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arabellavernierwrites · 10 months

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pelvic floor relaxation. s.r.

summary : after sex with spencer , you begin experiencing pain , he helps you through it.

word count : 803

warnings : mentions of sex , mentions of pain after sex , discussion of some female anatomy

a/n : hello everyone ! welcome back ! sorry i’ve been gone for a few weeks , i have been taking summer courses and haven’t had much time to write. but i am still accepting requests and would really love for you all to send some in so please ! send some requests i love writing for you ! and for me. this idea randomly came to me this evening and i wanted to write something small about it for you all to read. i am not a doctor , if you are experiencing pain after intercourse i do recommend speaking with a professional (and always pee after sex like i mention here !). take care of yourselves , i’ve missed you guys , it’s lovely to be back. have an amazing wonderful incredible day ! love you guys !

quietly catching your breath, you swung your leg over to the side, tossing yourself onto the bed from straddling spencer’s lap.

his long arms reached out, pulling you in close as you faced him, “how are you feeling?”

“good. you were wonderful, sweetheart. thank you,” you softly tucked his hair behind his ear, tracing your finger down the length of his cheek, “how about you?”

“great,” he blushed, breaking eye contact and smiling to himself, “thank you”.

he placed a gentle kiss on your lips. admiration was evident in his gaze, it practically dripped from his supple skin.

you and spencer were intimate fairly often. of course he had always been fantastic in bed, but when the two of you first met, he was rather inexperienced. it didn’t take you both long to learn what worked for the other, and after a few more times together, he pleased you in ways that men were not often able to do.

how good he was wasn’t the most important thing, though. it was the care, communication, and gentility that mattered most to you. no matter how many times the two of you had sex, he always wanted to make sure you felt safe, comfortable, and satisfied.

the same went for you. you always wanted spencer to feel good, and found ways to care for him during sex that made the experience even more pleasurable for him.

“i’m going to grab us some water, okay?” he stated quietly, caressing his large hand from your shoulder to elbow.

you nodded, a small smile on your face as you got up to go to the bathroom.

the two of you helped each other into some comfortable clothes, spencer a pair of pajamas, you a t-shirt and some underwear. a quick peck was shared before parting again.

you winced, a tight cramp pulling at your lower pelvic area. on occasion, you had experienced some post-coital soreness, but this sensation was different. feeling your muscles constrict, you bent over slightly to see if it would relieve some of the pain.

you brushed it off for a moment, using the restroom and making your way back into the bedroom when you were struck with a wave of it again.

spencer was placing a glass of water on your nightstand when he looked up, a flash of worry striking his face upon seeing you hunched over, holding your lower abdomen and resting against the doorway.

“are you alright, baby?” he asked, rushing over to you.

“i’ve got this weird feeling,” you spoke as he wrapped his arms around you, helping you into the bed, “my muscles keep cramping, it’s like a really tight, pulling sensation”

you placed your head on the pillow, closing your eyes for a second to focus yourself. spencer brushed the hair off of your forehead, taking a seat next to you.

“have you had enough water today?” he asked sincerely, placing a hand on your side.

“of course,” you replied, nodding your head.

“did you workout?” he continued, ready to get to the bottom of your discomfort.

“yesterday, yes. today, no, i didn’t” you responded.

“did you relax your pelvic floor before we had sex?” he questioned.

“spencer!” you couldn’t help but laugh at his interrogation.

“i’m being serious!” he defended, brushing your shirt off of your lower stomach, massaging circles with his thumb, “it’s important to take time to relax your pelvic floor before sexual intercourse. it can help increase vaginal lubrication, as well as increase blood flow for better orgasms, and reduce the risk of muscle straining”.

“what would i do without dr reid telling me what to do about my vaginal issues,” you grinned, shaking your head.

“i’m not telling you what to do! i’m giving you advice based on my readings,” he shrugged his shoulders as you laughed at his readings, because of course he would have his readings, “don’t laugh at my readings”.

“i’m not, you’re just cute,” you teased, “how would i relax my pelvic floor?”

“if you place one hand on your chest, and the other on your stomach, you can breathe in intervals to help it return to it’s resting rate. there are also a series of stretches and different sets of clitoral exercises that i can walk you through next time if you would like,” he rambled, his tender touch never leaving your skin.

“i might have to take you up on that,” you shifted uncomfortably at the feeling in your abdomen.

“but in all seriousness, what can i do for you?” he asked, a genuine look wiping across his face.

“i think an advil will help,” you placed your hand on top of his, ceasing the moving of his thumb, “and a hug and a kiss when you get back”.

a small, well-meaning smirk graced his lips, “deal”.

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communistkenobi · 11 months

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sorry for sending this and getting involed while everyone else is being a dick about it. please dont think i agree with them.

but i do want to say that like. the genital preference thing is just like, a preference. like some people prefer to have sex in certain ways and thats not always possible with a given person's anatomy. i dont think its like a moral issue to say like for example "i like eating pussy but i prefer not to suck a dick" because those are two different things? and it doesnt necessarily come from transphobia either, i think theres more nuance than that.

there are plenty of reasons that someone might prefer a given set of genital traits (idk how to phrase that) like some people vastly prefer sucking a dick and thats great and fine and someone without that wouldnt be able to satisfy them in the ways they want to

like it will ofc get transphobic if there are assumptions about a persons anatomy based on whether theyre trans. like "i wouldnt have sex with a trans woman bc i dont like dicks" IS transphobic. but the statment "i dont want to have sex with a person with a dick" is just, a preference. the transphobia, i think, comes from the given assumptions about what trans bodies look like, both before and after surgery, thats where the political and social implications of genital preference come in. well that and the set of sex acts that people assume are possible with any given genitals.

wrt the sex acts thing like i, a pre bottom surgery trans guy, can have piv sex using my dick, which people would not think given the political and social implications of having a vagina. i think at a certain point blanket statements dont cover it and you would be Much better off confining it to specific sex acts and discussing with a person beforehand.

ftr i dont think cis people use the term genital preference acceptably and we should absolutely take that phrase away from them. but that doesnt make the term itself transphobic imo

I guess I’m just not willing to give this line of argument a lot of credit given how deeply this conversation is entrenched in (especially transmisogynistic) transphobia. I do not think it is possible to fully extricate yourself from cis-heteronormative ideas about bodies when talking about genitals in general.

And to be clear, I agree with you in the sense that I think moralising all aspects of sexual desire can lead to really bad conclusions - my stance on this issue is not predicated on the fact that I think all sexual desire and sexual expression is indicative of some underlying moral principle (ie the notion that BDSM or kinky sex means you love abusing people, or that engaging in group sex means you’re needy and self-centred, etc), because I don’t believe that and I think that can quickly lead to reactionary ideas about sex. But I am unwilling to cede rhetorical ground to “it’s just a preference” not because I think it’s impossible to prefer certain styles of sex over others - or even certain genitals over others - without attaching grand moral values to those preferences, but because of how deeply violent and malicious these ideas are so often expressed in the world. There is a dedicated slur for trans women that is premised on the fact that they have “the wrong” set of genitals, and by “pretending” otherwise (ie by being women) they are “tricking” men into finding them attractive or having sex with them. Because genitals are synonymous with gender by societal standards, because their presence and absence within gendered spaces are so deeply policed, because trans people having the genitals we have is itself seen as a criminal act (“concealing” our “true nature” for “nefarious” purposes) as well as evidence of the fraudulence of our humanity, I am extremely reluctant to entertain casual conversations that conclude with “well it’s just a preference.” Like, okay, maybe it is! But when I see that articulated in ways that frame some genitals as universally “repulsive” or disgusting, both of which are aesthetic assessments with very loaded (even if unintentional) moral judgements, transphobia alarm bells start going off in my head. Trans people are existentially dislocated from public spaces because our genitals determine access to basic necessities like bathrooms, changing rooms, dressing rooms, and the like - we do not belong because we are trying to enter gendered spaces with the “wrong” genitals attached to our bodies. Because access to public spaces is gendered, and because that gendering process is mediated through your genitals, it’s not just our identity being called into question but our ability to be human beings in public space. Our genitals are the site of metaphysical societal anguish over the nature of gender itself. Those are some pretty high stakes!

If someone prefers some sets of genitals over others, that is not an automatic comprehensive condemnation of their moral character vis a vis trans issues - it is, however, if the way they articulate that preference is indistinguishable from transphobic rhetoric, and if you step two paces in any direction you will encounter crowds of people doing just that.

#asks #even old new york was once new amsterdam #transmisogyny tw #transphobia tw

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gratitudegainsclub · 1 year

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Thurs Feb 2023

Oman always playing catch up!

- grateful for being done with exams!!! The heme onc had a lot of surprises thrown at us but I used my best knowledge and felt okay about it. I’m fairly certain I at least passed so am grateful to not be too anxious about that. A lot of common sense ish questions that I was like ok I’ll just use my best judgement which I have grown to trust more! (I didn’t do the best on the exam still lol so would like to see the answers)

- grateful for flexible schedule for once!! Had no where to rush to or time pressure to get things done so I could study. Lingered around LK and caught up with Leah to debrief the exam (grateful we are similar intellect levels) and also chat about our lives. Grateful to have her as a friend and break past her barrier of seeming cold or harsh. I like her for who she is!

- grateful to go to ceramics and have it to myself again. trying and learning new things: audiobooks and podcasts don’t do it, plates are hard, trim all at once for better efficiency, I’m better at small/medium size pieces now, and for vases you can’t make the top lip too thin or it’ll flap apart. I liked that I was able to make mistakes and not pressure or frustration. I had ideas for what I wanted to make but when it didn’t work out or I didn’t have enough clay I just made something else and it was like ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ ok this is what came out instead!! I love it love it love it! Also didn’t splash as much this time around so I feel like I’m getting back into the flow of it wahoo. Excited to try different glaze experiments next timeeee. Grateful for it being something I do only for myself!

- grateful for taking as long in the studio as I needed to feel satisfied and then wrapping up and eating lunch alone upstairs while watching greys anatomy. It feels so nice to give myself permission to relax and unwind

- grateful for having Trevor and Jenn in my ACS class. Grateful for feeling confident to shout things out and contribute. Grateful for Jenn sharing her pretzels during break when I was starving. Grateful for the break and laughing w meheret and jainaba about dry skin and exfoliating

- grateful for GIRLS NIGHT! I love Leah and liz and Mel and how open I can be with myself and how stimulating it is to hear from everyone’s perspectives. Grateful for being a girl and loving talking and gossiping and hearing everyone’s thoughts. Grateful for Andy coming out and being funny and chill with my friends. Grateful for the simple act of getting together and eating cookies while catching up and getting things off our chests. Grateful for Leah being so vulnerable and honest and self aware about her concerns with Andrew and her insecurities. She is super mature! Grateful for Mel having the strength to be here today and having clear scans and GETTING HER PERIOD BACK. Grateful for Liz constantly fighting stigma about her ethnicity and pummeling forward with such resilience. So so so Grateful to have friends to go through this experience of PA school with, and build such intimate relationships. I love life!

- grateful Leah had such a good attitude about biking in the dark, grateful she stayed so late (10pm!!) past her bedtime on a school night. Grateful Mel and liz hung longer (12am wow) and time flew by like crazy. Grateful we can just unload everything about the past and present of our life journies. I feel so supported and loved and honored to be able to share part of my self w them and be accepted for who I am.

- grateful for Andy being so independent and have no problems hanging by himself and not complaining about the noise or anything. Appreciate him hard

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sillyrabbit81 · 3 years

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hiii~ is it alright if you write a smut about henry or one of his characters teaching y/n to touch herself in front of him? 👉👈

Summary: Your fiancé, Sherlock Holmes teaches you how to treat yourself for Hysteria (he teaches you to masturbate)

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Female Reader

Word Count: approx 2.6k

Warnings: Slight Dom/sub vibes, masturbation (female), exhibitionism, medical discussions maybe (is that a thing?), outdated views on women and sexuality.

Authors Note: Thanks Anon for the ask, I hope you enjoy it.

This is my first Sherlock fic, so I’m a little nervous! Thanks to @amberangel112 and @henryobsessed for Beta reading. Edited by me, there will be errors.

There is now a Part 2 Here

Masterlist

His Tuition

You heard the clock chime the hour and packed away your embroidery. “Thank you, Mr Holmes, for visiting me but I must be on my way. I have a doctor’s appointment you see.”

“Are you unwell, child?” Sherlock asked. A warmth spread through you as you noticed the subtle note of concern in his voice.

“No,” you shook your head. Normally you would not discuss your medical needs with a man not your father, but you were to be married to him in less than a week and would have to tell him then. “It’s treatment for my Hysteria, my nervousness and occasional irritability.”

Sherlock looked askance at you. “You’re seeing a doctor for Hysteria treatment?”

You nodded, “Of course.”

A small smirk played over your fiancé’s lips as if he were trying not to laugh. “And do you enjoy your treatment, my love?”

Heat rose to your cheeks, perhaps it was wrong to tell him before you were married. “Forgive me, Mr. Holmes, I’m sure I don’t know what you mean. It’s a medical treatment, not a trip to the fair.”

Sherlock gave a small hum and said, “Yes, you’re quite right.” He paused and said, “But so is a sip of brandy, medicinal but also pleasurable, correct?”

Swallowing down your embarrassment you said in a small voice, “Sometimes.”

“What if I told you, you didn’t have to see a doctor to get the same relief?” Sherlock raised an eyebrow, the hint of a smirk still played on his lips. “What if I told you, you could learn to do it yourself.”

That surprised you. You had thought that special knowledge of anatomy was required to evoke a hysterical paroxysm. However, you were interested. If you learned to do it yourself, you could do it every night to help you sleep and to wash away the worries of the day. As an added benefit you wouldn’t need to have to see the sweaty old Doctor anymore; he made you uncomfortable when you smelled his repugnant breath and saw his crude tongue lick at his thin lips as you lifted your skirts. “I would be interested in learning. Do you have the name of a doctor who is giving lessons?”

“Not a doctor,” Sherlock corrected. He rose from his chair and crossed the room, his imposing figure made you shrink into your chair. “I can teach you.”

Shocked you gasped at the suggestion, “You!”

“Yes,” he said. “I assure you I am most proficient and have treated many women successfully myself.” Again, he smirked, and you wondered what he found so amusing or was this his way of trying to put you at ease.

“Would you have to touch me?” you asked.

Sherlock let out a short humph. “No. I can instruct you without touching you. I will give you directions and observe to ensure the correct technique.”

“So, it would not be improper?” you asked seeking more clarification.

“No, my love,” Sherlock responded. “I would not sully your reputation days before our marriage.” There was something in his tone that made you doubt his honesty. You nibbled the inside of your lip while you tried to decide. “Come now, child. Do as I say.” Although his voice was even and low you felt as though he left you no room for argument.

You agreed with a slight dip of your head. “As you wish,” you said softly, unable to conceal your apprehension.

“Wonderful,” he said, satisfied and offered you his hand with a slight bow. You gingerly accepted and he led you to the large red leather settee. Sherlock gave you a full grin, brief but genuine, with a low hum. He lifted your hand to his lips; his soft lips grazed your skin lightly and you gasped. Then he swiftly turned his back and returned to his seat opposite you and instructed, “Now, remove your undergarments and lay on the settee as you would in the surgery.”

You stared at him as Sherlock picked up his small pipe and packed it with tobacco. “Quickly. I expect to be obeyed. I have no time for your silly, girlish modesty.” Closing your eyes, your ears burning with shame you gathered your skirts and reaching under them, undid the button holding up your draws. You began to unclip your hose, but Sherlock said, “The stockings can stay.”

Relieved you could retain some propriety you lifted your skirts high, jumping slightly as the cool dark red leather chilled the untempered skin of your bottom. You nestled into the pillows, arranging them so you were well supported.

“Comfortable?” Sherlock asked. “For my method of self-treatment it is imperative that you feel at ease, hmm.”

You nodded. You were comfortable physically, but your mind felt decisively uncomfortable. You couldn’t shake the feeling that this was wrong somehow, it felt different to the sterile, cold environment of the doctor’s surgery. He did, however, breathe heavily like Sherlock was beginning to, and looked at you with the same predatory regard. The difference was you didn’t feel disgusted with your fiancé like you did with the doctor. When Sherlock did it, you felt your tummy flip inside you, and it made your heart race.

“Now, I want you to bend your knees then open your legs, make sure to spread them wide, I need to observe your performance,” Sherlock paused and struck a match, chuffing on his pipe until it glowed. “For correction,” he finished.

Immediately the familiar smell of his tobacco filled the air. It was a comforting smell, familiar to you now after spending many hours with your fiancé during your courtship. Sherlock studied you as you slowly let your legs open, his face impassive, cold almost. However, his gaze was intense as he raked your exposed legs and Lady Jane. You noticed his puffs of his pipe were shorter, more rapid than normal. You wanted to ask why he seemed so excited but were too afraid that your suspicions that this was not appropriate were correct.

“My methods may sound unorthodox but follow them precisely and you will notice the difference,” Sherlock said, his voice held an edge to it that you were unused to. And shamefully you found that you liked his commands, liked the way his voice sounded and liked the way he looked at you. You wanted to obey him, to please him, to make him proud of you. “Shall we begin?”

“Yes, Mr Holmes,” you said softly.

“Sir,” he said in his new tone. “You shall call me Sir when we… are alone.”

“Yes, Sir,” you murmured. “I am ready.”

“You may close your eyes, or look at me during the procedure, but you must remain focussed on my instruction.” Sherlock waited a beat to make sure you understood then continued. “Starting at your knees, let your hands move down your thighs with the lightest of touches, concentrate on the feeling. Does it tickle? Does it make you feel warm? Does it make you tingle?”

You caressed your thighs with the soft pads of your fingers, your nails scraping the delicate skin as you moved. You couldn’t suppress the shiver that rippled down your spine. “It tingles, Sir, and makes me feel warm.”

“Good, my love,” Sherlock praised and the heat you felt began to bloom from deep within you. “Continue until you reach your labia.”

You looked at him questioning, “What is that Sir?”

Sherlock’s lips grew into a tight line around his pipe, clearly unsatisfied with your lack of knowledge. “The swollen flesh at the top of your thighs, where your hair grows.”

“Oh,” you said meekly. You followed his instructions, and when your fingers reached the coarse hair between your legs you felt your breaths start to grow shallow and uneven.

“Using your dominant hand,” Sherlock said. “Slide it up the skin between your labia, and tell me love, is there a wetness between your legs?”

Gliding your fingers between your folds you found there was a dampness and you sat up in shock. “Sir, I am sorry, I…”

“Lay down,” Sherlock ordered with a strong steady voice that hinted at impatience. “It is merely your bodies way of producing the lubrication needed for copulation. However, it can also serve to make the procedure more pleasurable. Dip your fingers into the wetness, coating them thoroughly.”

With hands shaking with trepidation, you followed his command. Your eyes widened as you touched the soft hidden skin and found the touch to be pleasing despite your fear. The dampness that welled was thick, slick, sticky and seemed to come from the place of your menstruation. Your fingertips glided over the hole, and your body instinctively wanted something inside. You were poised, about to enter when Sherlock said, “Stop. Have you ever put anything in there?”

You froze and shook your head. “No, Sir.”

“Good. You shall not start today either. That is for me and me alone.” Something about his words, his claimed ownership of that most private of places, made your legs want to close as your centre clenched. That untouched corridor felt so empty, lonely in a way you had never felt before. You looked at him, you knew there was a plea in your eyes, but for what you begged for, you didn’t know. A tiny smile played on his lips, and he whispered, “So wanton, my Love.”

You gasped, and your back arched, straining against your corset. Its tight restriction somehow felt good, like you were held in a tight embrace, captured, and loved. You didn’t deny his accusatory words, words you would have protested mere minutes ago, but now they thrilled you, made you burn, made you moan, “Please.”

“In time,” he said, his impassive face showed little emotion bar his lips, but his voice was rich and deep, speaking of his own desire. “Move your fingers up to the place where the Doctor touches, it should feel rigid and agreeable to touch.”

Your still trembling hand moved, and your eyes fluttered close as you spread the wetness over your delicate skin. You let out a short cry as you found the hard nub that elicited the hysterical paroxysm that you craved, the release of tension that calmed your frail nerves.

Sherlock let out a short satisfied humph as you found your spot. “Place a finger on each side of the clitoris,” he paused as he saw your confusion, and for once he was not annoyed by your inexperience. “The hard nub, you found,” he explained before continuing, “and whilst applying slight pressure, start to move your fingers in little circles.”

Taking a deep shuddering breath, you started to move in small circular motions. You felt some of the familiar feelings, the sudden little jerks your body made, and the sensation of lightning strikes down your legs.

“Good my love,” Sherlock said. “Keep going, slowly increasing the speed of your movements and experiment with pressure some women prefer a harder touch.”

Doing as he asked you pressed harder, and you sucked in a breath as your hips bucked. Your body became tense, your booted heels dug into the leather and your free instinctively caressed your neck and breasts.

“What a sight you make, my love,” Sherlock crooned. “I knew you would have shapely legs, having glimpsed them while you danced, but that sweet cunt of yours is a nice surprise.”

You lost all decorum then, and a heedless moan escaped your throat. “Sir, please,” you sobbed as sweat started to break on your brow.

Sherlock closed his eyes briefly and put down his pipe. He shifted in his seat, spreading his legs wide in a dominant, and ungentlemanly display. His crude stance made all the more vulgar as you noticed the large bulge in his pants. “Please, what love? Do you know what you beg for?”

Shaking your head, you admitted you did not. You couldn’t shake the feeling though, the desire, nay, the need to be filled, the empty cavern between your legs milked as you worked your nub, and you felt the wetness trickle down between your arse cheeks, no doubt pooling on the leather beneath you. You can’t stop the moans falling from your lips, you don’t remember that happening with the Doctor, none of this felt like with the doctor.

“You beg for me to satisfy you, my love. Fulfil you as a husband fills a wife, his seed implanting her with child. That is what you crave, is it not?”

The brazen words of your fiancé lit a new fire in you and for the first time in your entire life a curse left your lips, “Fuck.”

Sherlock’s eyes grew dark and you noticed his jaw clenched, “Yes, as a matter of fact that is one name for it.” For a moment he observed you, watched you as you wantonly squirmed then said. “Think of me fucking your cunt, love. Think of my hands, on your body, my teeth nibbling your neck.”

“Sir…” you begged. Your head thrashed against the pillows, your hair would be a mess, but you didn’t care, your body felt so tight, the tension too much, you needed the release, the climax of your treatment.

“Think of my lips on yours,” he continued. You closed your eyes, threw your head back, imagining him kissing your exposed throat. The growing heat was too much, and you felt a rivet of sweat down your spine “My lips on your neck, your breasts. Think of my kiss between your legs, my tongue on your nub…”

“Sir!” you cried. “I… I… feel…”

“My breath warm on your cunt as I taste your hidden nectar.”

Something inside you snapped and you shouted his name, “Sherlock!” Your hips ground against your fingers and waves of blissful heat washed over you radiating from your core. It went on and on, you felt like it would never stop, until it slowly ebbed away, and euphoria set in, making you feel as weak as a lamb. You were lightheaded, dark spots swam in your vision and for a moment you felt as if you would faint.

You felt hands on your shoulders, they held your still as you slowly regained your senses. “Open your eyes,” Sherlock said, his voice was hoarse but tender. You found yourself looking up at him, your head in his lap as he fanned your sweaty brow. “There now, my lover, feeling better?”

Unable to speak yet, you nodded, the euphoria not yet past, you felt as though you wanted to giggle.

“You’re a quick study,” Sherlock complimented. “I trust that you will get even better at that with time.” He smiled at you, then his attention was drawn to the soft round peaks of your breasts, he traced them with a delicate caress, you shivered, your skin still electrified and sensitive. “You’re so responsive. Its delightful.” You couldn’t help glowing with pride, you had pleased him, shown yourself eager to listen and learn, shown him he would not regret having you as his wife.

“Our wedding is in four days, I doubt I will get the opportunity to see you again,” Sherlock gave you a slight look of apology. “However, I expect you to practice every night, including tonight, what we did here, child. Think of me as you touch yourself. I expect you to show me all the things you have learned on our wedding night.”

“But isn’t the wedding night for, uhhh, what you said earlier.”

“Yes, love.”

“Then why would you want to see me practice my treatment?”

“Oh, my sweet, summer child,” Sherlock chuckled and kissed your forehead. He lifted the fingers you had between your legs, and you could still see the wetness of them. Sherlock placed them in his mouth, sucking them gently, licking them with his tongue. “Like strawberries,” he muttered. He turned his attention back to you, “I’ll explain on the night. And show you there is more than one way to receive treatment.

Part 2

Tag List 1

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the-insomniac-emporium · 3 years

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Bound Blood (Cassandra Dimitrescu/Reader, Soulmate AU) Pt. 4

Fandom: Resident Evil: Village Rating: T+ for language, nudity (but, like, for art), and violence Warnings: Unhealthy dynamics, including violence between the shipped pair, leaning heavily into the "enemies" part of "enemies to friends to lovers" Summary: Local vampire discusses art, depictions of certain anatomy, and enjoys the company of her feral soulmate for 4.5 minutes. Then it goes to shit (as things tend to do). 0-60 Real goddamn quick. Previous Chapters: 1: Sharing Is (Not) Caring; 2: Bloodbath, Baby!, 3: Haunt Me Dearly

4: Portraits For Ghosts

“Am I really supposed to just… stay here? Did she honestly think that I, of all people, would behave? The universe gave me two good hands, and by God, I intend to make that someone else’s problem,” you mutter to yourself as you get dressed. It’s not that you necessarily had anything in mind, rather that you hated the idea of waiting around for who knows how long for Cassandra to return. Especially considering what she had done prior to leaving. Sure, you had laughed, but that hadn’t meant much in the end. At this point, you hadn’t even been out of the dungeon for a full day yet, and the memories of what happened there were fresh in your mind. Nightmares, too, even if you had pushed them aside to deal with Cassandra’s. Why did I bother? You wonder, frowning. There was hardly any point to comforting a monster, no matter the way they trembled.

Or at least that’s the lie you sold yourself.

Soon enough, a knock at the door brings you out of your head. Daphne, maybe, you think, remembering the maiden from yesterday. When you open the door, however, you’re met with an unfamiliar woman. She’s a few years your senior, at the very least, and appears surprised to see you. In her hands is a very enticing tray of food.

“Lady Cassandra wanted me to bring this to you. I am… I am glad to see you are feeling better already,” she says, voice shaking. What was with these maidens and assuming you were anything like your soulmate? Though that last part did catch your interest. Something told you that she wasn’t at all referring to your time in the dungeon. If you had learned anything from Daphne, it was that the best way to get information was to be indirect. So you graciously accepted the food, before speaking, dodging your way around your ignorance.

“Yes, it’s amazing what a bit of meditating can do for the soul- and body, that is,” you start, watching closely for any veiled reactions. Even within the first few words you can tell that this stranger wasn’t expecting you to be pleasant. “Out of curiosity, what did my Lady say about my condition? There are, uh, a few details that I hope she did not share. I’m sure you understand.” As soon as the words leave your mouth, the maiden is nodding, appearing eager to satisfy you. Maybe a hint of fear can be useful, after all.

“No worries, Lady Cassandra did well to respect your privacy, and we would not dare question her further. She simply explained, to her family, that you were dealing with a migraine. I only heard this because I was helping serve breakfast,” she explained, smiling softly. You’re quick to nod, mimicking her expression for maximum empathy. “Do you require anything else? I am here to serve, you must only ask.” Ah, perfect. Would she have offered this even if you hadn’t attempted to be charming? Probably, but your politeness certainly didn't hurt.

“Well, there is one thing… as long as it’s no trouble.”

---------------------------

It had been a risk, asking the servant to take you to a room you weren’t sure existed, but one that had paid off brilliantly. Even if said room was nothing like you had anticipated. Who would have thought that Cassandra, you think, would be an artist? What’s far less surprising is the fact that the studio (or ‘study’, as you had called it) is a disorganized disaster. Discarded papers lie scattered around an overflowing trash can, a cabinet with an attached tool rack is missing pieces, and in one corner there are literally random shards of broken glass lying about. What is this, performance art? Part of you feels tempted to clean up the mess, if only to occupy your time. Instead, you decide to examine some of the pieces within the room. Maybe somehow they’d tell you something noteworthy about your soulmate.

First, you move to your left, where a workbench houses strange sculptures. For the most part they’re abstract, jagged edges contrasting with gentle curves, but there is one you think you understand. It’s very clearly a bust… of someone’s ‘bust’. Guess that solves the age old question of ‘boobs or ass’, you think, stifling a giggle. Moving on, you shift your attention to the exposed section of the cabinet. One row is dedicated to small vials, each labeled with a concerning ‘blood’, despite the fact that it’s clearly not refrigerated. Still, you have heard of artists painting with blood before, but you seem to recall them mixing it with something else. Perhaps Cassandra had done the same? Though you did wonder if she had any difficulty resisting the urge to drink the blood, at least prior to mixing it.

Shrugging, you continue to the other side of the studio, squatting to get a closer look at the broken glass. As expected, there’s no discernable pattern or purpose. Huh, you think, wonder why she doesn’t clean up. Maybe she’s waiting for a servant to do it? Guessing her reasoning was rather difficult, especially considering your lack of context, such as how long the mess had been here. Deciding that this was a pointless distraction, you move on to the only other thing of note in the room: An easel, in the center, with a canvas nearly as tall as yourself. So far, there’s little on it other than pencil lines, a sketch marking where to paint certain details. Only the (start of) the background has been colored. Understandably, it’s hard to make out what exactly the finished project would end up representing. Based on what you know of Cassandra and her family, however, you infer that this- with four figures, one larger than the others, protective- is a painting of the castle residents.

“Family means something to you, hmm?... I hope that mine does not miss me much, for I will never see them again,” you say to yourself, instinctively reaching out towards the art. Before you can touch it, or think better of it, the door to the studio is flying open. In storms Cassandra, fists clenched at her sides. As soon as she sees you, she’s rushing forward, pulling you away from the easel. “Hello, darling. Glad to see me feeling better, yes?” You teased, smiling wide at her. Feeling a bit emboldened by your earlier success, you go a step further, leaning in to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

“I swear to fuck, if you touched any of my stuff-” Cassandra starts to say, intentionally ignoring the kiss, even though her cheeks get flush at the contact.

“Nope, not a single thing. Not even the broken glass. Nice touch, by the way, makes the whole space feel a helluva lot cozier,” you interject. For a few moments she holds you by your shirt collar, staring you in the eyes as if determining whether or not to believe you. Somehow, some way, she declares you innocent, releasing you with an irritated sigh. After pretending to dust yourself off, you return your attention to the central canvas. “Do you do a lot of art of your family? I passed by several pieces on my way here, though they were certainly in a different style.” Another pause, with Cassandra waiting for you to spring a verbal trap.

“Some of those are mother’s work,” she answers, tentatively, eying you closely. When you merely nod in reply, expecting her to elaborate, she starts to relax, little by little. “I doubt you passed any of mine. Mother tends to keep those closer to her quarters, or near the main entrance.” Interesting, you think, why hasn’t she addressed my original question?

“It sounds like she’s very proud of you,” you muse, still facing away from your soulmate. There’s a slight shakiness to your voice, as your mind starts to dwell on memories of your own family. Perhaps noticing this, Cassandra takes a few steps closer, one hand hovering over your shoulder, not quite sure if you needed (or perhaps deserved) any comfort. In this moment, you feel far more vulnerable than you had the day before. Taking a deep breath, you try to center yourself, before perfectly ruining whatever trust you had just established with Cassandra. “Something tells me she doesn’t know about the titty sculpture though, right? Can’t quite imagine that one being displayed where everyone can see it.”

To your immense surprise, Cassandra gives you a blank stare.

“You… you really don’t know anything about my mother, do you?” She says, after several awkward seconds. It feels strange to think that she had been furious, merely a handful of minutes ago. “If you actually behave for a while, I can show you some of her favorite pieces around the castle. Then maybe you’ll understand.” Intrigued, you debate how exactly to respond. On one hand, you did want to see the art, but on the other hand… misbehaving was your goal of the day.

“Sounds like a nice date to me. Why not start the tour right now?” You suggest, hoping to meet your ‘politeness quota’ earlier rather than later. Still, it is in your very nature to be chaotic, and you find yourself giving Cassandra an affectionate shoulder touch. It’s not at all genuine, but the two of you blush nonetheless. How could you not, when your blood was bound together, hearts made to race in sync?

“Don’t get friendly with me,” Cassandra stammers, unadjusted to the way her pulse pounded. “This isn’t a date. We’re just- it doesn’t matter, actually. As long as it means getting you out of my studio, I don’t care.” With that said, she takes your hand in her own, pulling you towards the exit. If she has any feelings about the soft touch, she hides them well… unlike yourself. Cheeks flushed, you’re half tempted to yank yourself out of her grip, hating the way your heart skips a few beats. Would I still feel this way if I didn’t know we were soulmates? You wonder, biting your lower lip to prevent any unwanted comments from slipping out. Soon enough you’d have art aplenty to distract yourself with. Hopefully.

---------------------------

“My God, you were not kidding. I don’t- I can’t even think of anything clever to say,” you chime, staring dumbfounded at the several statuettes of naked women. They seemed to fulfill some other purpose, one you couldn’t parse at the moment, but you could hardly think about the details right now. “I mean, good for your mother, for sticking to a theme, I suppose,” you continue, tripping over your own tongue, uncharacteristically quiet. Clearly amused by your flustered display, Cassandra lets out a hearty laugh.

“Good to know some things can shut you up. I’ll have to keep this in mind for next time you bother me,” she teases, light-heartedly. Her words only fluster you more, though they quickly give you room to counter, much to your joy.

“Is that so? Planning on carrying around a busty bust for the rest of your life, or thinking of going the more au naturel route?” You asked, briefly sticking your tongue out at Cassandra. It takes her a moment to understand what you’re getting at, but as soon as she does she’s smacking your arm with an offended huff. Despite her irritation, the blow is relatively soft, and you swear you can see her fighting to hide a smile. “Starting to go soft on me, are you? I hardly even felt that one.”

“So you’d prefer I hit you harder? And to think you called me kinky,” Cassandra fires back, without a hint of hesitation. Now both of you are laughing, softly, like old friends sharing fond memories. It’s… weirdly nice. A warmth fills your chest, even as you try to remind yourself that you shouldn’t be happy right now. Damn it, you think, suddenly frowning, hands clenching. We shouldn’t be having fun banter, back and forth like a real couple. Not when I’ve still got wounds from her hands on my skin. Instinctively you reach up to your face, thumb running over the marks Cassandra’s nails had left behind. The touch stings, bad, no matter how gentle you try to be. Noticing your shift in expression, your soulmate inches closer. “If your wounds are bothering you, I can have one of the servants get more ointment or whatever it is we have around. I don’t want you to-... There’s no reason for you to suffer more than you need to, besides, I don’t want you complaining all day.” Of course she couldn’t bring herself to imply that she cared. Of course. It wasn’t like the two of you were actually capable of being soft for each other, obviously. All of your confusion melts down, boiled by the warmth in your chest, turning to a familiar, albeit painful, rage.

“Right, right! Because you care so fucking much, yeah? What the fuck am I doing? Why am I-” you jab a finger towards her chest, accusatory- “talking to you? Why am I pretending you're not the one who did this to me? You’re the fucking reason my face hurts, my shoulder hurts, my brain-... I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened down there. I can’t get those goddamn images out of my head, every time I close my eyes, every time I look at you. I…” You trail off, chest heaving a little, tears pricking the corners of your eyes. Cassandra’s standing tall, unflinching, but there’s a noticeable regret in her expression.

“What. Are. You… going to do about it?” She asks, through clenched teeth, fighting back the full force of her emotions. You can’t tell what exactly she’s feeling, but you know that you want her to show you. Every part of you is itching for a fist fight, regardless of how stupid you know the idea is.

“Depends, dickwad, on whether or not these statuettes are properly secured,” you snap, already moving, fully abandoning all impulse control. By the time your hand grips the first sculpture, Cassandra has put you in a headlock, forcefully tugging you backwards. Panic sets in, making you try to jam your elbows into her stomach. Before long both of you are tumbling to the floor, bodies already aching, limbs flailing wildly in an attempt to hit a target, any target. In the end the air is knocked from your lungs as your head smacks against the ground. “Shit, shit, shit,” you grumble, coughing, finally processing just how much of a dumbass you were. It’s clear that at least one of the previous day’s wounds has reopened, and you feel something wet and sticky on your shirt.

“Finished, asshole?” Cassandra wheezes, sounding dazed, roughly pulling you up by your shirt collar. You nod, refusing to meet her gaze. Then she’s sighing in relief, letting you lean on her for support, holding you surprisingly close, considering the circumstances. “Let’s get you cleaned up. Again…”

#cassandra dimitrescu x reader #cassandra dimitrescu #resident evil: village #re8 village #enemies to friends to lovers #blunt teeth sharp tongue #got some fun banter in this one!#followed immediately by heartbreak #they want to be soft so bad #but they do not know how #i promise they will eventually be soft #you have to remember that this is still less than 24 hours after part 1 #the reader is traumatized

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haechanokeh · 3 years

Text

I’m Right For Your [pt. 8]

[teaser] [ Chapter 1 ] [ Chapter 2 ] [ Chapter 3 ] [Chapter 4] [Chapter 5] [Chapter 6] [Chapter 7]

pairing: popular college! mark x average! reader

genre: romance, smut, angst, series.

warning (general): corruption, oral sex (both receiving and giving), cream pie, rough sex, mention of religion, rough sex, self-esteem, public sex, sub! reader, sex toys. possessive mark two-faced mark

your eyes were squinting as it became sensitive to the morning ray of the sun. but your breath hitched when the first thing you saw was mark in his serious face.

woke up in the wrong side? why does he look… awfully upset? you asked yourself.

"we need to talk." he said in a serious manner, you could see from his eyes how urgent or determined he was.

you sat up and leaned back against your bed's headboard. he sat up too, one leg on the bed folded, and the other on the floor and he's facing me.

"did you remember anything before you slept on me?" he asked with his eyes slightly wide open as if he's anticipating something but it is something serious.

"you mean before i passed out?" you indirectly made a correction of his statement of you sleeping on him, because you literally passed out. mark fucked your brains out.

you saw from your peripheral view the wall clock, then your eyes widened in shock.

"mark! we're going to be late!" you gasped and kicked the comforter on your legs but he quickly grabbed your hand and pulled you back to bed. your back bounced on your fluffy bed and in just seconds, mark's on top of you straddling over you.

"we're skipping." he said in a low tone voice.

"what?" you were bewildered by what he said. "do you have a fever, are you okay?" your cupped his cheeks.

mark felt like he's going to melt from your touch but he needs to settle things between the two of you first and by force is also in his options.

"y/n, answer me, what do you remember you knocked up?" he asked you again.

"moaning?" you really can't remember anything.

"tsk." he was kinda pissed, he thought maybe this you were trying to push your agenda of not falling for him. you heard something clicked but you're not that curious about what it was.

"moaning? i'm sorry i c- mark!" you yelped when you felt a familiar shaky shape against your bud. "is that my vibrator?" you asked in disbelief and hands about to push him but he quickly pinned both of your hands on the bed with just the strength of his one hand.

"next time, hide it very well. this beautiful thing…." he put it in max that made you swear. "sitting on top of your underwear." he smirked. mark just wanted to dress you but his pervy thoughts won.

mark was pressing the vibrator harder on your clit and sliding it between your folds caused nothing but an increase of libido. right here and there, you wanted to be fucked again.

"mark…" you moaned.

"yes baby?" he whispered into your ear and bit it. You groaned and lifted your hip wanting to push your pussy harder on the vibrator. “y/n, do you remember what you said to me last night? Hmm?” he’s licking the side of your neck and nipping it. Your abdomen hardens in arousal.

“no, I couldn’t…” you honestly replied. You couldn’t the last thing you remembered was that you were a mess and passed out because of the good fuck.

Mark lifted his head and faced you, nose inches away from you. His eyes, those dark dominating eyes are back like at any moment about to make your knees functionless.

“you’re so cruel.” there was a glimpse of disappointment in his eyes. “ you gasped when he inserted a finger inside you but the vibrator didn’t move an inch. “and if i tell you what you said to me, you’ll deny it. you’re always like that, do you know that?”

“ohh sht.” you cried out and clenched his finger when he folded it. every time he folds it he always hits your spot. mark already memorizes your anatomy, he already knows how your body works and what turns you off, that’s when he professes his love for you. “mark, fuck right there… please…” you were a moaning mess and naively begging for him to let you cum.

when you were about to reach your climax he quickly removed his finger and turned off the vibrator. you sat up and frustratingly glared at him.

“why did you stop?” you asked.

“sharing what i felt last night.” he said with a smug look. your brows met.

“you didn't… you know, last night?” but as far as you could remember he reached it too. he just smiled at you, but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“are you satisfied with what we have now?” his voice became soft, him and his quick switching of mood.

oddly, your heart squeezed from his word, afraid that he isn’t satisfied. you were petrified that he’s growing weary of you. is it the sex? is it the presence? or is it mark that you enjoyed whatever you were sharing with each other, regardless of the reason, when he asked you if you were satisfied you suddenly felt scared of losing him. you were thinking ahead of time, once again. you always overanalyze or overthink things.

“why?” your throat became dry, and so you swallowed hard while staring at his eyes.

“because, i am not.”

it was as if you can hear a thud sound when your heart fell.

“wha… what?” you breathlessly mumbled without your prior notice. “what did i do? are you leaving me? i thought you liked me?” there’s another delay in transmission of a message between your brain and mouth that there are things that shouldn’t be told.

he chuckled and shook his head, you clearly like him back, and mark knows that but you always deny it which is extra harder for him to have you.

“what’s with that? where did you get the idea of me leaving you? do you not know how i like you, and you don’t have any idea of what i have become and will have become just for you.” mark was dead serious. while you were sleeping, he was already thinking about how to have you. if the problem is him being too friendly and well known, he swears that he can shut people down. if you want him to ignore people, he can. turn down an invitation, he can. all just for you.

he made sure that this day will not end unless you accept him and your feelings for him.

"then why does it sound like you're not satisfied of whatever we have right now?" your voice was shaking. you're starting to think that you're not good.

and why does it matter? this is what you want in the first place, to get rid of him or to distance yourself and look at you, afraid that you will lose him.

"because i am. i am not satisfied of what we have right now because we both know what we have. i like you, no, i always tell to you that i love you. i want us to have more than whatever we have.” and just like that, mark saw fear and denial in your face.

“no, we can’t.” you shook your head. same story, different personality and heaven and earth-like situation. he’s… to much, that’s what you always say to yourself.

“why?” mark still can’t understand you. “tell me why.”

“i already told you you’re different, you’re… you’re too much for me.” you’re almost choking and chest heaving.

“be more specific, i need to hear it from you. y/n-”

“if you’re just looking for a girlfriend, then you’re with the wrong person, mark.” you bit your lower lip as your lips began to quiver and fight back your tears from falling.

“i’m not looking for a girlfriend, i am looking for you. allow me to enter because i’m already greedy y/n.” mark reached for your hands and hold it.

everything became silent. you see nothing but sincerity in his eye and he’s squeezing your hands as if he has no intention of letting it go, as if anytime you’re going to slip away. mark already determined to not end this day, not making you speak out of your honest feelings.

“i…” you choked at your own saliva, you couldn’t speak properly. mark on the other hand waiting for you to continue and silently pushing you to speak. “i really admire you, mark and it scares me. you almost embodied the word perfection. i, on the other hand don’t have good grades, a wallflower, i bet that even though both of us are not in the classes they will only notice that you’re gone.” tears started to stream down in your face.

loneliness.

mark realizes that it wasn’t because he’s not just different that you dislike him at first, it’s because you want to be like him. you didn’t want to be alone, you want to have friends. you don’t hate noise, you want to be in the noise. you don’t hate attention, you want it. you want to be noticed that you exist. you didn’t say this but mark already understands where these things are coming from. on the other hand, you’re fully aware that you envy him and that you’re lonely but you refuse to accept it because it fucking hurts when every time you want to do the first move it’s was always ending awkward or you were still unnoticeable.

“they will notice, believe me. you don’t know how much they love to befriend you and want to get closer to you but they don’t know how to and we’re so sorry for not trying, i’m sorry that you feel so lonely.” mark words made you cry more. you were whimpering and pouring out the loneliness bottled up inside you. mark was also fighting his tears back and pulled you into his arms. he was kissing the top of your head and caressing your back.

it’s not mark that needs to change because regardless of him changing that doesn’t fix anything. mark sympathizes with you, holding it in for years. you hate being alone at the same time he felt bad for making you feel like this.

“i love you too, i’m so sorry.” you were wailing in embarrassment and sadness. but mark is smiling and happiness engulfed his heart that you finally admit it.

“ouch, why are you saying sorry?” mark pushed you gently to look at you. “goodness, your crying face is fucking sexy.” he joked. you playfully pushed his face away. “why? that’s true!” he was laughing and pulled your face and gave your lips a peck.

“you should be more vocal, people around you are not fortune tellers hmm? at least be more vocal to me, if you’re lonely, call me and tell me. hmm?” mark wiped your tears. “breakfast?”

you shook your head. “you didn’t finish me.” you pouted. mark laughed at you and kissed your cheek.

“you’re vocal now huh.” he chuckled and dove into your wetness.

things went dirty but it was genuine and honest. after sharing an intense orgasm, you took a bath together and mark wore his clothes and went back to their house. he wasn’t asked by his parent because they thought he just went out to jog but asked why he’s still home because they have classes but for the first time he lied that the class was canceled in the first subject. your mom was back and asked you the same thing, you told her the same alibi.

you went back to your room and caught your phone ringing which is on top of your side table. you checked the caller, it’s mark. you answered it.

“why?”

“let’s go to school together? okay?”

“fine.” you chuckled then he hangs up the call.

you heard a honk outside and received a text that mark is already outside.

“mom! i’m going to school!” you shouted and ran outside.

mark was hella looking fine crossed legs and leaning against his car. fuck this is the guy who likes me? did i save a country in my past life, i mean i deserve this if that’s the case.

“hi.” you greeted him. mark noticed that you put a little makeup but he doesn’t want to mention it, it may ruin your confidence, so instead…

“you always look lovely.” he kissed your lip.

you thought you will attend the next subject but…

“mark! oh my god!” your eyes rolled and your arms above your head and flatly on the headliner of the car as your body bounced harshly on mark’s dick. you squirted for the 2nd time in his pants and ruined his car. your jaw dropped and gasped for air and so was mark.

how can we go to classes? we’re both wet mark.” you were slightly annoyed.

you’re in the university’s parking lot but mark’s evil hand touched you everywhere and you’re weak in his touches.

“i have clothes at the back because i’m going to stay at my condo.” he said, still catching his breath.

“how about me? i am going to class… like this?” your hand gestured to show your state to mark.

mark jaw clenched, this sight is only for him and no one is allowed to see you like this but only him.

“who told you we’re going to attend school? we are going to my condominium.” he lifted you and put you on the passenger’s seat.

“mark, my pussy is tired.” you scoffed.

“and so is my dick.” he started the engine. “don’t worry i won’t touch you.”

“you always say that.” you rolled your eyes. he just laughed at you.

he didn’t ask you to be his girlfriend, because mark just wants you to be honest to him and to yourself.

i'm sorry for the late updates huhuhuhuhu 🙇‍♀️🙏🏻

✨if you want to be added in I’m Right For You Tag List, you can DM or Ask me so i can add you ✨

Tag List: @babylion-mork @lalaname @cloudykeiji @jjikyuu @sunshinedhyuck @wassup-haeyadwae @erisxczenie @mrklyy @resceluwu @jenotation @wanlore @watermelonlovermark

#mark lee angst #mark lee imagine #mark lee fanfic #mark lee smut #nct #mark lee nct #nct mark #nct dream smut #nct smut #nct 127 smut #mark smut #nct mark smut

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geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde · 2 years

Text

Sending Prompts

PROMPTS ARE OPEN

Whenever you want to shoot me a prompt feel free to take a look at this post to see if I'm accepting them and what kind of content and pairings I prefer!

I write: hurt/comfort, angst, MCD, fluff, humor, and smut

Favorite pairings: Geralt/Jaskier, Yennefer/Jaskier, Jaskier/Ciri

See my masterlists for other pairings I have written! I'm open to most ships although I've found I really struggle with any content involving Vesemir and also the Eskel/Lambert pairing.

If I do not like a prompt, I will delete it. I use prompts as inspiration and that means that your fill might not satisfy what you wanted from the prompt. I will only make guarantees for commissions, info available here.

Below The Cut: DD and Kink topics organized by what I will and will not write. If asking for something other than common tropes or fluff, please refer to these lists. They are not comprehensive and you are always welcome to reach out with questions or clarifications.

Things I won’t write: pregnancy as a kink, scat, infantilism, ageplay, diapering, lactation, trans characters*, raceplay, prolapse, vomit, vore, encasement/mummification, latex, tentacles**

Things I might write for the right prompt: pain play, torture, dehumanization, oviposition, alternate anatomy, CBT, foot fetish, gun play, bestiality, pet play, monsterfucking, gore, necrophilia

*Although I am agender, I am not trans and don’t feel comfortable writing trans characters at the moment

**vines are always an alternative

Things I am willing to write in any combination (I do not have experience writing all these topics but I’m happy to try): weight gain, belly bulge, desperation, omorashi, exhibitionism/voyeurism, face fucking, throat fucking, free use, incest, mind control, overstimulation, sex slavery, daddy kink, dub con, non con, consensual non con, scent kink, (extreme) underage, religion/blasphemy/sacrilege kink, A/B/O, age difference, body modification, body worship, bondage, breathplay, breeding, cross-dressing, cum play/inflation, humiliation, feminization, sex pollen, fuck or die, gaping, impact play, intoxication, substance abuse, knife play, uniform kink, lingerie/stockings, orgy, gang bang, multiple penetration, object insertion, toys, orgasm control/delay/denial, ruined orgasms, power play/exchange, sensory deprivation, size difference, somnophilia, sounding, teasing/edging, temperature play, femdom, chastity device, leather, cock warming, cock sleeve

#the witcher fanfiction

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harpersplay · 3 years

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Top 5 Speeches 🥰

Wow. This is so broad. So I narrowed it down some.

Top 5 Speeches from Movies & TV:

True Romance - Alabama's Ending Speech

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Amid the chaos of that day, when all I could hear was the thunder of gunshots, and all I could smell was the violence in the air, I look back and am amazed that my thoughts were so clear and true, that three words went through my mind endlessly, repeating themselves like a broken record: you're so cool, you're so cool, you're so cool. And sometimes Clarence asks me what I would have done if he had died, if that bullet had been two inches more to the left. To this, I always smile, as if I'm not going to satisfy him with a response. But I always do. I tell him of how I would want to die, but that the anguish and the want of death would fade like the stars at dawn, and that things would be much as they are now. Perhaps. Except maybe I wouldn't have named our son Elvis.

Grey's Anatomy - Cristina talks about Burke to Owen

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Burke? Burke was, um...he took something from me. He took little pieces of me—little pieces over time, so small I didn't even notice, you know? He wanted me to be something I wasn't, and I made myself into what he wanted. One day I was me, Cristina Yang, and then suddenly I was lying for him, and jeopardizing my career, and agreeing to be married and wearing a ring, and being a bride. Until I was standing there in a wedding dress with no eyebrows, and I wasn't Cristina Yang anymore. And even then, I would've married him. I would have. I lost myself for a long time, and now that I'm finally me again, I can't... I love you. I love you more than I loved Burke. I love you. And that scares the crap out of me, because when you asked me to ignore Teddy's page, you took a piece of me, and I let you. And that will never happen again.

Any Given Sunday - Coach Tony D'Amato's "Inches" Speech

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I don't know what to say, really. Three minutes to the biggest battle of our professional lives. All comes down to today, and either, we heal as a team, or we're gonna crumble. Inch by inch, play by play. Until we're finished. We're in hell right now, gentlemen. Believe me. And, we can stay here, get the shit kicked out of us, or we can fight our way back into the light. We can climb outta hell. One inch at a time. Now I can't do it for ya, I'm too old. I look around, I see these young faces and I think, I mean, I've made every wrong choice a middle-aged man can make. I, uh, I've pissed away all my money, believe it or not. I chased off anyone who's ever loved me. And lately, I can't even stand the face I see in the mirror. You know, when you get old, in life, things get taken from you. I mean, that's... that's... that's a part of life. But, you only learn that when you start losin' stuff. You find out life's this game of inches. So is football. Because in either game—life or football—the margin for error is so small. I mean, one half a step too late or too early and you don't quite make it. One half second too slow, too fast and you don't quite catch it. The inches we need are everywhere around us. They're in every break of the game, every minute, every second. On this team we fight for that inch. On this team we tear ourselves and everyone else around us to pieces for that inch. We claw with our fingernails for that inch. Because we know when we add up all those inches, that's gonna make the fucking difference between winning and losing! Between living and dying! I'll tell you this, in any fight it's the guy whose willing to die whose gonna win that inch. And I know, if I'm gonna have any life anymore it's because I'm still willing to fight and die for that inch, because that's what living is, the six inches in front of your face. Now I can't make you do it. You've got to look at the guy next to you, look into his eyes. Now I think you're going to see a guy who will go that inch with you. You're gonna see a guy who will sacrifice himself for this team, because he knows when it comes down to it you're gonna do the same for him. That's a team, gentlemen, and either, we heal, now, as a team, or we will die as individuals. That's football guys, that's all it is. Now, what are you gonna do?

Buffy the Vampire Slayer - Buffy rallies everyone to fight

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I'm beyond tired. I'm beyond scared. I'm standing on the mouth of hell and it is gonna swallow me whole. And it'll choke on me. We're not ready? They're not ready. They think we're gonna wait for the end to come, like we always do. I'm done waiting. They want an apocalypse? Well, we'll give 'em one. Anyone else who wants to run, do it now, 'cause we just became an army. We just declared war. From now on we won't just face our worst fears, we will seek them out. We will find them and cut out their hearts one by one, until The First shows itself for what it really is. And I'll kill it myself. There is only one thing on this earth more powerful than evil. And that's us. Any questions?

Malice - "I am God"

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Which makes me wonder if this lawyer has any idea as to the kind of grades one has to receive in college to be accepted at a top medical school; if you have the vaguest clue on how talented one must be to lead a surgical team. I have an M.D. from Harvard, I am board certified in cardio-thoracic medicine and trauma surgery, I have been awarded citations from seven different medical boards in New England, and I am never, ever sick at sea. So I ask you: when someone goes into that chapel and they fall on their knees and they pray to God that their wife doesn't miscarry or that their daughter doesn't bleed to death or that their mother doesn't suffer acute neural trama from post-operative shock, who do you think they're praying to? Now, go ahead and read your Bible, Dennis, and you go to your church, and, with any luck, you might win the annual raffle, but if you're looking for God, he was in operating room number two on November 17, and he doesn't like to be second guessed. You ask me if I have a God complex. Let me tell you something: I am God.

(as with favourites, the list is subject to change depending on the week, the day, the hour)

Ask me my “Top 5″ anything

#ask games #speeches in movies #speeches in tv

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edensbuttercups · 4 years

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Nulla Verbum Sine Sensum

Pairing: Jaskier x reader Request: “Hii! I have a little fic idea if you want to write it: Jaskier gets cursed by a witch he slept with and ends up losing his voice and ends up searching for a cure with Geratl when they meet the reader and maybe she's a mage or a healer or something and she ends up breaking the curse” Word count: 3.4k A/N: Thank you anon for your request! I know it took so so long, and I apologize! I’ve got to admit, I’m not too happy with how this came out. I had an idea for the beginning and for the end, but the middle part just wouldn’t come to me. I decided to go for a less traditional “she breaks the curse” and I don’t know if it did work out, so feedback (as always) is appreciated! Again, I’m not fully satisfied with how this came out, and I might edit it later on, but writing it was a lot of fun and the prompt was really cool! So thank you again anon, hope you like it 💕

Geralt had retreated to his room hours ago, but he had decided to stick around, eyeing a certain mysterious woman that quietly sat at the bar. She had long flowing hair with blue ribbons plaited in it forming a crown around her head and a white gown that elegantly fell all the way to the floor. She had been the only one not to clap at the end of his performance, hell, she hadn’t even looked at him once! So, he did the only thing he could think of and trotted over to her, singing his praises until they both were in bed, a breathless mess next to each other.

When she woke up the next morning, she was alone. She didn’t mind, she hadn’t expected a love story, just some meaningless sex, yet she didn’t expect to descend the stairs finding him flirting once more, this time with the barmaid. She nodded and smiled, ready to teach him a lesson, prancing towards him and placing her hands on his shoulders, spinning him around and dragging him away from the bar. “What-… Oh. Hello.” He smiled, glancing apologetically towards the barmaid. “You know, darling” he raised his eyebrows at the nickname, surprised by her almost metallic tone “Your voice will quickly rot unless you share all you’ve got, expecting nothing in return, your most prized possession you might earn.” “Ooh, rhymes, how fancy! I didn’t know you were a poet like me” he answered cheerfully, repeating the curse under his breath, trying to memorize it for possible future songs. “Good luck bard. You’ll need it.” She winked at him as she turned and walked out, her long white dress blowing behind her as he looked at her for a moment before turning towards the bar yet again, eager to get back to charming the barmaid, hoping that Geralt would enjoy his sleep for only a bit longer. “So… where were we?” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. He laughed and cleared his throat, throwing an apologetic glance at the barmaid. “Pardon my voice. I must’ve caught a cold.” He laughed once more, bowing his head and trying once more, failing again. He apologized again, paying for his breakfast and taking a seat at the closest table, waiting for his travel companion to arrive. He started thinking about the words from the woman he had spent the night with, piecing two and two together and gasping in disbelief, shaking his head and hoping with all his heart that he hadn’t truly been cursed. It wasn’t long until the Witcher descended the stairs, nodding to the bard and making way towards the door, walking out and leading the way towards the stables. “Geralt!” the bard cried out, his voice low and warped, unrecognizable and weak. The Witcher didn’t hear him and carried on walking, smiling as Roach came into view. The bard looked up at the sky, annoyed at his condition, cursing as he walked closer to the Witcher, grabbing his attention by tapping on his arm. “Hmm?” The Witcher turned, raising an eyebrow at the bard. “My voice.” He coughed out, trying to be as loud as he could. “You’ve probably got a cold. I’ll get you some ginger sweets, those should help.” “No. Curse.” His voice was a mere whisper now, weaker and weaker as time went on. “Curse? Jaskier I left you last night and you were fine, you probably didn’t sleep well and now your voice is weird, don’t get all-“ “Curse.” He insisted, looking for a stick to write with in the dirt, explaining his point. He walked towards the nearest tree and jumped up towards the lowest branch, jumping up and breaking it off the tree. He marched back and started writing. “I slept with a woman… Oh that’s a surprise!” Geralt laughed, carrying on reading. “This morning she told me something weird, I think it was a curse. What do I do? Jaskier, is that drawing supposed to be you crying? You really have to work on your anatomy” the Witcher laughed as the bard threw the stick at him, frustrated by his lack of words. “Let’s get moving. Allowing a Witcher in this town for a night was already a lot for them, if we stay any longer, we might end up with rocks thrown at us.” The Witcher looked at the bard, waiting for an answer. Jaskier looked up and nodded, following behind in silence.

You’d expect Geralt to enjoy the silence that accompanied him on the ride, but he could feel the sadness that surrounded Jaskier and couldn’t help but feel uneasy. He glanced behind often, finally offering a place behind him on Roach that the bard accepted offering a small smile, weakly climbing on and resting his head on Geralt’s back, tired from the thoughts that swirled around his head. What if I never get my voice back? What am I supposed to do? What if no one knows how to break this curse?

They reached Zavada on a cold morning, the bard swallowing back thoughts about his voiceless future and the Witcher determined to help his friend with whatever means necessary.

You had always enjoyed sitting near the door, often with a book in hand, waiting for customers to walk into your shop for either a chat or a fresh loaf of bread. This morning was no different; you sat with your head resting against the column, a hot cup of tea in your hands as you watched the people pass, their breaths drawing clouds in the air as they spoke. Two figures came into view, one tall and strong, his white hair framing his stern look while the other stood next to him, his arms tucked in front of his chest making him look small while a gloomy look haunted his face. You kept your eyes on them, entertained by the lost look on their faces, debating on whether you were willing to help them or not. You took a last sip, standing up and choosing the biggest loaf of bread you could find before walking out the door, closing it behind you. You felt their gaze on you as you moved through the crowd making your way towards them, your dress dragging on the ground behind you. “Hello! You look lost, can I help you in any way?” You offered them the bread, breaking it in half and offering one half each. The white-haired man looked at you for a moment before nodding. “We need a healer or a mage. Someone that knows how to break a curse” he explained, lightly moving his head towards the other man, his mouth shut tight in a small smile, his eyes bouncing from you to your surroundings. “Forgive him, he’s a bit grumpy. He’s a bard, yet he was cursed and lost his voice.” The man explained once more, smiling when the bard lightly punched his shoulder. You walked closer to him, placing a hand on his shoulder and smiling. “We’ll get your voice back, I promise.” You turned towards the streets, pointing east. “That way. I know a mage that might be able to help, I’ll come along with you.”

You knocked on the door, exchanging some words with the mage and introducing her to Geralt and Jaskier, moving aside when Geralt started explaining the situation, the mage listened closely. “And what was the curse?” She asked, grabbing some paper and a quill from the shelf. Jaskier started writing, his face serious as Geralt read aloud, used to his new position as voice double for the bard. “The morning after I met her she came towards me and smiled, saying that my voice would rot unless I gave all I had. I had to expect nothing in return to gain my most prized possession back. Something along those lines.” She scoffed, turning to the Witcher with a raised eyebrow. “Standard curse. You’d expect more originality, you know?” She turned to the bard and sat next to him. “You’ll have to do something out of the pureness of your heart. You have to do something just because it’s the right thing to do.” He stared at her, his eyes darting up to the Witcher’s and then up to yours. You could read a hint of confusion in them. You stepped forward. “What does that mean exactly?” she looked up at you, an amused smile painted on her face for a mere second. “Let’s say… he’s a bard. He writes songs. By writing a song, especially when a bard does so, you expect someone to listen to it, to like it, to praise it. But if he wrote a song without even an ounce of his heart craving that validation…” “The curse would be broken?” you guessed. “Maybe.” “Maybe?” “It all depends on who cursed him. Since it was a woman, we can assume she means something more… deep. He probably has to find a selfless act towards somebody, putting their needs before his own, no matter if that hurts him in any way.” She finished explaining and sat up, leaning over to pat his shoulder in a comforting way. She grabbed Geralt’s attention as she slipped away in a nearby room. “Go and wait outside. I’ll be out soon.” he said, following the mage into the back room. You waited outside together, the warm sun slowly heating up your surroundings after the cold night. You listened happily as the bard gently strummed one of the songs you had heard many times at the local tavern. He looked sad as he quietly moved his lips, forming words that both of you knew by heart but only one could sing. “I’ll sing for you.” His eyes darted up to meet yours “if you’ll allow me” you added as a smile graced his face. He started strumming louder, trying to decipher from your face if you knew the words. You nodded and started singing, softly at first, afraid of being heard by anyone but him, but slowly you let go of your fears, fluttering to your feet and dragging him up with you, gently swaying to the sound of the song, moving around each other as his smile grew, mesmerised by your voice. You forgot about everything while you danced and sang, his smile growing with each passing minute. The truth was that he liked having you around, even if the two of you had only just met, you seemed to care for him more than he thought possible. You smiled often, a smile that made his heart warm, and had he had his voice he would’ve showered you with praise and love. He promised the sky, the sun, the moon and everything holy that he would as soon as his voice returned.

You spent the rest of the day together, walking around and jokingly trying to make Jaskier do something out of the kindness of his own heart, but nothing worked. You asked him to play his lute, pick you flowers, dance for you, and Geralt kindly played along by asking him to be quiet. You both laughed at the stern expression on Jaskier’s face, but once he heard you laugh he smiled, not looking so offended anymore. “This is my shop.” you said, once you reached your entrance “I have a small room upstairs, so whenever you need me just knock. Do you have a place for the night?” “Some rooms are available just down the road” Geralt explained, pointing to the nearby inn. “We’ll come say goodbye tomorrow.” Both you and Jaskier widened your eyes, looking at the Witcher with a confused look. “Goodbye? You’re leaving?” Jaskier raised a hand, suggesting that he was wondering the same thing. “There’s no point in staying, is there? The mage can’t cure him, and he’ll have to solve this problem on his own. The nearby town is looking for someone to slay a beast, the earlier we leave the earlier we’ll have coins.” “Oh.” you muttered, trying to smile “sure. Well, I’ll be waiting for you. If you stop by in the morning I’ll be sure to prepare a delicious breakfast!” you tried to sound cheery, but you felt sadness at the thought of having to say goodbye so early. You wish you could’ve talked to Jaskier - truly talked to him - but you knew there wasn’t much you could do. So you offered a small hug to both the Witcher and the bard, hugging both of them tight, lingering just a few moments longer as you took the chance to rest your head on Jaskier’s shoulder. You barely knew them, but you were going to miss them. You were going to miss him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.” You said, offering a smile to the bard, trying to cheer him up while the Witcher nodded and turned. You and Jaskier shared a last look, him not daring to move and you to talk, before he smiled back, bowing as mischief tinted his eyes.

You spent the evening baking bread for your shop, adding a few extra pastries to the baked goods for your two new friends. You looked at the final result: a blackberry pie for Geralt and a lemon one for Jaskier, along with some other berries that you had grown and a jug of freshly squeezed juice. You left the kitchen, reaching the bedroom and slipping in a long blue gown that you had managed to buy with few hard earned coins. You smiled, slipping into bed and thinking of the bard, falling into a deep sleep while wishing that a simple kiss on the lips could solve it all.

A faint sound coming from downstairs woke you up, making you sit upright in the dark room. You glanced around, grabbing the plant pot that rested on your bedside table as a possible weapon as the moon lit the room enough for you not to trip on the clothes you slipped out of the night before. It wasn’t the first time that someone broke in, and even if the first time you almost had a heart attack, following that night you had always felt ready to tackle even the toughest of enemies, which you did. You held the plant tightly, walking down the narrow steps as your nightgown dragged behind you. You saw a shadow in front of you and swung down the pot, a soft gasp leaving your lips as you held the plant high above your head once more. The figure fell back, looking up to you with a confused expression, and you met the two eyes you had quickly grown to love. “I’m so sorry! Are you alright?” you helped him stand up, feeling relieved as he nodded, a hand held on his head where you hit him. “You could’ve knocked! What are you doing here?” he looked around, sighing as he realised that he had forgot to bring something to write on. He walked closer to you, gently pulling your hand up with his, moving his finger slowly, writing a letter at a time. “You wanted to see me? Why?” you asked, your heart beating faster as you stood close, closer than you had been before. “You missed me.” you smiled “I missed you too. I’m sorry that you’re leaving.” he nodded, looking away for a moment, his eyes falling to the food you had prepared. He moved his fingers once more, forming another phrase against your palm. “It’s for tomorrow morning! Don’t be greedy, Jaskier.” you said as he dragged you to the table, sitting in front of you. You both sat in silence for a moment, before he tentatively grabbed a small pastry, taking a bite and smiling in delight. You spent the night talking, he spent the night writing, and you both laughed and ate, falling into a comfortable company. He slipped away just before the sun rose, making his way back to Geralt and falling into a short sleep, his thoughts swirling in a sea of fears, hopes, dreams and you.

“Thank you for your help, y/n” Geralt said, after a short breakfast and an even shorter chat. “Thank you for your company. It was fun while it lasted. Have a safe trip Geralt.” you smiled, reaching from your bag and pulling out the finest bread you managed to bake, wrapped in a soft material. “For your journey.” you explained, earning a nod and a smile, before the Witcher moved away, towards the road. You looked at Jaskier, taking the chance to place a soft kiss on his cheek before taking a step back. He stood between the two of you, his eyes darting between you, the woman he felt so drawn to and him, the friend he promised to accompany on his adventures, changing his reputation with his words. And he didn’t know who to choose, because as much as writing songs was what he wanted - it was his job after all - he needed you. If just for now, he needed you. You made him smile, you understood him, no words needed. But what would he do here? Few people lived in this town, and the tavern wasn’t lively enough to grant him an earning. He’d be nothing but a nuisance after all. “Goodbye Jaskier.” you said softly, looking at him and waving at Geralt. Jaskier looked up to you and smiled, reaching for your hand and tracing once more. “Thank you for everything. I’ll come back one day.” you read as he wrote. You nodded, smiling. “I’ll be waiting.” you answered. And so you watched them walk away, the bard rushing behind Geralt, trying to catch up, and the Witcher riding tall, his white hair blowing in the wind. You turned and sat on a rock, placing a hand on your chest as you tried to swallow down the sadness you felt.

The bard walked with his head held down low, his hands in his pockets and his eyebrows furrowed. “How are you, Jaskier? I know how you feel about her.” Geralt spoke, breaking the silence. “I feel like I’ve made a mistake leaving her.” the bard started as the Witcher came to a halt, sliding off Roach. “I really liked her. Like, really liked her. But it wouldn’t be fair. A mute bard? It makes no sense! How would I even help her? I couldn’t earn any coins here.” “Jaskier.” “I know, I know, you think I fall in love too easily, but she was just so…” “Jaskier!” the Witcher barked, shutting the bard up. He turned around and searched for you, finding your figure sitting on a rock not too far away. He called for you, smiling when he saw you standing up, waving at him. “Let’s go back, Jaskier.” “What? Why?” he asked, still oblivious. The Witcher closed his eyes and smiled, dragging Roach along with him as he walked towards you. “What happened?” you asked, straightening the creases from your dress. “It worked.” Geralt muttered, looking at the bard with the hint of a smile. “What worked?” you asked, taking a step forward. “I made Jaskier choose between two things that would hurt him. I wasn’t sure if it was going to work, but…” he trailed off, gesturing to the bard triumphantly. “Wait, I can talk?” the bard said, looking blankly ahead. “I can talk!” he said once more, jumping up and enveloping you in a hug, swaying you from side to side as laughter rose from his chest. “Geralt!” he turned, ready to hug the Witcher, who instead simply moved to the side, making the bard hug the air for a moment before falling to the ground. “So he had to choose between…?” you started. “Staying with you and being a weight or leaving you, granting you freedom and financial sufficiency.” “Oh! You wouldn’t have been a weight, Jaskier! But either way, I’m happy it all worked out.” you looked at Jaskier, who was still sitting on the ground, and offered him a hand, pulling him up into a hug. “So, what’s the plan now? Are you still leaving? Or are you going to stay for a bit?” “We can spare a couple of days, right Geralt?” “I guess we can.”

You all walked back to your shop, you and Jaskier singing like fools and Geralt rolling his eyes every few steps. And as you slipped your hand in the bard’s, pulling him close into a quick kiss, you wondered if giving up your shop for some time in exchange for adventure was a smart decision. “Ah, life is short.” you muttered, knowing in your heart that you’d spend more than two days in their company. “What, love?” “Nothing.” you said smiling, pulling him into yet another kiss, the third of many more to come.

#jaskier x reader #jaskier x you #jaskier imagine #jaskier #geralt of rivia #the witcher #the witcher fanfic #jaskier fanfic #fanfic #the witcher netflix #fanfiction #writing

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cozycryptidcorner · 4 years

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The Mad Prince, Chapter Eight

“There will be some changes to your schedule. And you will be assigned a food taster, in case of poison. A full security detail will have to accompany you should you need to visit a public level, for whatever reason.”

You feel like barfing again as Elias recites a rather long, very detailed list about how your seriously your safety is going to be taken. Still, though, you sit on the provided chair, arms on the prince’s desk, as the assistant continues. Everything seems... too dark, suddenly, a dull, throbbing pain beginning to pinch on the inside of your skull. You know that breathing a word of complaint might put you on that psychopath’s medical table again, so you bear it, silently, looking over the provided datapad with feigned interest.

“Is this to your satisfaction, your highness?”

You realize that Elias is speaking to you, not the prince, so you swallow and offer up a nod. “Yeah, it looks good to me.”

He then turns to the prince, offering the same treatment. “Does this satisfy you, your grace?”

“I will look over it in more detail later,” the prince says calmly, “and you will reevaluate some of the steps.”

“Of course, sire.” Elias, at least, looks mildly relieved that he’s not about to end up on the platter in the dining area, “I will inform the head of security.”

“You are dismissed.” The prince looks back at you as his assistant leaves, arms crossed.

You don’t really know where to go from there, so you decide to take it a couple of steps at a time. All your things are being scanned for any remedial poisons and toxins, so the guns you brought are about to be found. Fun stuff. Oh, and some other… more scandalous things, you know, the stuff that you’ve been using in the absence of a partner. That’s going to be super fun to explain. You’re not quite sure which one is going to be more embarrassing to deal with, the laser technology or the vibrators. It’s a close call. And this is a new sensation, too, because you’ve never been super shy about either of those. In the very small amount of instances where either someone went through your stuff, or you had to send your bag through a security scan, you shrugged off the phallic shapes and dared someone to say something about it.

“Cool,” you say, mostly to yourself, “cool, cool, cool, cool.”

“I understand that this isn’t ideal,” the prince says, “and for that, I apologize.”

“Not your fault,” you say, trying to be understanding but allowing the full implications of this situation set in, “but thanks.”

“Is there anything I can have fetched for you?” The prince squeezes his hands together, his knuckles going a shade paler from his grip. “Books? Projects?”

“I want to take a nap.” The headache is spreading now, and all you would like to do is lay down and forget about existing for a little while.

“Of course, is there anything you’d like to sleep in, or are you fine now?”

“Blankets would be nice,” You say, already partly onto the bed. There aren’t any for you to wrap yourself up in, and you’d like to make yourself into a burrito to sleep.

True to his word, the prince orders some blankets up, and you have your pick of all the different materials the royal laundry has to offer. Large, thin, thick, fluffy, light, heavy. You grab the one that will provide the most comfort and roll yourself up, laying your head down on a pillow and closing your eyes. The sleep, at least, is like a sweet relief against the day’s worries, like a blissful blackout. When you wake, everything pitch dark, you have to blink to realize your eyes aren’t still closed. You also don’t sense an enormous, foreboding weight on the other side of the mattress, either, so you’re alone.

Hesitantly, you step out of the bed, feeling the ground for obstacles, and try to find your way out. Unfortunately, your shin crashes into something rather hard, so a string of curse words are out of your mouth before you can even stop the urge. When you take a second to breathe, you hear the skittering of pointed legs against the stone floor, and the lights turn on to a dim setting, the prince peeking his head through the door.

“You’re up,” he notices.

“What time is it? Already night?” You’re nowhere near the door and had been aiming for it in a slightly adjacent trajectory. Even if you hadn’t run into some sort of decorative statue, you would have then planted face-first into the wall only a moment later.

“It’s morning,” the prince says, “you slept through the rest of the day and through the night.”

“Incredible.” You say, somehow feeling thoroughly exhausted.

“I could turn the lights back off and let you go back to sleep? Oh, and there’s a lantern sensor on the table on your side of the bed, just touch the pad if you need to see.”

“I’m good, I probably need to face the day anyway.” You yawn, scratching your arm.

“Well,” his expression turns a tad hesitant, “your things are here, fully inspected by my security staff.”

That wakes you up as efficiently as getting a bucket of ice water dumped over your head. “Cool, that’s great. I’ll put on some clothes that actually fit me, then.”

“There’s also the matter of…” his voice trails off before he tries starting the sentence again. “Some of your things are considered contraband here.”

“I know.” Emit an aura of confidence. “But you know how I like having my safety in my own hands, so the guns stay.”

“That is acceptable, though you are aware that the outer shell of a drider is tough enough to take two or even three shots from your strongest rifle and still be able to fight?”

“Yeah?” You aren’t stupid. “The guns were there before you offered to teach me the fancy knife work.”

“I see.” He hesitates again, and you can see precisely what he wants to ask, but you let him flounder around because you hope that he will just choose not to bring it up. Oh, but no such luck, because he cocks his head and adds, “there is also something else found that I am, well, curious about.”

“Hm?” You ask, arching your eyebrows, hands on your hips.

“Several intriguingly shaped objects that seem to serve no function but to… well…”

A part of you enjoys watching him squirm, despite your own embarrassment. “Oh, did you not get the memo that humans tend to be creatures of sexual nature?”

“I…” he suddenly looks like he regrets bringing the subject up, “-did, but I suppose that I hadn’t realized that it was so... ferocious.”

“Well,” you stand on the tips of your toes to pat him on the shoulder, “I’ll spare you the more lewd details, doesn’t look like you can stomach it at the moment. Where did you say my stuff was?”

“Set against the front door.”

“Neat, thanks.”

It’s clear as day when you open your bags that they’ve been rifled through with great liberty. Still, after going through everything twice, you’re satisfied that all your stuff is still there, so you spin around and let out a muted sigh. “Any place I can put these?”

“My closet would be acceptable,” the prince says, working on something at his desk. His face seems… darker? More saturated? You wonder… could he be flushed? Is this what a flustered drider looks like?

You try not to laugh too loudly as you go to put your things away, organizing what you have among the prince’s clothes and accessories. Now that you have a moment, you figure you can go through his clothing just as a sort of preliminary investigation of what the prince (or the person who dresses him, at least) thinks is fashionable. Lots and lots of fluttery, light fabrics, robes, and tunics made to be seen by the careful eyes of a predator. You run your fingers over silky and scratchy threads, marveling at the textures, pulling some of the drapery out, so see how it falls back in place.

There aren’t really any sort of shoes, but there are a vast amount of accessories. Jewelry, for one, though you’ve never seen the prince wear anything more than rings and claws, but there are nose rings, earrings, necklaces, crowns, you name it, he has it, in black, silver, and even white. Now there’s a color you didn’t think you would see since you left the Starward Matchmaker™ ship. An older instinct inside of you wants to reach out and snatch at the metal and gemstones, and it’s something you have to actively fight against because you’re fingers always want to grab first, ask questions later.

Calmly, you turn around to gather up clothes to get into. By the time you’re changed, there’s already food sitting on the table for you to eat, so you hop right onto the human-sized chair across from the prince, who is already settled in his place. Oh, the spread is downright beautiful, a collection of foods both familiar and not, you’re so stupidly hungry that you go through a whole helping before you even taste anything. No one tells you that on top of being tired all the time from the extra gravity, you also end up being fucking famished because you’re exerting yourself more than usual. Your poor body’s burning calories up the wazoo as it struggles to adjust.

“About the doctor’s appointments,” the prince says, poking at his own food, “there aren’t many doctors with as much intimate knowledge on human anatomy as Doctor Nisesh.”

You look at him, but don’t say anything back.

“There is, however, a drow medical professional willing to become your doctor, if that suits you?”

You offer a nod.

He lets out a breath, as though he was expecting more of an argument, for whatever reason. “Well, I will send word. I’d like for you to have a preliminary exam as soon as possible, today, even, unless you have other plans?”

“Oh, hold on, let me look at my schedule.” You pull out your datapad’s calendar, which is decidedly empty. “Nope, looks like I can squeeze it in.”

“Excellent.” He seems pleased, at least, and you aren’t sure if its because you aren’t putting up a fight or he found your joke amusing. “I hope you will forgive me, but I will be in meetings for most of the day, there are some things I have been putting aside in lieu of, well, your arrival. Elias and another guard will escort you to and from my family’s private clinic.”

“Ooo, a whole clinic just for you and your family? I’m always so used to having to share those medical offices with everyone else in the area who needed them! I feel so darn special already.” Internally, you berate yourself for being just a wee bit too sarcastic, but he doesn’t seem at all bothered by your classy snark. Still, you try to dial it back significantly, even though you feel ridiculously cranky.

True to the prince’s word, Elias shows up a little bit later, his black uniform crisp and sharp in the dim light, shadowed by some kind of similarly uniformed drow, gun strapped to their hip. You’re already dressed, so you shove your datapad in your back pocket, say goodbye to the prince, and follow the assistant out into the halls. This floor’s decorations are significantly more rustic than the one above, like the prince’s room itself, with objects and statues you are sure probably date back a couple hundred or so generations. You’re very careful to keep your hands at your sides, afraid that you might accidentally move too weird and knock a millennia-old artifact onto the floor.

There are keys to the elevators, or, at least, for this level, which you suppose makes sense. It’s the same with stations and the like, the restricted areas kept under a keycode, but surely there has to be some sort of stairwell or tunnel that these people can use in the case of emergency. You would think, anyway. Lolth wasn’t always so technologically advanced, so they must like a tunnel system, maybe even air vents that go straight up to the surface dug when the atmosphere on this hellish planet was still breathable.

“Pardon me for asking, your grace, but your maid reported that you request that you speak to her in a plainer tone.” Elias breaks the ice, surprisingly. You thought that you might have to suffer the ride in stifling propriety.

“You can say ‘my bodyguard,’ it’s ok,” you say, unable to reel the retort in before it left your mouth. “And yes, I did. The constant respect got on my nerves, so I asked to be demoted to just ‘ma’am,’ if the titles are all that necessary.”

“I see,” Elias nods like he understands, “would you appreciate it if I did the same?”

It’s like a breath of fresh air, being spoken to like you’re on the same level, but you approach the offer with great trepidation. After all, this is the prince’spersonal assistant, the two of them might be colluding over the little bet you made. “I would, actually, if you don’t mind my, um, lack of formality. I know it bothers some of the staff.”

“My purpose here is to make you feel welcome, so if I must hold back a margin of bureaucratic language, then that is a sacrifice I’m sure the keias will understand.”

“Well, then, that sounds good to me, so long as you don’t get in trouble for it.”

An uncomfortable silence threatens to befall the elevator pod, but you’re saved by the doors opening. Elias exits first, and you get a decent view of the intricate, smooth braids his white hair is done up in. The twists are stiff, the kind that comes with an inordinate amount of product clinging to the strands, though the rest of his hair spill out like a frothing waterfall. The intricate hairstyles, especially from the staff, are just one of the ways everything is different from what you’re used to. With shorter hair comes efficiency, or, at least, the appearance of it, so most people you know have, at the very most, have shoulder-length cuts.

The guard stays behind you, as though watching for any attacks that might dare aim for your back. You aren’t one hundred percent positive, what with the assassination attempt and all, but you don’t really peg the driders as a people who would pull such a disgraceful maneuver, drows, though? You’re not so sure about them. Humanity is known for discriminating against their own on the basis of faked biology, so you aren’t exactly blown away and scandalized by the fact some other species does it as well, it’s just… well, eerie it to actually see it in action. Human slaves rebelled. You would think that the drow are doing the same, only everything nasty about the world is probably carefully shifted away from your view.

You’re on the same floor as the garden, so this must be where all the extra stuff besides living and eating quarters must be, a sort of recreational deck, you guess. Kind of like the space cruiser. The station is close by, and the ride to the clinic was rather peaceful. While you try asking Elias questions about himself, his life, the prince, and the prince’s family, he reacts… very dodgy, and the longest answers he gives are oh so very clearly scripted. You’re not stupid.

“You can just say that you’re not at liberty to talk about those things, it will be less obvious.”

Elias looks over at you again, his face tight with carefully restrained emotion. “I apologize. There are things that I would think would be better coming from the keias directly, rather than from me.”

“Alright.” You hold your hands up in mock surrender. “I’m sorry for poking at you.”

The rest of the ride continues in silence. You’re almost relieved that you can stand and walk out of the station, a small one, much like the one from the palace, with no other people present. It must be some kind of private platform, which honestly makes sense. The clinic looks familiar, but given the fact you spent the last time you were here in a drugged up like a sick dog, you can’t really say that you’d be able to find your way around. Before you can even look over to Elias for a pointer on which sliding door to enter through, someone wearing a lab coat steps out.

“Ah! My human patient,” an elderly drow female, her hair silver, “welcome, welcome. I am Doctor Eidel, I was told I would be expecting you today.”

With all the cold, distant reactions from everyone else you’ve met, having such a legitimately warm greeting puts you at ease, despite the very real possibility of a fucking war criminal lurking in around in the brightly decorated halls. “Thank you, hi.”

“Well, I’ve got the file the Starward Matchmakers sent out, so why don’t we step aside in one of the rooms and begin? Would you be comfortable with your party remaining present or waiting just out in the hall?”

The fact you even get a choice fills you with more relief than you can possibly describe. Turning to Elias and the guard, you say, “sorry, I know we’ve been bonding, but I don’t think we’re on the level of you seeing me naked quite yet. Not even-” the prince has that privilege, yet, you don’t say, because that might be going just a tad bit far. “I mean, I’d just appreciate the privacy.”

Absolutely no fight from either of them, probably just as equally opposed to the idea, so you follow the doctor into a room. She hands you a loose hospital gown for you to change into, and leaves you alone. All very basic doctor stuff, with no threats of experimentation and disembowelment. Boy howdy are you glad to have changed medical professionals, huh. The checkup is just like any other you’ve undergone, the doctor quick to look over just the basic health things, then goes over anything else you might be ‘concerned’ with.

“Alright, we’ve got some basic painkillers for your headaches, though it’s not going to be a permanent solution.” Doctor Eidel writes something on her datapad with a white electric pen.

“Are there any... ‘permanent solutions’ in the making?” You can’t imagine having to deal with this forever… though the idea of even being on one planet for the rest of your life gives you a heavy bout of vertigo.

“I’m afraid it’s just a simple matter of biology.” She sets aside the clipboard. “If you were born here, perhaps, it wouldn’t be such a large issue. But since you grew up in a place with smaller gravity- a mining station, correct?”

“Yes,” you say, your voice slightly smaller.

“My suggestion would be that you are going to have to take breaks from the gravity as to not strain your body. Every couple of cycles, you will need to spend, at the very least, equal time back in an area with the same force of gravity as what you are used to. The keias has been trying to find some other fix that would keep you here, on this planet, but I’m afraid that the simplest solution is often the best.”

Again, that feeling of entrapment creeping into your bones. “I- I see, thank you so much for your honesty.”

Again, she picks up her datapad and electric pen, scribbling something else done. “Well, following on the note of honesty, the queen wants a genetic compatibility and fertility test done on you.”

“But- um, I thought the Starward Matchmakers™ do some sort of similar test?” A bolt of panic runs through your spine.

“They do a basic overview, which is as good as a guessing game. However, given the sudden paleness of your skin, I will just pretend that I haven’t seen the message until after you leave.”

Relief numbs your panic, and you let out a breath. “Thank you, yes, I don’t really want you digging around up there right now.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” she takes her gloves off, “there’s only a certain amount of things you can avoid before she gets demanding. I’d suggest you talk to the keias so you can hide behind him.”

Well, given the earlier conversation involving dildos and the way he behaved, you aren’t sure he would be a whole lot of help in that regard, but you suppose you might have to give it a try. “Alright.”

“Well then, I’ll leave you to get dressed and order that medication. Don’t bother waiting, I’m sure there are a thousand security measures to get through before you so much as see a pill, so they’ll just be sent up to where you’re staying.” She taps her forehead with the back of her pen. “I’ll also give the prince a very mild suggestion that you get a couple of trips up into a neighboring moon resort in the near future, so your bones to catch a break.”

“Got it, thank you so much.” You mean it, too, this was probably the most candid conversation you’ve had since you got here. Once your clothes are back on, you leave as the doctor instructed, finding Elias and the security guard waiting out in the hall for you to emerge. You give neither of them any updates on your health, it’s not like it’s any of their business, anyway, so you’re rather silent as you get back in the car of the train and try to chill.

As you arrive back in the palace, stepping out of the car and into the courtyard area. Calmly, you look over at Elias as two other figures approach, large and terrifyingly quick, because you are still new to the whole drider royalty thing, and you aren’t sure how you’re supposed to handle this. Politely? Snarkily? Honestly, you’re in the mood for the latter, so you cross your arms in preparation for dealing with some ridiculous bullshit. You recognize one of them, the vice-marshal, he’s the one who gave you that shakedown when you first arrived. Little does he know that without the Starward Matchmaker™ representative to witness your transgressions, you suddenly feel an absolute lack of fear towards him.

“Well, well, well,” he drawls, looking you over, “you seem to be taking the gravity well.”

“Yeah!” You change your voice to the perkiest, sweetest customer service tone you can muster. “Doc says I’m doing pretty well, how super is that?”

“Super,” he echoes, clearly disgusted by the word in itself. “Now, don’t take this the wrong way, little lady, but my wife and I were rather worried when we heard about the security upgrades. A kidnapping attempt, perhaps? Or even worse, an assassination?”

Elias decides to step in, “a thousand apologies, vice-marshal,” damn, you’re getting some deja vu, you wonder how many times he has to say that every day, “but I’m afraid I must escort our lady back to the keias.”

” Of course,” the vice-marshal waves his hand in Elias’ general direction, “wouldn’t want Aksanoskeias getting all worried, now. He might wonder if his new fiance is dead, like the other one.”

#drider/reader #exophilia #monster boyfriend #monster/reader

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mysterioh · 4 years

Text

The Ignorant Beauty and The Beast of New York - Chapter 2

PAIRING: MOB!STEVE ROGERS X READER

Synopsis: Y/N is an exhausted bio major. Steve is danger with a capital DANGER. She thinks he’s a sarcastic prick with an impressive knowledge in art history. He thinks she’s cute even if she’s only running on one brain cell. All he wants is a single date, but she’s adamant upon denying.

Masterlist

Death of a College Student

“Excuse me?” you questioned incredulously and a bit freaked out.

Steve gave you a charming yet crooked smile, taking note of your features with great detail. Your brows were knitted in confusion and mouth ajar in disgust. Your form leaning towards him in a primal state of attack with your hand tightly wrapped around your bag. Ready to swing if he decided to call you sweetheart one more time.

He found it rather endearing. Attractive would be the best word. Very attractive. Steve knew he was a bit unhinged, probably had something to do with his line of work , and that he did just meet you like two minutes ago but damn did he like you.

The way you held yourself. Firm and bold in front of a man you had to look up at to get a good look in the eyes. Your curt responses and brash attitude. He liked it all very much. Bonus points for having a cute face. Extra credit for possibly being a fellow Brooklynite.

"Sorry," he chuckled, "I didn't mean it in that way. I say stupid stuff sometimes."

“Then maybe you shouldn’t talk at all,” you snapped, quickly turning on your heel to walk away.

“Come on, now. If I didn’t talk, you would’ve been stuck in front of the painting for hours,” he pointed out, following behind you like a lost puppy. You grunted at his reply. He was right, but that didn’t give him the right to call you sweetheart. “I helped you and don’t you think I deserve some compensation for my contribution?”

You stop and turn to him. “Right of course,” you said, starting to rummage through your bag. Steve smiles, already thinking of what kind of coffee he’d like to get. You take his hand a put something in it. He looks down to find a dirty penny in his hand. “A penny for your thoughts,” you smiled then turned to leave.

Steve laughs heartily. Extra extra credit for a horrible yet good sense of humor. He wasn’t ready to quit just yet and quickly approached you, walking by your side. You huffed then turned to him.

“What am I gonna have to do for you to leave me alone?” you spat.

“Ahh, so you are from Brooklyn,” he pointed at you.

You groaned and he almost awwed. “Listen, asshat, I will not hesitate to break that pretty nose of yours,” you threatened.

“You think my nose is pretty? That’s kinda weird, but I’ll take the compliment,” Steve smiled teasingly. “I think you’re pretty cute overall,” he stated.

You jump back a little when he drops that on you. Receiving compliments was scarce, especially ones about your looks from gorgeous men. A light blush slowly creeps onto your cheeks and for the first time that morning, you didn’t know how to respond.

“Alright how about I help ya?” Steve offered.

“Help me?”

“Yeah, you’re doing some project, right?” You nodded. “And you probably have no idea what to write.” Another nod. “Then I’ll help ya. I’ll be the Rosalind Franklin to your Weston and Crack.”

“It’s Watson and Crick,” you corrected.

“Uh-uh, no science talk,” he wagged his finger. “We don’t do that around here. This is holy ground and we only speak in the language of the arts.”

You roll your eyes at him, but don’t say anything to deny his offer. He was right. You were probably going to fail this project if he didn’t help you. So why not just take it? If he made a move, you could just kick him in the balls and make a run for it.

You sighed. “Fine, I’ll let you help me.”

Steve beams when you accept and you couldn’t help but smile just a little. “Great let’s go.” He motions you to follow.

“Woah, woah, woah,” you stopped him. “You don’t even know what I’m supposed to be doing.”

“Right,” he chuckled awkwardly. “Mind explaining?”

“So I have to look at three works of art in this place and write how I feel about it,” you informed. “My professor gave us a list of things that are the most famous. I already have two. So I guess we can just go to the next one on the list?”

“Sure,” he shrugs.

“Right, so next on the list is-uh…,” you glance over the paper in your hand. “The Death of Socrates.”

“Ah, a classic,” Steve says, walking down the hall.

“You know your way around here?” you asked, with your map in hand.

“Yeah,” he said.

“Do you work here or something?”

Steve shakes his head with a chuckle. “No, just a humble lover of the arts.”

Left at the end of the corridor and right at the next then walking straight down the hall brought you to the painting of the great philosopher Socrates.

“Oh, I’ve seen this before,” you pointed at it. “We talked about this in class.”

“Yeah? What did you talk about?”

“Dunno wasn’t listening,” you shrugged.

Steve turns slightly towards you with an incredulous look.

“Please don’t yell at me again,” you told him.

“I won’t, but you’re making it so hard not to,” he replied, turning his body back to the painting. “Now tell me, what period is this from?” You had to have at least caught that.

“Renaissance,” you took a jab. When all else fails it had to be the Renaissance.

“Wrong.” he deadpanned. “It’s Neoclassical.” As if you knew what that meant. “You’re hopeless,” he said. “You sure you’re not failing this class?”

“For your information, I have a high B,” you retorted, hands on your hips.

“Okay,” he said doubtfully. “Neoclassical refers to a period after the Baroque. It’s simpler in terms of its style while the one prior to this was extravagant in its technique. The best thing about this painting is that it’s the perfect statement of Neoclassical technique. The stark simplicity of their statues and the focus on Ancient Greek and Roman anatomy... ”

The guy goes on for what felt like hours and it all just goes through one ear and out the other. You quickly write down some important notes about the technique. Something to do with a focal point and the direction the natural eye would move. Blah blah blah.

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Yeah, I’m listening,” you replied, scribbling down words onto a notebook. He takes the book from your hands. “Hey!”

“You’ll learn better if you listen with all your attention. Bet you when you get home, you’re not gonna understand any of this.” He said, shaking the notebook in his hand. You yanked the notebook from his hand but listened.

“So as I was saying,” he continued, making you huff and cross your arms. “Notice how muted the colors are towards the outside of the painting and how it becomes more vibrant in the center. And why do you think that is?”

“I don’t know,” you shrugged, “Cause he’s in the middle?”

“Exactly,” he grins. “And why is that so important?”

The look in your eyes is blank and said: you’re asking too much of me . Steve sighs then pointed at the painting with emphasis. “Don’t you see it?”

“I wouldn’t be asking you for help if I did,” you snapped.

“Socrates is the subject-matter. This entire painting is about his death.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

He ignores your sassy remark and continues. “Look at everyone else. They’re distraught. Broken-hearted that their beloved teacher is being forced to poison himself just because his beliefs differ from the rest of Athens,” he explained. “But look at Socrates. He stands tall. He’s not afraid of dying. Cause he knows he’s dying for what he thinks is right. He takes it as an honor. When everyone else around him is falling, he’s still strong in the face of death.”

“Man, you’re really good at this.”

Steve hunches over with a sigh. “You haven’t listened to a word I just said, did you?”

“I did!” you assured, turning back to the painting. “I think it brings about the question. How far are you willing to go for what you believe in? Even if it brought you to death, would you still stick to it?”

Steve laughs with a shake of the head. Your brows furrow in confusion.

“Was I wrong?” you inquired.

“No,” he chuckled. “It’s just I wasn’t expecting so much from you. You caught me off guard there.”

“Jerk,” you murmured, writing a few words into your notebook for memory. You clicked the top of your pen with a satisfied smile. It was finally time to go home.

“So about that coffee?” Steve recalled with a wickedly handsome grin.

You groan internally, forgetting he was right there. Now it was time for an escape.

“Oh my god! Look!” you exclaimed, pointing behind him. He turns to look and finds nothing.

“I don’t see anything,” he shakes his head. He turns towards you or where you were supposed to be. All he found was a figure of dust and you halfway across the room. He could’ve caught up to you, but this time he decided to let you go. He chuckles to himself. She’s cute. She’s really cute.

TAGLIST

@scuzmunkie @achishisha @rootcrop

A/N: Hi! If you want to be tagged pls ask or msg me. This is a sideblog so I can’t reply :( but if you do it’s fine! I just won’t reply!

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #mob!steve #steve rogers #mafia!steve #mafia steve rogers x reader

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robertdowneyhiddlesbatch · 3 years

Text

Chapter 4: Purpose

warnings: anatomy/talk of sex

Myrena was expecting an earth shattering roar to wake her, buried under the collapsed mountain. She was happily surprised to find herself awoken in bed by the sound of birds. She stared up into the abyss, listening to their twitters and tapping beaks. Myrena had no way to tell what time of day it was from deep within a mountain. After a while, she forced herself out of bed and dragged her feet to the giant basin of water. The water was unforgivingly cold on her face, but she needed that to wake up. Myrena left the room after washing up, ready to start her day.

This round, she took her time to look around her surroundings. They were underground; the ceiling probably reaching beyond the skies if she had to guess. It was perhaps a kingdom of some race back in its day. A hundred chambers lined this way and that; ruins of stairs going all the way up and all the way down. This place was a shadow of its former glory, she'd guess. Of course, with a dragon living in it now, nothing else could. Speaking of, Myrena wondered where her host had gone to.

She picked a random room of choice, and to her joy found a great big window. Myrena ran to it and stepped out on the terrace. Oh was the morning breeze a blessing! Having closed her eyes to enjoy the cool, she opened them again to look out. In front of her was a clearing, beyond which began the forest. To its left was a lake. Myrena felt as if she were a child again. Gathering her inner strength in a deep breath, she ran and leapt to the terrace next door.

Her landing was successful, but her wounds from yesterday punished her. Ignoring the stings, Myrna continued running and leaping till the lake was front and center. She closed her eyes again, feeling the wind blow the water gently in her face. Suddenly, the air froze and her eyes snapped open, danger looming. Myrena leaned over the railing, watching the water rumble. Then without warning, a red flash leapt out of the lake, showering her with lake water. It would have been more fun if fish weren't part of that experience.

"You're awake!" She was sure the voice boomed across the world.

"What are you doing?'' she screamed up at Smaug.

"Going. For. A dip." He answered as he twirled higher up, showering her more.

Myrena laughed and waved him off, going back in to change her clothes.

There was a pile of clothes in another part of her room. Myrena didn't dare think where the dragon could have picked them up from. As she began to take off her soaking dress, the cloth weighed heavy on her shoulders, causing her body to ache. She grunted as she used her strength to push the sleeve down her shoulder, the wound on her oblique stinging painfully.

"Need a hand?"

Myrena yelped as she turned to face Smaug standing in the doorway, hands clasped behind his back, wearing his red coat and black leather pants again. The only sign that he'd been in the water was the curly hair on his head, sticking to his forehead.

"Um, I know this is your home, but can't a girl have some privacy?" Myrena was half serious as she covered her chest.

Smaug laughed a throaty laugh that went up the caverns of the room.

"And who, may I ask, bound you in the first place?" He curiously pointed at her with a knuckle.

Myrena looked down herself. Her wounds had been patched and wrapped, and the dress on her shoulders was not her own. Her cheeks stung with shame.

"You've... seen me. Naked."

"Ah, only to necessity. You seem to forget I am not man, your human hesitations do not apply to me."

"Right. Well then, Mr. Dragon. I've soaked through my dress and bandages thanks to you. So if you wouldn't mind?"

She teased him and stood up to stand toe to toe with him, suggesting he undo the strings on her torso. Smaug smirked and grabbed the top of her dress, and in one go, ripped it straight down the middle. She instinctively moved her arms to cover her chest and groin, but found it silly. Her breast wrappings from days ago was still bound tightly around her chest, and her underwear was also still on, though both were threatening to fall from the weight of the water. For a dragon, Smaug was pretty chivalrous.

"I need to take them off." Myrena simply told him and turned away, back towards the bed.

The end of the wrap was tucked into the binding just below her left armpit. But her right shoulder killed her as she reached to the other side to peel it off. It took the breath out of her just the first unwrapping, and she rested after it.

"Need a hand?" Smaug asked again as he came behind her.

"No! Don't rip it! I don't assume you've got more under wraps?"

"Never needed them."

Myrena laughed.

"Great. I'll just..." she reached for it again, now hanging below her right arm, straining as she did. Smaug huffed and grabbed it instead, unwrapping it all the way.

"Darn." Myrena exhaled instead of thanking him. "The bandages."

"I've done it before," Smaug offered.

"Thank you. But I had my wrap on then. Now I don't..." she squealed before she could finish. Smaug had grown tired and, turning her around, lifted her in his arms and placed her on the bed.

"For the last time, and you remember it well, now. I am a dragon. I don't care for your human trivialities. Either you can shut up and let me do you, which isn't something I do for anyone else, or you can suffer in your pain and help yourself!" Smaug told her all in one breath, and Myrena watched him, too stunned to speak.

"I'll take your silence for your consent. Now, I'll warn you. It may sting a little."

That was his only warning as he began to redo her bandages. She hissed when he dabbed the healing potions on her wounds, but never complained.

"Thank you," Myrena said when he was almost done.

Smaug half smiled. "I was beginning to think you were the ungrateful kind. It takes you a minute to appreciate." He stepped back when his work was done.

Myrena stood up to put on the dress, thankful that this one didn't have strings. It did have buttons on the back of the collar, which she could no doubt ask Smaug to do for her. Smaug's kindness had reached its cap and he let her get the dress on herself. It took her longer than usual, but eventually she got it on. As she was dressing, Myrena noticed Smaug play with a bird. The little thing flittered around his head then came to sit on his offered finger.

"You don't eat birds?"

"Eat birds?" He turned her way. "Why would I eat birds? Do you think a bird would satisfy me?"

Myrena suddenly remembered the night she'd seen his dragon form. He'd eaten all her assailants, and her horse too.

"You'd have to eat a whole forest."

"Eh, I wouldn't. Birds clean my teeth for me, eating the stuff stuck in between. Kind of a co dependent relationship."

"Interesting. Speaking of eating..." she looked guiltily at him.

"Right. Any interest in fish?" He lead her out of the room.

Myrena laughed, realizing he meant the ones that he'd 'given' her in the morning.

"As long as it's cooked." She followed him into the terrace room.

The terrace was still wet, with a heap of fish lying about. The room had a furnace as well, on which she could cook her breakfast. Myrena collected the better looking fish and brought them into the room. She cut off their heads with the blade she'd brought with her, and fixed them on to the spit.

"Can you, light the fire?" She curiously asked him, wondering if he'd have to turn into his full form.

Thankfully, he didn't. Smaug went up to the furnace and crouched next to it. Then he took in a big breath and blew, hot streams of fire coming up from his throat and lighting the coal. Myrena sat opposite him, turning the spit.

"Does that not burn you? In your human form?"

"Not really. It feels like it always does. A tickle in the back of the throat."

As he went on describing it, Myrena got up and brought more fish from the terrace, replacing the cooked ones with some of the raw.

"You said I'm the only one you've ever helped."

"Hmm?"

"Back in the room, you said I was the only person you were ever going to help. What makes me so special?"

Smaug mused. "I've been stalking your legend, ghost bride. The night you first saw me was not the first time I'd seen you."

"And you decided I was helpless?" She playfully suggested while popping a piece of fish in her mouth.

Smaug laughed. "No, you're quite the opposite really. I decided..." he paused for effect, "that you would be my mate."

Her eyes grew ten fold. "I... Because I look like a dragon?"

"Metaphorically. You've got dragon traits; the solitude, the strength, the determination." Smaug had golfed down his second raw fish.

"When you say mate. I assume, would include... the act..." Myrena blushed.

"Yes." Smaug stated matter of factly.

"In your human form of course?" There was no possible other way.

"Initially." He stated.

"Initially?!" She choked. "You think you'd fit?" Her legs reflexively closed.

"Hah! Mortal, I have talons longer than your arms."

The red of her cheeks reached the tip of her ears.

"Oh! We can't be possible! I'm afraid just thinking about it!"

"Lovely! You're just worried about the length. The barbs would be no trouble for you, yes?"

"B-barbs? There are... barbs?! They'll cut!"

"They serve their purpose. When we mate for the first time, the barbs will surely cut you, but that'll allow my seed to get into your blood." He ate. "As my mate, you'll need to be changed, my chemicals would have to bind with yours, change your chemistry. Make you turn."

His mouth made a clicking sound, releasing his fangs which startled Myrena.

"My fangs will release a venom in your blood..."

"But venom kills."

"Yes. But with my seed running in your blood as well, the two will work to match your chemistry to mine."

"What if I object?"

"You don't have the choice. It'll be easier for you to accept your fate."

"So what?" Myrena stormed up, and Smaug followed suit. "You'll force me to marry you? Subject me to you? Like, like him?"

Smaug growled and roughly pinned her next to the fireplace.

"iiigh am not like other men! You have no master except Smaug!" He bellowed, but calmed for the next part of his dialogue, though the anger was still there. "I will only force you to be my mate, and the sire bond that will be between us. But beyond that, you'll go about as you always have: with your free will."

Angry as he was, no one had ever offered her the life this dragon currently was. It may have been his mating instinct talking, but she'd trade her whole town for this dragon.

"What if, I don't know?" She meekly asked.

"Don't know what?"

"How to... how to mate."

Smaug laughed a deep laugh.

"You don't know how to mate?"

"Well I get the basic sense of it, but I don't know all the rituals."

"We dragons just, get it in, let it out and done." He finally let go and walked back to his seat.

Myrena laughed. "Well that's very banal! I hope that's not how humans do it."

"Your mother never taught you?"

Myrena stalled in her step, then took her seat before answering.

"My mother died before I was of age."

"I'm... sorry." Smaug said mutely. "I picked up the sentiment from watching mortals for quite some time." He explained when she gave him a puzzled look. "Who else is in your pride?"

"My family? Well, I'm the oldest of three. There's Beorn after me, then Feomer. The both of them took after our father, greedy and evil and insults to our race! But then there was Quince. Oh, little Quincy! He was born... different. The other two didn't accept him, neither did our father. But mother and I loved him. He was all I had after mother died. I took him to the monks before my wedding."

"Wedding." Smaug stated the word, but his heart burned with the thought. "You married?" He got off his seat, heading for the door.

Myrena suddenly remembered back two minutes ago when he'd proclaimed her as his mate. She felt bad for him, for the two of them, and followed after.

"Only the ceremony. We never consummated."

"I suppose you need more of your clothes." Smaug changed the topic. "There's a town by the foot of the mountain on the other side. You're welcome to visit it if you like." He told her and turned away towards his treasury.

"I will. Thanks for letting me know." Myrena called after him, letting him go in peace.

@tschrist1

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#rdhb #the lonely dragon #cumber!smaug

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bettertodayherbaldrop · 3 years

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youdonknowaboutme · 4 years

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Vulnerability is Chicken Soup for the Soul

I go to a class on anxiety and depression every Tuesday at a local church here in Nampa. Recently, we talked about the importance of vulnerability. My mind immediately went to the relationships within my inner circle. 2019 brought a lot of darkness in my life, but my friendships added consistency. I spent the whole year focusing on building deeper relationships with my friends and I found myself in the process.

Roller Derby is a huge part of my life, as I dedicate 3 nights a week for practices. Some people are intrigued when I tell them, others get tired of me talking about it constantly, and some actually enjoy keeping tabs on my journey as a skater for the Beet City Bombers.

I remember my very first scrimmage. There were a million things going on at once and I was the epitome of a deer in the headlights. The team was split into blacks and white. The only advice anyone could give me was to stay with my color and never be alone. Other than that, being thrown into the lion’s cage was the only way I ever learned. In derby, everyone learns the hard way. I remember standing on a lineup of blockers with this chick who just looked like she knew what she was doing. And here is me...scared shitless, but excited to take some real hits. I said, “Please, can you help me? I don’t know what I’m doing!” She just looked at me and said, “You don’t want to follow me. I’m a runner.” The whistle blew a few seconds later and she was nowhere to be found. This was the first time I ever met Slaybretooth Tiger.

My second encounter with Tiger was at an after party, where she told me all about how she just moved here to be with the love of her life. I was surprised she was even talking to me because I thought she hated my guts. “I don’t hate you,” she said. “That’s just my face.” This was the first time we really connected. I always wanted to be friends with her but I couldn’t tell if she wanted to be my friend back. For all I knew, I could have just been another body on the track to her.

January 2019 rolled around and she agreed to meet me for coffee. I had been bugging her for weeks and she kept canceling. I no longer take offense to this because I know now that this woman just really hates leaving the warmth of her own home. She finally met me at the Flying M and we were there for 3 hours talking about anything and everything. In that moment, I knew that she would end up being my best friend eventually.

After that day, we started messaging each other on the daily. We confided in each other by talking about our daily struggles. I definitely felt like I wasn’t alone. I wanted to ask her to be my derby wife (derby slang: BFF on the team). Tiger and I drove to a derby bout together and on the way home, we listened to her “biography” playlist. This woman had a song for every significant moment in her life from birth to present day in order! I also had a biography playlist of my own, so naturally...

Fuck it, I had to ask her.

She accepted, with the Goo Goo Dolls blasting in the background.

We started putting on our makeup together on game days. Braiding her hair and listening to “My Favorite Murder” became our tradition. I surprise her with brownies and ice cream on her bad days. She makes sure I have coffee on the mornings we hang out. When I had an emotional breakdown at our away game in Jackson Hole, she allowed me to cry in her arms even though that’s not her thing. And you better believe that I did the same thing for her when she felt that way.

Grey’s Anatomy fans everywhere know that famous line where Christina looks into Meredith’s eyes and says, “You’re my person.” It was such a powerful moment in television history because these two characters who had been through so much together were finally acknowledging that they were best friends. Tiger is my person and if it wasn’t for Roller Derby, I probably would have never even met her. The truth is, both of us were at a point in our lives where we just needed someone to say, “I’ve got you boo.” We are different in so many ways but I think that’s what makes our friendship so unique. We have just spent a lot of time trying to figure each other out.

We really do have a lot of things in common though:

- We both hate being cold more than anything

- We are definitely not morning people

- We could spend an entire day binge-watching The L Word and drinking wine

- We are satisfied by going to a bar just to watch people act like fools

- We equally agree that cookie dough is best with more dough and less chocolate chips

- We value beautiful lyrics, but love girl rap at the same time

- Alanis Morissette is our queen

It’s kind of funny because when I told my parents that our team had to pick emergency buddies, my mom knew immediately who I chose. “She knows to call me in case of an emergency, right? We are friends on Facebook!” For the record...yes mom, she knows.

The more I get to know Tiger, the more amazed I am with her strength. When I came to my team, I really admired her skating abilities and how much she took charge on the track. Inside her tough exterior is a woman who wears many hats. She’s my derby wife and best friend. She’s my former captain...Director of Training...Cancer survivor...and a mom. She conquers everything she does, even if she doesn’t always think so.

When I decided to finally get counseling, I had to figure out exactly what I wanted out of it. She said, “Tell them that you want to love yourself as much as your best friend does.” I want the same for her, which is why I won’t stop my sappiness. Words of affirmation is my love language and she’s just going to have to deal with me telling her how great she is every day.

I’m a vulnerable person and most people would call me an open book. I always used to think that being vulnerable was my biggest weakness, but recently I started to see that it’s actually my greatest strength. Being friends with someone who is opposite from me in that way was new for me. I remember constantly apologizing to Tiger because I felt like I was pushing her too much to open up to me. I remind myself that she doesn’t have to tell me anything, she chooses too. Every time she tells me something that’s hard to talk about, I’m thankful that she was able to share it with me. We probably wouldn’t be as close as we are now if we didn’t let each other in.

To my best friend...if you are reading this,

Thank you for letting me into your world. You are the Karen to my Georgia.

🍑🐯🍑🐯🍑🐯

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calzona-ga · 4 years

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SPOILER ALERT: The story includes details about the season-finale episode of ABC’s Grey’s Anatomy. While it wasn’t the planned ending, tonight’s Season 16 finale of ABC’s Grey’s Anatomy, written by Mark Driscoll and Tameson Duffy and directed by Deborah Pratt, was fitting. Indeed, this season was cut short due to the halting of production in response to the COVID-19 pandemic.

You can’t be the longest-running medical drama on television without overcoming some challenges, and Grey’s already has proved its ability to pivot when the unexpected happens. The production shutdown was is the second major curveball for the show this season after original cast member Justin Chambers’ abrupt exit. No word on whether the four unproduced episodes from Season 16 will roll over to the next season. But this episode, titled “Put on a Happy Face,” had enough to tide us over until Season 17.

Let’s start on a positive highlight. After Richard (James Pickens Jr.) experienced hallucinations as well as a very intense and very public breakdown, fans feared that they might be losing another veteran Grey/Sloane surgeon. Determined not to accept his Alzheimer’s diagnosis, Meredith Grey (Ellen Pompeo) and Andrew DeLuca (Giacomo Gianniotti) worked around the clock to pinpoint the problem, with DeLuca coming through with a game-changing discovery: His dementia was a result of cobalt poisoning from a hip replacement surgery.

Not a hard fix. Dr. Link (Chris Carmack) was brought in to remove the cobalt, and it appears that Webber is on the road to recovery with his health. However, his marriage to Catherine is not out of the danger zone. Turns out the hallucinations had nothing to do with his marital discord. “Did you stand by me while I was being fired? You buy my hospital to humiliate me, or is that my mind playing tricks, too,” Webber contends before sternly kicking Catherine out of the room.

Meanwhile, DeLuca, who has been exhibiting erratic behavior and angry outbursts all season, isn’t able to bask in his incredible catch. Instead, has a breakdown of his own — signaling that it might be time to address his bipolar disorder-like symptoms, which are similar to his father’s.

DeLuca and Grey have become quite the medical duo this season but still couldn’t figure out how to make their romantic relationship work. It’s unclear where that will land next season as a new contender entered midseason — and he goes by the name of Dr. Cormac Hayes (Richard Flood). The two seem to have a connection, though it appears to be on a friendly level at this point (Hayes was a present sent to Meredith by “her person” Cristina Yang). Could this be the next Grey’s love triangle?

Elsewhere, Amelia Shepherd (Caterina Scorsone) finally had her baby! And she opted not to have an epidural because she’s an addict, and the epidural has fentanyl in it. While baby daddy Link wasn’t able to be present during the birth (he was performing the surgery on Webber), she had fellow “pregnancy club” sister Miranda Bailey (Chandra Wilson) by her side. The two share a tender moment when Bailey hops on the bed to support Amelia as she is giving birth, calling back to the time when late George O’Malley (T. R. Knight) did the same for Bailey during her labor back in Season 2.

Alas, not everyone got a happy ending. Owen Hunt (Kevin McKidd) and Teddy Altman (Kim Raver) were set to walk down the aisle, but Teddy needed her one last go-round with Tom Koracick (Greg Germann). Unbeknownst to her, she somehow recorded it and sent it to Owen, who had to endure the embarrassment of hearing it while in the OR surrounded by his colleagues. The wedding eventually is postponed, with Owen giving the excuse that he was pulled into surgery last-minute. In typical Grey’s fashion, there is never a wedding without drama.

Deadline spoke with Grey’s Anatomy showrunner Krista Vernoff, who unpacked the final episode, hinted at what’s to come next season and revealed what storylines she wished they were able to air this season. She also weighed in on the fan reactions to Alex Karev’s controversial exit.

DEADLINE: The Season 16 ender wasn’t what was expected, but like you said in your tweet, it was very satisfying, and a fitting Grey’s ending. How do you plan on carrying over the storyline to next season, or is there a plan to carry over the storyline from the last four episodes to next season? KRISTA VERNOFF: I have not formulated that plan yet. In about four weeks, I’m going to get in a room with the writers, and we’re going to talk about all of it. I know that a lot us are having brainstorms since we have so much time at home. A lot of us are texting each other, and going, “Oh, what if we did this? What if we do that?” So I have a feeling that their stories are going to change some, from what we had planned, and that we’ll repurpose some of what we had written and use it in the early episodes of Season 17.

DEADLINE: The production shut down was the second major curveball for the show, after Justin Chambers’ exit. What were your thoughts on the reaction to his exit?VERNOFF: Well, you know, I haven’t been commenting on this much, but I just did an Instagram Live where I said that, so, I’ll say it to you too. I believe that there would’ve been at least as big an outcry if we had killed that character off-camera, and those were our choices. It was kill the character off-camera, or come up with some believable way that he gets his happily ever after, and some of the fans have posited, ‘well he could have just been off-screen in Seattle like April Kepner, but then you’ve got an actress on the show who doesn’t get to do any of the fun, sexy, playful thrill that we’re known for, then you penalize the actors who are staying on the show by limiting what you could do creatively with them. So I was really proud of that episode. I think Elisabeth Finch did an extraordinary job with a nearly impossible task.

That episode made me cry. It made me laugh. I felt really deeply. I felt satisfaction, and I will say that I have received a great many comments from fans who felt the same way, but the angry people are always the loudest ones.

I wasn’t surprised by the fan reaction, but I know it would’ve been equally angry if I had killed him — so it was like, these are your choices, and I felt really happy with what we chose.

DEADLINE: The fact that you didn’t kill the character off also leaves the door open that we might see them in the future. So is there any chance of [Justin Chambers] or Katherine Heigl, ever coming back? VERNOFF: When I left the show in Season 7, people asked me if there was any chance of me ever coming back, and I was smart enough to say, “Never say never.” Here I am, so who knows?

DEADLINE: Jo was able to accept Alex’s decision in a short amount of time and come to terms with everything. Did that have anything to do with her character’s stint in the psychiatric hospital, at the beginning of the season? VERNOFF: Yes. Jo had had such a dramatic, emotional, painful arc, the second half of Season 15. None of the writers, frankly, none of us wanted to see her go back down into a hole. One of the things about the way the character was written off is that she had a lot of time to wonder, and to fear the worst, and I have found in life that when you have a lot of time to wonder and fear the worst, then when you get an answer, even if it’s terrible news, it feels better than not knowing. And it helps you move on, more quickly.

DEADLINE: I want to just touch on Richard’s illness. Is it safe to say that he’s out of the danger zone? Also, did his illness contribute to anything that had to do with his relationship with Catherine? And what can we expect from that couple in the future?We’ll start with the illness — is he in the safe zone now that they’ve caught it early and treated it? VERNOFF: Yes, and I thought that that was one of the most amazing things about this diagnosis was that the cobalt poisoning thing is real and it really can cause all of those symptoms. It can cause dementia-like symptoms. It can cause Parkinson’s-like symptoms — tremors, hallucinations — and the amazing thing about it is that once you diagnose it, and you get the leaky hip out of your body, you can recover, totally. That felt, just as the storyteller, an amazing thing because it let us give Jim Pickens this really rich, rich material, without us having to permanently disable his character. I think that that was an amazing ride for the fans, because the outcry of we’re showing symptoms that don’t feel like they have cures.

There’s not really a cure for Parkinson’s. There’s not a cure for Alzheimer’s. So I know everyone was in a panic, and so, we got to tell this really satisfying story, and we got to let people know that sometimes, there’s another diagnosis for those symptoms, which we found fascinating, as a group of writers who write medicine, that it’s so rare to see something this satisfying.

DEADLINE: Did the symptoms from the cobalt poisoning have anything to do with his attitude toward Catherine? What’s in store for them? Can we still hold out hope for that couple? VERNOFF: I think you can always hold out hope for any couple on Grey’s Anatomy. You never know where it’s going, and I think that the way we designed this was that the fracture, the real fracture in Catherine and Richard’s relationship predated the cobalt poisoning.

So the way we imagined it was that, with the depression, everyone thought it was related to his divorce, and it was actually a symptom of cobalt poisoning. And then the tremors were a symptom of cobalt poisoning, and then the hallucinations, so that when he forgave her, he forgave her in a hallucination. And when he was well, he remembered the actual events from his life, for which he has not yet forgiven her. The reason that I hold out most for that couple is that Catherine rediscovered her deep and profound love for Richard when she almost lost him. I think that that may enable her to apologize in the way that Richard will need to hear.

DEADLINE: Speaking of forgiveness, in true Grey’s fashion, there’s never a wedding without any drama, as we saw with Teddy and Owen. We’ve seen their relationship woes throughout the series, and this season felt like they were going to finally get it together and find each other and have their happy ending. Why haven’t they quite found that happy ending, and can Owen forgive Teddy? VERNOFF: I think that those are questions that we will have to explore in Season 17. I will say that of all the storylines that were left hanging, that is the one that I was the most disappointed about. Actually, there were two: I’m disappointed that I cannot give Teddy — we had an episode coming up where we were able to better articulate and better understand what’s prompting Teddy’s behavior, and we don’t get to air it. Who knows, maybe it’s going to change between now and when we’ll actually shoot it for Season 17, but I feel for Kim Raver. The amount of standing is high, and we’ve left her in a strange place. It’s compelling, and why? Your question is big. Why? Why would she sabotage — why, when she was finally getting her happy ending, did she sabotage it? I think it’s the super-rich area personally.

And then the other story that I was really disappointed that we couldn’t complete — and I will tell you that I haven’t told this to anyone else, but we did a story where there as a victim of human trafficking, like two episodes ago, and DeLuca we got recognized it but he was in such a mentally compromised, manic state that nobody listened to him and the girl left. We had an episode where she comes back, and I am really sad that we can’t air that episode this season because it felt important to offer that kind of hope to people who are living that experience. I may still complete that story next season.

DEADLINE: I want to touch on DeLuca, who has gone through this really rocky journey with Meredith this season. Although they haven’t really been able to figure out their personal relationship, they’ve proven to be a great medical team. What can you tease about this couple? Last season, we talked about Meredith being ready for love. What can we tease about this couple in the future? Is somebody else going to throw a wrench in everything? Somebody by the name of Hayes? VERNOFF: There is hope for Meredith and DeLuca, and I think that there is hope for Meredith and Hayes. I will be fascinated to see how that storytelling emerges in season 17 because this story played in a way that I didn’t picture. You know, you write a thing, and then the actors play it, and then it gets all put together, and then you know what the story is. You don’t know how it’s going to play when you write it. It’s been amazing for me to watch this story this season. I feel like Giacomo has been so compelling, and DeLuca has risen so much, and simultaneously, Hayes has been really compelling and feels very much like Meredith’s equal. At this point, I’, not even sure which couple I’m rooting for, and that’s always an exciting thing.

DEADLINE: Yeah. We love our love triangles on Grey’s. VERNOFF: Yeah. Yeah.

DEADLINE: One couple might have found their happy ending, it seems, is Amelia and Link. The birth of the baby was such a nice ending to a season full of ups and downs. Was that one thing you were excited about? To see Amelia who had her complications with her first pregnancy, and this one turned out fine. VERNOFF: Yeah. I love that story and I am so grateful that … we got to air it this season. It would’ve been really a bummer if we hadn’t made it there, this season. So, that was just luck and I’m grateful that it was in that episode. I love that scene where Bailey gets in the bed with Amelia, and we call back to when George got in the bed with Bailey and it’s just so beautiful. It was pitched by Meg Mooney, who’s been with the show for 15 years. It made me cry when she pitched it, and it makes me cry every time I watch it. I, like everyone else, at this point really am loving Link and Amelia, and I was so happy. That ending for them felt so hard won this season.

DEADLINE: Is the next season being envisioned as the final season since it’s the second of the two-year pickup, or are you guys having conversations about potentially more seasons? VERNOFF: You know, what I always say to this question, is my answer again today, and that is: I will not start planning the end of Grey’s Anatomy until Shonda [Rhimes] and Ellen and ABC all sit down together, tell me that this really the end this time. The truth is those conversations might be being had if we weren’t dealing with a global pandemic, but everyone’s gone home, and I suspect we’ll start talking about that in a month, or two.

DEADLINE: Speaking of this global pandemic, obviously Grey’s is known for taking things that are happening in the world, and incorporating it into the series. Are there any plans to reflect on this current pandemic on the show for next season? VERNOFF: I haven’t had a minute yet to sit with the writers and talk about it. So, we’re all at home, and we’re on hiatus, but in about four weeks, we’ll gather, and we’ll talk about it. I have a hard time imagining that we don’t have to acknowledge this massive thing that we’ve all gone through, in our fictional world, too, but I have no idea how. I don’t know what it’s going to look like.

DEADLINE: Station 19 — we still have more episodes coming with that series. Are we going to see any of the Grey’s characters in the final couple of episodes? VERNOFF: Yes. Happily, yes, you are. The Grey’s characters are all over the last two episodes of Station 19. So, that is a really nice treat for the fans, too. Many of our Grey’s characters are in Episodes 15 or 16 on Station 19.

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