. He didn't feel deserving of her gentleness and generosity, he couldn't go on with his heart wrung out in guilt and if telling her the truth meant he would never be the same again it didn't matter. She deserved the truth and someone who was capable of speaking the truth.

The next morning Lo'ak, Tsireya, Tuk, Kiri and Spider went to ride the sea in the ilus. Spider stayed with Kiri all day. For hours, he enjoyed her company and had fun with her, as if nothing had happened. But deep down, the sadness of being rejected and hated consumed him.

Kiri showed him the creatures of the sea with enthusiasm and fascination. His eyes sparkled and a toothy grin adorned his face, Spider was not looking at the fish in front of him, but at her.

"Isn't it amazing, Monkey Boy?" she waved her hands at him.

"It's beautiful," Spider replied looking at her.

She was going to swim away when he stopped her by holding her hand. He guided her to the surface and they stood there, floating, looking into each other's eyes. Kiri was used to Spider's witticisms, so she waited. Spider simply looked into her eyes, those green eyes that reminded her of the forest that was her home.

When Kiri noticed that Spider seemed to struggle to speak, she walked over to him and with a hand on his shoulder asked if he was okay.

"Kiri, I-"

"You...?"

"I must confess something to you and it terrifies me to think that- that you will hate me after I tell you. But you deserve the truth and- I do it because I really care about you and if telling you means you'll hate me it doesn't matter because I can't keep it from you, not you." Spider's heart was beating fast and thundering in his ears. He finally dared to look her in the eye.

Kiri watched him with a frown of concern but she thought she knew where this was going. Since Neteyam's funeral, no one, not Lo'ak or her had asked Spider what had happened in his time with Quaritch. Kiri wasn't quite sure why she didn't ask, but she didn't or didn't. Now she feared the words that might come out of Spider's mouth.

"When I was with Quaritch, I helped him." he confessed without hesitation, staring at her. He didn't wait for Kiri's response before continuing. "I don't know why I did it, I just did it, but when I was on the ship, no! When they attacked the tulkun I didn't do anything..I just stood there looking like an idiot. But when I saw you I felt so happy...And- and Neteyam, I- I'm so sorry, Kiri." He paused and continued, "I really didn't mean for anything bad to happen and I've regretted it all these days. I- it's my fault that your brother is no longer here.

"..."

"I had to tell you, you're too important to me to keep such a thing from you. I couldn't look you or your family in the eye without feeling guilty. I couldn't help but regret that I had caused you great pain and I- I'm so sorry, Kiri." Without realizing it, tears had begun to sting his eyes, he could no longer see her but the water beneath him. Silence gnawed at him, she would hate him, everyone would hate him.

He cried silently until Kiri hugged him, and Spider to her, he burst out crying disconsolately into her shoulder apologizing between hiccups and sobs. He had stopped apologizing to her, he was apologizing to his friend.

"I'm so sorry, Neteyam. Forgive me, friend." He begged through tears.

Kiri hugged him, feeling his pain. She had watched him succumb in pain and mourning, never letting out a tear to care for her. How could she not love her cute boy? She stroked his hair as he slowly calmed down.

"It's not your fault, Spider. It will never be your fault or Lo'ak's or anyone else's but the one who pulled the trigger." He assured her gently.

Spider pulled away from her shoulder and stood watching her.

"I would never be able to hate you, my Monky Boy." she said as she stroked his hair.

They stood for a few moments like that, close to each other, with the water as their only company. Spider hugged her again, this time letting her rest on his shoulder as he tenderly stroked the opposite hair. Kiri had a lot to process but she would never hate Spider.

She felt the human move his arms, she stood up a little and watched as Spider took a big breath of air and removed his mask, before Kiri could get scared or worried, he held her cheeks and kissed her tenderly. Just enough to get her to respond and he didn't choke. Spider put his mask back on and smiled at her with complete joy.

"Don't ever do it here like that again!" She scolded him, "You might die or something!" He exclaimed as he pinched the boy's arm.

He obviously knew it was dangerous but he would certainly do it again.

In the same way, they both knew that recovering from the loss, the guilt and the use would be a long and difficult road, but they would be there for each other.

#original writing #fanfic #Spider #kiri sully #spider x Kiri #neteyam #lo’ak #avatar the way of water #jake sully #neytiri #angst #avatar request

116 notes · View notes

sillysistersusi · 2 months

Text

Everything is to normal to be real

Fandom: The Silmarillion

Fëanor & Curufin

Summary: Curufin and Fëanor meet again in Valinor, but while one wants to act like nothing ever happend the other desperately wants to talk about everything.

A/N: I know a lot of people think that Curufin would be the first to forgive Fëanor, and while I love that perspective, I do think Curufin took the longest to talk to his father again. I mean, the oath was the reason he 'lost' his son and Curufin was only ever Fëanors shadow and I could imagine that he would be angry at his father for that after realizing some things.

Curufin sighed and threw the sword he had just forged to the ground.

"I cannot do this, Atar." he said quietly, his voice trembling. His hands were also trembling now and he clenched them into fists.

Everything was - normal - and it was driving Curufin mad.

It had only been a fortnight since he had decided to visit his parents. He had avoided his father in the halls of Mados. He knew that his brothers had not done so, but he had not been able to look Fëanor in the eyes again.

On many evenings after he had joined them, Celebrimbor had asked if he wanted to give it a try, to which Curufin had replied each time: "All I need is you Tyelpë."

But that was not true. Certainly, his son was the most important thing in his life, but he had been so fixated on his father all his life that it only hurt him now not to seek him out.

So he had travelled here for two months to visit his parents. Celebrimbor had had to go in that direction anyway, as he had promised his uncle Celegorm, Aredhel and Maeglin that he would visit them in the summer.

Curufin was glad that Celebrimbor was nearby. That meant he could go to him for help or advice at any time.

It had taken Curufin a long time to accept his son's help, but since they had been helping each other heal, they were both feeling much better.

But even though Fëanor had apologised and done everything to make Curufin feel comfortable, Curufin felt empty.

It was all just a shadow of what it had once been. A dead memory that was kept alive even though the flames of its life had long been extinguished.

Fëanor looked up from one of his parchments in the corner where he had jotted something down, put the quill aside and approached Curufin. "What is bothering you, Yonya?"

Curufin stretched out his arms and gestured at his surroundings. "Everything?"

Fëanor frowned. "I do not quite understand, Curvo. I am sorry."

"None of this is real and you know it!" And then he suddenly burst into tears. Curufin hadn't felt the tears and only noticed them as they ran down his cheeks. He didn't want to cry. Especially not in front of his father.

He wiped at his eyes angrily.

"I am really here and so are you," Fëanor said softly, looking a little confused. He had stretched out his hands towards Curufin, but did not touch him.

Curufin sniffled loudly. "That is not what I meant!"

"Then what is it?" Fëanor sounded so unusually calm, Curufin realised. He had been similar when Curufin had been little. Before his mind had been poisoned and he had become someone Curufin couldn't recognise.

"It is to normal! This- this isn't us anymore! All of this- all of this was us once, but- but it is not us anymore, Atar! And I cannot pretend that none of this ever happened." Through a veil of tears, Curufin could see Fëanor's face contort as if he was holding back tears.

"It still hurts, everything that happened, I mean!" Curufin continued to sob, "I- I want to get along with you, but I also want you to know how much it hurt and still hurts to know that what we did- did was wrong. To know- to know that I would have followed you to your death and it would have meant nothing- nothing to you. That we all - that we - that you loved us less than the silmarils!"

"Yonya!" Fëanor exclaimed in horror and, judging by his voice, he had also started to cry. Curufin felt Fëanor put his hands on his cheeks and began to wipe away some of his tears with his thumb. "I have always, ALWAYS, loved you all more than the silmarils! I- " his voice softened. "I was just very bad at showing it and I am ashamed of that Yonya, I really am."

"But I thought you did," Curufin sobbed, his hands finding their way to Fëanor's robes, where they clutched at them as if he was afraid his father would just disappear. "And is that not almost as painful? Because it does feel like it is!"

"It is, Yonya." Fëanor whispered softly, "It is."

"There was a time when- "Curufin swallowed. "There was a time when I was afraid of you, Atar, and- "

Fëanor gently pulled him into his arms and hugged him tightly. Curufin buried his face in Fëanor's shoulder before continuing:" -and I just cannot forget this, no matter how normal everything suddenly seems again. Because neither I nor you are who we once were."

Fëanor gently stroked Curufin's hair as he whispered, "My dear little Curvo, nothing has to be the way it was before, I guess I missed you so much that- that I did this without really realizing it. I am so very sorry, Yonya. I am so sorry for everything."

"I love you Atar." whispered Curufin softly.

"I love you too." Fëanor whispered into Curufin's hair. "Tomorrow we will try a whole new beginning, what do you say? Would that be all right?"

Curufin nodded and hugged his father tighter.

#curufin #feanor #fëanor #curufinwë #silm fic #silmarillion fanfiction #silm fanfic #silm fanfiction #silm #silmarillion #feanorians #sons of fëanor #cross posted on ao3

10 notes · View notes

saradrewitt · 1 year

Note

SARAH JACKALOPE I DESPERATELY NEED YOUR HELP WITH LEARNING HOW TO DRAW A TERZO EMERITUS PLEASE GET BACK TO ME

Hi! I’m so sorry this took a bit to answer!

FULL DISCLOSURE I am literally the worst person to ask because the way I do it always changes but I appreciate your trust in my inconstancy! I also have a hard time drawing him or the other papas for that matter without a reference. I can try to help the best way I can. here we go, I really hope this helps!

So the number don represent the order but just what I'll explain. First always consider the shape of the face I know this is just the sketch but we always start somewhere.

(1) Take a look at the basic jaw structure my style always make it longer than it should be but in this case I'm taking in the fact that while I made this tutorial I was looking at a photo reference. (2) Then the ears. (3) The basic middle line mark. (4) Two lines are of course for the eyes and you must realize that our eye level matches the tip of the ears show in the picture for remember that. (5) What I personally do when I draw noses it just help with a realistic measurement of the brows and the nose size. if we’re looking at this through a stylized realism way, remember that the distance between the eyes is matched by the size of the nose. this is not the case for some people but look at refs of people’s noses and see that the size of the eyes is the same size of the nose.(6) The first initial circle is the base, but remember that that won’t be the size of a head. so expand it a little bit so there is extra room to get that hairline and detail when we get to that part (I ended up not paying attention and ngl Terzo ended up with a big ass head but shhhhh I warned you)....

I went ahead and did some detail work but this is what we’ll be seeing when I draw them. from pictures you can see the age lines and it’s really just a matter if you want the detail or not, done people can do that with little detail and make it look good but my style is in constant crises all the time so this is how I do it. you can also why I have the base sketch on top of my “lineart”.

So Terzo’s hair specifically is weird in my opinion. I normally have a part I go off from when I draw hair but his just has to be weird. Either way, when I draw his I go down from the middle and just make it both have that volume and fluff he normally has. (Agin in the end result I polished it up so his part is that square like formation seen in pictures).

Okay now the fun part, the papal makeup! The deep pink lines are the base sketch I usually draw up so when I color and shade it can be adjusted if needed. It also helps me know that proportions are somewhat realistic but with a small hint of my style as well. Idk I'm still in a style crisis as we speak and it’s gotten a lot worse since I've joined this fandom.

When I think everything looks good I work with the black and color it. I normally like using our black when I work with lineart to give it that ink look. I called this blunt lineart (and shading cuz like I said my style is very inconsistent). Now if you’re working digitally I do this type of coloring on a layer on top of this sketch so when I low the opacity I can see if my placement is correct (again just of needed). if I think I got most of it correct that’s where I go I with my next step.

Wow, it’s looking like Terzo now, look at our sweet boy with the rbf, Blessimo!

So in these next few steps I just add the white and added purple wrinkle likes that were cover by the blunt lineart. You can make those line grey or white depending on your style but I like adding his colors when I draw him digitally so that’s an option. Once I have everything done I just against as needed then move on.

Lastly I finish up the lineart, work on some shadow work and add color, for sketched I don’t really do that but in this case I placed a color pallet I usually work with (it’s still gonna be inconsistent as I go) but this is usually what I do when I draw him. honestly to god my methods and process changes but I at least hope this was a helpful guide.

#ghost band #ghost #ghost ghouls #papa terzo #papa iii #papa emeritus iii #answered asks #sara jackalope’s art #sara drewitt’s art

126 notes · View notes

nightswatchdisbandmentera · 1 year

Text

Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look. “You don’t miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall.”

Jon swelled with pride. “Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I’m the better sword, and Hullen says I sit a horse as well as anyone in the castle.”

“Notable achievements.”

“Take me with you when you go back to the Wall,” Jon said in a sudden rush. “Father will give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will.”

Uncle Benjen studied his face carefully. “The Wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon.”

“I am almost a man grown,” Jon protested. “I will turn fifteen on my next name day, and Maester Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children.”

“That’s true enough,” Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon’s cup from the table, filled it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow.

“Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne,” Jon said. The Young Dragon was one of his heroes.

“A conquest that lasted a summer,” his uncle pointed out. “Your Boy King lost ten thousand men taking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn’t a game.” He took another sip of wine. “Also,” he said, wiping his mouth, “Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?”

“I forget nothing,” Jon boasted. The wine was making him bold. He tried to sit very straight, to make himself seem taller. “I want to serve in the Night’s Watch, Uncle.”

In fandom, we often talk about Jon’s antics in his first AGOT chapter - e.g., boasting about being the better swordsman than Robb, his admiration of Daeron I, his insistence that he is a man and not a boy - as evidence of his immaturity. And there’s nothing wrong with that interpretation at all - I for one think that it’s very valid - but I rarely ever see this exchange with Benjen put in its full context; more specificallyy, the full context of what’s happening this entire chapter (and honestly what’s being going on in Jon’s life up to that point).

Because there’s something so…depressing and tragic about a fourteen year old boy desperately trying to grow up faster than is necessary because once he is a man, then there must be a place for him in this world. Because this exchange with Benjen is not happening in a vacuum. It arises out of the situation where the delineation between Jon’s social status and that of his siblings has been made ever more clear: his siblings get to sit at the high table with the visiting royal family whereas Jon has to sit with the squires far away from familiar company. But more importantly, he is a Snow and his siblings are Starks. They have a place of belonging (afforded to them by their Stark name) whereas he does’t (because he’s a bastard).

So Jon has to nurse his wounds with the belief that despite his bastardy, there has to be something he can do to belong. And what can he do, except grow up and be a man? At…fourteen years old?

So even though Robb can sit among royalty, Jon can still hold a sword just as well (in fact better) and ride a horse. He can be great too, not because of his name but because of his ability; but I do have to quibble with Benson’s (seemingly) sarcastic response to Jon’s answers here. Are you even bothering to actually listen to what Jon is saying, Uncle Ben?

And I have to admit that it makes me quite angry that the notion of bastards growing up faster than trueborns is not at all challenged among the characters. Do bastards actually grow up faster, or are they forced to fend for themselves faster than trueborns naturally would, just like Jon is in this chapter? It certainly doesn’t help that Benjen agrees with he statement, despite literally contradicting it just some few minutes earlier (by saying that Jon is just a boy and thus too young to make any life decisions for himself - like joining the Watch).

And as I was pondering on this, I realized that Jon really has been getting contradictory “advice” all his life: he’s a bastard so he has to grow up faster and cut his childhood short so he can make use of himself, but he’s actually a boy so his abilities and desires to advance are only a boy’s delusions, but then he has to join the watch and be a man and do a man’s job (and make a man’s sacrifices as Luwin would put it 🙄), but then he’s still a boy at the end of it all.

Given all this emotional and mental whiplash, Jon is actually quite well adjusted. I couldn’t imagine having to be pulled into 1000 different directions because at the heart of it the question is: is he a man or is he a boy? And what can he do, boy or man that he is, because he’s still a bastard?

I think this chapter shows that no one really bothered to sit Jon down and tell him that it’s okay to be a child, and that he doesn’t have to age far beyond his years because there’ll be someone to look out for him.

Worse yet, this chapter shows a young boy desperate to find a place for himself in the world, because no one else bothered to do so.

#jon snow #asoiaf #valyrianscrolls #Do we ever in fandom talk about how Jon is really just a boy?#Because we should #He gets so many contradictory statements about being a man and not a boy #He has to perform a man’s duty but he’s just a boy #He has to bear a man’s burdens and sacrifices But he is just a boy so his achievements and strengths are not that noteworthy #Because Jon knows that Daeron was only 18 yrs old #But how is he supposed to put that into account #When literally no one bothered to say - hey kid you don’t need to rush #ugh #This chapter reminded me of that Taylor Swift song that goes like #“You’re on your own kid”#No one bothered to hold Jon’s hand at his young age #So he had to grow up faster than what was necessary - all on his own #NED STARK WHEN I CATCH YOU!!!!#And Luwin you miserable f*** - hell is hot for you I say #Did I cry reading this chapter? Maybe I did

34 notes · View notes

tgammsideblog · 8 months

Text

Tgamm S1 Ep 19-B ¨All Night Plight¨ Episode analysis

Molly, Scratch and Libby decide to stay all night late to watch a comet that passes every 50 years, the problem is that staying awake all night for the three of them is more easy said than done...

¨All Night Plight¨ episode is a bit hard to talk about since it has some pretty interesting things going on for the main characters as well as the theme of the story. It is an episode that give quite a lot to talk about in the fandom when it first aired.

The story starts with a quickly explanation in Molly's class about how there is a comet that passes every 50 years for people to being able to see it at night. The teacher explains that one has to stay up very late (4:00 AM) to be able to see it pass. She ends the class and the students leave school.

Molly, Scratch and Libby talk about the comet on their way back home. Scratch has a hilarious moment he talks about how he made a man cry once because he kept moving his keys (with Dana Synder's comedic timing great as always). Then Libby comments how this could be their only opportunity to see the comet together with ¨who knows how our life is going to be in fifty year¨, followed by a funny scenario of seeing herself as some sort of fantasy knight from her fantasy novels.

This makes Molly become very anxious for a few moments, as she thinks about how ¨everything could change¨ and suddenly decides that she wants to stay up night to see the comet, with Libby and Scratch joining her idea. It's clear that Molly fears the idea of losing her friendship with Scratch and Libby over the course of the years or how it could change. So, she decides she wants to make the ¨perfect memory¨ with Libby and Scratch.

It's worth of noting that the song sequence that plays while the Mcgee family are making the preparations for the night is very adorable. It presents the characters as your typical live action comedy sitcom, with their names showing up on the screen. There is also the detail of different moments being potrayed as it was a photo album, which itself has little notes and drawings made by Molly that are both funny and cute.

Once the night comes and Libby arrives to the Mcgees' home, she comments to Molly how there is too much light pollution. After a funny exchange between Sharon and Pete about how drives the trio, Sharon takes them to the country to be able to see the night sky better. (In the buffalo field from Episode 4-A, out of all things).

Most of the rest of the episode involves Molly desperately trying to keep Libby and Scratch to stay still in one place while Scratch protest not having eaten anything for all the night and Libby switching between falling sleeping and pretending to be a knight fighting dragons because of her trying to stay up late.

It becomes so ridiculous to the point Libby starts charging up against the buffalos thinking they are dragons and Scratch using Molly's phone to order a pizza while being in the middle of the country.

In all this, the night get worse and worse as Molly realizes that they didn't brought the snaks with them and Libby becomes more lost in her sleepy knight fantasy. Molly keeps pushing Libby and Scratch to stay to watch the comet together despite they both are tired and hungry. She is so determined to have this ¨perfect memory¨ that she doesn't consider how her friends are making at the moment.

When the sky happens to get covered by clouds, Molly tries to ¨blow¨ the clouds away. Getting tired of the situation, Scratch asks to Molly why she is so desperate to see the comet. That's when Molly explains that she is afraid of what is going to happen to the three of them over the course of the years and she is afraid of losing them as friends or their relationship changing. This shows that even after months have passed since they moved in to Brighton, Molly still has these abandonment issues of having to leave his friends behind for moving from house to house a lot before the events of the show. She is afraid that growing up she is going to lose Libby and Scratch as friends, which is probably the closest she has had to an actual long stable friendship.

I think the context of this episode is important as well since it takes place after the events of ¨Home is Where the Haunt is¨: The Mcgees almost lost their ¨forever home¨ in Brighton and Molly knows the curse that bonded her with Scratch was broken during the course of that problem. I think these two things brought these personal issues to Molly back, making her realize that not all things are permanent.

Noticing how important seeing the comet is to Molly, Scratch ¨eats¨ both Molly and Libby, shapeshifts into a hot air balloon and takes them above the clouds to see the night sky better. This moment is one of the most beautiful scenes from the series, both visually and emotionally. The animation of the comet passing by is amazing and the score is wonderful. It's worth of mentioning that Scratch cries tears of joy when he watches the comet pass by. It's a great example of how much the character has evolved since the start of the season.

Scratch moves back to the ground, releasing Molly and Libby. Molly thanks Scratch and Libby for staying all the night with her. They decide to go back to Mcgees home until they realize that they forgot about the angry buffalos, making the episode end.

In conclusion: ¨All Night Plight¨ is a great episode that shows how far the friendship between Molly, Scratch and Libby has grew over the course of the season. It acts as a celebration of their relationship so far, letting all them have both funny and emotional moments in the episode. It's also a good exploration of a side of Molly that hasn't been brought up for quite a while, which is her abandonment issues and hear fear of losing her freinds again. It is hearbreaking to see her breaking down while explaining to Scratch why she wants to make a ¨forever memory¨. In all, it is a beautiful episode and it isn't hard to see why it is considered one of the best from this season.

#the ghost and molly mcgee #tgamm #molly mcgee #scratch mcgee #libby stein torres #tgamm season 1 #All night plight Tgamm #Episode analysis tgamm

16 notes · View notes

gingerylangylang1979 · 1 year

Text

Black Women & BWWM Ships

I’m a Black woman, I sometimes like interracial ships, sometimes I don’t. But I will say that race isn’t the deciding factor in me shipping the BWWM ships that I have shipped in my life. The BWWM ships I have obsessed over are Richonne, Spock and Uhura for a minute (but I got bored with that franchise super quick), and Carmy x Sydney. There is a Black woman, Tamar, on The Chosen (the only other show I currently watch) and I want to ship her with somebody because she’s fierce and it would be interesting but nobody stands out for her yet. The only core male characters close to her are Jewish (the Apostles) so I would ship her with a white man by default but honestly it wouldn’t matter to me if it’s one of them or a fellow African who joins later.

Anyways, I’ve also hated or been indifferent to BWWM ships. A few that come to mind are Tara and Sam from True Blood (just awkward), Olivia and pretty much anyone on Scandal (I liked that show for the high drama but after a while thought her and all the boos sucked and dropped that show), and basically any BWWM pairing that seems forced (so many shows try to throw this in to be edgy or whatever and it seems token and lame).

My point is I’m not swayed just because a relationship is interracial. I just like what I like. A couple who has chemistry, interesting parallels, partnership, a common bond, obstacles they have to overcome (any good written romance does not come easy), an interesting world they inhabit together, and they look cute together (I can be a little superficial, why not) are going to suck me in regardless of racial dynamics.

Why am I writing this and who cares? I remember back in my days of the Richonne fandom there being a popular sentiment coming from some haters that only “desperate Black women” shipped Richonne. That isn’t even true because they are actually quite popular with all races, people are just gonna hone in on the “desperate Black women”. I remember the canon reaction videos, it was a widely diverse audience that was like “finally”. But I guess I’m waiting for that shoe to drop with The Bear fandom. There has already been some questionable posting about the pair but nothing as outright toxic and bad faith as I saw with Richonne... yet. Like, people literally calling Michonne manly. We’ve already got the sibling lameness and the they are strictly mentor/mentee claims so I don’t think the rest is far behind.

People swore Rick and Michonne were like siblings, they made a great team but not that kind of team, it would be weird if they kiss, a romance would be forced, Michonne is gonna get the Negan bat to the head, she was Carl’s babysitter, they are too much alike, etc. Rick was also shipped with any white woman on the show or people hoped The One would show up for him all while ignoring the obvious setup that was years in the making. Now, I’m not saying any BWWM pairing can’t have legit criticism and people legit just aren’t for it (of any race because plenty of Black people are not about the swirl)... but BWWM inspire a unique disdain historically.

A lot of people can’t imagine romance with these characters because they are sheltered TBH. I think the confusion that exists with Richonne and Carmy x Sydney in particular is because they get a Kerry Washington type being an ingenue who attracts the white lead but someone less glam in the way most of society sees glam throws them if a white man wants them. A white woman can be less than glam and they will get it. But with a Black woman it doesn’t register or make them comfortable. It doesn’t compute. It could be conscious or unconscious. I get it, I see it, I’m not sheltered. I’ve seen couples IRL that look like Richonne and Carmy x Sydney. It exists, it’s real, and it makes great fiction. Black women will support it in a story if it makes sense.

Now, granted I do think some fetishize interracial relationships and that has its issues but I also think Black women are going to love... Black women being loved, by anybody regardless of gender, orientation, or race. We just want romance and a compelling story. If there happens to be a Black person that could be paired with a Black woman but if it just doesn’t make sense, it just doesn’t. Or maybe it could be an ok couple but it wouldn’t be as epic as the BWWM pairing being developed. We pick up on what is being given to us.

I think if people don’t see blatant lust or intense flirting between a pair right away they assume we are imagining things. Many don’t often see the tiny sparks and hints or room for romance to grow and develop deeply for Black women characters. We are complex, too. We sometimes have to stumble, and be awkward, and push away, and be conflicted. I think any subtlety with a budding romance gets easily lost with Black women characters. When it’s a white man opposite us it can be hard for many to see it for what it is if it doesn’t read as obvious to them. But we see what we see and it just may be a fine white man and a beautiful Black woman navigating a nuanced something, something until it becomes SOMETHING.

#richonne #twd #the walking dead #michonne #rick grimes #michonne grimes #the bear hulu #the bear fx #carmy x sydney #sydney adamu #carmy berzatto

84 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs

goatsandgangsters

the pups have grown fangs

bullringmen

Bullringmen

maiph21

happy Ulzzang & kpop

zain

The Intangibles

maiph21

happy Ulzzang & kpop