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corollaservant · 29 days

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Hate Me (18+, jealous/paranoid f!reader, multi, smut in a tub, nip piercings, song inspo, image creds)

it was awkward to fight with him on vacation. it meant you had to be silently staring at each other across the spa’s private bathtub he had booked. he was on the other end of the tub and huffed in annoyance, his hands wet, the towel and phone away from his reach as you were coldly staring at him for the past 20 minutes. the fight occurred because the waitress had flirted with him while you took your breakfast this morning and he had obviously flirted back. Ok maybe he hadn’t, you certainly thought he did though. He always had that pretty smile on his face, always appreciating the hotel and tourist service people and well..he seemed very popular among the staff.

‘’i literally told her thank you, babe’’ he exhales as he rolls his eyes. you’ve been having this debate for some time now and while he wants to explain further, he fears there is nothing more to elaborate on.

‘’there was no reason to smile like that?’’

‘’like what?’’ he raises his voice, it’s absurd he thinks.

‘’you know exactly what I mean. i know damn well you didn’t give the same smile to that lobby boy yesterday’’ you slightly realize the argument is dumb, childish really, its point barely holding up against him. he is used to this and doesn’t mind, in fact most times he thinks it’s cute in a twisted way, your emotions show too easily. the problem is this time he senses you’re more serious about it and wants to end this quickly.

‘’baby’’ he sighs. ‘’i promise, there was no thought behind it, okay?’’ he smiles as he opens his arms signaling for you to come close.

‘’it’s always the same excuse with you. last time, you didn’t remember whose likes you were in, then it was the lady giving you free chocolates and adding a heart to your coffee cup-’’ you continue. ‘’we both got coffees that day!’’

‘’this is getting out of hand.’’ he replies, his voice is composed, like usual but the tone is firm. ‘’i can’t keep arguing like this, you keep testing me, measuring my love when you know that I love you. i show it every fucking day so what's the fucking deal?’’ he is annoyed and angered, you can tell by the way his eyes flicker, if they were laser tags and you his target, they'd burn through your frontal lobe.

he was always the 'de-escalator' in such situations, you’d spout some unserious accusation, he’d provide logical feedback and you’d end up either mute, huffing in annoyance or fucked dumb. in this instance he chose to splash water in your direction, playfully but not too much. the action obviously annoyed you and in an attempt to defend yourself you splashed him back vigorously but he ducked his head underwater as you felt his arms grab your waist. he reemerged and brought your body close to his, quick reflexes leaving no room for resistance- he always managed to have you on his territory, never the other way around. his toned back was pressed against the cold tiles as your bodies were hardly separated, the only thing between you both water and bubbles from the somehow turned on jacuzzi button.

‘’i really fucking hate you’’ you whisper against his face, his hands sealed around your waist as you float underwater, pushed back and forth on his torso, your tiny bikini top touching his chest ever so slightly.

‘’you don’t mean that and you know it’’ he coos, bringing you closer, so close that you have to wrap your legs around him (or at least open them up to fit, you justify) so that you’re resting atop him, a poke teasing under your bikini.

‘i do’’ you state but his fingers have already started trailing your back, which makes you unwillingly shiver as he moves them towards your hips, placing both palms on your ass and squeezing hard.

‘’then why don’t you show me how much, huh?’’ he breathes on your neck, rubbing himself against your entrance. since you’re in water, you sense the direct contact, your soaked bikini feels bare against his strained trunks and you softly moan.

‘’I- will not–be having–’ you are being cut off by his lips on you as he pushes you further down on him, chest on his naked torso and he grins.

‘’not what? sex with me?’’ he smirks. he wants to taste your delicate skin, he can’t stop thinking of your tits in that tiny bikini top, spilling and revealing your nipple piercings by default. ever since you got them pierced he could see them hard almost 24/7. he slides the top to your sides and grabs a handful while his other hand guides your lower back to grind against his erection, the feeling’s overbearing and you moan, needy for more but still pissed off he slowly wins you over.

‘’doesn’t look like it’’ he continues, as he puts the softness of your fat in his mouth, his tongue swirls around the nipple piercing and he swallows; metallic and sweet, just how he likes it.

‘’baby..ah p–please..’’ you mewl, his tongue feels too good but you’re always so impatient, always wanting to get fucked before he can tease and since you started this petty fight, he thinks he might as well enjoy it a bit longer.

‘’what is it sweetheart?’’ he inquires, diverting his attention to your pouting face. he has perfected his oblivious stare and concealed it so well, he knows exactly what's up but wants to get it out of you.

‘’please..continue’’ you give in, a consistent ache pools below you and he wants to smirk but doesn’t allow himself.

‘’oh?’’ ‘’but i thought you hated me?’’ the words linger.

‘’I do’’ you sigh and now he smirks. ‘’ but I- i ..that doesn’t mean i don’t want you to continue’’ you shamelessly admit.

‘’is that so?’’ he already knew how this would end up.

he moves his hands towards your core, it doesn’t take long for him to sense how wet you are despite the surroundings as he trails his fingers up and down your cunt. he slides your tiny bikini to the side, you look cute he thinks, tits flush with the top shoved out the way and wide eyes looking at him- anticipating.

‘’i see you’re being very obedient now, how so?’’ he teases as he pushes two thick fingers in your core, they must fill you up well because he notices the way your mouth parts and your grip tightens on the back of his head.

‘’i.. don’t..know’’ you respond weakly, as he continues his rhythm, kissing your mouth, fingers building up your orgasm. he knows you too well by now, he knows exactly how to work his way into your cunt.

he has patience; has always been a patient man but that patience can be worn thin and he doesn’t want to waste time. he figures overstimulating you back at the hotel room sounds more practical, he has more space and toys to use on you. plus he is slightly annoyed by the hotel spa room, not only for sanitary reasons but because he can’t feel you to the fullest.

he exits his fingers moments after he picked up the pace and your moans became more frequent; one hand on your waist still in his embrace as he lets his cock spring free underwater. with zero delay he pushes your hips down on him, having run the tip across your clit, earning him a moan that made his cock jump. he doesn’t break eye contact so with that in mind he admires his dexterity for a second.

you gasp loudly as you feel him entering you and he hushes you.

‘’be a good girl and be silent for me, please’’ he whispers but not as composed as he'd wish for as your walls have him trapped inside you, the pleasurable sensation highlighted by your hands gripping with small force the roots of his hair. it’s not strong, he smiles– but he appreciates the effort and it makes his cock twitch so he’ll take it.

he thrusts upwards and notices the way your mouth parts and legs tremble shortly after so he guesses he hit your g-spot. he’s filling you up well, the way his palms move your hips up and down, the water pressure and his gaze solely on your face make you grasp around him tightly, he intoxicates you and he unfortunately knows it.

‘’..i ..agh– hate ..you..’’ you murmur against his mouth, eyeing him up as you fall to pieces with each tantalizing thrust, you know you’re gonna come soon, he has you angled is such way that besides his cock pushing deeper and deeper, he brings your body so close that your clit touches his skin, applying extra pressure on your poor entrance. He can feel you on him, it drives him wild.

‘’i didn’t catch that’’ he says, ‘’would–you–repeat?’’ cock thrusting without relent to the tempo of each word as you bounce on his face and arch your head back.

‘’i.. said.. oh fuck. baby- i said i ..hate–’’ you cut yourself off when you feel your orgasm take over, it starts from your hole (or maybe your clit, you can't bother to care) and spreads throughout your whole body as you tremble and tighten around him, his pace never faltering.

You look so pretty when you come undone, he thinks

‘’ agh shit I hate you too baby.’’ he hisses and cums with a loud groan inside you, load shooting deep in your core as he moves to his own rhythm, digging his fingers in your hips and panting against your neck.

‘’so fucking much.’’

Geto, Gojo, Nanami, Toji (give him some credit), Dazai, Fyodor, Tecchou, Aizawa, Hawks, Chrollo, Levi + ur personal favs!

#jujutsu kaisen #geto x reader #gojo x reader #nanami x reader #toji x reader #dazai x reader #fyodor x reader #tecchou x reader #aizawa x reader #hawks x reader #levi x reader #corollaservant

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neil-gaiman · 1 year

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Hi mr. Gaiman, I really love your books and short stories! I just read Coraline yesterday and was wondering about it.

So, I read the book in English, which is not my native language, so it could be me misunderstanding whatever is written, but I am really curious and wanted to ask you.

So in the book, when Coraline is in the room behind the mirror she meet 3 ghosts. When Coraline asks one of them if they're a boy or a girl, the ghost answer is "when I was small I wore skirts and my hair was long and curled, but now that you ask, it does seem to me that one day they took my skirts and gave me britches and cut my hair", and the the same ghost says "I believe I was once a boy". The other two ghosts say they're girls, and later, when Coraline finds the 1st soul it's confirmed that this is in fact a boy.

What I wanted to ask is, is the ghost boy trans? I'm asking because I really don't know if I misunderstood or that this is true, and I would really appreciate a honest answer.

Also I don't know if someone already asked you about it, so I'm sorry if you've already answered this question.

Thanks anyway, for everything you've written!

It's a good question.

If you want to read it as the ghost having been trans, you certainly could.

When I wrote it, though, I was thinking of the rite of passage known as breeching. That was the custom of taking a boy around the age of 6 or 7 out of the skirts he would have worn until then, and giving him breeches, what the English might call trousers. They made an event of it. Often the boys would have their long, curly hair cut at the same time, but not always. Hair could be cut before breeching, or after.

Let's look at fashion for boys in England...

The custom lasted longer than you might imagine. This is Franklin D Roosevelt in 1884...

and an English boy in 1871...

...and breeching continued in many places until the early 20th Century.

I've read in many places that boys were dressed as girls when small to somehow protect them from the evil eye, but most of the history of fashion articles I've read maintain there wasn't boys' and girls' clothing, there was children's clothing, and it was more about the complexity of how you did up adult trousers and the ease of small kids being able to go to the toilet. I post anything to do with fashion and history on Tumblr a little nervously, knowing that there are people out there who REALLY know their stuff, and will take enormous delight in explaining this a great deal better than I can.

In the meantime, here are a few links.

#breeching #Coraline

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elllisaaa · 3 months

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how seventeen would confess to you - hhu vers.

-> pairing : svt hhu × gn!reader

-> words count : 2.9k words

-> genre : svt members crushing on you, fluff

-> warnings : while make you giggle and kick your feet

-> sorry if I made any mistakes, english is not my first language.

-> reblogs and feedbacks are appreciated !

-> masterlist | svt masterlist

hhu vers. | vu vers. | pu vers.

CHOI SEUNGCHEOL - INTIMATE

cuddles, cuddles, cuddles !

once he tackled you on the couch or bed and you’re in his arms, you’re not getting up for at least an hour.

watching long shows together, and you’re forbidden from watching even one episode without him, or he’ll get so pouty.

big golden retriever energy, he’s always so smiley around you.

but also big on protecting you.

he’s the type to say “dress how you want, i can fight”, and he will definitely fight if needed.

always has an arm around you, making you feel safe in every situation

since both of you are friends since as far as you can remember, he’s like another member of your family.

i can literally picture your aunts asking you when you’re gonna marry him at every gathering lmao

with all of that, the line between friendly and romantic feelings is blurred, but cheol wished he had the courage to fully cross it.

however, everyone and their mothers knew about his big crush on you, and about yours on him.

his confession would be so domestic crying because i’m lonely.

It wasn’t uncommon for you to cross paths with Seungcheol late at night. Just like you, he often got thirsty and you always ended up staying in the kitchen until the early hours of morning, and being sleepy at the family gathering. And this time was not different. Well, it was, in fact, a bit different. You had been aboard for the past year and only got back to Korea a few weeks before, so both of you hadn’t really seen each other and you had a lot to catch up on about your lives.

“- And after that, this bitch didn’t even dare to look me in the eyes for the rest of the year ! Can you believe this ?

- I don’t like to judge people I don’t know, but she’s indeed a bitch.”

Both of you bursted out in laughter, and your heart felt warmer again. It was as if you were finally complete again. Being away from Seungcheol when he had been by your side for the majority of your life was the most difficult thing you ever had to do, and feeling him slip through your fingers as he started to respond less was horrible. He apologized so many times about how busy he was, and you knew it was not his fault, but still, you just wanted to be back home, back in his arms.

“- Yeah, she definitely is.”

You landed your head on his shoulder with a smile, and Seungcheol feared that you would hear how fast his heart was beating. He was happy for you when you announced to him that you had the opportunity to go aboard for your studies, and he was immensely proud of you. But at the same time, all he wanted to do was convince you to not go and keep you forever with him. But he was only your best friend, and he couldn’t ask you to give up on your dreams for him. But he wished he could be your boyfriend instead.

“- I have something to confess…”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him as you waited for his next words. Seungcheol eyes’ dived into yours, and he just knew. He knew that this was the right time, that the particular atmosphere surrounding the two of you would certainly never arise again. He had to do it now.

“- The day you left, I came to say goodbye at the airport, remember ?”

You nobbed. How could you not ? He had engulfed you in a big hug that made you want to stay, and left you with teary eyes as you got on your flight.

“- I never told you what I did after. I drove off to the park we always played at when we were kids, and I cried on the swings for maybe two hours because all I could think about was that you were not with me. And it felt so wrong.”

Your right hand found purchase on his cheek, forcing him to look down at you as he consciously avoided your eyes since he started to tell you his little story. But your soft smile was the only reassurance he needed.

“- It felt wrong being away from you too. I missed you so much Cheol…

- Me too…”

And just like that, you both leaned in at the same time, your lips meeting in between and suddenly, everything felt right again, as if it was where you were supposed to be - in each other arms.

“next time i’m squeezing myself in your luggage, i don’t want to spend another night without you in my arms.”

JEON WONWOO - SIMPLE

i don’t know how to explain it, but I’m sure you’ll get it when I say that this man is the definition of soft.

he’s so cozy, every one of his hugs feels like a warm cocoon (that’s why you always find an excuse to get a hug).

very good at giving advice, and a good listener, he’s always there when you need a shoulder to cry on.

you were friends with the other members at first, but slowly, you started to grow closer when he discovered how sweet and lovely you were.

the more he talked with you, the more he found himself hooked.

literally has heart eyes for you (everyone and their mothers know about his crush on you) and would drop everything if you need him.

of course, he’ll be more than happy if you agreed to play video games with him, it doesn’t matter if you’re good at it or not

it’s even better if you never played, he’ll have an excuse to make you sit on his lap while he teaches you how to use the controller.

but in the end, he’s a simple guy, and he doesn’t see the point of hiding his crush for too long, but he also wants his confession to be meaningful.

The boys had organized a big party for your birthday this year, and surprisingly, they succeeded at keeping it a secret until tonight. And the past months spent trying to perfect every little detail was worth it when they saw the big smile on your face and your teary eyes when you recognized your friends and family as you walked through the room.

And even if Wonwoo couldn’t be more happy than seeing you wander around, laughing and smiling non-stop, he felt a weight on his heart. He wanted to steal you away from all these people, have you all for himself and finally tell you how he felt about you, finally tell you how glad he was to have you in his life. But he couldn’t, and he would never do that. He was just waiting patiently for your eyes to meet in the crowd, and for you to smile brightly at him. Every time you did that, his heart beat faster.

“- Finally ! I’m so happy that everyone came, but I’m exhausted !

- I can imagine, you’ve been running around the whole night.”

You sighed dramatically as you seated yourself on the couch next to Wonwoo, resting your head on his shoulder. Like a habit, he put his arms around you, bringing you closer to him, just because you were so comfortable around each other that everyone else thought you were already dating.

“- It’s the best surprise of my life. You guys are my favorites. Thank you for doing this for me.

- You deserved it, that and all the presents we prepared for you.”

You lifted your head from his shoulder, looking at him with a sparkle of curiosity in your eyes.

“- And what’s yours Wonwoo ?”

He had planned to do it later, when everyone would have left, when he’ll have a moment alone with you. But if this wasn’t a sign that he had to do it now, he didn’t know what it was.

“- It’s not something material. It’s more… Spiritual I’ll say.

- It’s intriguing, tell me what it is.

- My heart. I’m offering you my heart, because you already have it, you did for a long time now, and I wanted to let you know, just in case you were feeling the same about me.”

Wonwoo knew how emotional you could get, but he didn’t expect you to cry from his confession. Still, he wiped your tears away, waiting for you to calm down with a soft smile on his face.

“- I feel the same, I’ve been feeling the same for so long. You have my heart too.”

“I’ll take care of it, I promise. I’ll always protect you.”

KIM MINGYU - JOYFUL

100% golden retriever energy

you would often tease him along with the members (because we all know that seventeen ultimate goal is to make fun of mingyu)

partner privilege : would not get as pouty as with his members, all it takes is a smile from you and you’re forgiven.

however, when you tease him about how being so muscular but so afraid of everything is a shame, he’ll be like a child throwing a tantrum.

pouting until you compliment him (and cannot stop blushing once you do, he’s so cute someone help me).

tries to impress you all the time by flexing his muscles, showing how strong he is.

he’s so obvious please, this boy cannot hide his love for you.

follows you everywhere like a lost puppy, just in case you need him (he’s adorable).

he feels so comfortable around you because beyond all the teasing, you’re very understanding and kind.

you’re always here to remind him how amazing he is every time he doubts himself.

and because he feels so comfortable around you, his confession would slip like it was the most natural thing ever.

Mingyu always had a tendency to show off his skills whenever you were in the same room as him. Yes, he felt an incredible ego boost when you complimented him about his muscles, but what he took real pride in was how much he was able to make you laugh. He always feared that his jokes were lame, or just not your type of humor, but every time he cracked one, you bursted into giggles. And by the way you were beaming, there was no way that you were faking it.

And he always managed to make you laugh in all types of situations, chuckling and resisting the urge of kicking his feet like a teenager everytime you hitted his shoulder playfully as you tried to contain your own giggles. Mingyu was addicted to the way your eyes were glowing with joy everytime you just smiled. However, he discovered that the easiest way to get you to laugh was to tell you all the stupid things his members did. Like now, as you were crying from how funny you found the story of Seungkwan volley ball.

“- He really only discovered it when he saw that video ?

- Yeah, really ! You should’ve seen the betrayal in his eyes, it was priceless !”

And you were laughing again, your head thrown back, tears almost spilling out of your eyes. But Mingyu wasn’t laughing anymore, too lost in his contemplation, because you were literally a work of art to him. Every single detail about you was perfect, the more he discovered, the more he wanted to be yours.

“- Your smile is so beautiful, gosh… I love you so much…”

The melody of your giggles died as soon as you registered the meaning of his words. Silence enveloped the both of you as you stared at him as if you were trying to enter his mind and find all the answers to your questions. And Mingyu was forcing himself to keep his mouth shut, and not embarrass himself further, already cursing himself in his head for being so careless.

“- Wha- What did you say ?”

Mingyu was too focused on his overthinking to notice the little grin spreading on your lips. Of course, you already knew that he had a crush on you. Of course, you had a crush on him too because who doesn’t ? And of course, it was very cute to watch him stumble over his words with red cheeks.

“- I-I said that you have a beautiful smile…

- And after that ?

- Don’t want to tell you.”

You giggled as you leaned in to peck his warm cheeks, restraining yourself from going in for his pouty lips too.

“- Well, just know that I love you so much too Gyu.”

“see, you heard it perfectly ! but i’ll tell you a hundred times if you want me to.”

CHWE HANSOL - BRIGHT

he’s so random, like one minute he could joke along with you and the other he’s asking you the most existential question possible, fully serious about it.

like we say vernon is just vernoning in the most vernon way possible.

he's very chill about pretty much everything so it's really soothing to be around him.

he's your go-to person when you want to isolate yourself from the rest of the world because you could spend evenings just watching tv and not saying a word to each other

there's also times where both of you end up talking about your lives until the early hours of the morning.

your relationship feels like it's all natural, there has never been an awkward state, only comfort.

it's like hansol had known you for years because he felt so at ease every time you were with him.

you made him feel like he was special and normal at the same time, and even if he doesn't show it often, he really appreciates it.

you two liked to stay inside so it was rare for you to go out somewhere, but it was always unexpected and when it happened.

hansol knew that you liked to be surprised, and often showed up on his days off to take you somewhere without telling you.

that's why you weren't shocked when he picked you up at 5 in the morning, on a random Sunday.

“- Can I at least choose the music ?

- Go on.”

Hansol handed you his phone which was connected to the speakers of his car, letting you put on whatever song you wanted. He owed you this with how early he forced you to get out of bed on one of your days off. But he really wanted to take you to this spot he loved. He played it off as one of his random wishes, but he planned this in his mind for a long time, not all the details, but he knew he wanted to bring you there to tell you how he felt.

He watched with a small smile on his lips as you opened the window, one of your favorite songs playing as you let the wind hit your face and make your hair fly all over your face. Hansol quickly focused on the road again, seeing that he was near your destination, he asked you to close your eyes.

“- Are we there ?

- Almost.”

The rest of the way was quiet, a comfortable silence settling between the two of you. When you finally felt that Hansol had stopped the car, you heard him go out of the driver seat to get to your side and help you get out too, ordering you to keep your eyes closed. He pushed you to take some steps forward before he finally authorized you to see what was in front of you.

“- You took me to the ocean ?”

You didn’t even turn around to look at him, too entranced by the sight in front of you. And all Hansol could do was smile when he saw how parkly your eyes were.

“- I guess that I wanted you to see the sunset.”

You were rather speechless as Hansol got a blanket out of his car, leading you to the beach for you two to watch the sunrise on the horizon. He contemplated you as you ran around, touching the water to see if it was cold or not before finally sitting down beside him, your head finding his place on his shoulder, and his arms around yours.

“- Thank you for bringing me there… It’s beautiful…

- I wanted to make it special.”

Before you could even ask him what he was talking about, Hansol leaned in, his eyes fixed on your lips, and yours on his. Basking in the warm light of the sunset, he kissed you for the first time but certainly not the last, a smile spreading on his face as he rested his forehead against yours.

“i think i could get used to this.”

-> i don't allow any copies, reposts or translations of my works.

svt taglist (fill in this to be added) :

@lil-kpopstan @hann1bee @iraisswiftie

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pupcuck · 3 months

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NYMPHOMANIA !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. daddy-daughter incest, femcel reader :3, reader wants to get raped so she talks about that, dub-con for like a paragraph, suicidal thoughts, awful thoughts in general, tiny bit of somno, threats, spanking, slapping

note. HAII :3 back on my femcel shit… god i rewrote this like 15 times and restarted over and over so i hate this 😭 it’s clunky so ignore any mistakes!!! feedback n rbs always so appreciated <3 was thinking of og4 leon but.. honestly idk atp !! anyway sorry again for the slow decrease in quality in this .. title has nothing to do w the fic ack ok bye :3

tumblr removes fics that use, for example, tw non-con and any nsfw tags in general from the tags. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

There are two things you want to get off your chest.

You are not, under any circumstances, ugly. Your face just takes getting used to. (This is a cope.)

You have a crush on your dad. No excuse for this one. Cupid is a conniving bastard. That’s that.

These might not seem like related issues, but they most certainly are because being ugly is hard, and having a crush on your dad is equally as hard.

You’re a sweet girl, you didn’t choose to come out ugly, it’s not your fault you turned out this way. It’s unfair, but ultimately no one meant for it to happen

(Well, you hope no one meant for it to happen unless someone had a vendetta against your mother and cursed her firstborn. She’s an irritating lady, you can see why someone would do so.)

You won’t even be the kind of below-average woman who marries a mediocre man to have mediocre sex to make mediocre kids to live in caustic mediocrity. You have one friend, she’s an online friend, and she might be a lonely old man. To be entirely honest you would prefer that. ‘Cause that would mean someone out there wants to creep on you.

If you weren’t ugly, having a crush on your dad would be socially acceptable. That’s why daddy-daughter porn spans pages and pages and pages of Pornhub. Everyone loves to watch a busty, blonde slut on her dad’s dick. If you didn’t have a crush on your dad, being ugly would be perfectly fine— No, that’s wrong.

Being ugly is never fine. Being ugly is on the same level as being a rapist. Being ugly in the presence of people who are objectively not ugly is, like, worse than being a rapist. ‘Cause all the dudes in high school were rapists in the making. Ted Bundy-style shit.

Grope an ugly bitch in the bathrooms and she wouldn’t speak up, and if she did— She just wouldn’t actually. Would be burnt at the stake Salem style. Hung. Crucifixion perhaps. Ugly girls aren’t good enough to die like martyrs did, however. Especially not ugly girls who cry wolf.

Why on God’s green earth would a hot guy go out of his way to slap a freaky-looking girl’s ass, right? Got girls lined up down the halls waiting for him to sign their perky tits, he doesn’t need to rape. It must be wishful thinking on her part, right? A wet dream she took as reality.

Why would you say that? Do you want to throw what he’s worked for down the drain? Accusations like this, they’re not jokes, y’know that? He’s got a scholarship, college wouldn’t take something like this so lightly.

Aw, you miss her. This goth chick in senior year. Your sorta friend. When it all went down and she had nowhere else to go, you invited her over because you’re a nice girl with no nefarious intentions. None at all. When she lay beside you at night, and she opened up, and she thanked you for believing her, you totally did not have your hand in your panties. And you totally did not rub yourself raw while she spoke about it in excruciating detail. You did not treat her rape case as erotica.

The dude got away with it of course. He was on TV the other day in fact. NFL. Baltimore Ravens. Still stupid hot. God, you wish it was you he picked - wouldn’t have told a single soul. Would’ve sucked the sweat from his jockstrap without complaint.

You’re too repulsive to be touched or raped, and you’ve learnt to live with that. Passing out in alleyways would result in rapists who frequent the area to avoid those very alleyways. Only your hand knows the cushiony softness of your tits, the wetness between your legs, how great your mouth feels— Only your dildo knows that, but you can imagine it’s good. You’re a total catch. A nympho. Men love nymphos when they’re pretty, which you are not. So you’re a nympho without the sex appeal. So in other words you are a pervert. A degenerate. A fucking freak.

It’s time to start sticking your fingers down your throat. ‘Cause that’s what gorgeous girls do to achieve that grave-robbed look. Heroin chic. Modelesque. It’s all the same type of beautiful. Emaciated and sickly. Dead girls are the sexiest ‘cause they can’t say yes or no and if there’s no no then it’s a yes. A nymphetic loophole of sorts. Men love dead girls that double as nymphos. Unfortunately, you are well and alive. Walking into traffic seems like fun, but you would be classed as roadkill, and it wouldn’t be tragically beautiful, just embarrassing to get scraped off the concrete like that. Even in death, you would be ugly because you are ugly to your very core. Your bone marrow is so ugly no scientist would want to make stem cells out of it, polynucleotides so deformed— You’re ugly. No need to wax poetic about it. Nothing poetic about being ugly.

Dad is the closest a human being can get to perfection. A divine image. Michelangelo is, like, dead and gone. David should've died alongside him. Dad deserves to take his place in the Accademia Gallery. With the way people gawk at him, he might as well be art. You’re surprised he doesn’t sell tickets to merely exist in his presence. He’s hot like a Calvin Klein model, and mom is hot like a regular model. Due to how you’ve turned out, you have a few qualms with your mother.

Like, what the fuck happened to you in her womb? Did someone take a mallet to one side of her belly to ensure her child came out as asymmetrical as one can be? A lack of nutrients maybe? Was she dieting during the pregnancy? Did dad fuck her too hard? Busted her womb up or some shit.

It simply might be that two rights make a wrong.

Or you were a tester before she popped your siblings out. Little ichor-filled putto. They were child models, scouted in their diapers, and you would stand behind your mother and the cameraman so hurt you couldn’t even feel jealous. Now they’re all grown up, fully-fledged erotes, and they’re working and doing all this shit you still haven’t managed to get a grasp on. Navigating the world as an ugly bitch is terribly hard.

Rape kinks are developed, dads get crushed on - awful, terrible things happen when girls are ugly and alone and unable to leave the comfort of their bedrooms.

Pretty girls have daddy issues that are dealt with in standard pretty girl fashion - finding emotionally unavailable, salt-and-pepper-haired men to fill every hole, including the one in their doll hearts. The thing is pretty girls don’t go for their dads. ‘Cause a lot of the time dads are gross. Dads do not look like your dad does. And to be fair you don’t exactly have daddy issues. Your dad is present and he doesn’t hit or shout or do anything out of the norm. Maybe this is a you issue.

It is a you issue, not even an ugly girl issue or an any type of girl issue. It’s your issue and yours alone.

It is your issue that when Leon asks what you want for dinner you almost ask for his hand around your throat or his hand in marriage. Either would be fine. Both would be preferred.

Severing your relationship would be even better. Goddamn, girls with absent fathers are lucky. You wish he was anything but your dad— It’s just that if you weren’t his daughter, dad wouldn’t ever look your way, he would pass by you like every man does.

Dad is a busy guy, and he’s a strange guy in the sense that he’s never really bothered with you. He loves your sister, and he loves your brother. But everyone loves those two. You don’t think he likes you very much, you can deal with that. Doesn’t mean you have daddy issues ‘cause no one likes you very much. So it’s a you issue and you should try harder.

Leon’s home early today. He’s collapsed on the couch, withered into himself like he always is after business trips. Mom said not to disturb him. You don’t. Then you do. This is like crack to you. Dad.

More specifically, dad without mom hovering over him. Dad’s sleeping so your brain is not stewed by his intense gaze. It only ever lingers on you for merely a second, but your stomach flips like you’ve got appendicitis and your legs spread involuntarily.

He’s a light sleeper, you’re well aware. He’s also a living, breathing Ken doll so you don’t put much thought into it when you reach out to ghost your fingers along the bridge of his nose. So pointy it could pierce your clit. Your clit. His nose. Oh, it could work so well, you want to grind yourself to mush against it.

Until dad shifts, he’s so beautiful up close you almost forget he’s real, not a wax figure. You trace the straight edge of his jaw, then thumb his petal lips, dragging your pointer finger over the fuller bottom one to push the tip into his wet mouth. Your dad is a slut. ‘Cause he sucks for a good second or two. Heat licks at your insides. You might vomit. His spit glistens like cobwebs when you take it back. That hand is shoved down your pants. That finger finds your clit, uses what spit is left to get it nice and wet. Which is totally unneeded, you’ve been soaked since god knows when, your pussy doesn’t know when to quit.

Feels good knowing that a part of dad is in you, his spit pushed into your hole. You’ll give him something back, it’s only fair, you smear your slick on the spot you traced. His tongue pokes out, likely to combat dry mouth, it swipes along his bottom lip— He tastes you. Heat engulfs you, chars your body from the inside out, the scent of rotting meat is in your nostrils.

Dad tasted you.

Holy fuck. You sit there with a trembling smile, staring down at him and he does not rouse. Shit, you’re creepy and you know it, but you’re not stupid. What other chance do you have? You unzip his old shearling jacket, underneath is that compression shirt that fits him too well. You map out the ridges of his abs, the slight dip between his pecs, every hard line that makes up his body. He smells so sexy, lavender and leather, must be some sorta pheromone ‘cause all you want to do is drop your face into his tits to bathe in that scent, to have it stick to your skin. Shit. Holy fucking shit. You’ve got a sex doll instead of a dad. That explains the distantness. He’s made of silicone.

The door clicks the moment you find it in yourself to click open his belt.

“What're you doing?” Mom ruins everything. She’s had it out for you the moment you formed in her womb. “He’s sleeping, don’t disturb him.” She says tersely, placing her Coach Tabby on the coffee table.

“He was cold.” That’s why his nipples are peaking, piercing the fabric of that shirt. Should be illegal to wear that in public. He’s asking for it.

“Yeah?” She asks, unconvinced, bending down to unclasp her heels.

“Yeah.” You stand up, dad’s indirect kiss on your cunt, shoot her a nasty sneer before you scuttle away to your bedroom for the rest of the day.

There are stairs that creak and stairs that don’t. You hang around down here at midnight often so you know the right path to take as to not alert your parents of your presence. They’re speaking about you.

“—be careful around her.” Truly, you hate your mother.

“What is there to be careful about?” Right? You tell her dad.

“Just, just be careful. She doesn’t y’know.”

“She doesn’t what?”

“She doesn’t get off her ass, she doesn’t talk to anyone but, well, I don’t know actually, she doesn’t talk to anyone at all.” You could pretend and say it hurts, but it doesn’t. There’s nothing insulting about the truth.

“What’s that got to do with me?”

“You’re a guy, she doesn't talk to guys.”

“We don’t talk much either.” Dad is too stiff to make conversation, and you collapse anytime he breathes in your general direction.

“Yeah, but, Leon.” Mom sounds exasperated, but she’s not getting her point across well. She should know better, dad’s skull is thicker than cement. “I’m worried.”

“What, for me or her?”

“Her, obviously, I don’t want her to… I want her to get out, like, I want her to do stuff,” mom sniffles, she is so putting this on to make dad feel guilty. “It’s so hard to watch your adult daughter just sit in a room and do nothing all day, Leon, she’s like a big fucking baby, why is she like that?”

“Babe,” he coos, and your knees buckle.

“Go talk to her.”

“What?”

“Go talk to her about it,” Mom repeats, voice shaking. “She doesn’t listen to me.”

They go back and forth for a few minutes, and then dad sighs and says fine. You make haste back to your hovel that doubles as a bedroom, crawl into bed and try to look natural.

Leon clears his throat before he knocks, when you don’t answer he pokes his head in. He says your name and you stir, sheets taut to your body as you peek up at him.

“You should open a window in here.”

When you don’t respond, he sits at the foot of your bed, looks around and nods. His gaze is scathing. Not purposefully. You just take it that way.

“Dinner’s ready,” he lies, then he leaves. His perfume lingers, and you touch the space he was sitting in, his warmth remains.

The day after that, you’re in the living room, tuckered out after mom forced you to help her with the groceries. You’re not cut out for this sort of life. The living sort of life. You were made to rot.

“Door wasn’t locked,” Leon says when he steps in, he puts his keys down, shucks his jacket off, tracks mud halfway down the hall and into the kitchen.

“Your shoes, Leon,” Mom groans, “she came in last.”

“Oh, sorry,” you say absentmindedly. If it doesn’t include tits or dicks or pussy it is none of your business. You have enough energy to keep up with one thing and that is your porn addiction. Groceries really took it out of you.

“You should be careful, rapists might come in, murderers or some shit.” Leon is speaking to your mother. Not you because he has seen your face and he knows very well that an ugly girl like you would survive out of sheer ugliness.

Mom snorts, “I think you’re the scariest thing that could walk through that door, honey.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

You’d like to know what that means too. Well, you get the gist, ‘cause you’ve heard all those stories. Dad and his wandering hands.

“You know what that means.” The sound of lips smacking is enough to have you feeling sick, dizzy as you cling to the walls and make your escape. “Did she leave— Quit it, Leon— Hands off, can you go talk to her, please? Properly this time.”

He forgets to knock this time, or he can’t bother to knock. Dad sits in that same spot, he opens his mouth and closes it about five times.

“Mom’s worried about you,” Leon says robotically. “You good?”

“I’m great.” Your tone is unconvincing, but he clearly doesn’t care enough because you're his dirty little secret. Not in a sex way. You would do anything for it to be in the sex way. Dirty little secret as in the ugly kid he chooses to ignore purely because you’re ugly. Dad doesn’t like ugly girls, you know that. He doesn’t think they’re worth a second glance, even a first glance is too much. Dad is superficial and his love is plastic.

These are all things you’re making up in your head based on assumptions. This is how all attractive men think. Ugly girls aren’t worth rape, dirtying your dick in ugly pussy sounds like a hassle. If you were pretty, you wouldn’t fuck an ugly guy. Even as a self-proclaimed ugly girl, you still wouldn’t fuck an ugly guy ‘cause they’re gross, and it’s not like they want you. Ugly guys shoot high and aim for pretty girls. Duh.

So you get it. Honestly. Whatever. Dad doesn’t like you. That’s okay, you don’t like him as a dad anyway. You love him like an obsessive lover. A hallway crush that stars in your late-night rape fantasies. And you’re fine like this. You’re so fine.

“Can I… Can I actually have a hug, dad?” You muster up what is left in your hollow heart to ask him that. It’s a big deal.

Leon blinks at you, levels you with his blank stare. He’s so handsome you want to blow your brains out, it’s an easy feat because you’re always looking for reasons to blow your brains out. Every straw is your last and yet you’re still here.

“Sure, sweetheart.” Dad opens his arms, and you crawl towards him, head on his shoulder as his arms loop around your waist. Oh, god, you will your heart into giving out. Dying right here in dad’s arms is ideal.

He holds you so gently it’s brutal. He crushes you with the weight of his loveless love. Dad’s so good at pretending you almost think he cares.

“Can you… I want to stay like this.”

“Uh, sure, sweetheart,” Leon calls everyone sweetheart. Sweetheart is his default. Sweetheart ranges from Auntie Ashley to babysitters to lifeguards and retail workers who aren’t getting paid enough to deal with some old man making eyes at them. Not that anyone minds dad’s attention. It’s fucking unfair. Mom is babe, and your sister is baby, and your brother is buddy or sport or tiger or whatever shit he pulls out of his ass. And you’re sweetheart because you’re not important to him. His firstborn daughter is not important to him ‘cause she’s ugly. More of a specimen than a human.

You would do anything to keep him here.

“Dad?” You whisper into his neck.

“…Yeah?”

“I want you to…” Your lack of life flashes in front of your eyes. Bedroom. Bedroom. Porn. Bedroom. Porn. Porn. Dad. Not much. What have you got to lose? “I want to— I want to fuck you.”

Dad is silent. Then: “Oh.” He never makes the move to pull away, so you sit snugly in his grip for a few seconds longer.

“I— Dad, I touch myself thinkin’ about you.” Your stomach ties itself into a Gordian knot.

“Yeah, okay, why don’t we— Yeah, fuck, I see what she meant, okay. Wow, that’s a lot. Sweetheart, why… Listen.” Dad says a whole lot of nothing as he takes your hands off him.

“Please… I love you, dad. I really like you— I know it’s weird, dad, I do, seriously, I know, but please I just… I just like you.” There is no explanation for it. “Dad… Daddy.”

He full-on winces. It’s like you’re being flayed. Something inside of you just— Just shatters. Not your heart ‘cause it’s pumping more blood than it ever has. Fragments of your sanity splinter into even smaller segments until there is nothing left but nauseating levels of mental disturbance.

“If you don’t…”

“You seriously trying that right now?” Leon scoffs, and he’s so cocky you get hot under the collar.

(Between your thighs too, but that’s a different story.)

“Yeah, I’m serious— If you don’t… If you don’t do it- do it with me, I’ll tell mom you… I’ll tell her you raped me.” In actuality, you would never tell mom if daddy raped you. You would treasure it, keep it in a heart-shaped locket and think about it when you get off twelve times a day. Getting your pussy reamed by dad’s cock would fix you right up.

“Don’t— Are you okay?” Leon smacks your hand away, his tone is even.

“You do it too— I know you’ve done it, I know how you and mom met.”

His face drains, pallor yellowish. “That don’t… That’s different.”

“How is that any different?” Different ‘cause he’s hot and mom is hot. Leon passed it off as a drunken mistake and they end up getting together. It’s not rape if the perpetrator is a hottie. You agree, but still— It’s not fucking fair.

“‘Cause I didn’t do this.” Leon gestures abstractly.

You kiss him, hands braced on each of his tits, digging your fingers into the meat to feel him tense and harden like he’s wearing a chest plate. “You’re so hot dad,” you whine into his mouth, and Leon is quick to push you off, your wrists in his hands. Makeshift handcuffs.

“Listen, sweetheart,” Dad is using his dad voice. It’s like porn to you, only makes you wetter. “I don’t like hitting girls, but you’re givin’ me a damn good reason.”

“You can hit me, daddy.” You offer your face to him, stretching your neck forward, closing your eyes as you wait for the impact. It lands firm on your cheek, his fingertips catching the tip of your nose. Fuck that felt good. Shit. You think you’ve creamed your panties. “Again, dad, hit me again—“ He does. Harder than the last time. Your head knocks backwards, and your brain must have a dent in it.

Dad puts you over his lap and you’re so sure you’ve entered the pearly gates. Or the innermost circle of hell. Probably that ‘cause Jesus Christ are you steaming.

“I hate stupid little sluts that try it out on me,” Leon drags your sweats over the swell of your ass, “Do you have a dick?”

“What, dad— No!” You tell him, more mortified at his question than you are by your bare ass under his palm. Fuck— You’re so wet it’s disgusting, dripping down your thighs and surely staining his lap. Thick like treacle.

“No? Were you gonna rape dad with this stupid cunt?” Oh, you hope he spanks your pussy. Porn makes it look delicious. “You look like you might have a dick with that face of yours.” He traces the seam of your cunt through your panties. “Or is your pussy just fat?”

Good fucking lord.

“Dad…” You arch into him, only to have a hand come down on your left ass cheek. One. Two. Three. They all hurt bad as each other. Four. “Ouch!” That one hurt real bad. Five. You feel like a naughty child. This is not as hot as you thought it would be. More dull and embarrassing. Not even the good kind of embarrassing.

Leon puts you on your knees, the hand wrapped around your jaw forces your lips into a pout, and you think he is going to kiss you— God, you close your eyes and wait for it, lean into him, shit you’d pop your leg if you were standing up. He spits in your face and it trickles down the bridge of your nose.

“Got me dirty with that filthy pussy.” Dad speaks offhandedly, he speaks to you like you’re dog shit. Not dog shit stuck to the bottom of his shoe. Just dog shit on the side of the road. Like the sort that bothers you enough to complain about it, but it doesn’t ignite any real anger.

His hand remains tight on your jaw, then he drops it to fish his fat cock from his pants to slap the drippy head on your cheek. The sound ricochets off the walls. Hits you like a bullet. Holy fuck. Dad really just did that. You giggle, batting your lashes up at him as pretty as an ugly girl can, and he grimaces so it can’t be pretty.

“Christ, you nasty fuck,” Leon snickers at the look on your face, “What’s wrong with you?”

“Daddy,” you whimper, nosing the tip of his dick, he smells so good you want him in your mouth, “I jus’ love you lots.”

“God, I hate ugly little freaks like you.” He said that already, no need to rub it in. Another slap of his cock on your face. Your heart beats for him and him alone. “You know what I think?” Dad guides his cock into your warm mouth. “Shit, that’s good— I think your mom is a liar.”

His dick is all you’ve ever wanted. It’s heavy on your tongue, though the longer you suckle on the tip, the weightier it gets, and he’s wet. Dripping all over the place. You must get that gene from your dad.

“‘Cause I don’t think,” he grunts, palm resting on your forehead to push you off his shaft, “I don’t think I could make a kid this ugly.”

“No,” you say breathlessly, “No, you’re my dad, my daddy.” Crouched down below him, you lave over his balls, putting more effort into this than you have done with anything else in your life. Gargling dad’s balls is your best work. Nothing else you have to be proud of.

Your pussy is pulsing, shit has its own heartbeat, you drop your hand down to soothe your poor cunt, rubbing figure eights into the bulge of your clit over your panties. It’s not enough, you push them to the side, your fingers slip a couple times, not enough, only dad’s fingers are enough, only his cock will plug up your leaking hole.

“Get off me,” dad instructs, and you might be glued to him, but you detach yourself immediately. “C’mon, stand up.” You use his thighs as leverage, standing on shaky legs that threaten to give out at any second. He takes your shirt off. “Cute tits gone to waste,” dad sighs like it’s heartbreaking. “We could've done something about it, y’know? Could fix your face right up, just had to ask daddy.”

“Really, dad? I want to be pretty, daddy, I want to be pretty for you, you never call me pretty— Daddy, I want to be pretty, please.” You clasp his shirt, and he brings you into his lap once more, raising your legs to slide your panties down so you’re free bleeding on his lap. Free bleeding without the blood. Just good old pussy.

“Messin’ with you, sweetheart, can’t fix that dog face,” dad coos to you tenderly, and the plain-as-day insult flies right over you. Dad could get you to sell both your kidneys if he keeps talking to you like that. “Just gotta live with it.”

You have. You have lived with it. That’s what you do. Live with your ugly face. You could die, that’s an option, but you choose to wait it out. ‘Cause dying is pretty scary no matter how much you want it. And Leon’s dick is hard beneath your pussy so there are things to live for. The world isn’t all cruel.

“Up,” he taps your lower back, you raise your hips and he presses his cock to your stretched hole. Toy after toy after toy. All to ready yourself for dad. When you sink down on him, your body convulses. It’s the sweet release of death. Or an orgasm. Fuck. Dying on dad’s cock is— You haven’t died on his dick, he fucks you through your high, feet planted firmly on the ground as he thrusts upwards, dick angled just right.

Heroin is meant to be good. You’ve seen Trainspotting. Better than any cock— You don’t believe that for a minute. Unless he’s leaking smack straight into your pussy, numbing your walls. Could be that ‘cause god— You’re not really thinking, not that you think much, when you decide to shove your fingers into his mouth.

“Daddy, can you taste me?” You ask him, giving a languid grind of your hips down onto his cock, you regret it immediately ‘cause it’s so good your cunt squelches loudly. “Do you taste me, dad? Dad—“

“Yeah,” Dad says, muffled, “Shoving your fingers down my fuckin’ throat, you little psycho, ‘course I taste it.”

Shit. Shit. Shit. Daddy looks so pretty with his lips wrapped around your fingers, you fuck them in and out of his pink mouth, his tongue runs along the length of your fingers like he’s sucking a nice cock. Treating your fingers better than you did his dick.

Daddy’s splitting you in two. He fucks you without a care in the world. ‘Cause he doesn’t care about you. One-time-use pussy. You’re disposable like the gloves you get with box dye. Like a plastic spork. His cock is so deep he might as well tear open your middle and fuck your guts. Leon grabs your hips, forces you up and drops you down. The air in your lungs has no time to build up— You grasp at his shirt, bouncing in his lap like you’re a fleshlight, and you would be so happy with that title. Dad’s personal fleshlight. It makes you giddy.

Leon’s cock twitches inside of you, when he lifts you off of him, your pussy clings to the tip, holding on for dear life, insistent on milking daddy’s dick, taking every drop of his cum.

“Daddy…” Your head drops to his shoulder. “Please, daddy, am I pretty? Can you call me pretty?”

His hips stutter, and you don’t have to see his face to know he hesitates. It’s a struggle to call a girl like you pretty. “You’re so pretty, sweetheart.” Then he dumps his load so deep— So deep, you warm to the thought of having your daddy’s baby. You already fucked so why not go the extra mile?

Dad doesn’t kiss you, but he lays you down and tucks you in like he never has before. “Your mom’s worried.” He goes back to the topic at hand and you groan, covering your face with a pillow. “Hey, we can, uh…” Leon scratches his head. “We can y’know…” He shrugs, glances down at you. “Can do that if you try pulling your weight a little.”

The promise of your dad’s cock is enough to have you applying for every job in a thirty-mile radius. Dad’s cock is a fix for an ugly girl like you. You’ve got a pussy only your daddy could love, and you think you’re more than okay with that.

#leon s kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy x you #leon s kennedy smut #leon kennedy x you #leon kennedy imagine #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy smut #resident evil smut #resident evil x reader #resident evil x you

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nanowrimo · 2 months

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When Is a Small Press a Good Fit?

When it comes to publishing, many writers will think about big publishers first. However, there are a lot of different publishing options out there to explore. NaNo participant and author, Clara Ward, talks about their experience publishing with a small press and gives you questions to consider while you think through your publishing options!

NaNoWriMo inspired me to write. Signing with a small press gave me the support I needed to publish a book I love.

I’d published books before—starting with NaNoWriMo sponsor deals in the early days of online publishing—but I never had the right skill set to promote those books. As a result, they never truly found their audience.

In November of 2020, I poured my heart into a genre-blurring near-future tale of sailing across the Pacific and building a neurodiverse, queer, and possibly magical chosen family. In 2021, I titled it Be the Sea and asked myself: What am I going to do with that?

1. Are you looking for fame or family?

Small presses are as varied as the people who form them. If you read widely, you may already have a treasured book on your shelf from your publisher-to-be. Try asking NaNoWriMo friends who share your interests if they’ve discovered any surprising or emerging sources for great reads. (At the very least, you may find books you’ll love in unexpected places!)

Admittedly, a small press doesn’t have a fortune to spend on paving your path to fame. But I have never felt as seen as when my soon-to-be publisher, E.D.E. Bell at Atthis Arts, wrote back, “I’m really in love with what you are doing and would like to talk about it.”

2. Do you have the bandwidth for working with others?

Even with the most supportive small press, you may have to push outside your comfort zone. I know authors who love the absolute control and freedom of self-publishing. For a time, I felt very comfortable just posting my NaNoWriMo fanfiction novels on Archive of Our Own. At most, I had one or two beta readers to offer feedback on those works. Whereas E.D.E. told me in one of our earliest conversations that in addition to our three rounds of editing we’d need “a good number of betas” to cover the range of topics we were working on together.

I was delighted! I knew what I’d written was ambitious, and I welcomed all the feedback I could get. But it turns out, each extra person in a process adds new challenges and delays. I had to stretch my empathy as well as my publishing timeline because, to quote E.D.E. again: “It’s a lot of emotion (as well as brain cycles) to go through...” Outside perspectives will only improve your writing if you are willing to work with them, to truly listen and learn.

3. Can you handle the two-way commitment?

No form of publishing is easy. The myth that authors write while others handle business and promotion is not true at the top, and certainly not with small presses. In my experience, working with Atthis Arts was like joining a team or chosen family. Beyond certain paid tasks, such as editing and sensitivity reading, I discovered a community of authors who freely offered coaching before my first public reading, social media boosting, tips for author webpages, and an extra pair of eyes on letters requesting bookshop readings or other events. While not all small presses work the same way, this supportive culture proved to be an excellent fit for me. Naturally, I wanted to give back whenever possible.

Small presses can only succeed with community. This month, as I promote the launch of Be the Sea at bookshops in Mountain View, Davis, and Sacramento, I will be introducing many Californians to my Michigan-based small publisher, Atthis Arts. When I stand up as a panelist at Norwescon in Washington state or at various science, library, or Pride events later in the year, I’ll be promoting more than Be the Sea by Clara Ward. I’ll give back by sharing my appreciation for small presses, the supportive and inclusive practices they can normalize, and the opportunities they open up for future writers and readers.

Clara Ward lives in Silicon Valley on the border between reality and speculative fiction. Their latest novel, Be the Sea, features a near-future ocean voyage, chosen family, and sea creature perspectives, while delving into our oceans, our selves, and how all futures intertwine. Their short fiction has appeared in Strange Horizons, Decoded Pride, Small Wonders, and as a postcard from Thinking Ink Press. When not using words to teach or tell stories, Clara uses wood, fiber, and glass to make practical or completely impractical objects. More of their words along with crafted creations can be found at: https://clarawardauthor.wordpress.com

Photo by Hümâ H. Yardım on Unsplash

#nanowrimo #now what #writing #publishing #small press publishing #by nano guest #clara ward

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familyvideostevie · 8 months

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HI! Can you do a grumpy!reader x sunshine!sirius black one shot😫

absolutely. i am a grumpy!reader stan, let me tell you, because i am her. okay, here we have kind of grumpy!reader and sunshine!sirius going on their first date | 1.1k <3

You're not nervous. You're not.

It's not like it's a blind date, anyway. You know Sirius Black. Kinda. Lily's the one who set you up, coordinated it all and assured you he's keen to go on a date. You're pretty sure you've spoken to him a few times at parties, been at the pub at the same time. You know what he looks like, at least. Hair that never gets brushed, rings in his ears and nose, a smile that seems mischievous and genuinely carefree at the same time.

He's not as measured as Remus, a bit less puppy dog than James. If you'd been asked in a silly gossipy way which of the trio you'd pick, it would be him.

You just don't want to hope too hard.

Though it's taken a while, you are perfectly aware of and secure in your value and personality. You are "a fucking catch," as Marlene often says, and even if she and your other friends didn't assure you of it, you'd think so. You're prickly, sure. You're quiet in most situations, preferring to observe and go home when you've had enough. You don't laugh much, don't tell jokes. You stand at the edge of the group because that's where you prefer to be.

It's okay that you're not everyone's cup of tea. People have told you before that you should talk more, you should be more present, you should do more things. You're fine as you are and anyone who thinks otherwise isn't worth your time.

So the fact that Sirius is a few minutes late doesn't bother you that much. The bar isn't super crowded and you're sat a pretty comfortable stool snacking on the olives the bartender put out when you arrived. If he doesn't show you'll just get a drink and read the book in your bag and go home and call Lily and you know she'll lay into him.

But just as you consider it, there's a warm hand on your shoulder and you turn to find the man in question grinning at you sheepishly. His name rolls off your tongue.

"I'm so sorry," he says. "Had to take the bus and obviously it wasn't on time. Can I hug you hello?"

You appreciate him asking. Something about you tends to put people off of touch, though you don't usually mind it. "Hi, Sirius," you say, standing to give him a squeeze. He's warm and smells like tobacco and mint, like he popped one on his way over.

"Have you been here before?" He peels off his leather jacket and sits next to you, signaling for the bartender. "Do you want a drink?"

"Yes, and yes," you say. "The Sex on the Beach is quite good."

His eyebrows rise to his hairline and he grins. You keep your face neutral. "Not what I would have picked for you," he muses. "But I trust you." He asks the bartender for two.

"What would you have picked for me?" You pop an olive into your mouth.

Sirius thinks on it. "Stout pint," he says. "Or whiskey." His gaze very quickly travels the length of you as much as he can, sitting so close. "You look lovely, by the way."

That almost gets you to smile. "You do, too," you say instead. "Is that a new earring?" You reach for it without thinking but he doesn't flinch away. A gold star dangles from his right ear instead of the hoop you remember him having last time you saw him.

His grin gets impossibly bigger. How is that he can smile every second of every day? "So glad you noticed, love," he says. "It sure is. It's got a story, too. Something you might not know about me is --"

He talks and talks and talks. Your drinks come and he tells you the story and then another one and you find that you don't mind listening. It feels like Sirius is talking to you, not at you, even though it's clear he could charm a brick wall. He doesn't seem to mind that you only nod or make affirmative noises rather than chime in or laugh, answering his questions for you in just a few words. He just seems to want your attention, which he certainly has.

"And then James genuinely looked at me and said I thought they were the same thing."

The story is funny, sure, but Sirius's own laughter at his joke makes you smile. You feel it happen, feel the corners of your mouth lift and a chuckle make its way out of you.

"You have a pretty smile," Sirius says. He looks about two seconds away from poking it to see if it's real.

"Are you telling me to smile more?" you ask.

That seems to fluster him. You don't think you've seen him flustered before. He runs a hand through his unruly curls, ties them up into a half-up half-down bun thing with the hairband on his wrist. You wonder if his hair is soft.

"I, no," he stumbles. Who knew Sirius Black could stumble over his words? "I wouldn't. That's not something you say to a girl --"

You put a hand on his arm. His skin is warm, the ink that covers it smoother than you expected under your fingers. "I'm teasing, Sirius," you say.

His grin returns twice as strong. How can he flip between emotions so quickly? "You are? Oh, thank fuck."

His profanity makes your lips tug up. You take a sip of your drink and knock your knee with his.

"Hang on," he says. "If you're teasing me that means you must like me."

"What do you mean?" You genuinely want to know.

"Well," he says. "We don't really know each other, even though I've been trying to work up speaking to you at every one of Lily's parties this year, which is why she agreed to set us up, by the way, so I'd stop bothering her about it."

You want to interrupt because, what? but he keeps talking. His gaze is steady, eyes fixed on yours.

"But I get the impression that you don't let just anyone see how many sides you have."

Something in your chest is tight and warm. Is that your heart?

"Sides?" you mutter. "A cube, am I?"

He laughs. Loudly and genuinely. You don't fight the smile this time. Sirius puts his hand on your knee and leans in a little. "I'm not great with words, love," he says. "That's Remus."

"You're plenty great," you say bluntly. "And I guess you're right."

"Hmm?" He blinks a few times and you realize how long his lashes are, his eyeliner making his irises look impossibly big.

"I must like you."

Not a bad first date after all.

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, masterlist here!

#sirius black x reader #sirius black x you #sirius black x y/n #marauders fanfiction #sirius black fanfiction #marauders fic #sirius black x fem!reader #sirius black fluff

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commandershepardvasfuckit · 2 months

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How Halsin’s “once you get to my age” conversation not long after he finally recruited as a party member SHOULD have gone if you were an elf and could call him out on not being old.

Because as a drow my Tav should be allowed to call him out and tease him over it

(My Tav, but written pretty generically and without any gender indicators for Tav so knock yourself out)

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“You didn’t answer the part about lovers” you say as you fold your arms. Halsin held a certain level of fascination to you. Maybe it was his sheer size, maybe it was his confidence, or his willingness to just listen. Maybe it was because you truly could not get a read on him.

He had been frustratingly dodging most questions about himself until now, softly smiling and telling you ‘there will be time for questions later. I must keep my focus on the task at hand’ and now somehow managed to tell you an incredible amount and nothing at all at the same time.

“I’m 350 years old. Of course there have been lovers. Just because I love nature doesn’t mean I’m betrothed to it. Though sometimes, nature needs reminding…” he trailed off.

Another redirection, talks of the past while not acknowledging that the question was about the current and offering an interesting tidbit instead. You recognized what he was trying to do, but unfortunately his smirk while speaking about nature alluded to an all too good to pass up story.

“Hold on- nature needs reminding of what exactly?” you ask.

“Well, I didn’t pick this scar up in battle. I was in wildshape, only I forgot it was the season when bears are particularly social. A she-bear claimed me as her own- and did not appreciate being spurned” he said.

Less riveting than you hoped, but still interesting. And certainly not enough to convince you to drop the question.

“Don’t leave me hanging- is there someone in your life right now?” Simple. Direct. Surely no way to dodge it again.

“Right now? I bed down alone, I’m afraid” he answers. There’s a small drop in his voice, not sorrow, but, disappointment?“Perhaps once I talk less of curses and parasites, my fortunes will improve”.

It was not quite the answer you were expecting. A clear answer this time, but something in the way his words hung in the air felt off.

You look over his face, searching for some glimmer of information but are met with the same relaxed but stoic expression he used when he was done talking about a subject.

“Tell me something about yourself that I wouldn’t even think to ask” you change the subject, hoping to find any bit of interesting information from him.

“Hmm, I suppose you wouldn’t be shocked to learn I love animals and nature? I know, I know; well-trodden territory. Well, let’s see… I whittle in my spare time, and I’ve something of a sweet tooth- though everyone’s very amused when I say I like honey”.

A smile plays on your lips, you genuinely could not tell if he was avoiding saying much and choosing to give you obvious answers purposefully or not.

“Whittling? What do you make?” you ask, fishing for anything you could.

“Ornaments, utensils- and ducks. I like ducks”.

New information gained and yet nothing new truly learned.

“So you turn into a bear and you like honey?” you repeat back to him, “A little on the nose”.

“I like what I like. Once you get to my age you realize there’s little point in denying yourself, so long as other’s aren’t affected” Halsin replies.

“Your age?” you laugh, in the grand scheme of elven lives Halsin was young still, only a few decades older than yourself despite speaking as if he was at least 800. “And how old do you think I am?”

Halsin flashed a quick smile, brief but betraying a lot of emotion. The sort guilty smile you offer when you’re caught.

“My apologies. I don’t encounter too many full elves these days” his face relaxes, not his usual careful composure, but a true relaxation. “No, I supposed 350 is young still, and sometimes I need reminding of that too. You get used to seeing life on the scale that the others see. People treat you as old and you start to believe it, or at least you let them make their assumptions about you”.

“So ‘old, wise Halsin’ is an act?” you tease.

“I am wise!” he laughs, a truly deep laugh that rumbled from his chest. A laugh that spreads into a sense of warmth within you. “If I wasn’t then you wouldn’t have come to my grove seeking my knowledge and skills!”

“I was told to seek out the old, wise archdruid of the the grove and imagine my surprise seeing an elf, only decades older than myself acting as if he was as least twice his age!” You laughed back, unable to keep his laughter from spreading to you. “Though I suppose I can keep quiet and let you continue this front, if you can keep up with me, old man, because I very much so am still young” you tease.

“You’ll find I’m more than able to keep up with anything you’ve got, don’t let me fool you into thinking my size is just for show. I think you’ll find I’m more than capable of going all day and night” the tone that crept into his voice let you know that he very much knew why you were asking if he currently had a lover earlier.

#bg3 #bg3 halsin #halsin #halsin silverbough #bg3 fanfiction #bg3 tav

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historicallyaccuratecheese · 3 months

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I know this isn’t very in line with the usual “haha magnus archives worm lady” posts I usually make, but this is very important to me and I want to spread as much awareness as possible.

One of my favorite games of all time is Dead Cells, a fantastic indie roguelike developed by Evil Empire. Recently, it was announced that it’s upcoming 35th update would be the last one for the game. Now, let me start off by saying that on its own, this isn’t what I’m upset about. The fact that Dead Cells has gotten as much support as it has over the years is quite frankly incredible, and 35 updates, most of which have been free and very high quality, is an amazing amount of support. Rather, I am more concerned about the circumstances behind this announcement.

The announcement was…off, for a number of reasons. For one, Update 35 has been in Alpha and Beta on Steam for a while now, and it’s not exactly an update you’d expect the entire game to end on. Still quality, but not exactly a “grand finale.” Also strange was how long it’s been in alpha and beta, as it seems to have been in development hell for over six months. And finally, it’s clear that there was so much more planned for the game. For example, 2023 was said to be the biggest year for the game, and yet we only got two updates. Granted, one of those updates was very big, but not nearly big enough to really live up to the title of “biggest year so far.” By all accounts, it definitely seemed like there was some sort of internal issue that cut the planned lifespan of the game short. If so, that would be very unfortunate, but I would have been willing to accept there was probably nothing that could be done. However, recently some information about what actually happened has shown up, and….yeah I’m pissed.

For those who didn’t know, Dead Cells was originally made by a team named Motion Twin, but after the fourth update, most of the people working on the game left to form their own team, Evil Empire. Evil Empire has developed every update for the game since that split, and yet, they are rarely credited as the makers. Motion Twin is the company that promotes all of the new updates, as if they made them, and unfortunately very few people know which company actually makes the game. Recently, Motion Twin announced a new game called Windblown (proclaiming it was made by the same team as Dead Cells, when it certainly wasn’t), and based on recent interviews with Evil Empire, we learn that Motion Twin pulled the plug on Dead Cells against Evil Empire’s wishes. Evil Empire loved making the game, and planned to continue updating into 2025, expanding the gameplay and lore, yet Motion Twin decided to pull the plug, either to promote Windblown (which if so…why? You can have two games?), or simply out of spite towards Evil Empire, which seems unfortunately possible due to the fact that the devs do not seem to have the best relationship. And to add insult to insult to injury, Motion Twin straight up lied by saying that Dead Cells stopped development because they “don’t want the game to feel bloated”. ….THEY DON’T EVEN MAKE THE GAME WHAT THE HELL?!

So yeah…this is a really terrible situation. Dead Cells is a game that means a lot to me, it’s helped me through some very tough times and there are many other people who hold the game dear to their heart. So please, anything from a simple reblog to making your own posts about the matter goes a long way. Spread awareness about what’s going on. Tell people about how Evil Empire has put so much hard work, love and dedication into the game, and wishes to continue. Tell people about the lies that Motion Twin have been telling. Pressure the two teams into splitting away from each other entirely, so that Dead Cells might get a chance at continuing development. (Be respectful about it though, don’t commit any forms of serious harassment.) It would seriously mean a lot to me and many others, and I would greatly appreciate it :).

#dead cells #indie games #evil empire

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lostarchivesoforpheus · 3 months

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`•- Catching Feelings

matthias czernin x reader

prompt: pining / mutual pining

warnings: physical touch

a/n: i am the ceo of matthias czernin. he is everything ever to me. i spent everything i had (118 pulls so far) and he still hasn't come home. i actually cried a teeny tiny bit over not getting him. i have an extreme emotional attachment to this man. i love him sm!!! also this is day 3 of the valentines event yippee

when it comes to romance, matthias doesn't know a thing.

he's used to being forgotten in favor of louis all his life, and he expected to continue being ignored once he got to the manor. so, when you welcomed him in with a warm smile, he was most certainly caught off guard.

what shocked matthias even more, though, was the way you always seemed to offer him advice and a helping hand in matches. you even considered him as a friend, despite you two only meeting recently.

over the months, the two of you grew much closer to one another. although he's quiet, has a hard time talking, and stumbles over his words a lot, you're always very patient with him, and he always appreciated your kindness. it was only natural that this appreciation would soon turn into adoration.

matthias doesn't really notice it at first. as mentioned before, he's not really used to having people hang around with him, so he doesn't realize whatsoever how his heartbeat speeds up and a feeling of fondness overtakes him whenever he's around you.

when he does notice it, though, oh boy. he's certainly thrown for a loop. what first made him realize his feelings was a simple and mundane action from you that made him feel a lot more flustered than he should've. it wasn't anything special, you just happened to pull him into a warm, gentle hug and tell him that he did well after a match, but matthias practically froze as butterflies fluttered in his stomach and a soft red tinted his cheeks, rendering him speechless as he tried to regain his composure without alerting or concerning you.

later that day, once the both of you returned to the manor, matthias practically made a beeline to his bedroom, locking himself in and sitting down on his bed. he lost himself in his thoughts as he replayed your kind actions in his mind. he thought about the way he felt in that moment. up until now, matthias had just thought it was normal that he felt a bit warmer whenever he was around you rather than others, but now, he wasn't so sure. he had never felt such an intense surge of emotion before, and the fact that such a simple yet kind action from you made him feel so fuzzy and warm inside really made him question himself. matthias buried his face into his hands as he slowly, almost begrudgingly realized that he wanted to be much more than a friend to you.

the next time you two are hanging around with each other, he's a lot more reserved around than before. don't get me wrong, he still likes having conversations with you and being around you, of course. he just doesn't talk as much as he did before (which already wasn't a lot) because he's afraid of letting his emotions take ahold of him and accidentally saying something stupid. you're the only person who's ever really been kind and stuck around him, and he doesn't want to risk ruining it all.

what matthias doesn't realize is how obvious he is. whenever he's around you, as much as he doesn't want to show it, he always gets awkward and a bit red in the face. whenever he thinks you're not looking, he sneaks a few glances at you, a look of pure adoration in his eyes. he's always been a bit fidgety, but he's especially so when he's around you. he thinks he's doing a good job at hiding it, but you catch on pretty quickly.

he's afraid to confess. as mentioned earlier, he doesn't want to risk ruining your friendship because of his feelings. he's afraid of having to let you go. as much as he dreams of being in a relationship with you, he just doesn't think you'd ever feel the same way about him. you'd have to knock some sense into him. sit down and talk things out with him, start with telling about how much you've enjoyed spending time with him ever since you two met, and if he still doesn't get the message, just flat-out confess to him.

when you do, his face immediately becomes redder than a tomato. matthias stutters and looks at you wide-eyed, and you can't help but quietly laugh at how adorable he looks in the moment. if you want to fluster him even more, gently hold his hand and pull him into a soft kiss. he'll freeze up for a moment as he tries to process your affection, but pretty soon he just melts and gently kisses you back.

congratulations, you now have matthias czernin practically wrapped around your finger.

a/n: i love matthias czernin he is everything ever to me and i would do anything for him <33

thanks for reading, and remember to take care of yourself!

#`•- main hall in the archives: headcanons #`•- events in the archives: the philomena's propellente's countdown to valentines day #philomena's files #matthias czernin x reader #identity v x reader #idv x reader #fanfic #fanfic author #fanfiction #fanfiction author #x reader #matthias czernin #identity v puppeteer #idv puppeteer #identity v #idv

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itsybitsylemonsqueezy · 2 months

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You know what, fuck it: Baldur's Gate 3 Thoughts.

(The world is so so bad right now, can't even name all the bad things, so fuck it, no more bad feels, just some nice garbage right now)

I really love that the big 3 pairings all kinda arrive together:

Lae'zel and Shadowheart are already trapped on the ship together, like they are both trapped by their beliefs. They both know more about what's happening than anyone else and are also perhaps the most frightened.

Astarion and Gale show up stuck and as potential bait. They're both concealing some pretty big problems. The only way to succeed with them is to trust them despite this. And they both badly need to bond with others so they can survive their ordeals.

Karlach and Wyll actually already have a relationship, just one founded on misunderstanding. They can each empathize with each other in ways the others can't and adjust quickly to thinking of a previous adversary as a friend. They both have so much going on that when they arrive on the Sword Coast, they just resettle into business as usual. They've both been misused by those with control over them and seek to break that control, even if that doesn't fix everything, even if it means more loss.

They're all good ships, I love them. And all the other combos are good too, there are no bad options here, but I'm a bit of a sucker for these. Honestly, really appreciate having an entire party of bisexuals. I love that so much <3

Gale and I are the same person ha ha ha FUCK

I do have fic ideas, potentially for Gale & Astarion and Lae'zel & Shadowheart (spoilers below)

Like, I actually have a lot of feelings about Shadowheart being a complete dick to Lae'zel while she goes through a crisis of faith, only to eat pigeon pie later when she gets a crisis of her own.

And I'm obsessed with the idea of Lae'zel learning how to be comforting as she watches Shadowheart crumble apart, as she loses all sense of identity. Because at least Lae'zel has that. Lae'zel lost a lot in parting from Vlaakith, but she didn't lose who she was. Indeed, she left in defense of who she was, in defense of what she knew to be right. Shadowheart doesn't even have that. And it's a wild thing that comes over you, to feel like you've fucked up and lost and to find someone you can actually help. I think it would be a really cool and beautiful thing to see, Lae'zel helping Shadowheart find the pieces of herself. That would just be really, really good.

And then there's Problematic Old Man Yaoi over here

Maybe what I love best about Gale and Astarion is how much fucking WOULD NOT solve it

Like, some people just need to fuck it out and then it's all good, you fixed the issue

And 100% fucking would not solve their shit. Like, it would help, or it certainly wouldn't not help. But it'd only help like... max 20% The rest has to be solved by Talking, Using Your Words, Talking To Other People No Not The Imaginary Conversations, and Admitting When You're Wrong.

I also love that this is true no matter where you think they get together.

Like, let's take Act I: I cannot IMAGINE how Astarion could talk Gale into bed that early. Gale "Never Nude" Dekarios who's never had a crush on anyone who wasn't Mystra. He'd be shaking and fumbling just trying to ask Astarion on a date. And Mr. Emotionally Available over here, who is not ready to be vulnerable in any sense, who uses sex as a crutch because it's so familiar and so easy to dissociate from... yikes, what a combo. Poor Gale would be sent reeling by the hot-cold of it, he'd act insane those first few days after sex as he tries to make sense of how Astarion said yes to everything, but didn't mean it, but also he did? So should he pursue that or leave it be? Is the best choice to let Astarion thaw in his own good time or obsessively work on cracking this because Astarion clearly needs help and just doesn't want to ask for it? Stupid question, OBVIOUSLY the second! I... instant explosion. God, it would go so bad. Honestly, the good version is Gale resists the invitations and instead Astarion sulks for a few days over his blue balls or just fucks someone else, thus giving Gale a new case of mixed signals to obsess over. Jesus, we're just never going to escape that are we? Wizards gotta fixate.

Act II: In which Astarion chooses to ignore his own problems by instead arguing with Gale about his. Not because he's invested, merely because Gale is clearly being an idiot. Gale at first demurs, refusing to be argued out of his guilt, but then when Astarion becomes more insistent, counters with why Astarion cares so much? This would inevitably erupt in some kind of sexual encounter, but the fighting wouldn't stop because despite getting laid, Gale is still sure he's right and Astarion is still sure he's right. Dick actually can't solve this today. The camp mournful of ever finding a solution, they would like to sleep peacefully again someday.

Act III: Make or break time. Both Gale and Astarion escalate as the threat of death or destruction looms ever nearer. Gale now just as dead set on stopping Astarion from destroying himself as Astarion is on stopping Gale from destroying himself. Same threat, very different outcomes. Gale keeps looking at him with those damn puppy eyes and whining about "he'll regret it instantly" and "hate who he becomes" and "I can't stand to see that happen to you" or whatever. Obnoxious. And Astarion keeps trying to convince him that Mystra was wrong, that she "manipulated and groomed" him and "didn't even give an explanation" which he's owed, or some such nonsense. As if an inhuman, all-powerful goddess was out of line for being afraid of mortal actions... wait, was that a logical inconsistency? Damn. I think Gale would convince Astarion first. I think deep down Astarion would hate to be a full vampire too much, I think they both know it, and when Gale promises to stand by him, to take care of him, to always protect him... As much as Astarion doesn't want to trust, knows he's a fool for trusting, he agrees. He won't do it. He won't take the power. Because, damn him, he believes Gale. And what would suck is Gale would go "Cool! I'mma become a god, I can protect you way better then!" like entirely missing the point. And Astarion would be galled, deservedly so, by the hypocrisy. But Gale's so caught up in how sure he's right and how sure he's wrong, he's not even listening. I think it'd piss Astarion off so much, he'd convince the whole camp to kidnap Gale so he can't go sacrifice himself, full "He won't get the chance to kill himself because I'll do it first!" Until we finally get to the Nether Brain and... Astarion lets him go. Because that's the point. Trust isn't real if there isn't a choice. And as much as he hates the fact that Gale might choose what he doesn't want, he has to let him do it on his own. And I think that'd finally break through. That simple act of trust and sacrifice and playing willing to lose would finally make Gale go "Oh... oh god, what was I thinking? This isn't right." The fact that Astarion loves him more for the flawed and fallible person he is than for the heartless god he could become... That would finally make Gale see, Mystra was wrong all along and she never loved you because she can't really love. Not like that. Yeah. That's a personal favorite of mine.

But there's also a lot to be said for post-end, Astarion with nowhere to go and Gale going "You know... I've heard of spells that allow creatures form the Underdark to safely experience sunlight. We could try some of those, I don't see why they shouldn't work on you." and Astarion being floored and not even having the words for everything he feels at that offer. And then the raw sexual tension of living in his tower together as "friends" as Astarion mercilessly pines and Gale blissfully carries on, unaware until Tara finally goes "That's it! I can't take it any more! I'm going to live with your mother until you two sort this out!" and flies off. Leaving Gale to go "Huh... wonder what she meant by that?" Meanwhile, Astarion can hardly stand to be in the same room with Gale because he ends up basically drooling and yet, he can hardly stay away, staring obsessively from the shadows, creeping around wherever he is, looking exactly like the jealous lover he longs to be. Also, Astarion and Gale's mother! Oh, I can't wait! Too funny!

Oh, tower days with Astarion would be so good as he tries to adjust to having a life again. A slow, painful process, but very deserved. He'd need an occupation, he can't have nothing to do. Maybe he can look into magistrating again?

Anyway, there's some thoughts. I haven't finished Act III yet, but I'm close so I guess careful with those Act III spoilers.

Also, for anyone still reading, if you want to do me a solid: There exists somewhere a Bloodweave fic where Astarion walks in on Gale with a construct of himself only there's a twist... and the author is Very Correct about this twist. if you know, you know. But I can't find this fic anywhere! Please help a girl out if you've read the one I'm thinking of.

#bg3 #Baldur's Gate 3 #Bloodweave #some thoughts for y'all

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bloodwrittenballad · 8 months

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Bobby’s Got It Goin’ On | Bob Floyd x Reader

Summary: When Jake takes it too far, you step in

Warnings: Smut, oral (reader receiving, bc in my mind, bob is a pussy eating king!) fingering, consensual groping, blowjob in a car (0/10, do not recommend doing this) protected sex because!!! it’s a must!!! swearing, lil tad bit of angst, sexism? Hangman being, well, himself. Also, I suck at titles and summaries 🙃 18+ ONLY, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, YOU WILL BE BLOCKED. And please, let me know what you thought! Reblogs and comments are so very appreciated and help us fic writers <3 Xoxo, Parker

If there was one thing you knew for certain about Jake Seresin, it was that he had a loud fuckin mouth. And quite the talent at opening it at the wrong fuckin times. Like now, for instance. You and the crew were all at The Hard Deck, hanging out and celebrating getting through another long work week. Things were going well, you found yourself perched next to Bob, as the two of you made easy conversation.

You liked Bob, a lot. How could you not? He was sweet, smart, handsome as ever loving hell… Only issue, was he probably didn’t feel even the slightest bit same for you. That was okay though! Because in the end, you’d rather have a friendship with him than ruin it by telling him how you felt only to be rejected.

It was better this way, regardless of how bad it hurt or how much pestering you’d get from the other squadron members to just confess you feelings.

Pushing back the slightly depressing thoughts, you continued your focus on Bob, who was getting rather animated as he told you a stories from his childhood and teen years. Head thrown back in laughter, you couldn’t help but to gently slap his arm, a habit you had developed over the years and could never quite shake. Most people would have found it annoying, but not Bob. Never him. He found it endearing, plus… he couldn’t deny that the skin to skin contact was nice. You were so soft and warm, so, so… perfect.

Bob continued to blush while you giggled, “wow, Bobby, I never would’ve taken you for such a bad boy!” If his cheeks weren’t already as red as a stop sign, they certainly were now. “I wasn’t! Really! Just a… ya know, had a bit of teen angst, I guess.” Bob muttered, not being able to handle how goddamn beautiful that smile of yours was. “Well, teen angst aside, I think some trouble looks good on you. Kinda rouged. Chicks dig that, ya know.” You spoke with a soft smile, one that didn’t quite reach your eyes as you thought of him with any other woman than you.

Bob wore his usual lopsided smile as you said that, his skin feeling even warmer now. Jesus, you were so perfect. This moment was so perfect. Until it wasn’t.

Hangman, being the ever present thorn in your side, just had to go and ruin it. “Y’all wanna know what else chicks dig?” He spoke with a shit-eating grin as he plopped down beside you, making himself more than comfortable but not at all welcome. “Not really,” you huffed out through gritted teeth. A devilish smirk blossomed even wider on the blonds face, “chicks dig a man who’s tough and confident, unafraid to take charge and get shit done. Like me, sweet pea.” Jake ended with a wink, something that shouldn’t have pissed you off so much. But it did. He always managed to get under your skin in a way no one else could. He just had that effect on people. Obnoxious.

“Well, maybe some women aren’t into that,” you shot back. “Maybe some of us like a quiet, down to earth, gentleman who doesn’t boast about how supposedly great he is.” Jake barked out a laugh, his eyebrows shooting high up and almost into his hairline. “Damn, girl.” Jake whistled, “ya got fire in you, f’sure. Gotta find the right to manage that. Some prissy, sissy of a man ain’t gonna be able to tame it. Like Bob!” Said person looked up at you sheepishly for the first time since Hangman had crashed your little party. “Bobby here wouldn’t know what t’do with all that you got goin’ on, he uh, he just ain’t built for it.” Okay, so now you weren’t just pissed. You were fucking livid.

“And what the fuck do you know about anything, Bagman? Huh? What’re your qualifications to be making such claims? In fact, when’s the last time any of this macho bullshit actually worked on a woman? Cause ya wanna know what I think? I think you’re just an insecure little boy who acts like he’s gods fuckin’ gift to this world, like he’s got it all goin’ on for him. But you don’t! You can sure as hell act like it, but we all know you don’t. You wanna know who does, though? Bob. Yeah, that’s right. Bobby’s got it goin’ on!” By this point, you had stood up from your seated position so you could feel like you had a bit more of an upper ground, as you glared down at Jake.

Bob, who still hadn’t uttered a peep since Hangman’s interruption, saw how close you were to hitting the man and gently decided it was time to divert from the situation and led you outside. His hand, strong but gentle on the small of your back, guided you throughout The Hard Deck until you both found yourselves under the pale moonlight. “God!” you groaned angrily. “I mean, who the hell does he think he is? Such a prick! Like, I get it, you haven’t been laid in a while but fuck don’t take it out on people who don’t deserve it! It’s just so, so, so fucking frustrating. Aren’t you frustrated? I’m frustrated! No, I’m pissed! Oooh, I’m so pissed. I could go in there right now and punch him right in his stupid f-,” You stopped short in your rant, the pacing you started somewhere along the line coming to a halt.

Bob was just standing there, head bowed, not saying a word. “Bobby?” You whispered gently, mentally cursing yourself for your tangent now when you should’ve been making sure he was okay. Opening your mouth to speak again, Bob cut you off. “Did… did you meant it? W-what you said. I-in there? Or was that just to get Hangman off my back?” The shake in his voice made your heart crack in two, but what truly broke it was the look on his face. So unsure, so pained, so scared that it was all just a big fat lie.

“Bobby, I-” you started, but was once again cut off. “It’s fine, I-I uh, I get it. I do. No hard feelings. But, um, thanks for taking care of Hangman.” Bob went to pass out, presumably to his car so he could get the hell out of there and save himself any further embarrassment for tonight. Before he could make it far, you grabbed his arm, tugging him back towards you and pushing your lips to his. Bob left out a soft whine, immediately melting into the feeling of you.

The kiss was soft, warm, delicate and messy all at once. It was everything you ever dreamed of, it just sucked that the events of tonight were what led up to it. Pulling away, your hands went up to cup his face, locking eyes with his in the compassionate embrace. “I meant every single word, Robby. All that, and so much more.” Bob broke out in a smile, with you following not far behind, before he surged forward and connected your lips once more. This time in a much more needy and demanding kiss, with his and your hands roaming each others bodies.

A soft moan left your lips in a tiny squeak, Bob pulling away with a satisfied grin. “Maybe we should take this somewhere a little more private? Don’t really feel like sharing those noises with anyone else.” You gasped and gently hit his arm, like how you had earlier. “Bobby! You dirty dog! I cant believe you… but yes. Yes. Let’s go, now. Please.” Bob couldn’t help to laugh at the display of utter desperation from you, as he led you to his car. The second you were inside, a full makeout session ensued. You ended up on his lap, albeit with some struggle because his car was tiny, but you made do. Grinding on his growing bulge, you moaned widely, his tongue darting into your mouth. “Fuck, Bobby, take me home. Want you to take me home and fuck me so bad. Will you, please?” You whined and begged, and what kind of man would he be to leave you so needy like this.

After you were safe and secure in the passenger seat, Bob wasted no time on stepping on the gas as he made his way back to his rental. After the mission, many, if not most, of the original crew got a transfer. Yourself included, though unlike Bob, you’re place wasn’t as nice. That didn’t matter though, it was all small details in the end. Because now you not only had the best of friends, but you finally got the guy. And said guy was taking you home to fuck you.

The drive wasn’t long, but damn, did it make you needier. You weren’t sly in the slightest, as you snuck your hand slowly up Bobs thigh, climbing higher and higher, stopping just below where you so desperately wanted to touch. Bob gave you a look, eyebrow quirked, lips in a smirk. “This okay?” you whispered, just to be sure. “More than okay, darling.” He confirmed, and that was more than enough for you to launch your attack. Unbuttoning his pants, you make quick work of pushing down his boxers as far as they would go before his hard and ready cock popped out. Your mouth went agap at the sight, suddenly feeling drool looking at the edges of you lips as you took in the length and size of him. He was huge! “Holy shit, Bobby, you really do got it goin’ on.” And with that, you took him into your mouth.

He couldn’t reach all the way in, so you made due by streaking the rest of him. Occasionally groping his balls, which earned the heavenly sound of his moans. You continued bobbing your head up and down, savoring the taste of him and the way he swore. “F-fuck! Yeah, yeah, just like that. Taking it so well, j-just like a good girl.” You moaned at the praise, feeling yourself getting wetter by the second. Then, before you knew it, the car came to an abrupt stop and so did the blowjob, as Bob gently grabbed your cheeks and lifted your head. “As much as I’d love to come in your throat, sweet thing, I’d much rather continue this inside. Where I can really treat you good,” he said with a wink. Oh, god, he was so fucking hot.

The two of you managed to stumble inside, hands never leaving each others bodies as you nipped and sucked at any possible exposed skin, groping and grinding and messy as he led you to his bed and practically tossed you on to it. By the time you made it to his bedroom, both of you were almost fully nude, aside from the underwear you wore. Which were fully soaked now, by the way. And damn, did Bob enjoy the sit. Sinking down to his knees on the floor, Bob grabbed your legs and scooted you forward so your ass hung over the bed almost completely. “Fuck, s’wet f’me,” he mumbled against the skin of your thighs, your ankles now hanging over his shoulders.

He worked his way up, pressing kisses to the soft skin, loving the way you moaned and begged for me. “You want my mouth or my fingers, darling?” He asked, and the smirk he wore when you screamed, “both!” only widened. “If it’s both you want, baby, then it’s both you’ll get.” And with that, your panties were gone in a flash as he tore them off and dove right in. “FUCK!” you moaned loudly, your hands frantically clutching the bedsheets. “Yes, yes, yes! Oh, right there! Fuck yes!” He’d barely begun, still only using his tongue, as he lapped at you like a man starved. It was heavenly, the warmth of his tongue and the speed at which it tortured you with bliss.

Minutes, maybe even hours, fuck who knows how long went by with him in between your thighs, just licking and sucking and slurping at what you had to offer before he asked if you wanted his fingers yet. Of course you had screamed yes again, but it was all garbled and mumbled from the pleasure you felt. Bob chucked between you, the vibration a heavenly feeling on your clit. The added sensation of not just one, but two fingers prodding at your sensitive hole had your mind swimming in pure ecstasy. You knew you were close, and his fingers speeding in and out of you mixed with his tongue on your clit only brought on that freeing feeling. Bob must’ve felt the way you clenched around him, the way your thighs shook, and masterfully continued his work. Drilling his fingers inside of you and bringing your clit to rest in between his puckered lips had you exploding into a dazzling glow of orgasm you’ve never felt before.

Bob stayed between your thighs, fingers slowing down as he coaxed you through your orgasm. Once he knew you were good, he gently pulled his fingers out and tapped your thigh in a way of telling you “good job”. Climbing back onto the bed, he smiled down at your fucked out figure. The way your eyes were glazed over, your naked chest rising and falling. It was a beautiful sight to behold, and he was so lucky he got to be the one to do it. You smiled back at him, before slowly getting up so you sat on your knees with him on the bed, hands stroking up and down his arms. “As good as that was, and trust me, it was really good, I want you to fuck me for real now.”

Bob didn’t need to be told again, he bolted towards his bedside table, almost ripping the drawer out as he searched inside the messy compartment. “Aha!” He said victoriously, holding up a condom. You smiled softly at the man, who despite being a literal sex god a minute ago, still had the capability to be the goofy dork you’ve had feelings for forever now.

“You ready?” he asked earnestly once he got the condom on, you’ve never been more ready for anything in your life. “Just hurry up and fuck me, Floyd.” you said breathlessly, and that was more than enough for him to pounce on you like his life depended on it. His lips met yours in a flurry once more that night, the taste of you not gone from his mouth as he all but attacked yours. The tip of his cock met your folds in a blissful roll of his hips, making you gasp. Needing him inside you desperately, you grabbed his cock gently and helped him slowly guide it inside you, breathing out a sigh of relief once he filled you to the fullest. On your back, you laid there, allowing yourself to get used to the feeling of him. Bob, ever the patient man, didn’t move an inch until you gave him the go ahead.

Once the coast was clear, he was like a beast, snapping his hips at an unstoppable force. It felt so good, like all your nerves were set ablaze in the best way. Your ankles wrapped around his waist, your hands scratching up and down his back. The way he was bent over you gave him perfect access to your tits, to which he took full advantage and brought one of your nipples to his mouth. The feeling had you clenching around him like a viper, his hot tongue dancing around the sensitive skin of your breast brought you close to the edge again. His thrusts were hard and wild, but calculated, hitting the perfect spot every single time. You were both moaning like animals, swears and praises and the scent of sex filling the air as you fucked each other into the night. “Fuck, Bobby, m’so close. Wanna come with you, wanna come with you so bad.” you whined out, and Bob can’t think of a time in his life where he’s heard or experienced anything sexier.

“I’m almost there, my girl, fuck, so close. Just hold on f’me like a good girl, can ya do that? Can you wait like the good girl I know you are?” His voice was so gruff, deep and full of ecstasy. “Yeah,” you managed out in a high pitched whimper, something that made Bob’s cock twitch from inside of you. With a few more deep strokes inside you, he was ready, and he knew you were too. “Let go, baby. Come with me, fuck! You better come with me, baby, know you can.”

And so you did. And it was glorious. Earth shattering, mind blowing, you name it. Your skin was hot and sweaty, and you shook like a goddamn earthquake as you came, Bob not far behind as he experienced his own orgasm. Moaning wildly, he collapsed beside you the second he pulled out. The two of you lay there, breathing heavily, minds reeling from the most amazing and intense and powerful sex both of you have ever had in your entire lives. Once the two of you caught your breaths and energy enough to move, Bob cleaned the two of you up before pulling you into his arms. You laid there, head on his chest, looking up at him in pure fascination and wonder.

Yeah, Bobby’s definitely got it goin’ on for sure.

And Hangman can fuckin’ suck it!

#bob floyd x reader #bob floyd smut #bob floyd fanfic #bob floyd #top gun smut #top gun x reader #top gun fanfic #robert floyd #robert floyd x reader #robert floyd smut #banner by cafekitsune

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jbaileyfansite · 4 months

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Jonathan Bailey and Matt Bomer's Interview with The Hollywood Reporter (2023)

“Johnny B! Johnny B!” Matt Bomer exclaims as he logs in to Zoom to join his Fellow Travelers co-star, Jonathan Bailey, to do press for their critically acclaimed Showtime limited series.

“Hey, Matty Mo,” Bailey replies.

The actors spent about six months filming the eight-episode series — so, of course, they’ve established a playful bond. On this particular day, they’ve even given each other nicknames.

“I don’t think I’ve ever called Matt ‘Matty Mo’ in my life,” a smiling Bailey says.

“I love Matty Mo,” Bomer replies. “Listen, I love Matty Mo. I appreciate it.”

Bomer and Bailey built a brotherhood and onscreen chemistry for the historical romantic drama about two male political staffers who fall in love at the height of the Lavender Scare, a time when homosexuals were banned from holding positions in the federal government. The series — based on Thomas Mallon’s 2007 novel of the same name — follows their intense affair into the ’80s, also visiting Vietnam War protests and the AIDS crisis.

Zoom, it turns out, is where the actors first met, reading lines together to see if there was magic. And there was.

Since debuting in late October, Fellow Travelers has had an overwhelming response from viewers — some connecting directly with Bomer’s Hawkins Fuller, a veteran and State Department official who carefully hides his homosexuality, or with Bailey’s Tim Laughlin, an eager and naive congressional staffer who falls hard for Hawk. Others have identified with some of the supporting cast, including Allison Williams in the role of Hawk’s wife, Lucy Smith, and breakout stars Jelani Alladin as reporter Marcus Hooks and Noah J. Ricketts as drag performer Frankie Hines, whose gay Black love story is one of the show’s many highlights.

“It’s so nice to be able to have discourse with people who are responding to the show. That’s been really refreshing and enlightening,” says Bomer, who is also an executive producer on the series.

Bailey, best known for Bridgerton and his theater work, says he was drawn to the show because “it felt new and it hadn’t been done in this way — in an elevated, eight-hour, rich aesthetic with gay actors.

“The queer experience is so different for so many people,” he adds, “but the one thing that unites the queer experience is these moments in history.”

In an interview with THR, Bomer and Bailey talk about prepping for their roles and being gay while playing gay, while also breaking down those milk and toe-sucking scenes.

What has it been like to have people connect emotionally to the series?

MATT BOMER: I won’t name names or anything, but I’ve known people over the years who’ve made similar choices that Hawk made in order to survive. Not governmentally — I mean in a society that certainly didn’t want to see them succeed. But for me, the most refreshing thing has been the young people who are really engaged in the show and knew nothing about the Lavender Scare, and are speaking to the show and the characters, but also, aspects of our history that they were unaware of that the show has — I don’t want to say taught them about, because it’s not a teaching tool — but they’ve learned about through the show.

JONATHAN BAILEY: When people respond in that way and you hear their personal stories, it’s amazing that people feel that they want to share that. It’s the most grounding thing to tell a story and investigate a time or a period or a movement, that hopefully leaves an imprint on people, and/or catalyzes them to tell people and talk about their own stuff. That’s the dream, really.

Jonathan, it’s so heartbreaking to watch Tim hurting in various scenes. What were you pulling from to give such a strong emotional performance?

BAILEY: Thirty-five years on this earth. (Laughs.) Drawing it from the ground. Naturally, it’s totally parts of me and parts of people that I know, experiences that you think of. Tim’s character arc is so huge, and [I wanted] to capture his youth in those early moments and then expand into what breaks such a pure, optimistic, passionate soul and all the different ways in which that could show itself. There were moments on set that you couldn’t help but be incredibly moved by.

We found ourselves filming by coincidence on World Aids Day. It is really not hard to feel the importance, but also just the grief is palpable in the stories. And there is a lineage — you inherit this in your community. It just felt like an opportunity to learn as much as I possibly could, generally, about the queer experience. We are surrounded by amazing gay men, as well. And then, of course, I’ve lived my life trying to understand the gay experience, so it wasn’t a shallow pool to [pull from].There’s a well there.

Matt, your character is so cutthroat, but obviously there’s sympathy for him, as well. What was it like playing Hawk?

BOMER: Hawk does what he has to do to survive. He has his empathy and his allegiances, but anything that calls his survival into question, there are immediate and severe boundaries. But then enters Tim, who is so guileless and so full of love and all the things that Hawk wishes he could be at his core, or maybe once was before certain aspects of his life changed that or his point of view about that. You’re always looking for a shadow in your character, and it was so refreshing — he obviously has a public persona, a veneer that he presents to the world in order to maneuver in it, but he really leads with a lot of the more shadowy aspects of a typical character. It’s the love and the more open and vulnerable aspects that are his shadow in many ways. That was an interesting flip for me to get to sink my teeth into.

It’s profound to have two gay actors playing two gay characters on a TV show. Did you ever think something like this could exist?

BOMER: Honestly, no. My mind has been blown so many times over the past 20 years. I’m just so grateful that the gatekeepers gave us this opportunity. I was doubtful, almost up to the 25th hour on this, that they were really going to put the money and the opportunity into this series that they did. And I’m just so grateful that people who are in the position of calling the shots gave us the chance to tell the story — and the way we needed to.

BAILEY: It’s the Tims of the industry, who are searching for more, who are deconstructing, who are questioning. Because they’re all a similar peer group — [series creator] Ron [Nyswaner] knows Dante [Di Loreto, executive producer of Glee and P-Valley], who’s at Fremantle [which produced the show], and they’ve worked together for years. This isn’t something that just got commissioned overnight, because there’s a wave of progress. The people who are really doing it, as well as the actors, are the people in positions of power who have worked their way up with these questions.

And it’s funny, the one thing I have thought over the years is — I’ve just looked at gay characters, they’re such rich, brilliant, oppressed, complicated, joyous characters to play, so of course people want to play them. And this is a brilliant example of: What better way to do a character study of two polar-opposite gay characters than have gay people play them? But that’s what I felt growing up. I just thought, “Of course people want to play those parts,” which is great. It’s just, what happens if, just for a moment, gay people play them?

And I do think that everyone can play everything, and that’s what we should be headed toward. But I do think there’s a balance that needs, and needed, addressing. And there are a lot of people whose questioning and hard work have created a world in which this can fly.

BOMER: I agree with you wholeheartedly. And it is the Tims of the industry or maybe some Hawks, too, hoping for retribution.

BAILEY: That’s true. We stand on the shoulders of all the Hawks, as well.

BOMER: (Laughs.)

BAILEY: [The Hawks] did all the work at MGM, yes. (Laughs.)

Jonathan, your character drinking milk in the series got a lot of attention.

BAILEY: It was a brilliant way of showing such naiveté, and immediately you know that this is a character who’s completely outside the world Hawk inhabits, and he sees the world completely differently. He’s so open. It’s so interesting, isn’t it? Because, it’s funny that Tim leads with his heart and his openness and his childlike wonder, and his shadows are his compulsive nature of constantly needing something that he can’t fill. There’s a moment in episode six — they’re in Frankie’s flat, and I was like, “He’s got to be drinking milk.”

BOMER: There was a power shift in episode eight, too.

BAILEY: Exactly. The milk was on the call sheet. It’s a character in its own right. And also the milk’s character arc is more dramatic than everyone else. Give it a spinoff, I say. (Laughs.)

There was also that toe-sucking scene. Jonathan, did you get the script and it said “suck toe”?

BOMER: Just “suck toe.” (Laughs.)

BAILEY: It was very, very precisely written down — it was as precise as it needed to be. I saw that as an incredible way to dissect power. I got it when I read it, and I wasn’t intimidated by it. I was just like, “If in the first episode that’s what we are doing, it’s going to be worth five months moving to Toronto, and it’s going to be a series that I would want to watch.” Because not only is it incredibly complicated, not only is it really hot, it’s also something that masks as being provocative, but actually it’s really psychologically impactful and the people who get it get it.

BOMER: I think all those scenes were a really external representation of what was going on with these characters internally, emotionally. And for me, it was really refreshing to see the gay love scenes brought to light in a really unflinching way.

BAILEY: The shock and overwhelm and the tantalizing chemical combustion that happens seeing it — it’s a greater sensory experience because that’s exactly what it meant for Tim in that moment. It captures exactly what’s going on for Hawk and Tim, hopefully, allowing the viewer to experience a bodily reaction to it in the same way, whatever that may be.

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#fellow travelers #jonathan bailey #matt bomer #interviews #interviews:2023 #the hollywood reporter interview #NEW!

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larkspyrr · 7 months

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chapter i — we could form an attachment (wc. 4.9k)

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The Opera Epiclese was almost always a circus — sometimes in the most literal sense of the word. But this event was on another level entirely.

The epicenter of Fontaine's rich history on Erinnyes played host to a menagerie of pastels, frills, cuffs, and nonsense. A sea of nobles and hopefuls swarmed the Court of Fontaine from Marcotte Station all the way to the Fountain of Lucine — a mass of the nation's wealthiest, most ambitious, and most eligible young people, escorted here and there by older family members with varying degrees of investment, twirling and sipping and gossiping.

The jets hidden within the overlapping layers of shallow pools spouted pillars of crystalline water, casting an almost imperceptible mist over the whole courtyard, granting it an ethereal charm and allure not befitting such fatuous rituals. A flood of rainbow roses, lumidouce bells, marcottes, and activated romaritimes bloomed raucously over every inch of the gardens, their aroma thick but not unpleasant, their petals offering a lush natural carpet for the venue — not that there was enough space between the milling crowd to appreciate it. Cuihua trees bursting with bulle fruit lined the perimeter, the little citruses begging to be picked, only protected by the unspoken high society rule that to do so would be unbecoming. A small quartet of violins stood before the fountain itself, playing a light-hearted and airy song to accompany the festivities, though not a soul was paying attention.

A few lucky (or conversely, unlucky) aristocrats may leave the Opera tonight with the promise of approaching nuptials and a happy future. Far more would simply leave with an impending hangover and some gossip on Baron Something-or-Other's latest romantic failings.

You took a dainty sip from your champagne flute. It would be more nauseating if it weren't so entertaining. You and Lady Furina seemed to have that in common — an enduring appreciation for the cyclical drama. You wondered absently if the Archon herself would make an appearance to stir something up. You hoped she would.

All the world's a stage, indeed.

You made your way across the courtyard, the click of your heels on the parquet stone drowned out by the throng; a nearby wide, stone planter in your sights. It would be as good a place as any for you to remain aloof and antisocial but still in sight of your father, who spared you a supervisory glance from where he stood with other noblemen, certainly discussing nothing of importance.

From your new perch, the noise and color and spectacle all were duller, easier to digest. You leaned against the marble and observed the sea of activity, daintily nursing your drink.

You were enjoying the time spent on your own when you heard a soft rustle of fabric to your right — a noise that would have been impossible to catch had you been any closer to the heart of the gathering. You turned in time to see a man you didn't recognize leaning against the same planter as you, looking for all the world as comfortable as if you'd invited him to be there.

You had not.

He didn't seem to belong there — that much was evident — and not just because he was an unfamiliar face. Tall and dark, his icy blue eyes were framed by a rush of thick, dark hair and a thin, crescent scar. Far from his only scar, by the looks of it — a complex network traveled down his neck and disappeared under his collar, intricate enough to rival the meticulous lacework that had cost your father a pretty mora at the boutique — despite your insistence that such costs were wholly unnecessary. The stranger's suit, a well-tailored gray and black ensemble, was partially obscured by a fussy, fur-lined coat. His burgundy tie was ever-so-slightly crooked, making your fingers twitch with the urge to adjust it. A desire no doubt born of the years you had been doing the very same for father.

Even under the warmth of the setting summer sun, he seemed to radiate a chill that brought goosebumps to your exposed arms.

If he'd ever been at an event before this one, there was no way you could have forgotten him. He seemed the type to linger in someone's mind long after he left a room.

He tilted a polite smile down at you.

"Good afternoon, miss," he greeted in a voice altogether too friendly to match his intimidating countenance.

"Charmed," you clipped. You gave him an appraising look, not rushing the path your eyes made up his frame, from the clunky boots, ill-suited for the occasion, to the silver streaks in his hair he didn't seem quite old enough for yet. He had the dignity not to cower under your inspection. "I'm afraid this flowerbed is occupied, sir. Please find your own."

His smile shifted and was clearly meant to look apologetic. You weren't convinced. "I'm afraid I can't."

You lifted a brow. If nothing else, this could be an entertaining interlude from the pomp and circumstance. "And why not?"

He cleared his throat, nodding in the direction of some hedges across the way. You flicked your eyes over discreetly, just in time to catch a head of blonde hair and another of jet curls disappearing behind the greenery, followed by stage whispers that surely they didn't think were quiet. Didn't they?

"You see," he began in a lower tone, clearly having better mastered the art of not being overheard than your spectators. "There is a gaggle of lovely but persistent young women in pursuit of me at this very moment, and I'd very much like to be engaged in conversation with someone else in order to postpone my torment. I'd be in your debt if you could look engrossed in this discussion for just long enough that they lose interest and find someone else to prey upon."

You hummed thoughtfully, watching now ginger curls leaning incautiously from behind the hedge, green eyes landing viciously on you and the interloper before vanishing once more. Just how many girls were hiding behind there?

"Oh?" you said, raising the glass to your lips with a smirk. "Not interested in sampling their scintillating conversation skills? Are you not here in search of a partner?"

"No, I'm not," he responded good-naturedly, running a hand through the artfully tousled sweep of his hair. "I have no intentions to marry at present."

You hmphed, twirling the flute in a gloved hand. "Yet here you are," you said, softly flicking the glass in his general direction, the tiny whirlpool you'd gotten going interrupted. You did not bother to conceal your skepticism. "Tolerating the vagaries of a high society debutante ball. And you'd tell a complete stranger this, because...?"

He leaned in, conspiratorial. "I am here as a matter of obligation only. Politics. Appearances. You understand." He returned back to his former stance, expression neutral, resting lazily against the polished marble. "Let's just say I'm sharp enough to recognize a kindred spirit when I see one."

You could feel yourself reflecting the same curiosity that danced in his eyes against your better judgment. This exchange was turning out to be interesting. "A kindred spirit, is it?"

"Indeed," he said. "Judging by the fact that you are also skulking in this corner and don't seem to have any more interest in mingling at this event than I do."

"I do not 'skulk'," you responded, unamused at his word choice. "And while I'd ask you to separate me from your assumptions, you aren’t incorrect. I'm also here only because it is expected of me."

He looked pleased with himself at your confirmation, and now dealt you the same appraisal you'd previously subjected him to with a calculating stare. You fought the urge to fidget under his evaluation, finding it beyond frustrating to have no idea what he was thinking behind his amicable yet inscrutable exterior. "Is that so? It is not often you see a noble lady uninvested in the affairs of the court."

You bristled, fighting the urge to furrow your eyebrows in a way you'd been told by many etiquette coaches was 'unflattering'. "There are greater aspirations to have beyond being a pretty little thing for some nobleman to set on his trophy shelf. Even for so-called 'noble ladies'."

He laughed then, a short, surprised burst. The sound was rich, reverberating in your bones. "My apologies. Please don't misunderstand, my curiosity tends to get the better of me. Indulge me?"

You sniffed, turning away from him once more to observe the hedge across the path — it seemed quiet enough now that the ladies within must have moved on like he'd hoped they would. Your chin lifted of its own accord as you flicked your eyes back to him. "I'm not interested in discussing my life aspirations with a man who lacks the good manners to even introduce himself first."

His mouth pulled up at one corner. "Are you sure the exchange of such confidential information would be of equal value?"

You held your stance, unfazed. "That will be for me to decide, sir."

"Very well." He inclined his head, an earnest hand pressed to his chest. "I am Wriothesley, Duke of the Fortress of Meropide. It is an honor to make your acquaintance."

You felt the color leave your face and your fingers go dead cold. This man — the Duke of Meropide, of all things — watched cheerfully as you hurried into polite obeisance. Damn it all. You hadn't exactly been courteous with the man. "Your Grace. The honor is mine."

His eyes still shone with mirth as you straightened. "Please, no need for such formalities. My mistake for — ah, what was it you said?'' he pondered, eyes drifting off in mock thought as you waited, drenched in miserable anticipation. "Right! ‘Not having the good manners to introduce myself first’."

Your cheeks warmed and you forced back a rush of frustration with yourself. "My apologies, I — I meant no disrespect," you said, gathering your composure. "You are not at all what I pictured, Your Grace. I hadn't known you were to attend a society function here on the surface."

"Tragically, society functions below the Fontemer are in short supply," he said sardonically. "And please, don't apologize, it's not often one gets to enjoy a chat with a charming, spirited stranger. What's your name?"

You offer it with another small nod. "My father is the Viscount Vellerot."

As if on cue, you faintly heard your father's voice calling your name from somewhere amidst the hustle and bustle; evidently he'd lapsed in his duty as your chaperone — once again — and had lost track of you. You weren't sure what it was he may want, though; clearly something must have come up to remind him of his purpose at this party. That was generally the way of things.

You tended to prefer being forgotten.

"And that would be him calling for me now," you explained as you pushed yourself from the planter and stepped past him. "This flowerbed is all yours. It was a pleasure to hide from the gaggle of lovely women with you, Your Grace. Good luck avoiding them for the rest of the evening."

He chuckled, a sheepish smile on his face. "The pleasure was all mine, my lady," he said. "But don't think I've forgotten our deal. You still owe me an answer."

With a vague smile and a polite curtsy, you disappeared back into the crowd, leaving the duke still leaning against the flowerbed.

Turns out, your father had only wished to introduce you to yet another son of yet another powerful acquaintance of his. His hopeful eyes as he sent the two of you off to dance only made it harder to turn the boy down, even if he were several years your junior and an entitled brat to boot. Your father truly only wanted your happiness, and you didn’t have the heart to tell him his efforts were in vain. This young noble wasn't the first you'd ever had to reject, and you unfortunately very much doubted he'd be the last — though you hoped he would, at least, be the last for that particular soirèe.

It turned out that would not be the case either, but you tried to keep an approximation of optimism anyway.

The one thing more sure than the line of people begging your attention — for want of your dowry and the association with your family, not anything to do with you, mind — was the tidal wave of whispers that had begun to take over the flow of the neverending gossip. It hadn't taken long for the news to spread —

Did you hear? This event has a special guest —

The Duke of Meropide is here? He must finally be looking for a duchess…

Come, Anne, allow me to introduce you to the duke. Fix your gloves, we want to make a good impression. Let me put this flower in your hair — maybe he will ask you for a dance!

Slowly, all the usual chirping melted away into one, resounding sentiment from all corners of the court — the Duke of Meropide is here, and he will be mine.

None of them knew what you did. You did your best to conceal your smile at the knowledge that all their posturing and peacocking was an investment in vain. Just as it was when their artless schemes were directed at you.

Afternoon melted into evening and you'd been idling away the hours, chatting to and dancing with and entertaining people who you didn't have the privilege to inform were wasting their time with you, longing to be anywhere else.

You finally seized enough of an opening to flee the courtyard proper for a moment of respite in a blooming hedge maze, as the gathering at the top of the grand stone steps was dying down and getting ready to migrate to the beautiful, opulent expanse of the Icewind Suite for the evening's grand finale. You found a remote, hidden spot and sat heavily, removing a shoe so you could massage the soles of your aching, overworked feet.

A branch snapped nearby and you whipped your head in its direction, heart thundering, to find the individual responsible for interrupting your moment of rest.

You should have known.

"We meet again," said the duke with a dip of his head.

"We do indeed," you said from where you were seated, letting your foot drop. Even in the dim lighting of the garden, you could see the man looked worn. Delight pulled at your lips at his evident misfortune. "Enjoying your evening?"

He sighed, a long, drawn-out, heartfelt sound. "Can't say that I am," he admitted.

You smiled ruefully. "That makes two of us. These events are nothing if not a test of our constitution." A yawning silence expanded between you and you slipped your heel back on, standing with a small stretch. You brushed down your dress. "I will return to the group. I really shouldn't be seen here with you without my chaperone, Your Grace. It wouldn't be proper."

He rolled his eyes. "Don't you ever get fatigued by these stuffy, outdated rules?"

"Every day," you said wryly. "But the rules still exist, and I have a reputation to uphold. I can't be thought to have been compromised. There are always sharp eyes waiting for someone to slip."

He crossed his arms in front of his chest, keen eyes glinting, in a gesture all too calculating for your liking. "Why risk coming out here alone at all?" he asked. "What if a person with bad intentions were to come looking for you? Someone who might wish to 'compromise' you?"

"A person other than you?" you retorted. "All I know of your intentions is that they do not include marriage, yet here you are anyway. Who's to say what your intentions truly are?"

He frowned. "Point taken," he conceded. "Though I assure you, they are nothing untoward. You didn't answer my question."

Your smile was scornful. "Fear not, Your Grace, for I am quite sure no one at this party could present any real physical threat to me. Of course, we are all always subject to the whims of the rumor mill, and I'm afraid that could do much more damage to me than any wealthy man in tights ever could."

His lips twitched in amusement. "Physical?" he remarked. "You grow more intriguing with every word."

"I am quite skilled, sir, both with a sword and without," you replied, a proud tilt to your chin.

He hummed thoughtfully, nodding. "That brings our deal back to mind. What is it you'd do instead, if not play along with these society games?"

You considered him for a long moment. His curiosity seemed genuine. You saw no reason to lie or disguise the truth. "I'd become a Champion Duelist."

His eyes widened almost imperceptibly before his smile broadened. "How about that?"

Your eyes narrowed, leaning forward into his space just slightly. "Is there a problem?"

"Not at all," he assured with a dismissive wave and a light, surprised laugh. "Just caught off guard."

You huffed and leaned back, allowing the remainder of your defensiveness to drain away. "Miss Clorinde is an acquaintance of my father, as it sometimes seems everyone in Fontaine is," you said, dry. "She has been gracious enough to join me in training from time to time. Of course, that will slow considerably during the social season while I trade in my boots for heels and my fencing ripostes for verbal ones."

He looked lost in thought for a moment. "I knew nothing about the aristocracy before receiving my title — it wasn't part of the curriculum for urchins, believe it or not. But in all my studies since, I've never once heard of a member of the inherent nobility leaving their seat for such a role."

"There is a first for all things," you said airily. "I had forgotten you come from, uh, humble beginnings. Your studies must have been quite intensive."

"I do, and they were. They still are. There's a lot about all of this I still find kinda baffling. My 'humble beginnings' are unfortunately part of the reason I have to make appearances this season," he said, tone ringing resentful. "It seems not all of our peers are pleased that a former… commoner with an honorary title is in the position I'm in. There are those interested in incorporating the Fortress as an official Fontainian entity — a government-managed facility. The question of my legitimacy is only helping their case when I haven't participated at court in any formal capacity as Duke."

You pondered his words for a moment. "So the rumors are true? This truly is your first time ever attending a society function?"

He nodded, his nose wrinkling with distaste. "It is, and it seems no amount of reading could have prepared me for it. The Iudex suggested that making a point of looking for a wife of noble birth, genuine or otherwise, might be enough to keep the wolves at bay, at least until the nobility votes to solidify or dissolve the Fortress of Meropide's autonomy, and by extension, my position as its administrator. He said if I wished to sway the vote my way, then I'd have to convince them I belong." He grimaced. "And that I’d have to consider making some sacrifices to do so.”

"I can't say that I'm surprised," you said. "These people value one thing above all else — their own superiority. Anything that threatens that, threatens them. If you were to form a connection with a strong family, the fuss would surely die down. No one wants to be on the bad side of those more powerful than they are."

The duke hummed. "Then Lord Thibeault must think he is very threatened indeed. I've been feeling a bit like a fish quite literally out of water. Would it be improper of me to say I miss my fortress?"

You snorted, unladylike. "He's the ring leader? Lord Thibeault must have far too much time on his hands if he is available to cause as much trouble as he does."

"You're familiar?"

"'Familiar' is one way of putting it. Lord Thibeault is a busybody and a wretch. He can't bear to see anything fresh or interesting shake up his beloved court or upset the status quo he holds so dear."

"So it seems," the duke said thoughtfully, letting a quiet beat pass. "Your aspiration was a pleasant surprise. Thank you for sharing it with me."

"It is only a secret by necessity," you sighed. "Not because I'd like it to be. What was your expectation?"

"I didn't have any expectations,” he said. His mouth curved into a roguish grin. “Never do. That's what makes the wait so good. I love cliffhangers."

You laughed. "I'd hate to have kept you in suspense. Sadly, the endless cycles of dancing and tea and etiquette classes will leave me little time to continue my training over the coming months, so my dream will remain just that: a dream."

"Why do you do it, then?” he asked, cocking his head. “Continue enduring all this nonsense?"

"As I said before, it is my duty,” you said slowly, wilting. A familiar feeling of defeat sank into your bones. “It would set a bad precedent if I didn't. I have two younger sisters and my father is a good man who only wants us to be happy, but he is getting on in years and... well. If I were to dishonor our family by abandoning them before they were situated, I could never forgive myself."

His eyebrows drew together and you could see his gears turning. "That's why you continue to take part?"

"Yes. I just need to somehow find a way to avoid any... obligations until they are in safe, happy situations, and then maybe I can be free. They are only just behind me in years, so it won't be that long. If all goes according to plan, a few years, maybe. Otherwise, as there is no male heir, my sisters would be at the next Viscount Vellerot's mercy when my father passes, whoever he may be once he is named. I will not risk their futures for my own selfishness."

The duke frowned. "I don't think wanting to pursue what would make you happy should be considered selfish."

You shrugged. "Nevertheless, if I want to make sure my sisters are taken care of, I likely will eventually need to secure the hand of a respectable man, my own wishes be damned,” you sighed. “I suppose I just can’t help but to naively hope for something more."

He looked to be lost in thought, arms crossed in front of his chest, tapping a considering finger on his chin, a tap-tap-tap that set your teeth on edge and filled your with a sense of foreboding. His eyes, looking at something far off in the distance, eventually focused back on your own as he came to some hidden conclusion in his mind.

"And what of a duke?" he offered.

You blinked, your mind hurrying to understand the implication of his words, yet failing to do so. "Something on your mind, Your Grace?"

"I have a proposition for you."

You looked at him intently. "And what would that be? This isn't going to be another ill-fated proposal, is it?” you scolded. “I thought you were supposed to be smarter than that."

"Oh, not at all," he said, dangerous eyes holding yours in a vice grip. "We could pretend to form an attachment."

You found yourself temporarily at a loss for words. You heard him, knew the meaning of each word in solitude, but strung together in such a fashion they felt like mismatching puzzle pieces, the completed landscape out of reach. "What do you mean?"

He began to pace in the small clearing, gesturing with his arms as he unfolded the inner workings of his mind. "We are both uninterested in marriage and yet forced to give the impression that we are. I need the lords and ladies of the court to believe I have found my duchess to cement my legitimacy as the duke until we secure the Fortress of Meropide’s autonomy. You need them to believe that you are searching for a respectable husband to maintain your, and by extension, your family's good reputation until your sisters have found happy matches. Who could be more suited to our respective needs than each other?"

"You're suggesting a ruse?" you whispered, scandalized. “Are you crazy?”

"Perfectly sane,” he continued. “What I'm suggesting is that we let the people believe we are precisely what we are — respectably off-the-market."

You began to shake your head in disbelief, wanting to back away but finding your legs refusing to obey your command. "Your proposition is ridiculous."

"It's perfect,” he said with conviction. “What better way is there to keep the wolves at bay than to lower the gates? Plus — you understand more about how to blend into society than I could ever hope to, and let's just say that with my background, I could offer a hand in your training. We can help each other.”

“The season won’t last forever,” you pointed out. "And when autumn comes around?"

"Oh, that’s the beauty of it. We go our separate ways," he said, eyes gleaming like he was telling an inside joke no one in Teyvat other than the two of you could ever understand. "It didn't work out! It happens."

You laughed, incredulous, an unfamiliar feeling beginning to fill your chest.

"There are sure to be reporters for the Steambird here,” he said. “One dance in the Icewind Suite, and you and I will be the cover story of tomorrow's paper. Then, no one will touch us."

You blinked, running through every possible outcome and scenario in your mind, but — steadily, the pros began to outweigh the cons. You could continue your training. You would have to invest significantly less of your time at these Celestia-forsaken events and not sacrifice anything for either yourself or your sisters in the process. A smile crept onto your lips as the feeling in your chest reached a crescendo — it was hope, a happy, buoyant feeling you were always afraid to let yourself feel.

"This really could work, couldn’t it?" you asked softly.

His smile looked truly genuine for the first time that evening as he offered you his arm. "It will work."

Your arm was looped through the duke's as you made your way down the stairs towards the Icewind Suite, the path lined with lit lamp posts and romaritimes and gawking attendees. The hydro blooms were releasing an array of colorful, opalescent bubbles into the cooling night air, making the latest turn of events feel even more surreal than they already did. The usual residents of the Suite were nowhere to be seen, likely decommissioned, their eternal waltz paused so they could make room for the evening's closing event — and some select charades.

The crowd hushed as you stepped past, a wave of quiet rolling downwards, and you could feel the weight of dozens of curious eyes on you. With each step, arm in arm with the duke, it seemed that more and more attention broke away to hone in on you. You wondered vaguely if your father was anywhere among them — you wondered what he thought. You managed to spot Lord Thibeault in the throng — a disapproving scowl pulled at his wizened face.

Finally, the two of you reached the ground, the shimmering sea of polished marble spread out before you, empty but for the reflection of the night sky in its depths. It waited for you, the symbol of a successful evening of new partnerships and futures to be shared. You’d seen many a pair spin upon this floor — never once had it been you. You had never intended for it to ever be you.

All the world’s a stage, after all.

The duke gently shifted your body so that the two of you were facing one another. He bowed, an elegant bending of his knees and lowering of his head, far more graceful than a man who had his history etched into his skin should be capable of. He made it look effortless.

Icy blue seized you as he straightened back up, eyes crinkling ever-so-slightly at the corners. "Might I have this dance?" he asked, holding out a hand.

His mirror, you curtsied, slow and deliberate. You smiled, a small and surreptitious thing, and placed your gloved hand in his. "You may. Don't trip on your feet now, Your Grace. Rule number one for fitting into high society — you must be as graceful and confident in a ballroom as you are on a battlefield."

He pulled you in closer; too close to be strictly proper. "Call me Wriothesley. We want this to be convincing, don’t we?” he murmured into your ear. Another pulse of low whispers spread throughout the spectators as a few more pairs joined you on the Icewind Suite. “And you wound me, my lady. I think you will find my performance to be more than satisfactory.”

You swallowed thickly. "That remains to be seen, Wriothesley. Let's hope you can convince them better than you can me."

The grand ballroom and every last soul within held their breath as the duke placed a rough, scarred hand on the small of your back. You could feel the weight of it through layers of thin lace and silk as you wove your free hand under his arm and anchored it against the back of his broad shoulder. Your fingers on his back felt inexplicably cold, but the rest of your body burned hot. Your heart pounded. Your eyes locked onto his. Time came to a standstill.

“I intend to,” he said.

The music began to play, and you allowed him to lead.

a/n: so here she is!! i am really excited to get into this one, and i know there was a bit borrowed here from bridgerton itself, tho i promise this is where most of the direct similarities will end. i simply wanted to pay homage to where this idea initially came from <;3 hope you all enjoy

i didn't initially plan to have a taglist for this one, but if there are enough requests for one, i'll consider it. if anyone knows of a better way to notify people when i update (besides pointing them to ao3, anyway) im all ears

til next time!

#wriothesley #wriothesley x reader #wrio #wrio x reader #genshin #genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #reader inserts #reader insert #lark.writes #🌊

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