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butmakeitgayblog · 5 months

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I think I speak for everyone when I say the answer to “Y'all want a lil snippet? 👀” will ALWAYS be HELL YES WE DO! No matter which story.

That's cuz you guys are sweet 🥰

Ok, it's only mildly edited and also my first attempt at canon. So, please lmk what you think, but be gentle 🥺 👉👈

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A tap against the door barely breaks the silence of the night for how soft it is. The sound makes Clarke's stomach swoop with elation and a wonderful sense of dread as the hairs on her arms rise on end. Instinct has her grabbing up her knife and resting a hand on the pistol at her hip again. She slips away from the table, back to the very edge of the shadows, prepared to sink further into the darkness that cloaks the farthest corners depending on what comes through the door that eases open.

Her own heartbeat pops like gunshots as Clarke holds her breath, watching. Waiting. But the fingers that wrap around the wood have her sighing in instant relief.

She knows those fingers intimately.

The hinges whine in protest at being shaken yet again from their slumber after such a good long sleep. Still, they obey, and twist enough to allow a head of intricate braids to ease past. Clarke's heart jumps to her throat when the head turns and surveys the candlelit room, eyes as dark as the kohl mask that surrounds them sweeping from one corner to the next, before landing squarely on her.

A flurry of emotions wash through Clarke at the silent stare that seems to stretch far past dawn. It feels as though days pass in the static silence that hangs between them in the cramped space of the room, despite it surely only being a handful of seconds. It is The Commander who breaks the moment and slips the rest of the way inside, of that there is no doubt. Her shoulder guard, sword, and dagger strapped to a lean thigh scrape against the wood as she squeezes herself in through the gap - all the trappings that mark this meeting as purely business.

Clarke's heart sinks.

The door shuts with a thump that echoes in Clarke's ears long after it's settled in its frame. The sight of her causes some piece of Clarke to uncoil in violent release of breath, like a spring let loose from its point of tension just to wobble and fall riotously still. Dark eyes stare at her in silence. Reminding Clarke so vividly of her first weeks here on the ground. Their depths carry the memories of alliances born and broken in the deathly quiet of night. Of trust found and lost, of promises made and broken, back when she'd gone toe to toe with the foreboding commander of the blood and somehow lived to tell about it.

The glittering pools of those eyes seem endless against the burnished amber of the room's candle light. But… Despite looking every bit as menacing as she had in those early days before Clarke had seen the girl beneath the warrior, Clarke can't help seeing the tenderness she knows is patiently waiting underneath. She can see it in the way her throat flexes with a swallow as Lexa takes another step into the room.

"You came."

The hand holding her knife drops back down to her side as Clarke lets out a whisper of a laugh. “Of course I did.”

The thought of anything else twists like snakes in the pit of Clarke's stomach. The question that laces the words feeling almost like a slap to the face. Lexa had asked her to meet here. After so many weeks of one-way messages being delivered and left unanswered, the slip of scroll with a crudely sketched map next to a date and time had felt like a lifeline. After everything, in what alternate timeline would Clarke have entertained being anywhere else?

Lexa's eyes scan her face, trace her shoulders, fall to her feet and back up. “You're well?”

Horrible, unimaginable thoughts race through Clarke's mind. Thoughts of crying, of collapsing in a relieved, exhausted heap at the Heda's feet. Thoughts of crossing the room and flinging herself against the commander's chest just to feel the strength of those arms cradle her close and make things simpler again. It's a humiliating collection of scenes that play through Clarke's head in the seconds that they stand there simply watching each other. Neither moving. Neither breaching the chasm that divides them.

All Clarke does is lean heavier against the wall behind her. “Yes, Lexa. I'm, I'm fine… You?”

Lexa's chin dips in the mere suggestion of a nod instead of answering, but Clarke hopes that she is reading the lines that flex along the edges of her eyes for what they are: a chip in the armor. A crack in the facade. An acknowledgment that, maybe, Lexa had been as nervous for this meeting as her.

Whatever the emotion is, it's gone as quickly as it came, because it's all business when Lexa draws herself up a moment later. Her body falls into its second-nature stance of a queen ruling from the steps of her throne. Even in the absence of her halo of antler horns, the effect is just as striking.

Lexa's hands tuck neatly together at the front and her shoulders set, she nods toward the table between them. “Your last correspondence suggested you have news?”

The tap-clunk, tap-clunk of Heda's boots against the neglect-brittled flooring as she steps to the table is enough to startle Clarke from her staring. Apparently the time for pleasantries was over. She loops her way around to stand beside the commander as Lexa takes in her every move with that cool, detached gaze she seems to have down to a science.

It's unnerving. No, she thinks. Not unnerving. Rather it's… Disarming. Penetrating in how it cuts Clarke down to the bone. That constant sensation of Lexa's eyes on her, taking in Clarke's every minute act and twitch of her face as she upturns the rest of the contents of her bag into a pile on the table. She'd forgotten the exact flush that inches up her neck whenever she feels that weighted stare on her.

In a crowded council meeting, across a village bustling with life. Far too often than is strictly necessary: exactly three damn inches from her own face. In the beginning, Clarke had wondered if such blatant disregard for personal space was simply a Woods clan quirk. But in the preceding months on the ground she's learned that lapse in skaikru etiquette is most definitely just a, ‘Lexa Thing’.

But whatever the distance or cause, Clarke finds herself entirely too aware of herself whenever Lexa's eyes land on her. Which does nothing to help steady her hand as she lays out the newer sketches of Arkadia she'd painstakingly prepared in the days prior. Nor does it make her find the specific page she'd marked in her journal any faster. Flashing past sketches of hands draped across furs, collarbones bruised by fervent lips, past drawings of tattoos committed to memory put down on paper without pause.

“So, things are… progressing,” Clarke says more to buy her time than anything. She sets the journal down and slides the nearest candle closer to better read the script of her own writing. Lexa leans her hands on the table next to Clarke's as she looks over the pages. Clarke only lets her eyes dash to the inch of space between them before continuing on. “The, um, the first month was basically a lost cause because I was stuck in solitary—”

“Your messenger informed me,” Lexa interjects in an expelled breath, tight lipped in its delivery, but adding nothing more.

Clarke nods to that, knowing she herself had been the one who made sure the information was delivered. Because three nights into her confined stay at “home” had been all it took for Lexa's, admittedly dramatic, words of ‘You've been living with their enemy. If it were me, I would kill you on the spot’ to begin ringing continuously in her ears. Knowing her own tendencies to always brace for the worse, the decision had been easy. With little more than a scrap of napkin and chip of charcoal from the remnants of her drawing set, Clarke had sent word with Octavia - the only one she trusted to wriggle her way in and out of Ark without detection - to pass the whereabouts of her status along.

Still, Clarke rolls her eyes for good measure.

“Right. And, as you also know,” she says with a pointed edge to her words, “these last few months have been… difficult. But I'm making ground.”

It feels like a race against the clock explaining what she's been doing the past few months since they parted ways - convey in carefully selected tidbits of information how the days trickle by only inches or miles. Nothing in between. It sounds feeble to her own ears, the lack of tangible progress to show the commander undoubtedly growing impatient with the ever troublesome Skaikru, but Clarke barrels on with each lack of response from Lexa whenever she dares to pause for breath. Doesn't give the Heda time to point out the finer points of her lackluster coup, thus far.

She leaves out any glimpses into her days that her better judgment tells her to keep hidden. Ones that allude to exactly how precarious the situation is behind the Ark's heavily gated walls. Like the fact that she had to run for her life the second she crossed the skaikru boundary - that sneaking past the commander's own kill-order guard wasn't the thing that had spiked her adrenaline, but rather the trigger happy guards set to walk the parameter. The ones collared with a kill order of their own.

Every glance at the commander leaves Clarke grasping for another sentence. Something more to prove that this time hasn't passed in vain. But it all feels empty under the scrutiny of the woman standing at attention beside her, not a twitch of muscle or bend of brow giving any of the Heda's thoughts away.

She's just staring. In that arresting way only Lexa seems able to do. Eyes a midnight slate wiped clean of emotion, brittle in their vacuum of light - iris and pupil so cloaked in the shadow of her war paint it's hard to discern between the two.

A near quarter mark of the candle burns in rifts of her fumbling vibrato and drops of spilled oily wax, when the air becomes more stifling at Lexa's sudden shift closer. Near enough Clarke can feel her body heat slice clean through the cold. “I'll admit, at times it's like pulling teeth. Everything is always two steps forward, one step back with them. But I promise, Lexa, my people— Our people, they're getting restless with—”

“Have you slept?”

The question lands like a punch just below the ribs, the softness of Lexa's voice feeling almost violent as it slices through the ringing in Clarke's ears. It cuts her off as effectively as clamping in vice grip around her throat. The skim of a glove-clad knuckle against her cheek makes her sway. She'd almost forgotten such tenderness actually existed in this world.

Her eyes flutter closed and she leans into the touch without a thought. The table wobbles under Clarke's hands as she gives up the fight and sags her weight onto her palms. She opens her mouth to assure the commander just how fine she is despite the display, but—

“Not much,” is all Clarke can manage in the sudden exhaustion that floods her bones. “I try. When I can, but…”

The knuckle slips down to bend a delicate hook around her chin. It curls inward, turning her face with it. Eyes darkened in shadow and half-spent candlelight take their time with her, searching for everything Clarke doesn't have the energy to say. Time expands and contracts to the razor point of a knife, plunging itself into her most vital, beating organ in those few precious moments when Lexa simply holds her there. Giving her every chance to pull away.

Despite all the unanswered questions and emotions that still linger between them - doubt, mistrust, hunger, betrayal - Clarke doesn't have the words to explain why she can't make herself move even one inch away. Or… exactly how much she doesn't particularly want to.

“Clarke,” Lexa whispers in an exhale that sounds like it's been held since the day Clarke had left her standing there in her room. She is so close Clarke can measure the exact flutter of her lashes as she warms under the chilled puff from her lips. In her silence, Lexa inches closer, leaning down enough to bring her forehead to Clarke's. Barely close enough for the touch to tickle against the fine hairs of her skin, but Clarke feels its burn everywhere. “Breathe.”

Fingers fan out and smooth along her neck. The feel of them tangling in the curls that cling to her skin send a shiver down Clarke's spine. It makes her tip forward, press fuller into the steeled softened woman all but propping her up, trusting Lexa to accept even more of Clarke's burdens as her own.

“It's hard sleeping there now,” Clarke admits. It feels like a weight lifting off of her shoulders just releasing that truth into the world. But the guilt of it lingers. Because how can she explain that the stale air and metal of the Ark's inner workings that used to give her a sense of peace and safety, doesn't anymore? How can she explain that despite her duty, and her unyielding love for her people… none of it feels like home anymore? How can she explain that between the darkest hours of midnight and the breaking of every dawn, feelings of home come in memories of incense scented furs, and a breeze that winds through cracked windows of a certain tower?

Most nights she pushes the feeling away. Stares at the rust lined rivets and peeling paint of her quarters on the Ark, chastising herself for just how far she's drifted from being that girl who crashed down from the stars.

Clarke pulls back and meets the worry that lingers in Lexa's eyes with a wry smile. “The war drums beating twenty-four seven don't particularly help.”

There's something endearing about the guilt that creeps into Lexa's stare. “It's strategic.”

“I gathered as much. Is the strategy to drive everyone insane?”

Clarke finds Lexa's hand when she sighs and lets her arm drop, unwilling to break all contact just yet. Not after so many weeks apart. The shadow of Heda's eyes slant down to the touch and linger there, watching the way Clarke's hand holds hers. “Not… entirely.”

“Lexa, that really isn't—”

“I need your people to see what being part of the coalition means. And more, what breaking from it will bring,” Lexa cuts her off. The tenderness with which she laces her fingers through Clarke's is starkly at odds with the frustration that bleeds into her words. “All that most of them know is what they have heard from your chancellor, or decisions made before they were one of my clans. They take no time to see things beyond the gates of Arkadia. But now it is there. We are there so they can see the strength in our numbers. The unity in which we fight. They can see with their own eyes the safety that comes from being with us.”

It's annoying that an argument doesn't immediately spring to Clarke's mind, even as the more stubborn pieces of herself howl a tinny echo of revolt. But her exhaustion keeps her quiet. The higher reasoning within her, too. All the pieces of herself that have heard the misgivings of so many of her fellow Skaikru, and still know that what Lexa is saying is… not technically wrong.

“And the dangers of being against you,” Clarke tacks on just for the hell of it, sighing as she untangles their fingers and turns to lean back on the table. “I understand that, Lexa, I do. But I'm not entirely sure if psychological warfare is the right tactic given the circumstances.”

The shuffled thunk of Lexa's boot as she steps closer is enough to pull Clarke's gaze back to her. “While a show of strength is a factor, that is not the only goal here, Clarke. And I believe you know that.”

Again, the lack of obvious points to needle at or undermine is infuriating, because what Lexa says is true. Because the boundary of warriors that stretch off in the distance does do so much more than stand guard over the lines of the blockade.

The first flood of the kongeda infantry that had erected the initial boundary of the kill-order came in a wave of tents, fanfare, and flying coalition flags. Axes and hammers had split through the surrounding trees like warm butter to make room for large temporary settlements, each dotting the forest eye-line with the colors and symbols of the twelve clans. At every angle from the watchtower's view from the Ark, the only sight that mingled within the sea of forestry was warriors of the coalition converging in a united front. Floukru beside Sankru. Yujleda beside Ingranrona. Azgeda camped close, under guarded Trikru eyes.

It hadn't taken long for the second wave to join them. And then a third right on its heels. Even warriors from the Capitol join their ranks - faces covered in familiar streaks of warpaint, ones that Clarke had spoken to personally within the beating heart of Polis itself peppered throughout the encampments to stand vigil among the festivities. All bringing with them a level of noise that Clarke knew meant the warriors must have been given explicit orders to be as loud as humanly possible. The weeks that had followed had been nothing but an unending cacophony that surrounded Arkadia on all sides.

Each day the forest filled with the sounds of relentless training from each settled camp; the singing clash of swords and the whistled-thump of arrows, blotted only by seconds of eerie silence between rounds. But the nights. The night's were somehow even worse. A fresh hell with every setting sun. Because after full days of training, the warriors are allowed to rest at ease. Under a canopy of stars, the air swells in a clattering of music that mingles with the steady beat of the war drum. Each night the forest echoes with the roar of their laughter as the salty perfume of mead and slowly roasted meats hangs heavy in the noses of Skaikru.

Clarke understands the strategy for what it is: a mindfuck on all fronts. An unambiguous message to the village of invaders-turned-kru directly from Heda herself. A truth simply waiting to be accepted. You're either with us, or you're against us. Flourish beside us, or wither within your cage. I understand your struggles - your hunger and your fear. And while one day all of our bodies will return to salt the earth, carrying on this way only ensures that death is far, far more miserable. Either way. We're thriving.

And we are not going anywhere.

It's an effective strategy, if not polarizing in its delivery, at least as far as messaging goes. Though to be perfectly honest, at the core of Clarke’s frustration is the fact that she hadn't exactly been prepared to deal with the pain in the ass fallout of yet another political pissing match to begin the second she'd slunk back to the place she once considered home.

Lexa reaches out and picks Clarke's hands up from where they'd fallen against her lap in a sigh of utter defeat. “I'm not trying to make things more difficult for you. Our agendas are the same, Clarke. And I think, given time… they will see it too.”

“Yes, but when you called for the blockade I was expecting, like, a sentry or two. Not a thousand warriors practicing their knife skills and having nightly feasts.” If Clarke squeezes Lexa's hands back a few hundred pascals tighter than strictly necessary, the commander has the grace not to show it.

“That had been the plan. Initially. I had every intention of waiting Pike out. But then, after we… After everything…”

Clarke feels her heart wobble at the flex of Lexa's jaw. “What?”

“I felt… inclined to hurry the process along. I do want to give you time to work within your ranks, because I trust you, and I know how capable you are. But also I—” Lexa falters, then swallows. Gives the barest shake of her head, her eyes staying glued to the hands held within her own as she visibly forces herself to speak. “Selfishly, I want this conflict finished as soon as possible.”

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#macolethings #in secret au #it gets sexy shortly after this don't worry 👀#and also sweet #it's not all business let's never forget these two are hormone driven thirst monsters who are Bad at keeping things professional

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redshift-art · 5 months

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So, I played Deus Ex for the first time. I knew I would probably like it, but I didn't expect it to resonate with me this much. It's the only game where I took screenshots of the credits to later search all the artists who worked on it.

This sketch took me roughly two hours. It's too dark for social media, but I don't know what to do with it anymore, so here it is 🤷🏻

Also, how am I supposed to adjust the colors to make sure people see what I see? What seems ok on my PC is horrible on my phone, and vice versa (yes, I'm trying to shift the responsibility for the poor color scheme from myself to your devices)

#deus ex #sad adam jensen #dxmd #dxhr #adam jensen fanart #does anyone still care about this game anymore?

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mtkay13 · 1 year

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Qi Ye cast poster!!

This had started as a sketch, waaay back as I was still reading Qi Ye. The original is pretty different from this (I considered adding it in the post but I actually don't like it anymore haha), but the plan was already to make this big spread with most of the -more or less- important cast.

I will add here some thoughts about the whole piece, and I guess, Qi Ye itself. My main goal was probably to express my deep and intense feelings for Qi Ye, its grandness, and its awesome cast-- and along with that, flesh out my mental image of each of them, their personality, their style. Here is a table with the names, so we know who is whom, and so I can add some details about my perspective on them and their design.

Jing Beiyuan has always come quite naturally. I just go for the "prettiest face" I ever came with in terms of : my own taste, and the features I find the most delicate. I'd argue he's the easiest character to draw for me across both QY and TYK. On this image, he's probably around 16 or 17. I find his expressions to be very fun to work on in general.

Ping An is also quite an easy character to draw, just for how specific Priest is when describing him.

Wu Xi's design is mainly inspired by a discussion with my friend Hanya, who talked about how, in SHL, Wu Xi more resembled a northern shaman than a southern shaman. It made me want to explore the designs and characteristics a bit more, and come up with more colourful fabrics, patterns, and darker skin color. Same goes for Ashinlae and Nuahar, to have them matching Wu Xi's aesthetic.

Ming Hua was included in this just because of the mess the mention of his name caused in the story. The two jealousy tantrums are just so delightful!!

Su Qingluan was made to resemble Jing Beiyuan, of course. What I wanted to reflect in her face was her frustration, mainly.

Ji Xiang and Hua Yue... Well. Nothing particular about their design either, but they had to be there. Of course, of course they had to be there.

Finally, an opportunity to draw Zishu with his fan and henchmen! Not mad that he kinda looks like a villain, here.

Lu Yu!! I drew him with an Ashinlae mask, since he disguises himself as Ashinlae. I included him because he matters a lot in my headcanons about Siji Manor. (it isn't specified, in Qi Ye, whether or not he's actually part of the manor, but I like to consider that he is for various reason that I may detail if I ever make a Siji Manor post)

I'll skip Jiang Xue and Liang Jiuxiao because their designs are steady for me, now.

I hesitated a lot for Helian Pei's pose, but ended up going for this one (looking bored, out of his depth, lost in the distance with his birds around him). I considered showing him with a bird in his hands, but I guess that's not the main vibe I get from him. And then, well, golden, flashy clothing, suited for an emperor.

Helian Zhao had to be in a showy armor, and I hated making it because it's so much work, haha. I took inspiration from an armor in NiF. I'm quite happy with how he came out in terms of both vibe and showiness.

I tried going full out on Helian Qi. Making him the villain that Qi Ye deserved. Dark, showy, elegant and horrible.

Helian Yi is also pretty solid for me, by now.

About the illustration itself, the main challenge was definitely to make a nice colour palette while still differenciating all the characters. I wanted to go with something intense, eerie, that could also complement the main tones I would go for (= red, purple, blue and green). I'm quite happy with how the golden tones, along with the green and reddish lights, make the whole thing come together. I struggled a little bit with the composition at first, but once I got the flow and the main figures down, it just happened quite easily. Anyway, I'm quite proud of this, and hope it conveys the love and admiration I have for Qi Ye well.

#qi ye #lord seventh #cast #meta #talk about art #七爷

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insomnia-draws · 2 months

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I have some other Jason in wonder woman merch drawings planned but decided to share this little sketchy sketch of a young baby Jason todd that has fallen asleep on his wonder woman body pillow in a wonder woman onesie also I'm just gonna pretend it was dick that bought the onesie, body pillow, and throw pillows for him yes I know the premise is Bruce but I cannot stand Bruce as a character in canon hes a horrible father so ... Pretending it was dick..

And not just cause I have experience with having an abusive family and yes I know I forgot to add the star to wonder woman's crown I'll add it in I promise lol

Got the idea for this from: @wondersinwaynemanor

Tags: @captain-daryn

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lovecanbesostrange · 10 days

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Please know that since yesterday I am mentally trapped in these two panels. There is actually a lot I will miss Krakoa for, but I also felt a bit of resentment throughout the era and this family is a big reason why. NOW that we are in the last stretch of burning it all down and the new X-launch is in reach, we'll get this wedding special. And we finally have all four together in a panel. NOW?! I bought X-Men Unlimited #4 in either fall of '94 or spring '95, solely because of the cover. 30 years of waiting. Let me live in this moment for a bit.

Look at what they are doing with the art! Oh sure, Mystique and Nightcrawler are the blue ones. Pair up Destiny and Rogue next to that to make them look similar enough as well. Only for my brain to scream "but the personalities are the other way around!!!!!!!!". Irene and Kurt work on faith and believe in possibilities and reaching out to be better. Raven and Anna Marie typing this out makes me feel weird are the ones who will kill a bitch and say they will darken their soul so others don't have to. Plus there is the element that they both have lived more than one life and their sense of self is distorted .

They've come a long way, okay?!

Yes this is exactly what it looks like. For plot reasons Nightcrawler was too weak to teleport and dangling off a cliff next to Mystique. And of course Rogue could only save one and before she made a decision Mystique said "I make this for you" and let go. I still like to believe she flipped them the bird when she fell. Because she is Mystique. "HaHa! Take this, you think I'm the worst mother ever, but you will have to live with a moment of nobility from me!" (Also Destiny knew this would come, and she fucking knows there is something good inside of Mystique. It just comes out... different. And needs very specific circumstances.)

Apart from X-Men Evolution (and the X-Men Forever alternate history comic with its very special vibes), we have never gotten any bigger acknowledgement of this family. And Irene has been cut out. Either conveniently on account of being dead, or because she's an old lady and clearly just a gal pal, ahem. (It's also very funny to me to go back to their first appearances, where the Brotherhood of Evil Mutants has the biggest Three Stooges energy ever. I needed Mystique, Destiny, Rogue, Pyro, Blob and Avalanche to have a drinking contest on Krakoa. That is what Krakoa was supposed to be about!! You needed to give us 200% domestic nonsense, fun and games. So it would hurt everybody when it was inevitably taken away. EVERYBODY needed to find happiness in that place in unconventional ways.)

Sadly not my original thought (I don't have those), but recently I read some comment where somebody said that with Irene being his bio-mother, Kurt should have inherited a type of precog-sense, a sorta spidey-sense for teleportation. A natural ability that he won't teleport into an obstacle. And I would be so on board with that. (Also funny, because Ms Marvel had that type of sense and I could pull up panels where Nightcrawler tried to trigger that in Rogue.) Would it be weird to add that now? Sure. But also super cute and helpful.

My deepest gratitude goes out to the fanartists who have doodled and sketched and painted cute family moments for them out of time. Now canon can catch up. Imagine their dinner conversations. N: "Logan is my best friend." M: "Oh, that reminds me there is this blue furball running around with his and my powers. I don't even remember if we ever had sex or not, we're so close in age and have these memory gaps." N: "Mutter, nein!" D: "You should ask him out, you two would make a cute couple. Trust me." R: "You're setting up Nightcrawler with Wolverine and keep giving me grief over Gambit?" M: "He speaks too much French! Wolverine might be Canadian, but at least he's not a Franco-Canadian!" N: "So I couldn't date Northstar?"

Do not get me wrong though. Mystique and Destiny are horrible people and they will stab others in the back. They have worked for the government, they have plotted assassinations of government people. They have fought alongside and against the X-Men. I don't want them tamed or be reasonable. I want their mess. I want them as anti-villains. Because they don't do heinous things for nothing. They like to create less horrible murder events than what could be... some writers just liked to go overboard with the scheming and forgot the sympathic undertones, which I want to cling to. And we deserved a time of peace on Krakoa. Truly imagine a Mystique who was happy on Krakoa. And the absolut batshit villainous energy when it's burned down against her will... now THAT would have been something. Instead of baking resentment into the foundation.

#X-Men #Rogue #Nightcrawler #Mystique #Irene Destiny Adler #wednesday spoilers #sorry I'm so sorry but I can't get over this...#ramblings

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ronearoundblindly · 1 year

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Threadbare (2)

Steve Rogers x Fashion Designer!Reader

Part Two: Strain Curve (see previous or series)

IMPORTANT: I forgot to mention and link that this started with an anon ask, so I should give them credit for the idea. Here's where this all started! Additionally, Richard Fisk is an actual Marvel character and the son of Kingpin. All that is straight out of the comics (and animated shows), down to the horrible color choices.

Summary: Steve shelters you from Fisk while attempting to hide the truth from Tony. He's not a great liar...but how much of this is really fake?

Warnings for fluffy fluff of the 21st-fluffery with a teeny bit of angst, 100% idiots in love! Also a quick disclaimer about me knowing exactly diddlysquat about fashion design. I binged 'Next In Fashion' and so this is the best I got lol... WC 4066

You watch Steve blush at your attempted smile. He paws at the back of his head before gathering another confession.

“Actually, I do have—I mean, yes, I wanted to see you, but uh—“ he rushes over to fetch a paper bag he must have stashed as he snuck in behind the cops “—I did have a reason to come.”

In the bag, you find three shirts, and your smile turns more genuine.

“Of course, you did. How romantic.”

You’re still awash with adrenaline; there’s no filter to keep your teasing at bay. You can barely pick up that you said anything anyway.

Steve shrugs, looking down to take back the shirts as Abby returns with a glass of water for you. “Not my best move.”

You chug the water, loudly, unable to regulate how desperately you need it. Abby gently pries Steve’s shirts from his tense arms.

“Right.” Steve rolls his shoulders out, straightening and clearly falling into Captain mode. “We need to get you somewhere safe. I just have to make a few calls and—“

“Don’t tell Stark,” you blurt, hand instinctively grabbing the wrist that holds his phone ready. “I’m sorry. That sounded like an order, just…please don’t tell Mr. Stark.” Tony can’t know that Fisk has been using you as a tailor as well. He can’t.

Alarm and curiosity flicker behind Steve’s blue eyes, but he hides it well immediately. “Ok. I’ll—” he makes no move to take his arm back “—think of something.”

“And I have three clients left…for the day.”

Abby tsks you from behind though it’s the truth. The empty glass rattles on the tabletop with your faint tremor.

Steve thinks for a prolonged, squinting moment. “After work then. I’ll pick you up.”

You run off adrenaline and butterflies the rest of the day, and yes, whatever liquids or snacks Abby and Dominica (when she returns from her errand) put into your hand along the way, but mostly it’s the fluttering anticipation of Steve that floats you through.

And then he’s back and it’s already dark outside.

“Oh shit,” you burst, politely showing Mr. Chen out while Steve waits his turn to get in the door. He says nothing, but Captain America lowers his head in disapproval at your curse. “I’m sorry. I lost track of time. Let me grab some things.”

You race up the stairs to the apartment over the shop. Your clientele and brand used to be small enough that you could keep those two sides of life separate, but slowly, your work has crept into your living space. Now you survive from a dresser, a hanging rack, and a Murphy bed that doubles as a small desk when it’s upright against the wall.

Not much of an existence, but it’s very practical.

You’re shuffling around with an overnight bag and a dump tote to grab mostly work things and two changes of clothes. One of your assistants can bring you more stuff if/when necessary, but it feels presumptive to think you’ll live out of a safe house for long.

“So…working to live or living to work?”

You jump at Steve’s deep voice from the open doorway. He looks around at the hodgepodge of work benches and mannequins lining the walls.

“It’s a fluid and evolving situation,” you admit, sweeping several binders of fabric swatches and sketch pads into the tote. You eye a work-in-progress on one of the dummies and decide against trying to take it. Too bulky.

In order not to keep Steve waiting, you hand over the tote and head to the car, texting Abby and Dominica instructions the whole drive. Steve assures you that you’ll still have wifi and freedom to communicate, so you don’t have to clear fittings and consults off the books. It simply won’t be wise to invite welcome clients into where you’re staying.

Admittedly, that’s very generous considering you could have been looking at a blackout, witness-protection level of hiding.

You’re still on your phone when Steve opens your car door, and you shuffle with your duffel, his feet at the edge of your periphery to follow. It doesn’t register that you walk down a long hall. It doesn’t register that there’s an elevator ride and another voice. It doesn’t register that you’re looking at a kind of hostel-esque apartment inside another building until you ask if there’s a space you’ll be able to spread out for work.

Steve glows with pride that he thought of that and walks you to a conference room…surrounded by glass…overlooking a 30-story high view of the city.

You’re in the Avengers Tower, formerly Stark Tower.

“Wait, he’s not supposed to know.”

Steve gets your confusion right away. “Tony doesn’t, but without filing paperwork stating the reason you need a safe house, this was the best—“

“Sheers!” the booming voice of one Tony Stark reverberates across 360 degrees of windows. “I thought it might be you.”

“Might be me for what?” you ask as innocently as possible.

“As Capsicles’ first, of course.”

Steve hangs his head while his pal claps him on the back.

“First use of his guest pass that is. Granted, I’ve been saying for years we need an in-house tailor, but no takers…” Stark fake-punches Steve’s shoulder. “Way to break the ice, buddy. I’m proud of you. What happened? You noticed you’re both workaholics and needed your girl…closer to get closer, did you? Good call.”

Steve shoots wary eyes your way, silently praying you ignore that remark or maybe checking you’re okay with the implication. The way Stark says ‘your girl’ as if he’s heard it several times before though…

“Something like that,” you shrug.

“At least he finally asked you. I kept telling him to shit or get off the pot.”

“Language,” you hiss quietly.

The men look a little shocked for a split second before slowly turning to each other, a silent conversation passed in the empty space over your head. Whatever just happened seems to have really convinced Tony because a wry smile flickers beneath his sinking, pale sunglasses. Yes, of course, Tony Stark is wearing sunglasses at night, just as, of course, Captain America is willingly deceiving Stark to be your fake boyfriend.

“Romeo,” the building’s namesake coos. “Training them young, I see.”

Steve’s jaw and neck tighten, a raging flush creeping up his pale skin, but he doesn’t argue. Stark buys the ploy, which is great, but in reality, Steve doesn’t even have your personal number.

Tony lifts his hands in surrender and starts retreating to the door. “Look, I hate to take credit—“

“No, you don’t.”

Incredulous, sagging eyebrows dip below his frames. “—but I am very, very good.” He points a finger back and forth between you and Steve. “You’re welcome.”

He tries to peek under a pile of sketches atop your work tote, and you rush to slap your hand down. Stark might see the other designs you’re working on, and just like he can’t know about Fisk, he can’t know about those.

“Fine.” Tony puts his hands up again. “I’m going.”

Steve steps to your side, apology loud in his eyes, and asks if he can make you tea or something stronger, ya know, because Tony has that effect on people.

“Yeah—“ you stare off toward the elevators where Stark remains lurking “—he’s still there,” you whisper.

Steve huffs a laugh and shifts to bridge the mere inches left between you, his hand gently landing on your upper arm and planting a kiss on your forehead like a breeze.

“Better make it look good then.”

Turns out you need tea and food.

You’d been so reliant on your assistants for nourishment that you forgot dinner. Steve sees; he has it covered. Instead of winding down after a trying day, however, you get a rush of energy, and you can’t squander the chance to make crucial adjustments. Every minute counts in the lead-up to Fashion Week.

“May I join you?” Steve asks, ready to walk away with his meal in hand should you prefer. “I won’t take up much space.” He looks down at his shoes and up the two inches above his head to the top of the doorframe. “Ok, much more space,” he corrects.

“You wanted to leave me alone?”

He bites back a smile and shakes his head, settling into the least cluttered corner.

He chats excitedly as you both eat, but after failing to pry some answers about Fisk from you,—‘are you often threatened by clients?’ and ‘can you steer him in another designer’s direction?’—Steve slips away to grab his own art supplies.

You’ve barely looked up until you get a surge of inspiration and search for your colored pencils under the pile of templates. How did they get all the way over there? Since when are red and grey so worn down? Weren’t you needing to replace both blues soon?

“Those in your way? I can move them?”

Steve stops sketching, holding a yellow pencil, the only color missing from the tin. That’s when you realize. He uses the same brand of pencils you do—tools made of quality materials but nothing overly fancy.

“No need,” you marvel. “I just mistook them for my own.”

Steve sweeps a large hand out in offering. “Mistake away.”

You can’t help it. You chew your lip to calm your grin. He’s simply a very giving man who enjoys simple things. It’s refreshing.

“Or we could trade? We seem to use the opposite colors the most.”

“Right,” Steve laughs, “I went on a tear trying for Sam’s suit in-flight. Never turned out.” Shaking his head dislodges a lock of hair, so he runs his fingers through the strategic coif.

“Hmm,” you hum absently, engrossed by his picturesque appearance, “my drawings are more like guidelines for my imagination. No need to be precise.”

“A sentiment I’ve heard many times before.” He slides the tin closer to the midway point between you. “I just want to do beauty justice, which sounds pretentious but…

“Point is—“ Steve lifts his gaze to you with a soft shrug “—use whatever you like.”

You thought your work habits were grueling, but poor Steve flits around at all hours of the day and night with workouts, training, meetings, and missions. He mostly gets to do drive-by waves of ‘hello’ as he travels the building past your glass bubble, always with a smile, always with a tinge of something else. He’s an easy man to read: you can tell when he’s fatigued (in spirit though, not body), you can tell when he’s irritated from stress, and you can tell when he wants to linger but has to go.

It’s incredibly cute. Steve Rogers is just so damn cute.

You continue with business as usual as best you can, video calling during consults and the most critical fittings. Clients aren’t exactly happy with your absence, but they don’t dare complain when the alternative is waiting another month for you to schedule in person. Besides, there are oftentimes you step away from routine appointments to focus on creating new lines.

Dominica is allowed to walk right in with any of your requested supplies since she’s delivered to Stark several times before. She stays for a few hours to touch base. She assures you that Tarik is no longer unnerved by the police car that sits at the curb outside the atélier’s front door. Apparently, Abby takes the cops coffee a couple times a day.

All in all, it’s going well.

One day, you think Steve is showing up for one of your ‘sketch sessions’—where he sits in his own chair somewhere around the huge oval table and quietly works alongside you—but not today.

“They…it’s…” Steve plants his feet on the carpet across from you and looks behind him nervously. Anytime other people are near the room, he walks right over to you to kiss your cheek, a show to keep up the appearance of actually being a couple, but it’s late enough that no one is around. “We do movie night—we’re doing movie ni—we’re watching a movie if you’d like to join?”

You’re tempted to tease him, ask ‘where’s my kiss’ or something that makes that fiery blush creep up Steve’s face, but you grin back. “Sure. I could use the break.”

Honestly, no, you should be hammering out some details for the lapels of this blazer, but ehh, you’re also tired of staring at the same damn jacket.

Of course, this means the lot of them save you and Steve seats beside each other on a couch. You two have only ever sat in chairs in front of or separated by a table, so figuring out how to curl up next to the man you are not dating is an adventure in micro-expressions. You share a look that lasts about two seconds but contains a forty-five-minute discussion of how far is okay to take this and agree that you want to keep up the charade.

Thus, Steve lifts his arm to drape across your shoulders, and you lean into his chest.

It’s a good fit, good enough that you wake up two hours later not knowing what the movie was about and starting to sweat from being so close to his very warm body.

Maybe it’s the eye convo or maybe napping directly on him tells Steve how comfortable you are with him, but either way, he changes to giving a kiss on the cheek or forehead every instance he sees you, no exceptions.

After a week of remaining on the same floor of the same skyscraper and doing nothing but working, sleeping, and movie-sleeping, you’re at your wit’s end, longingly staring out the window at the city below.

“Hey, what’s wrong?” Steve asks as he enters the conference room. Forehead kiss this time. His lips feel soft and warm as they ghost over your skin.

“Stuck,” you mutter.

His hand smooths across your back. “Well, how do you normally get unstuck?”

“I go for a walk through the park.” You know you can’t go outside, but it’s difficult to wrangle every bit of bitterness at your captivity. You appreciate all Steve is doing to make it so Fisk can’t get to you, but you need fresh air.

Steve sighs like he’s mad at himself before spinning around the room. “Right.” He grabs your hand. “Come with me.”

In the elevator, Steve explains that in keeping with the eco-friendly intent of the new clean energy tower, Tony made half of the rooftop a greenhouse and the other half a garden. The walking paths are all moss-covered, but there are no benches. Just outside the elevator doors are folding chairs, and Steve grabs two.

On separate chairs with no table in sight, you two watch the sunset on the other side of the building from your work room. You take in a big breath of the chilly air and shiver, completely content to experience freedom away from climate control, but Steve rushes back into the greenhouse to retrieve a blanket from the stack beside the chairs.

“Here ya go,” he stumbles, leaning to tuck the fabric around you. “I should have brought us tea or something,” but when he makes to leave this time, you take his hand.

“You’ll miss it.” He’s probably seen the view from here a million times before, but you don’t want him to go. “Stay,” you say in a whisper.

Steve visibly softens, shoulders dropping, eyes alight. “Yeah?” He sits again and looks at the nearly cloudless sky. “Yeah.” He slouches to get comfy in the small and unsupportive chair, but he looks so at home bathed in the warm pink light. “Each time’s a bit different but—“ he turns to you, smiling “—this one’s better.”

Since the sunset sit-down, Steve makes a point to pry you away from the work area when he has time to hang out with you. The couch isn’t actually far away from the conference room, but it does mean you get to sit together, your feet in his lap while he reads a book, listening to his commentary on the author’s points or sketching aimlessly for fun.

The whole thing feels like a bizarre vacation, some alternate reality where your home life intersects with superheroes. Tony Stark may have been a sometimes-client, but he never let you attempt anything more custom than a three-piece suit.

You’re not complaining; it’s just weird that Captain America is so average when his uniform comes off. He sinks his face into his palm when he’s sleepy. His yawn is outrageously adorable for how big the man is. He absently holds your ankles steady in his lap when he shifts on the cushions. His eyelids droop, and he repeats paragraphs when he can no longer keep his place on the page.

Steve Rogers could not be more normal, and for this reason, you find him extraordinary.

He gets dressed every morning while you’re there, no sweatpants, no workout wear—or, what did Sam call it? Athleisure? That’s not a word, right?—except for when Steve is actively working out. He thinks it’s too on-the-nose to wear your designs in front of you for days on end, but that limits his options significantly, considering how much of his wardrobe sports a Tovarich label. Good jeans and a black sweater will have to do because today he’s playing model.

It seems the mannequin Dominica hauled in for you isn’t close to the right proportions for your client so Steve volunteered, rewarded immediately with a gorgeous, toothy smile that made his heart thump against his ribcage.

Steve’s chatty but can’t help it.

There was one conversation a few days ago that unlocked so many memories he thought he’d lost.

While he peeked at a few of your sketches, you asked him about clothing in the 40s, and he took your notepad to doodle a bit. Steve drew a common dress from memory to show you girls he grew up with, the pleats and cinches in their exact spots because—now that he has your full and rapt attention—he thinks it’s important.

He’s had to recall maps, battle maneuvers, building layouts, and evil plans more times than he can count; no one’s ever asked him how his mother styled her hair or which shoes she wore to work at the hospital.

They’re just shoes, but Steve sat misty-eyed describing how Ma tied her laces a very specific way, the way she taught him to, the way he still ties them to this very day. He hadn’t thought of why in so long, and ever since, little details keep flooding back.

“Buck used to never tuck in his shirts,” Steve laughs as you nudge his arms higher to check his range of motion in the shoulders. “He’d fix the front half and leave a tail out in the back.”

You chuckle at that. “Unacceptable for proper ol’ Stevie,” you muse.

“No, it was not—“ he drops his head in shame “—and I’d remind him every time.” Steve spins, prompted by the pull of your hands at his waist. His face is on fire, but he promised to help you. He just has to ’suffer’ through your touch, he supposes.

How horrible…

“Sharp dresser, were you? Not a hair out of place?”

“Yes, ma’am, or…at least for my size I was.”

You’re deep in thought, pulling the bottom hem to check how it lays at his hips, checking the lining before buttoning him up. “These might be too flashy,” you mumble. “Gosh, I hope he likes this color.”

“Why not? It’s stunning,” Steve jumps too eagerly at the chance to praise the barely purple fabric. It’s that kind of illusion hue that might look black, navy, or its true shade in different lights.

“And the buttons?” you prod.

He tilts one of the stamped, dark nickel rounds to see the embellishment. “I’d consider that a signature touch of the Tovarich brand,” he beams.

Your elation is contagious until an ear-splitting alarm sounds overhead. You’re so startled you spring backward into a rolling chair and topple to the floor.

Steve scrambles to help you right yourself while the wailing screech continues, but he knows that noise.

Emergency.

He has to go.

You’re holding your elbow, flashing him a thumbs up, and Steve feels terrible yelling to ensure you’re okay.

Agents race past the glass walls, and he really has to run so off he goes, jacket still on.

An incredibly long seventeen hours later, Steve is returning to his room only to notice you’ve fallen asleep at the conference table. He’s pleased there is no bandage on your elbow, so the fall was no worse than bruising, but he refuses to leave you there.

Slowly peeling your face and hands from your drafting paper, Steve wrestles your flopping arms and limp legs into a solid hold to carry you to your own room.

You don’t wake up, not fully, only enough to grip the shoulder strap of his shield harness as he gently lowers you onto the unmade bed. Luckily, your MO is to kick off your shoes when concentrating on work, so once you release the leather attached to him, he pulls the covers over you.

He kisses your temple. “Night, Button,” he whispers like a secret, and for now, it is.

You simply sigh and turn deeper into the pillow.

Steve purposefully finds you at breakfast to ask if you’d want to get lunch with him. Yes, it would just be in the cafeteria on the lower levels, and yes, you two have already shared many meals, but in his mind, this is the actual ask, the question of ‘will you go out with me’ instead of just ‘are you hungry at this reasonable time and may I be hungry in your vicinity.’

It’s stupid, he knows. He’s anxious for your answer anyway.

Steve has a very love/hate relationship with having you essentially trapped in the Tower. On the one hand, you’re starved for interaction and the choice of your surroundings. On the other hand, he gets you all to himself. He’s ashamed of how much he enjoys that perk. Somewhere deep inside, he hopes whatever Fisk is after is never resolved, but that’s wishful—and terribly selfish—thinking.

Just in case going on a deliberate date with him isn’t offer enough, Steve can return your client’s jacket. He hung it in his locker when changing into the tactical suit. It’s safe, but he’ll get it after his debrief. That’s a good excuse. That’ll work.

You’re happy and excited, only making him more nervous, but it’s progress. He’s done ‘round noon after the long meeting scheduled to start in, yikes, fifteen minutes, and you quickly agree. Steve floats on cloud nine, bouncing his foot until dismissed so he can rush back up to you.

He isn’t expecting to see Tony in your bubble.

“You don’t know me, Stark. How dare you!” Your face twists in fury. “Screw this,” you shout, frantic in grabbing your essentials from the table. “I don’t answer to you. I don't need this. Someone else will get my things.”

Steve doesn’t understand why you won’t meet his eye or speak to him as you barrel past. He’s too stunned to follow you to the elevator, it feels imposing to race down and corner you in the lobby, but he marches up to Tony with wide eyes.

“What the hell happened?”

Tony waves him off, cagy and dismissive, rushing off upstairs to his lab, and Steve almost asks if this is about Fisk. If it’s not and he blabs, then you’ll definitely be angry at him. If he grills Tony too much, there might be something that gives away that Steve lied about having a significant other as his guest for two weeks. If Steve admits that he doesn’t even have your number, the jig is 100% up.

But he knows you have his number, he knows he still has a jacket you’ll want back, and he knows one thing he’s incredibly good at.

So Steve waits, ready to apologize, ready to grovel, ready to yell at Tony for whatever. He is just ready and waiting.

@supraveng @1950schick @patzammit @whiskeytangofoxtrot555 @bucky-fricking-barnes-reads @fallinallinmendes @deandreamernp @shelbygeek @rogersideup @eyebagsanonymous @darsynia

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ghostofthemost141 · 5 months

Text

Serene

Chapter 6

Ch.1. Ch.2. Ch.3. Ch.4. Ch.5.

Pairing: Johnny 'Soap' MacTavish xF!Reader

Word Count: 2,334

About: You were on vacation to the beach and you think you're about to die when you're caught in a riptide until an unlikely hero, your now boyfriend, comes to your rescue. Precisely a Scottish man that bores a tail. And now, the secret is out. Kind of.

!Warnings!: Details of Past SA and Abuse

Italics means Third Person POV

Notes: Some more relationship building between you and Johnny. Hope y'all enjoy.

Taglist: @darling006

The intense silence only made you more and more nauseous the longer it remained. Your Uncle Ale stood there, in visible shock at what he just saw.

“W-What is this?” Ale asked, still in disbelief.

“I'm sorry, Ale.” I softly mumbled, feeling so much guilt and I just knew he was disappointed in me.

Alejandro remained in silence with his mouth agape open. He wasn't necessarily mad but he was quite shocked and surprised to find a guy who he has never met sucking on his niece's face.

“Why didn’t you tell me that you had a boyfriend?” Ale asked me.

“I just..I was afraid of how you would react.”

“Why?” He asked.

“Remember Craig?”

Alejandro remembers him quite well. Craig was your first love and boyfriend. Upon first meeting him, Ale was sketched out by Craig. There was just something about him that didn't sit right with Ale. He could never place the feeling until you came home crying one night. You had planned to stay the night at Craig’s place and he didn't expect you home so when you came home late, he immediately came to your aid. Craig had forced himself onto you after you told him ‘no’ and ‘that you weren't ready.’ That didn't stop Craig unfortunately. You told Ale what had happened and it took everything in Ale to not go to his house and kill him. Your Uncle was tough and knew how to really hurt someone on account he used to be a Colonel. He didn't do that because he realized that you were more important to him. You needed him. He still got Craig taken care of, oddly enough to haven't seen him since he did that to you which was about two years ago, but you never questioned it. You were just happy he was out of your life. That odd feeling he had in his gut about Craig turned out to be real. But upon looking at this guy, who was sucking on niece’s face, he didn't get that feeling at all. Sure he had piercing blue eyes, but he didn't feel that same feeling he had about Craig.

“Estrella, Craig was a horrible man. You know I would support you in whatever you do.” Ale reassured me.

I still couldn't help but feel some guilt in my gut. I knew I should've told Alejandro about Johnny. I felt Johnny rub my back in comfort.

“I'm Johnny.” Johnny introduced himself to Ale, sticking his hand out for a handshake.

Ale willingly shook Johnny’s hand.

Little did you know that Ale was appreciative of shaking his head, already indicating that he not only cared about you, but also your family and close friends. Craig never did that.

“It's nice to meet you, Johnny.”

Ale then turned to you, walking up to you and bending down to your level.

“Cariña, I am not mad at you. Yes I wish you would've told me before I caught y’all sucking on each other’s faces.” Ale chuckled as he said that, making Johnny and I giggle, “But I can already tell he's a way better man than Craig ever was.”

“I know Uncle Ale. Still I'm sorry.” I apologized.

“It's okay, Dove.” Ale patted my leg in reassurance.

Alejandro stood up and faced Johnny.

“This young lady here, my estrella, my niece, she is my whole world, got it?” Ale half jokingly, half seriously told Johnny.

“Sí, señor. La protegeré y cuidaré.[Yes sir. I will protect and care for her].” Johnny spoke.

Ale’s eyes went wide, like comically wide, as Johnny spoke perfect Spanish.

“Ah, tu novio sabe español, Dove.[Ah, your boyfriend knows Spanish, Dove]” Ale said with a smirk.

“Sí, señor.” Johnny said.

I could tell Johnny was doing this to make a good impression on my Uncle and probably to make up for the fact that Ale caught us making out.

“You kids better behave yourselves, está bien?”

“Yes sir.” Johnny and I said in unison.

“We might as well have dinner together then.” Ale announced.

“Do you want me to help with that Mr?” Johnny paused, not recalling being told his last name.

“It’s Vargas. But you can call me Alejandro, hermano.” Ale told him.

That told you everything you needed to know. Your uncle already likes Johnny, but he was mostly relieved that you found someone that wasn’t like Craig. And he is happy that you are finding ways to cope with what happened.

“Thank you, but you kids go out and do whatever. Just be back by seven pm, okay?” Alejandro told us.

“Got it.”

“Yes, sir.” Johnny followed with.

With that, Alejandro smiled at both of y’all and left your room, leaving the two of you in there.

“Holy fuck, I thought that was going to be much much worse.” I whispered to Johnny so Ale wouldn’t hear.

Johnny approached you and held you in his arms, squeezing you tightly.

“I thought he was gonna focking kill meh. Those daggers.” Johnny mumbled, trying to refrain from laughing.

“Oh yeah, he’s got that Papa Bear stare.” I agreed, making both of us giggle.

Johnny then suddenly leaned in and kissed my lips. I kissed back, as if I was hungry for him. I was hungry for that feeling we were feeling just moments ago. It’s something I have never felt before with a man. Johnny pulled away but remained close, his bright blue eyes staring into mine, sending chills down my spine.

“You’re so bloody fucking pretty, Dove.”

Oh Lord have mercy, what was this that I was feeling? Johnny then dragged a finger down my cheek, slowly.

“So pretty.”

“My uncle is here, Johnny.” I remind him.

“I know.” Johnny smirked, making me chuckle.

“I do really want to get to know you though.” Johnny said, giving me a genuine smile.

“Where do you wanna go?”

“I know a spot.” Johnny said.

“So you’re telling me you have been to Lousianna before?”

“Once or twice.” Johnny replied as we sat down at the park bench.

The sun was slowly going down, slowly painting the skies a beautiful orange and yellow color. Johnny sat to the left of you, letting you sit as close as you wanted to him in which you were shoulder to shoulder.

“I don’t think I have ever been to this park actually.” I mention.

“Well I am honored to have taken you to it for the first time.” Johnny mentioned, pecking my temple.

His lips were so soft. They were like heaven.

Silence was met between the two of y’all, but it was a good silence and not an awkward nor bad one. You felt Johnny’s hand graze your thigh, as if he was nonverbally asking for permission. You trusted Johnny so you pushed your leg up against his. Johnny smiled at you as he placed his hand on your thigh but kept it still in place and never moving down. Instead he kept his hand still and rubbed circles onto your skin with his thumb.

“So tell me,” Johnny started, “who are you?”

“I am Dove Vargas, niece to an ex military colonel officer who lives with said uncle because my parents died in a very bad accident years ago who is also very traumatized by men other than my uncle and you.” I bluntly but briefly told Johnny.

“That’s a lot.” Johnny jokes.

“Yeah.”

You blush, feeling Johnny stare at you. It made you feel flustered, but in a good way. You liked feeling like you were important to someone other than your family.

“I have always been wary of other men besides my Uncle. And it was cause of Craig but I know that you, Johnny, wouldn't do that to me.” I say.

“Never. I never would, Dove.” Johnny firmly said, just enough to know he meant it.

“I know, hence why I trust you.”

“I trust you too, lass. I know you wouldn’t tell anyone about me secret.”

Johnny felt reassured knowing he could trust you with his big secret that he was in fact half mermaid. Other women have reeked in disgust with Johnny and told all their friends about him. Even though no one believed them, he still felt hurt that they went and told on him basically. But you? He knew you wouldn’t say a damn word to anyone. You leaned onto Johnny’s shoulder, feeling how soft and comfy his broad shoulder was. Johnny smiled like a little kid, seeing you be comfortable on him. It warmed his heart.

“Craig is why I am so afraid of what my professor will do.” I mumbled, not caring if Johnny heard me or not.

Luckily for you, Johnny has super hearing, needed for the deep, deep ocean he swims in but it still works on land. Johnny then wrapped his arm around you, bringing you even closer to comfort you.

“Aye, I understand, Dove. Honestly, you’re the first woman I have ever let meself get close with in a long time.” Johnny mentioned.

You crane your neck to look up at him.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

Johnny gently ran his fingers through your hair, trying to figure out the words on what to say. Johnny felt like he could trust you with this information.

“The last lass I was seeing, I had warned ‘er about how I looked. And when it came to the hanky panky, she saw my, you know, and well she grew disgusted. She was the last lass I trusted with me secret and despite knowing what I was, she just grew disgusted and then started laughing at me. Laughin’ at me for how gross I looked! I can’t help it ya know?” Johnny explained with frustration in his tone.

I held Johnny as he confessed to me what happened. I swear to God I will find out where this bitch lives.

Little did you know, Johnny felt the same way about Craig.

“I am so sorry, Johnny.” I apologized.

“It ain’t your bloody fault, hen. It’s just..even after all of that, all of that trust built and she tore it down within a second of seeing me skin for the first time. That ain’t even the worst part about it.”

I could feel the blood boiling in my blood as he said that. I rose up and stood up straight to face Johnny.

“What did she do to you, Johnny?” I ask.

“After she got done laughin’ at me, she stuck her fingers into my gills to ‘feel them’ and well it focking hurt! It’s like someone stubbing your organs you know? And when I groaned in pain, she just kept doin’ it and laughin’ at me. Like me being in pain was funny to ‘er.”

You held Johnny tightly, hearing his assault. It shouldn’t have happened, regardless of whether he was human or not.

“I am so sorry Johnny.” I apologized, holding him tightly.

“Eh, it’s okay, Dove. I’m okay. Now that I have you.” Johnny smiled as he said this, making my heart race.

You smile as Johnny leans down to kiss your head.

“Yeah um,” I hesitated, trying to collect the words to say, “it’s kind of what happened with Craig.”

Johnny turns to you, giving you his full undivided attention.

“I wasn’t..ready to do the deed. But he was very well ready. And well he invited me to go over to his place and stay the night. Sounded innocent enough, so I went. Well, I ended up banging on the door to my uncle’s place at like three in the morning cause I managed to drive back home in hysterics without wrecking.” I explained, feeling Johnny’s comfort grow more and more.

“What did he do to you, Dove?”

You could hear a sense of anger but also protectiveness in his tone. Like he was ready to pounce but not on you.

“He..forced himself in me. I fought, kicked, scratched, bit, until he finally let me go and I managed to grab my clothes, scramble to my car and I drove home naked. I only managed to get my clothes on until I parked at my uncle’s place. I put my clothes on, got in and told him what happened. He wanted to send his former second in command to ‘teach him a lesson’ a.k.a the person who took over his position in the military.” I explain some more.

“Dove..I am so sorry. I swear if I ever see him-”

“You won’t have to worry about that, trust me. Rudy, Ale’s former second in command, just threatened him and he was gone in a flash. All it took was a verbal threat, how about that?” I half joked.

Johnny rubbed your back in comfort, feeling all that you were feeling. It was how he felt when his assault happened.

“I am here for you, Dove. No matter what, I will always be here.” Johnny told me.

I turned to find him leaning in close to me.

“I know. And I will always be there for you too, Johnny.”

You closed the gap first, placing your lips onto Johnny’s, feeling your slightly chapped lips onto his impeccable soft ones. That same feeling came back again. The same warm, craving feeling you get with Johnny. You wanted him. You wanted him so damn badly.

“Johnny..”

You moaning his name went straight to his core. He could feel the same warm, craving feeling you were feeling. You could feel Johnny graze his tongue over your lips and you opened your mouth, letting him have access to you. Johnny’s tongue explored your mouth as your hands landed on his shoulders and his hands landed on your hips, pulling you closer to him. This was everything you wanted in life, to be free from Craig’s demise, to be your own person again, to be free from his being, to be free from-

“Now what do we have here?”

TO BE CONTINUED…

#cod #callofduty #call of duty #cod modern warfare #ghostofthemost141 #cod x reader #modern warfare x reader #johnny soap mactavish #simon ghost riley #alejandro vargas #soap x reader #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish #john soap mctavish x reader #john soap mactavish #cod soap #cod soap x reader #serene fic

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sonichaunt · 9 months

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Don't have a lot of time to do anything more than sketches rn, but I felt like drawing one of the new kids on the block (aka one of the new STH rewrite bosses). Some rewrite spoilers and some of my heroes headcanons, I suppose: Shadow android "gold" is a new boss introduced to 'flesh' out the whole concept of the shadow androids in the game. More lore about its creation below, if you want.

In Sonic Heroes, Eggman has Shadow captured, being Geralt's greatest creation and legacy, as well as a good way to deal with Sonic, Eggman feels Shadow is something he's owned/belongs at his side obeying him (this is based on dialogue from Eggman and the way he treats Shadow in STH05). After Eggman failed to reach Geralt's level of bio-engineering genius despite having shadow in his possession to study, and failed in altering shadow's mind to be loyal to him (yes, eggman was a factor why shadow has amnesia, more on that later) he decided he'd for the time being just create new Shadows from the ground up, it give him a good alternative and maybe it would help him understand his grandfather's design more. But how does one get that amount of chaos energy inside a living creature without it going horribly wrong (see biolizard)? Well you need some special DNA and assistance of this alien immortal "god" thing ofc- but Eggman would not know this. But what he does know is robots fix the need for something silly like supporting life functions and pain, so androids it is. Eggman figures Geralt's chaos drive research might be the key to make it work, that's going to be the power source. Experimenting with it he creates Omega (who in canon is powered by chaos drives, not an animal) a robot able to match shadow's power. While this is just the stepping stone to the shadow android, Omega is a good way to recapture shadow if he'd ever get free, so is tasked with guarding the original. (This is also Omega's canon function)

However what works for Omega doesn't work for the Shadow androids, he needs something extra to make it all work. How did Geralt do it? He goes back to the bio-lizard notes, it was based on Chaos, just like- Artificial chaos! I believe that his study of the Artificial chaos is what helps him come up with the "liquid metal" that Neo metal sonic is coated in to give him the new form. Eggman starts basing this new Shadow android design on metal sonic and this new metal. The first prototypes, which would be mass produced by Metal later, are far from perfect, which is why shadow takes them out no problem in his game later. However, likely after Heroes now that Metal Sonic is temporarily benched for his actions, Eggman creates a new set of Androids (these will all be based on the STH05 multiplayer designs). He starts with 4 variations, metallic looking body and replacing Shadow's signature red with Green, Pink, Blue and orange accents, with the ability to morph one of their arms into a weapon. The final shadow android he creates will not have this metal design, but instead look like shadow if not for the golden accents. How is he able to finally get this done? Because, Sonic battle happens after STH05 on the canon timeline, and Eggman having a direct portal into the Gun's cyberspace network (we know this because exiting this level in STH05 puts Shadow in Eggman's computer room, which is something the rewrite will also explain ofc) gives him access to even more of GUN's data on Geralt, including the Gizoid data. And thus the GOLD prototype is created, this android has a much better control of his chaos abilities while retaining the ability of the special metal to morph. Meaning this one is an actual challenge for Shadow, as well as something that makes him doubt if he might be an android after all, something that the inferior models really shouldn't have accomplished, they were nowhere near his level. Phase 1 of the boss fight will feature the regular appearance with the exception of the arm being able to morph for special attacks. in phase 2, after damaging it in the boss fight, the body will shift to the more metal appearance and make cracks appear on its body where chaos energy starts slipping through as the integrity of the body fails to contain it. What more happens with this Gold android? This post is already long, so I guess more on that later. Feel free to let me know what you think. I also opened asks, though I probably can only respond with text and only respond with doodles when I have more time in November. Bye for now.

#project shadow black out #project shadow #shadow android #shadow the hedgehog #sonic headcanons #sonic heroes #my sonic fanart #sonic fanart

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sadnessisavegetable · 2 months

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Another old sketch out of my drafts today, this was a depiction of a what-if for a detail mentioned in the story I am working on(y’all don’t get to know yet explicitly which detail). They’re painting on walls that were pure white (and yes, the smaller figure is Ghirahim! He’s sitting with his older self to do this, since pure white walls are not his favorite either.)

Also, smaller detail, those are signatures on either side that I put together for these two different periods of time—however the first letter is a “K” instead of a “G” for both due to both retaining the idea that the K would be the first letter due to the past life before the forging. The older Ghirahim has a horrible amalgamation of letters from different alphabets, while the younger has just two alphabets used. (The page before this sketch had my brain working out how to put older Ghirahim’s signature together based on time periods he lives through for my writing).

And feathers!! I needed there to be feathers grown in the space between wings, even if older Ghirahim no longer has wings!

#my brain needed to infodump today since ya boy has no motivation to draw due to the Big Sleepy #ghirahim #legend of zelda #loz #my art #lost paths au #legend of zelda lost paths

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myneverendingemophase · 5 months

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If you’re afraid of swearing, then don’t read it, ok? Ok, I warned you

I finally decided to watch Trolls: Band Together, so I present you my opinion that you never needed or wanted! Yuppie!!

Some of you have probably seen my angry rant about it before the movie was released, but you know what? FUCK YOU, PAST ME! Past me can shut the fuck up and jump into the pit! At least partly.

I still have stuff I don’t like here, like Viva’s design. Because THE HELL?? I love her hair, her voice, her movements, BUT COULDNT THEY GIVE HER AT THE VERY LEAST DIFFERENT HEADSHAPE? She looks like a Poppy copy, make her look older, you fucking cowards

Branch’s brothers were adorable, I like the way they were introduced. Could have been better and way less rushed, but I waited for worst, so I’m satisfied, I dunno? I like them as characters, very nice very nice. Also. If 3 of them escaped… Were trolls so afraid of bergens they didn’t even try to escape in small groups at night or something? Ok, fine, moving on, it’s not like we’re getting answers

Maybe I didn’t like the idea of tons of siblings, because this plot idea is very cliché and that makes it so so easy to fuck the plot up. But the way they added siblings wasn’t too bad, I guess? Brothers added more trauma to Branch, great angst potential for all five, nice. And Viva shown us once again not to trust King Peppy— Wait. Why did he let Poppy go to Bergentown in the first movie again—

I’m so SO relieved that I wasn’t completely right and especially that I was super wrong about Broppy. AND THANK FUCK THAT I WAS WRONG! They’re healthy, they’re still their flawed selves, but they’re trying their best, they’re adorable, they don’t have artificial drama shitshow!! Hell yes!

Also Bridget and Gristle. They were dorks and I liked them. Gristle is just going along with everything Bridget does and admiring his wife. Big mood, man

Moving from good things.

I’m upset that the plot didn’t add trolls from other tribes. Like, Poppy and Barb could have bonded as friends! Come on! But another subplot would have been too much, I agree. The movie has enough stuff to deal with without it, it’s upsetting, but understandable.

That’s also probably the reason why the movie feels rushed. It’s hard to give attention to every character during that short amount of time, I understand that. But it’s still sad.

I still weep. Because they cut Lady Gaga’s song Applause. WHYYYYYYYYYYYYYY?????!! *in indescribable amount of pain*

In conclusion. I thank Goddesses that I wasn’t completely right. The movie wasn’t horrible, I’m so relieved! It could have been better, but same about the first and the second movies. And maybe I’m gonna share some troll theories in the future, I dunno, but there probably will be sketches. Maybe :)

#trolls #dreamworks trolls #trolls world tour #trolls 3 #trolls band together #broppy #im not deleting my previous shit fit btw #i cant lie i enjoyed the movie #even though i pointed out stuff that could have been better #now excuse me #i gotta go draw more trolls ehehe

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jinxxedmisery · 6 months

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I did a quick little sketch (by quick, I mean it took me like 2 hours lol) I still struggle with feet and shoes...

I just saw a pose on pinterest and thought omg, what if Astarion and my tav... but he's biting their thigh 🤭

Ofc, I had to name it.. thirst... and I added the "Happy" symbol to kind of cover a sketch I did on the same page... You know... it wasn't originally supposed to be just one piece, I was practicing poses and I liked this one way too much to just leave it or risk messing up when I redrew it.

This is entirely self indulgent.. and intended to be Spawn Astarion because he's so babygirl 🥰😘😍

🤣 also I don't think I posted but I got through the Cazador fight not too long ago.. and

Spoilers and dumb ramble ahead:

For most of my day, I sat there wondering how the fuck I would beat that bastard... he was one shotting Shadowheart with his fucking lightning bolt, then sending his gas minions after the survivors. Astarion being in the ritual made it 10× more difficult.. so... I cheated... and fuck... It should have been obvious...

I LITERALLY FORGOT FOR THE ENTIRE FUCKING DAY THAT VAMPIRES ARE WEAK TO SUNLIGHT.. I blame Astarion and his parasite as well as Alucard for that one honestly.. the day walker thing kind of made me forget that omfg immunity to daylight is an exception, not the rule..

So I felt stupid.. once I got that, it was so much easier.. oh and almost constantly had Astarion in stealth kill mode until Cazadick was gone.

Also side note.. the VA for Cazador is perfect.. Like they really sells the "I'm a pathetic little worm, and your worst nightmare, fear me while I bitch and cry" LOL and again that's a compliment.. Larian really succeeded in making an evil character extremely grating and hatable which again, a good thing, not a bad thing.

The heartbreak I felt though afterwards when Astarion screams and cries.. God.. the second I got to this scene, I KNEW I couldn't let him ascend, doing so would be so cruel.. and yes.. this is ascended Astarion slander, I don't like my men too domineering.. maybe a little bit, but not enough to like kill innocent children and eat their hands or some shit lmfao (Doing a durge run too.. where I'm going to ascend Astarion and be a horrible bastard that eats babies) and I don't like that he loses the genuine feelings he has for tav/durge and becomes what he sought to destroy, an abuser.

Now.. the graveyard scene... I had tears in my eyes.. Honestly, the reason I love Astarion so much is because he is quite relatable. I will not go into detail, but I was.. SAed and abused as a kid. And honestly.. Seeing the bit where he scratched out his death date, made me feel hope.. for myself... For my own healing.. it truly meant so much seeing another survivor of abuse begin anew, find themselves again... even though I have done that already myself for the most part, I've found purpose, passions, love, heartbreak, etc and I've found some level of beauty in the life. I related quite a lot to the line about sex feeling tainted.. I am at a point where it no longer feels as terrible, I feel genuine enjoyment in it... (Can't do casual sex though.. That would trigger me into a ptsd attack) And I think part of that was letting myself go at my own pace, making sure my partners knew, and having control and the ability to consent and revoke consent at any point. Emotional attachment helped a great deal too.

I've rambled on enough.. but... Let me end this off by saying, If you went through unspeakable horrors at the hands of those who you thought were supposed to protect you, You are not alone, Even if you do not see it now, there is light at the end of the tunnel, keep on living, keep trying to find joy in little things. It does get better, what was done to you was horrible and you did not deserve it. I promise, you will see better days. You will be happy again, even if you feel like the pain will never end, there is always moments of calm.... live for those... live for your pets, live for your friends, the people around you, live for that cute thing you just ordered, live for that movie or TV series you're excited about watching... even the next patch for bg3.. or more Astarion content if that's your reason right now... and take it one day at a time. You will be okay.

If you need to vent out some shit, I'll listen, I may not know what to say or be able to offer comfort, but I will always lend an ear, even to a total stranger if they need it.

That's all from me, goodbye, until my next post.. whenever that will be ❤🖤❤🖤

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elendsessor · 3 months

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i think i made a post about it before but i’m talking about it again

despite many aspects being debatably canon i really think the lone marebito shows just how expansive devil summoner as a series can be if atlus gave it more chances, especially with the epilogue. i mean first off

kyouji kuzunoha the first!!! (who also got a bonus sketch at the end!) he was the antagonist of the still untranslated* prequel light novel that released somewhere around the time dsrk1 came out! he also has a cameo mention in a case file in the sequel. considering how important kyouji is to the entire devil summoner series, also being part of what confirms the persona series takes place in the same universe, his absence is really disappointing. there seems to have been a potential manga adaptation or a follow up being hinted at here but idk.

*only the first chapter was translated way far back on live journal. pages of it have been scanned but aside from that there’s no full translation, official or fan.

then of course there’s this moment.

this is definitely debatably non canon but. you can’t just drop this and never elaborate??? then again we do know canonically narumi has a history with the imperial military. he does mention leaving because of how corrupted it became (dsrk1 and 2 are very critical of imperial japan/rapid modernization so this would likely be expanded even further upon), but that doesn’t fully explain how he got entangled with the yatagarasu. yes the yatagarasu has connections with at least the navy however they clearly rarely single out individuals. unless you’re a person of power or have had run ins with demons/demonic influence, they don’t really care.

there are also so many plot threads we haven’t gotten the conclusion of? mainly with gouto. we know for a fact that he was the first raidou kuzunoha who apparently did something so horrible he’s currently in an indefinite salem saberhagen situation but never got elaborated on despite openly mentioning it too.

i don’t think i need to go into detail with how much missed potential there is and how badly there needs to be at least another manga follow up??? we haven’t had a proper devil summoner game in ages either so idk how it would pan out. aside from dropping the devil summoner title, soul hackers 2 is definitely uh. not a proper entry. yeah victor, the yatagarasu, and the phantom society are present but we don’t really get to see them see them, and it plays more like persona—scratch that it’s just persona but worse (they also retconned what soul hacking meant and was just not very soul hackers-like at all). the sega acquisition has changed a ton about the franchise and what it’s willing to cover for well over a decade so chances are low but. c’mon we need a raidou 3.

#shantien rambles #devil summoner #dsrk #megaten

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mermaidsirennikita · 2 months

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So. I began a book called Shadow Dance by Anne Stuart. I'm about halfway through, and I want to begin by saying that there has been some Problematic Content thus far, but like, most of it is generalized to Anne Stuart (dubcon-y threats and past SA, though not as much as I read in A Rose at Midnight on either front by a looong shot) and a couple things are very 1993 of it all (there's a child predator briefly in the beginning who's kind of played as a foppish stereotype, the single use of the word "sodomite" and his "perversions", though to be fair, I think that's more on the child predator front than anything else... and course the heroine grew up in Egypt so there are some light orientalist-ish references because historical written in early 90s).....

BUT WITH THAT OUTTA THE WAY, on to ONE OF THE WILDEST BOOKS I HAVE EVER READ

So we begin with our primary hero, Phelan (Anne Stuart loves a primary/secondary romance, and guess what, the degree to which she kills both of them is a testament to how writers today need to shape UP because Anne is out here selling two loves tories in a <400 page book than a lot of people sell one in 800 pages at the moment) walking in to find his father stabbed to death and his CRAZY mother accusing his illegitimate half-brother Valerian of doing it.

Exciting, but not that weird, right?

WELL.

Flash forward a year or something, and we're in the mind of our primary heroine, Juliette, who is disguised as a boy, Julian, on the run from her horrible husband. She's looking for work, and again, this is all fun and vibrant but it's not that WEIRD.

WELL AGAIN.

Juliette, who looks like a teenage boy because she's actually 22-year-old girl, is thisclose to being preyed upon by aforementioned gross predator, when she's offered work by this random vicar guy and his wife, a beautiful but VERY TALL, BROAD LADY WITH MASSIVE FEET.

And if you're saying "surely not" I'm saying "surely yes", that is accused murderer, gorgeous rake Valerian, dressed in drag, and on the run with his loving and very put-upon older brother Phelan, who is in fact pretending to be his husband (and to be clear: all of this is implied to have been Phelan's BRILLIANT PLAN because he's a control freak with severe trust issues and an honestly incredibly sweet love for his little brother)

So you're treated to all these scenes of Phelan bitching at Valerian while trying to lace his corset, and Valerian being like "I HATE CURLING MY HAIR LIKE THIS" because he's also a Prime Pouty Hero, and being horrified when he finds out that Phelan is TELLING EVERYONE HE'S PREGNANT in order to excuse his weird body type, and like???

Going back to there being two romances... Our primary love story is Phelan, again a control freak and I must say, DUUUUUUMB hot, and Juliette, who spends like the first quarter of this book desperately trying to convince him she's a boy (she is also a misandrist lmao) even though Phelan and Valerian (who Juliette does not suspect of being a man at all because Val is a pretty boy) both immediately went "yeah that's a girl"... So she keeps on being like "I'M JUST A MITE OF A LAD" "I AIN'T DONE GROWIN'" or, when she wakes up to find that Phelan sketched her while she was sleeping, "YOU MAKE ME LOOK LIKE A GIRL". And Phelan keeps responding in the most laaaanguid draaaawling way possible with like "You. Are the boldest person. I have ever met.", tilting Julian/Juliette's chin up to look deeply into her eyes, making it very clear to Valerian that he CANNOT touch Juliette, even though Phelan has NOOOO intention of touching her himself, because he is again, a control freak who trusts no one but Valerian.

And meeeeanwhile, we have Valerian, who is completely besotted with this kinda incredibly naive and dumb but utterly charming bluestocking, Sophie. I was kinda worried that Valerian would come off as a predatory drag queen stereotype, but LMAO HE IS GENUINELY IN LOVE. He wants to get with her, he knows he can't (he DOES tell Sophie at one point that he has an identical twin brother but nothing has come of THAT particularly play yet) and so he's like, resigned himself to making sure she doesn't marry a loser, while spending as much time with her as possible, in the guise of her experienced married lady friend.

WHICH LEADS TO. One of the most dirtybadwrong scenes I've ever read. Even though technically, NOTHING HAPPENED. In which Sophie reveals that her mother told her about the "practicalities" of marriage, and it sounds like it SUCKS :( so she might as well marry this boring dude.

WELL AGAIN AGAIN.

Valerian/Valerie CANNOT HAVE THAT. And AS SUCH! He's all "let me tell you a thing", which quickly turns into something WAY WEIRDER when Sophie is all "omg tell me girl" while resting her head in his lap. V. DIFFICULT FOR HIM. And he proceeds to give her the most erotic Sex Ed I have ever read, which goes on and on and he is having an increasingly present Issue, and Sophie is all blushing and like "well that sounds pretty solid", and there is much twining of the hair, and some pretty GRAPHIC descriptions of what a man may do if he ~loves you~ and. I was shocked! Shocked, I say! Shocked into a fit of laughter!

anyway not done with it yet but thus far a banger I must say

#romance novel blogging #i must say dude. every time i think this book is about to zig it zags #and there was no way to explain this in a brief manner

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