#hoping i just need to adjust settings and it's not a real issue
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he yawn
#hiiii 50mm lens i've missed you#unfortunately my manual focus skills are rusty & the af on this camera is being a little janky#hoping i just need to adjust settings and it's not a real issue#id in alt#yuri the cat#astralpost
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So how do you think Zayne, Xavier and Rafayel would react when their s/o has a boy best friend, purely platonic but makes other people have second thoughts about their relationship.
Hehehe have a good day, write this if your okay with this 🪐
boy best friend (l&ds x reader) ♡
what the stars reveal: 1.2k, no gender signifiers used for reader, established relationship, ✨jealousy✨ but with a healthy dose of respect partner juice, surprisingly well-adjusted xav, half-headcanon half-prose, slight allusions to lore if you squint
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ hello !! thank you for giving me an excuse to write jealous rafayel >:3 the love & deepspace brainrot is so real for me right now, hope you enjoy !
— zayne is really good at hiding it, but his tiny mannerisms bleed through enough to make it clear he’s worried. it’s not that he has an issue with you having guy best friends, it’s just that everyone else seems to assume you two are together despite zayne standing right there.
Zayne just stares. Blinks. Stares. Blinks again. You have to nudge him as a reminder that he is, in fact, in public, and that introductions are usually reciprocated by both parties. As soon as you make contact, it’s like a switch flips.
He breezes through his name, occupation, and a firm handshake (not too loose, not too tight), making it look so effortless that you almost forget he’d frozen like a statue as soon as he laid eyes on your best friend. Almost.
He does his best to hide it, but it’s clear something’s wrong. The slight clip to his voice, the furrow of his brow, the hesitance in his eyes when he looks at you — they may be imperceptible to the untrained eye, but all the telltale signs are there. It’s only a matter of time before you get an answer out of him.
“I’m an adult. I don’t worry about those kinds of things,” he says when you voice your suspicion a few days later.
“Uh-huh.”
“It’s true,” he continues when you shoot him a disbelieving look, shuffling the papers on his desk in an attempt to seem nonchalant, “I have absolutely no problem with him.”
You don’t say anything else, simply fix him with a deeper look and cross your arms. He doesn’t crack. It takes a whole five minutes of him pretending to go back to work before he sighs and makes a show of signing something.
“I may,” he says, setting the pen down gently, “Be slightly… somewhat…”
“Jealous?” you finish.
“No,” he says. “Annoyed.” Then, quickly, “Not at you. Or him. Just everyone else.”
You don’t quite understand. “Everyone else…?”
Now it’s Zayne’s turn to fix you with a look. “You can’t tell me you didn’t notice.”
Notice what? you want to ask, but refrain since you don’t want Zayne thinking you’re more oblivious than you already are. You rack your brain for something, anything that you can remember from that day, until…
“Oh,” you say. You do remember getting quite a few stares even before you and your friend coincidentally ran into Zayne. At first, you thought it was because you were still in uniform, but you realize now that it may have been for a completely different reason.
Zayne doesn’t respond, just taps his fingers against the wood of his desk, a nervous tic.
“Those were people who got the wrong idea,” you continue. Then, when his mouth dips into a frown, you move to stand beside him. “I don’t mind hunting them down and telling them just how wrong they were.”
At this, his frown begins to lift. “You don’t need to do that.”
“I would, though.”
He looks at you clearly for the first time in a few days, a hint of amusement sparkling in his eyes. “Really?”
“Yes, really,” you say. You maneuver yourself between him and the desk, falling into a half-straddle. “I’d go to their house, knock on the door, and tell them exactly how Dr. Zayne and I make out every Friday eveni—”
You feel his hand brush against your mouth, closing it.
“Alright, alright,” he interrupts with a small smile, “I get it. I’m secure enough in our relationship not to worry.” He pauses for a moment, then says, “Just don’t miss any checkups.”
“I’ll be right on time, as always,” you say, pressing a kiss to his temple. “And if anyone asks, i’ll tell them exactly who my boyfriend is.”
“Thank you.”
— xavier isn’t sure why you think he’d be annoyed, since your best friend seems nice enough. if anything, you’re the one that seems nervous, broaching the topic with him only to realize he hasn’t minded from the start.
Xavier looks a bit confused. His eyes shuffle between your face, his phone, and the twisting hands in your lap, a small, awkward smile beginning to spread on his face.
“Am I supposed to be… worried?” he asks.
“Are you?” you respond.
This prompts a light chuckle from your boyfriend. He shifts on the couch, turning until his arm rests on the back and his body is angled towards you. “Not really. What about you?”
You shrug. “Maybe a little.”
This seems to surprise Xavier, and you can’t blame him. You’re a bit surprised, too, given that most people’s roles would be flipped in this context.
Still, you can’t help it. Even though you’ve known your best friend for years — much longer than you’ve known Xavier — you don’t want your boyfriend to feel like he’s being overshadowed in his relationship with you. However, it currently seems like those worries are unfounded.
“Well, the way I see it…” Xavier leans in, brushing his lips against your temple, “… it’s wonderful you have so many people to share your life with.”
“You really think so?” you ask, just to make sure.
“Of course. Although…” He leans back, then, mid-afternoon light filtering through the window and washing his features soft gold. His eyes sharpen like sun rays piercing through a cloud. “… if he ever gives you trouble, let me know.”
— rafayel is very loud and clear about his jealousy, and you can count on him to become clingy after you hang out with your best friend. ultimately, you know he doesn’t mind nearly as much as he says he does, so you’re happy to indulge his want for attention if it means you can comfort him when he’s insecure.
Rafayel, as he is wont to do, makes his feelings known immediately and with such startling clarity that at first you think he’s joking.
“You’re serious?” you finally ask, the corners of your mouth tipping upwards into a smile while his stay fixed, pouting.
“Of course I am,” he says. He glares at the empty air beside you head as if it wronged him in a past life. “I mean, it’s fine and all, I guess, but we haven’t seen each other in four days. You haven’t even taken me plushie hunting. And yet…”
“And yet…?”
He crosses his arms and mumbles.
“Use your words, Raf.”
He sighs. “You were with him all day. People were staring.”
“And so you’re jealous,” you deadpan, “because my best friend helped me with a case.”
“Yes!” he says, as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. “I could’ve helped too! If you keep going around without me like that, you’ll… you’ll…” Something changes in his eyes, and he clicks his tongue, looking away. “Whatever. It doesn’t matter.”
You know your boyfriend well enough by this point to grasp what he’s hinting at. Putting your own frustration aside, you lean in, the soft fabric of Rafayel’s shirt brushing against your fingertips. You plant a soft kiss on his cheek.
“I’m not going to forget you,” you say. Then, you find his arm, uncrossing it so you can take his pinky in yours. “Promise.”
Slowly, slightly, the tension in his shoulders begins to release.
“Can we go plushie hunting?” he mumbles. Then, “Just the two of us?”
You smile. “Of course.”
🩵 bonus hc 🩵: i mentioned it in zayne’s part, but i like to think he drums his fingers against any available surface when he’s nervous or worried. between that, pushing up his glasses, and fiddling with his pen, you can read his mood based off of how much he messes with the objects in his vicinity.
(also also rafayel is so petty when he’s jealous, i know this one is basically canon but i just love it sm ♡)
© 2024, written by sunderingstars. do not copy, repost, translate, modify, or claim my work as your own.
#⌞ ✎ sunder.writes ⌝#love & deepspace x reader#love and deepspace x reader#love & deepspace x you#l&ds x reader#l&ds#love & deepspace zayne#zayne x reader#rafayel x reader#xavier x reader#l&ds zayne#l&ds rafayel#l&ds xavier
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Exposure
Word count: 11.3k
Pairing: Sam Kiszka x Female Reader
Warnings: Language, Alcohol, Smoking. Smut: Kissing, Stripping, Photo Exhibitionism, Touching, Oral F!Receiving, Fingering, Oral M!Receiving, Dirty Talk, Breeding Kink, Unprotected Sex, Rough Sex. Fluff.
A/N: Oh! Didn't see you there! Happy February! Welcome to the very first installment of the four part Valentine's Day Mini Series I've been working on along with my pal, @sacredstarcatcher! We've had so much fun writing these, and we hope that you enjoy this first story in the set of four. We can't wait to share the rest with you! See you real soon!
You pull your jacket snug against your chest, your camera bag hanging heavy on your shoulder as you make the trek up to the front door of the house. You can hear music coming from the basement already, likely the bands warming up before the show starts. You sneak through the front door, breezing through the mostly empty house in search of the basement. Following the noise, you walk down the stairs and into a small swarm of people all bustling and busy trying to get things set up before the show. How you got roped into shooting a basement show on Valentine's day of all days is beyond you, although it’s not like you have anything better to do.
Your eyes search around for any sign of your friends but you know they’re probably either running late, which is not shocking, or busy unloading their gear outside. You typically never shoot events like this- well, this small, but a favor for your best friend was long overdue. You stand at a small table loading the film into your camera, her one begging request of her set being captured on film, about to be fulfilled. You look around for any other photographers but you see no one, and it’s then that you realize just how small of a gig this really is.
You did your best to blend in tonight, donning the industry standard of black, but realizing now that it almost wouldn’t have mattered what you wore. You kept it simple with a black long sleeve shirt, and a pair of black leather pants, adding a heeled boot to give yourself a little extra height behind the lens.
You grab an extra roll of film and shove it into your pants pocket before placing your camera bag beneath the stage for safe keeping. People are quickly starting to fill the small basement, and you’re thankful for this weeks’ cold snap, knowing that this basement would be sweltering otherwise. You pull your phone from your pocket checking for any signs of life from your friends, laughing as you see a ‘we’re running late’ text. Shaking your head you put your phone back in your pocket and start to check your settings, adjusting to the lowlight of the room.
The basement is fully packed at this point, the first band stepping on to the stage and starting things off with a blaring guitar intro. The lights dim even further, causing you to adjust your settings again, and you wonder if you need to grab your flash attachment. You feel a tap on your shoulder, a rush of nerves in your chest as you spin around to see who it could be.
“Are you shooting film?” A pair of dark brown eyes asks, a look of genuine curiosity painted across the irises.
You smile and hold up your camera, “Yeah, I am! How did you know?”
A smile sweeps across his face, his long dark hair hanging well past his shoulders, but partially obscured under a red beanie. His cheeks are flushed red, either from the cold outside, the alcohol in his system, or the weight of his cable knit sweater. “I’m a bit of a hobbyist. Specifically film. I recognized your camera.”
“You did? This thing is pretty old.” you say, pulling your hair from beneath your camera strap.
“Yeah, I have the same one. Mines the silver version though.” he says, leaning in closely so that you can hear him over the loud music.
You look up at him, and nod, leaning back in towards him as you respond. “Oh really? Does yours have the battery door issue?”
His hand lays softly against your shoulder as he leans in closer, ready to respond but your attention is ripped away as you see your friends in your peripheral.
“Oh! I’m so sorry, my friends just walked in and they are actually supposed to go on next.” you say holding up your camera to show your purpose of being here in the first place.
“You’re fine, go ahead.” he smiles, pulling away from you and taking a sip from his seltzer.
You send him a soft smile, taking a final look at him before turning to meet your friends. As you walk up to meet them you can’t help but to look over to where you were just standing, finding the mystery man gone. You scan the room as your friends talk at you, looking for any sight of him, but you’re snapped back to the present as they are called up to the stage.
With a hug from your best friend and a kiss on the cheek she darts up the small stairs with a smile. “Wish us luck! And make sure you get my good side!”
You make your way towards the front of the stage, checking your settings one more time as the band starts to play. Admittedly, they sound a lot better than they did the last time you saw them perform, and the crowd behind you really seems to be into them. You even notice a few people wearing their merch and wonder when that happened. Had you really been that absent?
You duck down as you work your way across the front of the stage, snapping photos of your friends as they play their hearts out. You quietly apologize to the people you block with your camera, taking a quick glance behind you with each step you take. About two songs into their set you’ve made your way to the opposite side of the stage, looking behind you only to catch a glance of your mystery guy, standing against the wall with his drink.
You try to pretend you didn’t see him, but it’s no use as you trip over an electrical cord and make a complete spectacle of yourself in the process. However, when you don't collide with the concrete of the basement floor and instead are met with a pair of warm steady hands, you feel a sigh of relief hoping that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t see you trip after all. Turning to face your hero, you’re met with none other than your hobbyist.
A grin spreads across his face as he helps you to stand, one hand in his, and the other firmly planted on your camera.
“Falling for me so soon? At least tell me your name first…” he jokes, letting go of you as you steady yourself on your feet.
“Y/N…And thanks, I– guess they ran out of Gaff tape and I found the only cord not taped down.” you laugh.
He smiles and shakes his head in faux disgust, “Rule number one, always carry an extra roll in your gig box for the ladies. I’m Sam, by the way.”
“Well, Sam, thank you for not letting me fall in front of all of these people.” you laugh.
“Oh, I was actually saving the camera… Precious vintage...” he winks, pursing his lips together.
“Oh, of course. Yeah.” you stammer, suddenly feeling ridiculous.
As if he can sense your distress he places a hand on your arm, “Wait no, I was kidding. Of course I was saving you. Let me– Can I get you a drink?” he asks, trying for a peace offering.
“I think I’m kinda out of hands…” you laugh, snapping a photo as you focus through the viewfinder.
“I’m not…” he counters, “Whad’ya want? I’ll grab it for you…”
You lick over your lips, deciding maybe a drink assistant wouldn’t be too bad. You turn over your shoulder as he leans close letting you talk into his ear. “A seltzer, I don’t care what flavor, surprise me.”
He gives you an understanding nod and turns on his heels, disappearing into the crowd.
You watch your friends start to close up their set and you compose another set of photos you think will be the shots of the night.
“A drink for the lady…” he says, as he holds a drink up in front of the lens. You lower your camera and spin around to grab it from him, watching him crack the lid open before he hands it to you.
“Prickly pear, huh…” you pause, taking a sip of the fizzy drink. “Did you know that was my favorite or just a lucky guess?”
“Well, I figured… you have great taste in cameras…” he trails off, taking the drink back from you so you can continue to shoot.
You feel him lean into your shoulder, his warm breath on your neck. “The red light really does nothing for photos, does it…” he laughs.
“No, and I’m half convinced that’s why they do it.” you retort.
“Oh, it definitely is. Trust me. That and it looks badass.” he laughs, stepping back again.
As the set ends you watch your friends leave the stage, ready to drink and party with the rest of you. The room quiets to a dull roar as the next band starts to take the stage, ready to set up their equipment. You lower your camera around your neck, letting it hang freely as you turn back to Sam.
“You get the shot?” he asks, sipping the same Prickly Pear Topo Chico.
“I think so, looks like I’ve got…” you pause, checking your dial. “Two left on this roll. Should probably change over before the next act. Here, smile.” you say, holding the viewfinder to your eye.
He blushes a little, holding both of the drinks in his hands and giving you wide open mouth smile.
You capture those last two images and hear the winder start to spin. “That’ll do it!” you say, dropping your camera around your neck and pulling the extra black film cartridge from your pocket.
“Oh here, let me help you. You have your drink…” he offers, holding out your can.
“No! You don’t have to do that, it’s totally fine, I’ve got it. Just need to find a table or something so I can–”
“I know I don’t have to, I just– want to. I wanna help.” he says, his eyes sweet and genuine.
You think about it for a second, and consider that you really don’t have anything to lose. He wouldn’t be offering if he didn’t know what he was doing.
“Okay, sure, I’ll hold your drink now.” you smile.
His eyes are focused as he works to remove the used film, replacing it with the new roll as quickly and efficiently as he can, making sure not to expose the roll. He clips the door shut and makes sure it's secure before placing the camera strap back over your head, pulling your hair out from beneath the straps as gently as possible.
“There. Perfect.” he says, a warm smile on his lips.
“Thanks Sam.” you answer, offering his drink back to him.
“You can call me Sammy. All my friends do.” he says, accepting the wet can.
“Oh, are we friends now?” you ask playfully, all the while thinking that you might want to be a little more than that.
“I’d like to think so. Or– I hope so. I think you’re cute, film camera girl.”
“Do you?” you murmur, holding the can to your lips.
As if feeling a little shy, he ducks his head a little and licks his lips, “I do.”
Before you can reciprocate his sentiment the third band starts, and somehow they are even louder than your friend's band previously. The drums are blaring loud and you can tell they need their mics turned down about three notches. You take a few photos, figuring you can never have too much in your portfolio, but after a few shots and the crowd becoming a little too rowdy, you quickly decide you are done ‘working’ for the night. You lower your camera down and spin to talk to Sam, but you find he’s gone.
Your eyes scan the crowd for him, but again, you see no trace of the cream colored sweater or his red beanie in the sea of people. You do, however, spot your best friend off in the corner of the room being hit on by someone you know to be exactly her type. You lock eyes with her, raising a brow and she just smiles at you as she continues to talk to the tall dark haired man.
Letting her have her time with him, you make your way back to the stage to grab your camera bag. You head up the stairs, grabbing a new drink from the bar area and again searching for any signs of him. You mingle with a few strangers, making pointless small talk about work and the latest gossip before excusing yourself to the bathroom to pee. As you wash your hands you sigh at the missed connection with such a thoughtful and good looking guy, but chalk it up to being Valentine’s Day and not wanting to fall into that stereotype.
With your new friend gone, you decide to seek out some of your old ones. With your gear bag slung over your shoulder, you head towards the thick crowd in the main living room. As you make your way through, your neck cranes around the bodies in your way, searching for a familiar face. Looking out the back window, you see your friends near their band’s van. You push open the squeaky screen door and are greeted with a harsh gust of freezing cold wind. You retract, and before you can regain your senses, you hear someone calling your name from a little ways away.
When you get your eyes open, Sam is standing against the side of the house, exhaling a puff of smoke. He’s giving you a sweet, closed lipped smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners. You feel a few butterflies in your stomach as you take in his sweet face, relieved that he’s happy to see you hasn’t disappeared like you thought. You approach him with a sweet smile, holding on to your bag strap with both hands while your main camera hangs around your neck.
“It’s cold as fuck out here.” You say honestly, suppressing a grin. He nods, taking another inhale off the cigarette between his fingers, his smile making it a little difficult. “I thought you left.” you add while he exhales the smoke away from your face.
“What, without you?” He says with a quirked brow and a playful smolder. You laugh, stunned silent by his charisma. He realizes and laughs it off, reaching towards you. “You need a hand taking that stuff to your car?” He asks, dropping his cigarette onto the lawn and stepping on it. He offers you a hand and you willingly offer up your bag, even though you really don’t need to.
“I didn’t really feel the need to get any more photos of the third band. I didn’t think the headache was worth it.” You say, a little tongue in cheek as you walk. Sam laughs loudly once, like it slipped out, then shakes his head looking at the ground in front of him.
“I was trying not to be too judgmental but, yeesh. They’re really something, aren’t they?” You laugh and pop open your trunk and he sees inside as he puts your bag in.
“You have a Pentax too?” He asks, seeing the other bag you left in the trunk.
“I do. I have a couple lenses for it, I use it when I shoot… bigger stuff.” You say, not trying to sound braggy.
“That sucker is heavy though. You must be jacked if you’re holding it up for an entire show.” He jokes, reaching for your bicep and squeezing twice. You flex a little, giving him a wink before you break character and laugh with him. You pull your camera from around your neck and slip it into its case.
“No but, I uh, I have a couple lenses too. I have a pretty big collection… It’s actually getting a bit out of hand at this point. If you ever want to borrow anything...” He mentons, helping you close the trunk. When he reaches up, his sweater rides up a bit and reveals that he’s got a white shoestring laced through the loops of his pants like a belt.
“I’d love to check it out,” you say honestly, rubbing your arms to try and warm up. The wind is brutal but the conversation is worth freezing for.
“This may be a bit forward… but the weather sucks, this music sucks… We could go have a drink at my place and I could show you?” He offers, shrugging a little bit.
“Well…” you start, looking over at the van on the other side of the yard. Your friend seems to be deep in conversation with the guy who was helping her load up, so you’re sure she won’t miss you if you slip away. “Okay, yeah. Let’s go.”
“Two things, though. One, we have to take your car, since my friend was my ride. Two, I’m driving, because you’ve had a few.” He says, giving you a boyish smile and holding out his hands so you can put the keys in them. You eye him with playful suspicion for a moment, but then figure you’ve got nothing to lose.
“Fine.” You flick open your car key and offer it to him between two fingers with a grin.
As he gets in, you can’t help but micromanage his actions with your car as you buckle your seatbelt. “The emergency brake is down by your left foot, and just ignore the light on the dash.”
“I guess I should have told you that I have, indeed, driven a car before. I’m qualified.” He says, starting it and adjusting the mirrors. He’s a good bit taller than you, so he cranks the rearview upwards quite a bit. You roll your eyes at his comment, letting the radio play quietly rather than anything from your phone for fear of judgment.
“There aren’t any street lights on these back roads. You should put the high beams on.” You comment, looking over at him for a moment, taking in his side profile. He cracks a wry smirk and flourishes his hand, turning them on.
“You’re kinda bossy, aren’t you?” He asks, not looking away from the road. You snicker softly.
“When I want to be.”
Before he can say anything in response, his phone starts to buzz in the center console. He reaches for it, swiping quickly across the screen to answer the call from a contact named Danny.
“Daniel!” He shouts, putting the phone on speaker. Without hesitation, you take it from him so he can use both of his hands and drive. He doesn’t object as the voice from the other end of the phone pipes up.
“Where’d you get off to?”
“Uh, I left. Are you good to get home?” Sam answers, flipping the brights off when a car drives by on the opposite side of the road. He puts them back on once the coast is clear.
“I’m fine, yeah, just checking in. Didn’t know you left. You bag that chick you were chatting with?”
You huff a laugh and look over to Sam shaking your head. Is this really how guys talk on the phone?
“Daniel, a lady doesn’t kiss and tell…” he jokes, sending you a wink.
“Right, are you going to that event tomorrow?”
“I had forgotten about it until this very second, but yeah. I said I would. Are you?” Sam says, and you pick up a bit of an accent. There’s a long A in forgotten where the second O should go. You smile softly as you watch the road and listen to them talk.
“Hell no. Neither is Jake. You’re stuck with Josh and his girl. So, have fun with that.” Daniel says, and you can hear him getting into his car on the other end of the line.
“Fuck. Alright, get home safe.” Sam says, sighing. They end the call and you’re more than tempted to ask him the meaning of all that, but he’s pulling into his driveway and the nerves start to take over, shutting you up. “Sorry about that,” he says, parking your car in his driveway next to his own.
“Do you live by yourself?” You ask, getting out of the passenger seat. The wind is still strong and it chills you to the bone. Sam sees and picks up his pace as he leads you to the front door.
“Yeah, it’s just me.” he says, looking over his shoulder as he puts his key in the door. It’s warmly lit inside his house once he steps inside and flips on the lights. There’s an array of musical instruments scattered about as soon as you enter, amps and drums and guitars either hanging on the wall or resting against each other. You raise your brows, looking over at him.
“You’re a musician, too?” You ask as he puts your keys on the cabinet near the front door. There are sliding doors across the front that are opened just slightly to reveal a substantial vinyl collection.
“I have many hobbies.”
You smile as you follow him through the house, looking around at the art covering his walls. It smells like incense and it’s warm- a little warmer than you would keep your house, but it’s cozy.
“I keep everything in here,” he starts, flipping on the lightswitch in one of the bedrooms. It’s furnished with a daybed, like a guest bedroom, but the opposite wall has a desk and shelving full of cameras, cases, lenses, accessories, attachments galore. You raise your brows, surprised, but mostly impressed.
It’s a solid half hour that you spend going item by item, gently looking over everything he’s collected, from vintage to like-new, functioning and under repair. He makes a point to tell you where he got each one, the quirks and intricacies of them all.
“That one’s really my favorite for portraits,” he says as you look over a lightweight film camera with a noisy lens, clicks filling the room. “She’s got a way about her that makes everyone look good, you know?” You nod, looking it over, peeking through the viewfinder.
“I dunno, I might be a lost cause.” You say, a little self deprecating. He sucks his teeth at you in playful disappointment.
“I just mean that, you know, as photographers, there aren’t many photos of us. I don’t think I’d know how to pose myself for a portrait.”
“Well, you don’t pose yourself, silly.” He says, looking up at you, not lifting his head and moving only his eyes. There’s a little smirk on his lips. “We should try it.”
You give him a suspicious look, laughing nervously.
“I look like a mess from the wind and… I’m hardly wearing any makeup..” You say, starting to rattle off excuses as your cheeks heat up.
“So? You look perfect. I don’t want to take… fuckin’ headshots. I want to capture you. This version of you, the pretty photographer that I’ve spent my evening with.”
The two of you lock eyes for a moment, his honeyed irises so warm and kind and sweet that you probably can’t say no to him if your life depended on it.
“Okay.”
That’s how you end up in his sunroom, sitting patiently on his couch as he gets set up, sipping a glass of wine. The room is full of plants and you brush your hand against the burnt orange velvet upholstery of his couch underneath you. You watch him move around the room, pushing the ottoman out of the way, adjusting the throw pillows on the opposite end. He reaches behind his head and pulls his thick sweater off, his shirt riding up to show that little shoestring belt and this time, a light dusting of hair above the waistband of his pants. He tosses aside the sweater, leaving him in a white t-shirt. You swallow a gulp of your wine, feeling a little warm.
“I like how you said, ‘as photographers,’ like you looped me in there with you,” he muses. “You’re a professional. I don’t belong in the ranks with you.” He says, grinning as he uses an app on his phone to mess with the lighting from the lamp in the room. It’s a hazy, warm light when he’s done, absolutely flattering to the eye, so you can only imagine how it’s going to look when he captures you.
“If you take pictures, and you enjoy it, you’re a photographer. I don’t think it’s fair to gate keep art of any kind, or… something that brings people joy, you know?” You say, watching as he grabs a cream colored, cable knit throw reminiscent of his sweater and drapes it behind you.
“That makes sense. Not all photographers are as humble as you, though.” He says, looking down at the camera and making some adjustments. He holds it up and looks at you, then he pulls it away. He looks again, then he hums like he’s thinking about something.
“This black shirt is kind of one-dimensional. I feel like it’s swallowing you up, you know? I feel like there's too much contrast with the colors in the room.”
You sip your wine and think for a moment, looking around. He’s probably right.
“What do you think about green?” you ask, leaning forward, placing the wine glass on the table in front of you.
“Do you have another– oh…” he starts, but is effectively silenced when you start to pull your shirt over your head. Underneath, you’re in a sage green longline bralette, the band of lace under your chest covering a good two inches of your waist. It’s not too revealing and from the shoulders up, it probably looks like a shirt. You shake out your hair and look up at him, tossing your shirt aside.
“Does that look better?” You ask, smirking at his reaction, pretending to be all business. He looks at you through the viewfinder and you hear him clear his throat.
“Much better. Yep. Uh huh.” he says, hiding his face behind the camera, but you know he’s looking at you. “Sit up for me?”
You adjust the way you’re sitting, sitting up straighter. He lets the camera hang around his neck as he approaches you, reaching out to gently position you. He puts your hand in your lap, then gently pushes some hair behind your shoulder. The other side, he wraps around his finger once, making sure it lays in a flattering way. He looks at you, not scrutinizing you, but deciding what he wants to do with you. His touch makes you feel like you’re on fire, his hands warm and so gentle, his motions purposeful and confident despite the delicate way he handles you.
He crouches down in front of you, holding the camera to his eye, and you feel a wave of panic wash over you. You suddenly feel exposed in front of the lens, and it must be evident on your face as he moves his finger from the shutter release and lowers the camera from his eye. “You feel nervous.” he states with the nod of his head.
You shrug ever so slightly, finally feeling the nerves your clients tend to feel. You try to shake it off, but Sam, ever perceptive, pulls the camera from around his neck and sits it next to you on the couch. He pulls his own shirt over his head, leaving him in the same state of undress as you are. “There. Even?” he asks with a cheeky smile.
You smile and nod, doing your best not to stare at the small smattering of a happy trail at the top of his pants. You bite your lips together before looking back into the lens, hearing the shutter click and the film wind. He brings his hand up to your chin, tilting your face to the side with the gentle touch of his index finger. He pulls it back quickly, returning to the shutter button and snapping another photo. He hums from his place behind the lens, standing quickly and scanning the room for something.
His heavy footfall pads across the room, snatching something from his piano bench before returning to his place on the floor in front of you. In his hands is a multicolored jewel tone pashmina, soft and worn, and clearly a staple in his wardrobe.
“Can we try this?” he asks, holding it up against your skin.
“Let me see…” you answer, grabbing it and draping it over your chest. With your torso completely covered you reach beneath it, pulling the green bralette over your head as he watches you with wide eyes. You toss it to the floor next to him, and reposition the fabric to just cover your chest as you lean back into the couch.
He swallows nervously as he stretches up towards the couch, adjusting the fabric how he sees fit. Your stomach shows beneath the edge of colorful fabric, the curve of your breast just peeking from the top.
“I– I think this is gonna be a good shot.” he says, looking at you through the lens. “Lean your head back a little more, and turn it to the side, just a touch.”
You follow his instruction, knowing the angles of this shot have to be incredible from his place on the floor.
“Perfect, I just…Didn’t want any shadows on your throat…” he whispers from behind the camera. You hear the shutter click, and a murmur of ‘fuck’ leave his lips.
You stay where you are as he lowers the camera, his breathing picking up a little bit as he tries to remain calm. “Your skin is so…pretty…” he breathes, letting his eyes sweep over you.
Your eyes connect with his, and in an act of insanity you pull away the pashmina, letting it pool at your side. His eyes can’t help but to flick down to your chest, his jaw dropping slightly before he notices and looks back up at your eyes.
“We don’t have to–”
“Do you not want to?” you ask, settling back onto the couch.
“No, I very much do.” he answers a little too quickly.
“So go ahead. Capture me.”
He takes a deep breath, holding the camera to his eye and lowering it back down. He grabs your hand and places it gingerly over your chest, letting your fingers rest just over your nipple. He brings the camera back to his eye, and takes the photo. “Fuck you’re gorgeous.”
Your cheeks blush and you hear the shutter click again.
“Sorry, but I think that's the prettiest shade of pink I’ve ever seen.” he says.
You smile and shake your head, letting your hand trail to the button of your pants. You slide the button through the loop and pull the long zipper, until just the smallest glimpse of your thong is visible.
You watch him swallow nervously again, focusing the camera on your hand as it lays across your stomach. As he captures the photo, you watch him try to recenter himself, knowing that he is probably just as turned on by this as you are, if not more.
“Take them off…” you suggest, watching his eyes flick up to yours.
“You sure?” he asks again, making sure you’re still comfortable.
“Very. If you are, I mean.”
“Lay across the couch. On your stomach.” he instructs, moving himself to sit on the edge of the chaise to your left. You position yourself against the plush couch, propping yourself up on your elbows, as you look back at him sitting behind you.
“Yeah, just like that. Stay there. Look at me, beautiful.” he says, growing more confident.
He leans forward, swiping your hair over your shoulder, giving him an unobstructed view of the curve of your back. And just as your eyes connect with the lens, he presses the button.
“Perfect.” he breathes, lowering the camera again. He stands from his place behind you, hooking his fingers into the belt loops of your pants, pulling them gently down your hips until they rest at the apex of your ass. Your thong is fully visible now, only the floral lace resting against your hips.
He moves back and you feel the couch dip as he kneels behind you, straightening the seam of the pants to rest perfectly in the center, his fingers brushing against your bare skin. You feel the goosebumps rise, and you hear the shutter, smiling as you know he’s caught the moment.
“Are you always this responsive to touch…” he asks, sliding your pants further down over your ass, pulling each leg free until the leather fabric is in a pile on the floor.
“No. Only when it’s really good…” you answer.
“Lift your hips up for me, rest on your knees a little, and arch your back.” he says, kneeling on the edge of the couch. His hand slides down your back to assist you, and slides back up, stopping at the hem of your panties. Two fingers hook into the fabric, pulling it down just slightly as you hear the camera shutter.
You can feel your arousal between your legs, not too far from where his fingers linger, but he releases your panties, sliding them back into place and letting his hand drift over the curve of your ass. He stands up in front of you, and you drop back down, stretching fully across the couch. You lay your head on your hands as you look up at him, watching him crouch down in front of you. He pulls a few pieces of hair over your shoulder, and moves your arm further up to reveal the swell of your breast as it presses against his couch cushion.
“Pop your hips up just a touch...” he breathes, holding the camera to his eye. “Look at me, baby.”
You bat your eyes as you look at him, seeing the photo in the reflection of the lens as he takes it.
His chest is heaving as he pulls the camera away, crawling towards you on his knees as he dusts his fingers over your spine. “You make an incredible muse…”
“A good photographer knows that seeing isn’t enough. You have to feel it.” you answer, melting into the feeling of his skin on yours.
“I think I feel it too much…”
He slides his hand down your arm, grabbing your hand and pulling you back to a sitting position. He reaches for your wine glass, turning back to you and placing it into your hand. You bring it to your lips, but as you tip the glass a stream of red wine trickles down the stem, dripping rapidly onto your stomach.
His eyes flick to yours, then down to the small streak of red against your skin, leaning his head forward and letting his warm tongue lap at the spilled alcohol.
Your eyes close on their own, a breath leaving your lips at the feeling of his lips on your body. He pulls back from you, waiting for your eyes to open, and as they meet you can see he’s asking for permission to continue.
You open your legs allowing him to move closer, and he takes that as his consent to move between them. He pulls the camera from around his neck, placing it gently on the couch next to you, before grabbing your wine glass and placing it on the coffee table behind him.
His hands slide up your thighs, his eyes examining every inch of your skin until he meets the edge of your panties. His eyes meet yours and you nod, wanting nothing more than to feel his lips on your skin again.
He hooks his fingers through the fabric and pulls them over your hips, tossing them to the floor with the rest of your clothes. He takes in a deep breath, lowering his face to your heat, but never breaking the eye contact he has with you. You let a hand slide through his silky waves, silently telling him you wanted this, and he obliges, pressing a kiss to your groin.
You feel his tongue swipe up through your center, long and slow, hot and soft against you. You fist his hair at the contact, a hum leaving his lips as they vibrate against your clit. Your legs open wider, allowing him to hook his arms beneath your legs, pulling you down the couch to meet his mouth. His tongue works at your clit, flicking back and forth as wet sounds fill the air in the room. His cheeks are flushed as his wet lips suction around you, his brown eyes fluttering closed with every pointed lick.
You can hardly tear your gaze away from him, your chest heaving as he brings you closer and closer to your release. Your hand reaches out to grip into the cushion, instead landing on the body of the camera next to you. It feels cold against your hand, and as you look at him you realize you might feel it a little too much, too.
Grasping it in your hand you pull the viewfinder to your eye, positioning him in the frame as he continues to work you towards your orgasm. As his eyes flick up to you, he's met with the camera lens, hesitating momentarily before pulling an elastic from his wrist. He doesn’t cease his actions as he pulls his hair into a messy bun, resting low on the back of his neck. He places his soft hands on the insides of your thighs, looking up into the lens with his blissed out eyes, ready for you to capture the scene below you.
Hearing the shutter, he grips into you harder, sucking your clit into his mouth with more force, desperate to get you there. His fingers brush your entrance, and with a carefully timed swipe of his tongue he presses them forward until his thumb replaces his tongue applying pressure to your clit. His fingers work inside of you until your legs start to shake with desperation. He replaces his thumb with his lips once more, the warm, wet sensation inching you closer and closer.
You take a few more shots, hoping to capture the way his dark lashes kiss his cheeks, and the way his nose brushes against you so delicately. Knowing the most vulnerable shots are usually the best.
He ruts his hips into the couch, desperate for some relief and the groan that leaves his chest is all it takes to push you to the edge. You drop the camera to your side, pulling his face to your body as your orgasm rocks through you. A pathetic sounding whine leaves your lips as his mouth slows, he pulls his fingers from you as gently as possible.
You’re left a panting mess as you ride the waves of your high, but as you open your eyes and see him licking his fingers, you reach for the camera once more, capturing the act forever on film.
He stands, offering you his hand with a smirk. You can’t help but to notice that his fingers are still pruny and soft as you place your hand in his, letting him pull your shaky body from his couch. He bends over and snatches the camera from the couch cushion before pulling you down the hallway towards his bedroom.
As you step over the threshold into his bedroom, you’re met with the dark walls and rich earth toned bedding. He drops your hand, and checks his film, before setting the camera on the edge of his bed. He grabs your hand again, and pulls you into him, snaking his other hand around your waist and pulling you close to his body. His eyes search yours before his lips crash to yours, a heady mix of cigarettes, red wine, and you.
Your tongue tangles with his as his hands grip into your hips, his hardness pressing against your bare stomach. You pull away, locking your eyes on his as you fall to your knees in front of him. You slide your hands up his thighs until you reach the thin white shoelace at his waist, pulling the tip until it unknots itself and slides to the floor. You feel him reach for the camera, letting it hang around his neck once more as he watches you.
You unbutton his pants, feeling the brush of his length against your hand. You work quickly to pull the pants and boxers to the floor, letting him step out of them as you take in the sight of him bare in front of you. You lean forward to kiss at the smattering of hair at his happy trail but you’re quickly stopped before your lips ever make it there.
He grabs your chin in his hand, placing his thumb over your swollen pink lips, pulling the plump flesh down to expose your bottom teeth as the camera snaps the image above you. Your heart is pounding in your chest, and you can think of nothing but the feeling of your mouth around him.
Unable to wait any longer you grab him in your fist, stroking him a few times back and forth as his eyes study your movements. You wet your lips in preparation for him, letting your tongue dart out to lick a hot stripe up the underside of his cock.
He pulls the camera to his eye again, “Stay like that. Just like that baby. Look up at me.”
He rests the tip of his cock in your open mouth, snapping a few shots as he leaks onto your tongue, before tossing the camera to the bed. “Fuck, are you sure you’ve never done this before? You look so fucking gorgeous.”
You smile around him, closing your lips and humming in response. You let your tongue slide up his length, taking him as far back as you can the first few times before working into a steady rhythm. Your eyes are locked on his, a look of awe and desperation written into his features.
His hand finds grip in your hair, moving with you as you work him, gentle whines falling from his lips as you swirl over his tip with each upward stroke.
Swallowing around him he sucks in a harsh breath, letting you slide back up before repeating the action. You tense around him as you gag, your eyes blinking away tears wanting to continue. Your eyes roll back as you taste the saltiness on your tongue knowing he is nearing his release.
He pulls away from you, cupping your face in his big warm hands, his thumbs swiping away errant tears.
“I– You’re– Get on the bed for me, sweetness. Wanna ruin that pretty cunt before I cum.”
You look up at him, swallowing thickly, a little shocked by the side of himself he just showed you. You take his hand with a grin as he offers it to you, standing and hopping up onto his bed, laying yourself back on his pillows. He follows you, leaning over to reach for the camera on the nightstand before doing so. He leaves it on the pillow next to your head, focusing all of his attention on you for the time being.
He’s tender for a moment, leaning down to kiss you briefly before he situates himself between your thighs. He kneels above you, looking down at the sight before him. He traces a gentle line down your sternum, then back up, dragging lightly against the expanse of your clavicle, then back down once more. His eyes seem to roam over every inch of you while you wait patiently for things to advance.
“You…” he starts, a breathy laugh leaving his throat, like he can’t bring himself to finish the sentence. “So gorgeous.”
“You’re sweet.” you respond, parting your thighs a bit more for him. He hasn’t stopped his feather light touches just yet though.
“Is that how you like it?” he asks, catching you a little off guard. Your eyes flick up to his and you can’t help the way you squirm a little at his directness.
“I…” you start, but he promptly silences you with a pinch to your nipple, pulling a wanton moan from the depths of your chest.
“Ahh. There she is.” He says, smiling. He lets go and leans down to give it a kiss. “Just trying to get a read on you.”
He palms your breast as he pushes back up, unable to take his eyes off of you. You watch the wheels turning in his head as he squeezes firmly, his eyes cutting to the camera next to your head.
He picks it back up, adjusting it with lightning speed. He looks through the viewfinder once before reaching for your tit again, your nipple slipping between his long fingers. He snaps a photo, his bottom lip pulled between his teeth in concentration while the aperture adjusts, the settings on auto now to save time.
“That artistic part of your brain just doesn’t turn off, huh?” you ask, reaching up to run a hand down his stomach, your patience running out.
“Blessing and a curse.” he mumbles, reaching forward into his nightstand. As he’s leaning over you, you can’t help but take a moment to place a few wet, searing kisses to his jaw and throat. You know they’re appreciated when he bucks his hips against you, his dick dragging against the inside of your thigh.
He sits back up, tearing the foil of the condom with little difficulty and flipping it over once or twice to check which way is right. He eventually distinguishes top from bottom and starts to slide it on, looking down in concentration.
After he’s done, he leans down towards you, placing hungry, wet kisses wherever he can find purchase. He reaches between your bodies, taking himself in his palm and brushing the head of his cock through your folds.
“Wait…” you say, and he rests his head on your chest for a moment, looking up at you with patient eyes.
“Yes, sweetness?” he says, pulling back, unsure if you’re about to call the whole thing off. You take a deep breath, reaching down to touch him gently.
“Can we take this off?” You murmur, your hand waiting to pull it off the moment he gives you the green light.
“God, yeah,” he says enthusiastically, a little chuckle leaving him as you haphazardly pull the condom off of him and toss it by the wayside. “Absolutely. Fuck. I want to…” He trails off, like he’s about to say something else, but once you slip the tip of him inside of you, he can’t get a word out.
He pushes in about halfway, stopping to settle and watch your reaction. You gaze up at him, reaching up to play with one of your nipples. He takes in a sharp breath at the sight before pulling out a little before he pushes all the way in, slowly.
“Oh… oh my god,” you manage to get out, unable to help the way the words scratch their way out of your throat. Sam’s eyes are glued to your center, watching himself enter you.
“Everything about you…” he says, taking a trembling breath, “...is fucking picture perfect.”
You smile at the compliment and watch his face for a moment, the way his dark lashes move quickly with his blinking eyes trying to process everything at once. He starts to move slowly, the drag of him making your breath hitch.
He fucks into you slowly, deeply, your head swimming at the sensation. It’s good, but it’s not quite enough, and you can’t help but speak up.
“Sammy…” you begin, calling him by his nickname, like he asked, affectionately. “Harder. Please.”
He snaps his hips into you in response, giving you a dirty smirk from above.
“You’re a backseat driver in the sack, too?” he quips, moving back on his heels a little to change the angle and give himself more range of motion.
“Shut up and fuck me. How’s that?” you bite, grinning up at him. Before you can even prepare yourself, he snatches your wrists, pinning them above your head in just one of his big hands, your slender wrists slotted between his lengthy fingers.
He looks like he’s about to snap back at you, but then his eyes narrow a little. He reaches for the camera again, holding it against the side of his body to flip the switch and open the aperture. He lifts it to his eye and snaps a picture of his hand pinning your wrists together, the strap of the camera falling a little bit into the frame.
Once he’s done, he drops the camera again and braces himself with his free hand, picking up an almost brutal pace. You can’t complain, because it’s what you asked for, and god did he deliver. The sound of skin on skin, his body meeting yours, rhythmically bounces off the walls of his bedroom. You cry out at the feeling of him, reeling at the sensation of him so deep inside you. Warmth starts to build in your stomach, your head getting dizzy.
“Are you getting close?” he asks in your ear, slightly breathless. You whine in the affirmative, spreading your legs further as if you need him even deeper. He lets go of your hands, sitting up a little straighter but still thrusting into you hard enough to bring tears to your eyes. Your eyes start to flutter closed, your back arching, and you feel his hips stutter slightly as he moves a bit on top of you.
There’s some clicking and you know what he’s about to do, but you can’t be bothered to change a single thing about what you’re doing. You reach for your chest, holding your tits steady as he pushes you towards the edge, waiting for the moment.
“Gonna cum…” you warn, your brows knitting together.
“Come on, beautiful. I’m ready.” he coos as it hits you, your lips parting, your head tilting back as you gasp for breath. You don’t register when the shutter sounds, but you feel the camera hit the pillow again and Sam’s got both of his hands on your waist, so you know he must have gotten the shot.
He slows his pace, allowing you to catch your breath and come back down to earth. His hand slides up to your throat, running his thumb over your lips in the same manner he did earlier, but this time instead of letting him tug at your lip you suck his thumb into your mouth.
“Fuck…” he curses under his breath, pulling his hand back and slowly pulling out of you. “Turn over for me.”
You blink up at him, a little bashful, your eyes darting to the camera, then back to his. You try to suppress a grin and give him a little shake of your head.
“Do you trust me?”
Feeling a little giddy, you roll over, pulling your hair over your shoulder before propping yourself up on your knees. You keep your face in his pillow, your eyes watching the camera laying near you as he presses inside you, the position allowing him somehow deeper.
His hands find your hips and as he starts to move, the grip tightens, pulling little hiss from between your teeth. You’re glad he doesn’t hear because you’d hate it if he stopped.
“Gotta be careful…” he mumbles, his voice strained. “Feels a little too good.”
You hum, a little laugh leaving you. He’s unlike anyone you’ve ever met, and definitely different from anyone you’ve ever slept with. His playfulness mixed with the dominance that peeks out on occasion is a potent combination you can’t seem to get enough of.
He uses his grip on your hips to pull you back into him, his pace slower, but the feeling of him nudging at your cervix with every stroke makes up for the change in speed. He rubs a hand over the curve of your ass as he slows down and releases his grip.
“Goddamn, that’s beautiful.”
The camera disappears and you push up on your forearms, suddenly shy and nervous and feeling like a shot of that isn’t quite as artistic as the rest of your photos. You look at him over your shoulder, a little suspicious.
“No, no no. Your back, your hair on the pillow,” he reassures you, a warm hand on your back. You giggle a little, laying back down. He splays your hair across the pillow, then taps your arm. “Move this up under you.” You do as he says, one arm and hand under you, the other hand above you, fisted in the sheets. His hand drags slowly up your back before he speaks again. “Arch a little more. Like you were before. Yeah, perfect.”
Click.
It lands on the bed, then he starts to move again. He groans, a bit louder than he has been, and you know he’s hanging on by a thread.
“Are you… Are you on birth control?” He asks, his voice slightly boyish in this moment. You can’t help but laugh softly.
“What, you don’t want to knock me up on Valentine’s day?” you joke, and he freezes. You wonder if you said the wrong thing for a moment, but then he speaks softly.
“I’m confident you won’t like my answer, sweetness.”
It takes you a moment to understand what he means, and when you do, you can’t stop the words that fall from your lips.
“Try me.”
He pushes himself deeper into you, so much so he leans over and braces himself on his palm next to your face. He’s closer now when he speaks, his breath hot on your shoulder.
“I’d love nothing more than to knock you up on Valentine’s day.”
Holy shit.
“So no plans in November, then?” you quip, grinning as the weight of him pushes you into his pillow.
“Mm, nothing too big, just a world tour.” he responds, thrusting a few more times. “Super flexible.” he grits out. You can’t help but giggle at his sarcasm, feeling him start to twitch inside you.
“The answer is yes, by the way. About the birth control.”
“....It’d be cooler if you weren’t, but alright.” he jokes, his voice straining as his hips start to falter. You can hear him breathing through clenched teeth as his grip on you tightens. You tighten around him, arching your back just a touch more and as you drop your head between your arms, you see his hand frantically reaching for the camera one last time.
You can feel the tension in your stomach tightening, his hand sliding up to your shoulder to pull you back to meet him. “There you go, baby. Keep squeezing just like that. I’m right there.” he says, and you can tell by the lilt in his voice he is waiting for you.
You rock back, your bodies slamming together with a lewd smack, the sound itself just enough to tip you over the edge. You feel the rush wash over you as he pulls you in, wrapping his arm around your waist as his hips continue to move. He lets out a small grunt with each forceful spurt inside you, and you feel a wave of euphoria sweep over you as you realize he wasn’t joking after all.
“Fuck…” he whines, pulling out of you. You can hear him adjusting the lens of the camera and you’re so caught up in your own bliss you couldn’t care less that he is documenting his work. You feel him rest his hand on your ass, palming your cheek to the side for a better view as he leaks down the inside of your thigh.
The camera clicks, and just as you start to lower yourself down, you feel his fingers swipe up through the warmth dripping down your leg, stopping you in your tracks. You turn over your shoulder to look at him, his eyes completely fixed on you as he slides his cum covered fingers inside of you.
“Just for good measure, huh beautiful?”
You hear the shutter click a few times, a few indiscernible mumbles of praise from his lips, and finally the thud of the camera as it lands next to you on the sheets. He pulls his fingers from you, tapping your ass softly as an indication that you’re good to relax.
The mattress shifts as Sam gets out of bed, his footsteps heading towards the bathroom. The light shines for a moment accompanied by the sound of running water as you wait patiently. He’s back soon after with a warm, wet washcloth, and he gently parts your thighs to start cleaning the mess he made.
It’s quiet as he tends to you, his breathing slowing down as he does. Once he’s done, he slips into bed behind you, pulling your back to his chest.
“So… what are you gonna do with those pictures?” you ask, the smile on your face audible as you speak.
“Well, get them developed, I guess. But aside from myself and the poor person at the film lab, nobody will ever see them. Cross my heart.”
“And me,” you remind him.
“Yes, yes. And you, sweetness.” Silence hangs over the two of you for a moment before he speaks again.
“Will you stay?” he asks, a hint of vulnerability in his voice. You wrap your arms overtop of his where he’s holding you tight, nodding.
“I don’t think you could force me out of this bed.”
–
You’re woken by the warmth of sunshine on your face. Blinking and trying to remember where you are, you refamiliarize yourself with Sam’s bedroom in the daylight. Your eyes clear and focus on the camera sitting on the nightstand.
Sam is in a deep sleep, snoring softly with his mouth open, a few strands of his hair stuck to his face. You can’t help but smile at the sight before slipping out of bed and quietly sneaking through his house to collect your clothes strewn about.
You peek into his bedroom once you’ve gathered all of your belongings and he’s still out cold, only his feet poking out from beneath the sheets. Your eyes are pulled to the camera again, and then an idea forms. You tiptoe inside and carefully grab it, doing your best to remain quiet.
Needing darkness, you head for the bathroom and wind the film. You duck into his other bedroom on the way and grab an empty film canister. Hoping it’s quiet enough to not wake him, you close the bathroom door behind you and wait a moment before taking the roll out and putting it in the black container.
Once you’re done, you retrieve your keys from the cabinet by the door and grab an old receipt he must have just pulled out of his pockets when he was putting his keys in their usual spot. There’s a pencil on the music stand of the nearby piano, so you snatch it and leave him a little note. You write out your phone number, draw a little heart, and put the camera over the corner so you know he’ll find it. You silently sneak out the door and lock it from the inside behind you.
The drive back to your home proved to be shorter than anticipated, the light of day giving you a better sense of your location. You glanced over to the rolls of film laying in your passenger seat, taking mental stock on how many bottles of developer and Blix you had sitting on your shelf. It was times like these you were grateful for your little makeshift film lab, knowing that Sam said he would probably send these rolls off somewhere, and that some poor guy would have to see every lewd act appear right before his eyes.
You snatched the rolls from your seat and grabbed your camera bags from your trunk before making your way inside to your warm house. Feeling grimey, you ran yourself through a quick shower, eager to see what was waiting for you on these rolls of film.
Stepping into your lab you place the film rolls on the table, grabbing your Patterson canister, your chemicals, and your scissors to start the process. You trim the leads on the film rolls, smiling as you see your roll next to Sam’s. With the leads trimmed, you flip the light switch in your completely blacked out guest room, leaving you in total darkness as you pry the bottoms off of the rolls of film.
You load the long slippery strips of film into the plastic spools, screwing the lid back onto your canister before flipping your lights back on. You grab your chemicals and make your way to the kitchen, running the faucet to heat the water bath. It’s been a while since you’d done this yourself, but the process was ingrained into your memory, and you were careful to not miss a single step. You drop your bottles of Developer and Blix into the water bath, grabbing your thermometer from your junk drawer.
Your phone buzzes on the counter as you wait for the temperature to rise, your heart pounding as you see a new number flash across the screen. You make your way back to your lab, grabbing the canister off the table as your chemicals reach temperature. You carefully pour the developer into the canister, agitating it every few seconds while you read the message on your phone.
Unknown:
9:12am: Off so soon? And with my film? Should have known I’d never see those beauties. 😏
Your timer goes off letting you know it’s time to move on to the next step, so you set your phone down, ready to pour the developer out of the canister. Satisfied with yourself for not making a mess, you pour in the Blix, leaning away from the fumes as they waft through the air. You do your duty, agitating the chemical as directed, waiting the allotted time until it's ready to pour out.
You debate answering him right away, trying to leave just a touch of mystery in the air. You decide that you’ll wait until the film is done, teasing him with a photo for his eyes only.
You rinse your film with water to rid it of the chemicals, knowing there’s only a few more steps until you can see just how talented of a photographer Sam really is. You pour in your stabilizer, letting it sit for a minute, biting your lips together as you suppress the urge to text him back immediately.
With a deep breath you pour out the stabilizer, and unscrew the lid, ready to see if the evidence of your night came out in the wash. With shaky hands you pull the film strips from the spools, seeing 36 clear images appearing on the transparent roll of sepia film. A huff of laughter leaves your chest, seeing the negative image of your body in the tiny rectangles.
You suck your teeth as you hang the rolls of film to dry, knowing that in about an hour or so they will be ready to scan into your computer.
—
It seems like it’s taking longer than usual for the film to dry, at least it feels that way as you check for the hundredth time. An hour and some change later you’re dashing back to your computer with the film, scanning it into Lightroom to start inverting the images.
Your breath is stolen straight from your lungs as you see the first image. Your cheeks flame red at the sight of yourself, spread below Sam. You continue to click through the negatives, completely shocked at how good his composition is. You knew he was a hobbyist, but you start to wonder if maybe he missed his calling. You swallow harshly as you continue to look through them, but then you realize just how beautiful the photos actually are. You almost feel bad that you stole them away from him.
You work through each image, inverting the colors until they appear as they really are. You note the vintage look on the film and check the empty roll for the date. You smile as you read ‘86, knowing he shelled out a good amount of cash for that roll, and he decided to use it on you. The film comes out warm and grainy from the low light, but you feel that it adds to the photos, and you can’t think of a better turnout.
Your eyes catch on one photo, and after inverting the colors your suspicion is answered. The long finger shaped outlines on your hips were forever cemented in time. The memory of his grip burned into your mind. His body is connected to yours, and you can almost remember the feeling of him inside you as you look at the photo. You feel a rush wash over you, and you grab your phone tapping a few buttons on the screen until the camera opens. You bring it to the screen and snap the photo before attaching it to a text.
You
10:47am: *Attachment*
10:47am: I had something… pressing…to tend to. 😉
You snicker at your comment, hoping he will get the joke as you add his contact to your phone. You bite your bottom lip in concentration as you continue to work on the images, fixing the coloring and resizing them to the appropriate proportions.
As you reach the beginning of his roll, you start to see images of daily life, with people you don’t know, but are clearly happy to be having their photo taken by Sam. Bright smiles and warm moments captured by his keen eye.
Sammy
10:53am: Wow, um…
You
10:54am: I think they turned out pretty good, what do you think?
10:54am: *Attachment*
You attach another image of yourself draped across his couch, his pashmina spread across your body, the light hitting your throat exactly how he planned.
Sammy
10:55am: You’re so gorgeous, I don’t even know what else to say if I’m honest. I have to see the rest.
10:56am: Do you…Need help? I normally send my film off to be developed but it would be cool to watch.
As you click to the next image you sit in shock, trying to place the face next to Sam’s on his couch. You drop your phone to the table in front of you, trying to focus. You’re going positively crazy running through faces in your mind until it hits you. You take in the features and realize the man sitting next to Sam is the guy your friend was flirting with all night. Your heart starts to race as you make the connection. Is that the friend he left last night? Did she go home with him?
You blow out a deep breath and finish up the last photo of Sam and another long haired man, drinking foamy beers in what looks to be a foreign country. You smile at the bubbly mustaches on their lips and grab your phone to reply to his message.
You
11:02am: You’re a really great photographer, Sam. These shots are really, really good. All of them.
11:03am: If you really want to see the process you’re more than welcome to, kind of makes you feel like a mad scientist haha. I don’t have much going on at the moment, probably going to work on this next roll if you want to join.
Sammy
11:05am: What are you up to tonight? I have a work event I have to go to, but I’ll probably dip out early, especially if I have a good reason. 😉
You
11:06am: I have to shoot a show tonight, but I’m free after that…
Sammy
11:06am: So…
You
11:07am: Bring your film and a bottle of red. I just might have a few rolls we can use while we wait. 😏
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A TEST OF ANGUISH (pt. 4), kamisato ayato/reader
SYNOPSIS… they love is not for the weak of heart OR KAMISATO AYATO has more buried in his rib cage than he lets on.
⋆ warnings, kamisato ayato & fem-presenting!reader, a smidge of confrontation, pain pain pain.
⋆ notes, ayato is actually an allusion to my ex lmaooo.
⋆ tags! @kiyoomiwo @hotgirlshit5 @kunikuzushisbeloved @iamnotobsessed @lightoftheamethyst @xiaosonlybeloved @jcrml @kireeen @isotofl @iiyumii @neverlandlostchild @lumpywolf @mrs-heelshire @nickey-diano @irisxiel @esthelily @chiisananingen @goodsoup101 @the-real-fandom-person @whatamidoing89 @ayatoslovelywife @lorkai @bambambunny @i-3at-kidz @kyauyumira @pineapplesneedrights @atlas-rin @hyunromi @simplyhumanlol
YOUR fingers are gentle as you thread them through sora’s hair, carefully threading the strands together until it’s a braided crown of blue. you’ve just finished tucking in the last bits of hair into her braid when you see the coloring; it’s faint, but her light blue has begun to shift to a deeper indigo at her roots.
“okaasan, am i pretty yet?” her light indigo irises are fixed on you through the reflecting vanity mirror. sora had sensed your halt in motion, her smile innocent and inquiring.
you bring an easy smile to your lips, pressing a gentle kiss to her hair before reassuring her. “you have always been the most beautiful to me.” your hands move to adjust to the collar of her formal dress, the light purple blossoms peeking out just over her shoulders. you had this dress made just before you left the kamisato estate, hopeful that she might be able to wear it during summer festivities rather than a trial between two dominant clans.
a reality which you seem to be so detached from as of late.
it had been a couple months since you’ve moved out of your old residence, a decision you made in the best interest of you and your daughter, and yet you can’t help the strange welling in your heart at the thought of having to set foot inside once more.
a house once full of unity, now harboring distrust and tension, you had no choice to bring sora back to it. as the sole heir to the hayashi matriarch and the only child of the head of the yashiro commission, sora could not be absent.
“sora,” you begin, “i just want you to know… that, uhm…” there’s a lump in your throat and something tickles at your tear ducts. your daughter turns to face you on her chair, her smaller hands coming to cup around your face as her expression fills with worry. “i’m alright, flower, no need to worry.” you bring a hand to place on hers, thumb rubbing softly against the back of her hand in comfort.
“after today, if somethings don’t go the way i planned,” you explain, “i don’t want you to think for even a second that i don’t love you. not ever.” the thought of having to give her up had been tormenting you the past few weeks after the elders had brought into question succession for both clans with the continuance of a divorce.
between the yashiro commission and the hayashi clan, there was only one legitimate heir. and you’re sure everyone who was anyone in the room would want a claim to your sora.
“everything will be alright as long as i’m with mama,” sora replies quietly, offering a soft smile. there was absolutely nothing you wouldn’t do for this little girl.
you press a soft kiss to her forehead. “let’s hope that never changes.”
holding her hand in yours, the two of you leave the room, making it down the hall to the grand room where the most important meetings are held. the few elders which had gathered outside the door lower their gazes and bow, offering you their respects. The guards outside the door stand in position of salute, only moving back to a position of attention when you nod.
there are whispers among the few which you pass on your way towards the doors, their voices hushed but not quiet enough for you to miss.
“a pity the yashiro commission has to incur such a loss over a petty issue,” one criticizes.
“you’d think as a matriarch she’d be more understanding and mature,” the other replies. “it seems ridiculous to stage such a trial between clans, no?”
sora looks up at you with confusion in her eyes, and you simply bring a soft smile to your face, shaking your head in dismissal. “you pay them no mind, flower.” you stop just before the doors, your free hand coming to signal to the door keepers. “vermin who mooch off of their diluted family ties hold no opinion in the court of nobility.”
there are some hushed gasps behind you and you see your daughter giggle, the doors coming to open before you to reveal a larger room of gathering nobles. directly in front of you at the grand table, kamisato ayato sits beside his younger sister, an image of placid indifference reflected in his figure.
the elders seated in the room took to their feet, offering a bow of acknowledgement as you approached the room. ayato was delayed in his response, standing moments later and offering a deep bow.
you bowed in response, sinking deeply before returning back to your full height. Akane appeared at your side at once, ushering sora to the side seats where she could sit but remain in proximity to you.
“matriarch of the hayashi clan, i, kamisato ayato, head of the kamisato clan, greet you humbly. regardless of the outcome, i wish all good intentions during this trial.” his voice is smooth and courteous, but void of any emotion, yet another twist to the knife in your heart.
“i, hayashi y/n, head of the hayashi clan, wish you well in this fair trial and hope you accept the ruling without protest,” you reply, smile soft and polite.
you see his jaw tick at this, a feeling of satisfaction settling deep in your bones.
when the doors open one final time, it is everyone’s turn to bow, for the raiden shogun comes waltzing in, voice calm and level when she asks, “shall we get started then?”
"SHE was born on the kamisato estate, by natural laws she is the kamisato clan’s right!” an elder at the table, whom you recognize to be one of the most senior among those gathered from the opposing party. she only ever liked the number on the profit amount your marriage brought her. “this is inarguably–”
one of the elders from your side stands from his chair, violet eyes seething at the remark. “inarguable? it was not in the contractual agreement!”
the air is tense with anger, confusion, and stubbornness, all of which you remain aware of yet quiet. your eyes are trained on your husband, his eyes also never leaving yours since the moment the both of you sat down.
it isn’t until the raiden shogun speaks do the two of you avert your eyes to her. “why are the lot of you discussing the little girl as if she’s a mere object? Have you any respect for the child?” her violet eyes are narrowed and gaze is pointed, as if to pierce straight through anyone who might answer her conjecture incorrectly.
“n-no, almighty s-shogun–”
another elder stands, trembling before the archon. “please, we didn’t mean any insolence–”
“and yet,” raiden continues, “i have yet to hear anything remotely negotiable in the past two hours i’ve been stuck sitting in this chair. tell me, have you any idea what the girl is like? taken the time to understand who sora is?”
at this, ayato flinches, the question itself more indirectly intended for him.
“it is true that by natural law sora is entitled to the kamisato clan,” raiden begins, the faces of all those in favor of the aforementioned clan lighting up in delight, “but after further examination of the justification for the divorce, it would seem that she is, inarguably, the rightful heir to the hayashi clan.”
protest begins to break out amongst the elders and you feel the heat clawing at the back of your throat, the tickle of electricity in the air as everyone begins to overwhelm you. before you can react, there is a burst of blue, water form the shape of blades pointed at every elder in the room.
“all of you, hush!” it is your husband, hands clenched on the table and expression tight with rage. “had it not been for any of you, we would never be in this mess to begin with!”
the room is silent but for the ticking of the clock. his words ring through your head, a mixture of confusion and anger swirling in the pit of your stomach.
“the elders?” your voice is just barely a whisper. “i spent nearly a decade wasting away in a loveless marriage and you want to blame the elders?!”
your husbands eyes are wide when they meet yours, his mouth open as if his words were not meant to be his.
you laugh coldly. “i knew you were a low creature, but i had never thought you to be pathetic enough to continue blaming everyone but yourself–”
“i do blame myself! i am the only one i blame!” ayato’s eyes are a mix of desperate blue and you’re not sure what to think of it. “i sleep alone and walk past empty rooms where you and sora used to play. i sit at an empty table where we used to eat. i waste away in a home of ghost and absent memories, do not tell me that i do not blame myself!”
“then where were you?” you think he’s unbelievable. “where. were. you? i brought her into this world alone. she received her vision without you. her first summer festival, without you. archons, ayato! where were you?!”
“i thought you hated me!”
“you’re the one who told me we were married for politics!”
“because i wanted you to hurt!”
“why?”
“because i love you!” he is huffing and attempting to catching his breath. he runs his hands through his hair frustratedly, looking around at the room of eyes all on him. lowering his voice, he continues, “from the moment i met you, i loved you, and i have never felt like i was enough and thought of bringing you anything but happiness did terrible things to me.”
you swallow the lump inn your throat. “so you abandoned me?”
he can’t meet your eyes. “i felt if you were too close, you might discover the worst of me. that maybe if you–”
“no. no, ayato, don’t be cruel,” you interrupt, shaking your head. You will not hear any of this. you stand from your chair, a look of anguish on your face when you meet those beautiful cerulean irises. “you have no right to say that.”
he stands too, hand almost reaching towards you. “my dearest–”
“no!” your voice cracks and you pick up the skirt of your dress, back up towards the doors which you came in. “you can curse at me, insult me, do your worst, but you have no right to plead your love to me!”
sora stands from her chair and comes running to you, her small hands clasping at yours. you gather her in your arms, ordering the guards to open the doors. you turn to face your husband who, having rushed from the other side of the table, stands just meters away from you.
“you are a cruel man, kamisato ayato.” your eyes are sharp with hatred, your expression twisted with pain. you bow in acknowledgement to the raiden shogun, who nods back. you meet the gazes of all the elders in the room before replying, “this trial is over, i will hear no more of your grievances.”
and you turn and run. you escape. you leave with sora in your arms your past on your tail.
because love shouldn’t hurt. it shouldn’t.
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 5 (coming soon!)
© tb3ih mmxxiv all rights reserved.
#xx tb3ih#genshin x reader#genshin impact#ayato angst#ayato x reader#ayato imagines#ayato x you#ayato x y/n#angst#angst without a happy ending#genshin angst#genshin impact angst#genshin impact ayato#kamisato ayato#ayato kamisato
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in response to the drastically changing climate and AI creeping further and further into every day life, i keep seeing people bringing up UBI - universal basic income. and i get the inclination to believe that UBI is a solution to the problem, but it's really like plastering over a gaping wound.
UBI seems like a good idea, offering a financial cushion for everyone, but it's missing the point. capitalism is structured so that it'll just absorb that money right back into itself. you give people more money without changing anything else, and the landlords, the banks, they'll just increase prices. this is not simplified thinking, it is a fact in practice today.
look at the military housing allowance in the US as an example of how this works today. you can ask anyone enlisted who is stationed abroad. more money is provided, but the rent goes up to match. you think UBI will be any different? if there's a way for a capitalist to profit from a social program, they will stop at no cost to find it and exploit it. the whole system is rigged that way on purpose.
and then what about the way we go about funding ubi? it's a nice thought to tie it to taxes from the rich and corporations, but let's be real here. we can't even get a living wage set as the minimum wage. the idea that the government would just 'give away' money to people not working? it's laughable. we're a reactive society, not proactive. it's not going to happen.
from Adam Smith in Wealth of Nations:
"RENT, considered as the price paid for the use of land, is naturally the highest which the tenant can afford to pay in the actual circumstances. In adjusting the lease, the landlord endeavours to leave him no greater share of the produce than what is sufficient to keep up the stock."
it's all about what we can afford to pay. you increase wages or implement UBI, the rent will just go up. that's how the system works, that's how landlords operate. that is how it has always worked and always will work.
what we need to realize is that if we have the power to build support for UBI, we might as well go for full blown socialism. it's going to be just as hard, but it'll actually change things. you could look at something like universal basic services, where actual needs like healthcare, education, housing, and food are met. not just giving people money and hoping the market will magically solve the problems. but the fact of the matter is that this is not profitable and that is the crux of the capitalist dilemma.
UBI is just allowing people to play the game of capitalism. it doesn't change the rules, doesn't challenge the underlying causes or the issues or the problems or inequities. people will find themselves back in the same hole that they crawled out of because the boot on their neck is keeping them there. the boot is capitalism.
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A radical theory
I wrote a post a bit of go that Alastor may have daddy issues. Which is why he was at odds at Lucifer. Along with targeting men when he feels all murdery.
In the same episode we learned that Alastor sold his soul...So we are learning a lot about Alastor in this episode...unfortunately it gave more questions than answers.
I don't think this Headcanon/theory is valid I'm about to suggest because I find it interesting. Maybe someone already came up with it, but in case not. We all assume Alastor master would be some super insane powerful demon. Which tbh probably is. But what if, the reason Alastor stupidly dealt his soul away was to someone not so much powerful, but personal. What if Alastor master is his own father. His father was surely sent to hell before him. I assumed Alastor killed him himself.
Alastor, not really knowing the ways of Hell since he literally just been dumped in. One does not know the customs of a foreign country that one unexpectedly find themselves in, right? Hell, would be a huge adjustment of learning. So when it came to his father finding him...He was a bit naive about things, and maybe (self loathingly) hoped or yarned his father love andhe changed? His father being abusive manipulator in life continues in Hell. But he managed to trick Alastor. "I was a shitty father/person in life. But then you killed me and I had time to realize my mistakes but It's too late for me to do anything about it because you know, you killed me. But I can help you here, protect you. We're blood. Hell is not a forgiving place...but I can be. I just need you to trust me with your soul..."....?
Alastor was naturally hesitant and probably out right refused. Perhaps his father set up a situation where Alastor was quickly out of element being fresh meat in Hell. Coming to his rescue at the last second that Alastor is forced to accept. I don't know, I'm making shit up on the fly to get this crazy thought out.
It can help explain why Alastor became so powerful so quickly when he fell into Hell. His prefered company of woman, How being leashed is such touchy subject and driving him to the edge.(Okay, that would upset anyone), but the one holding the leash in Hell is the man he loathed in his before life, and now he can't escape it in Hell. That shit will drive him up a wall! At least in life he can escape briefly, hell, he even killed him. Now he can't do either.
The only real flaw I find in this is I get the vibe that Alastor father wouldn't be immensely clever. Not clever enough to trick souls to become powerful enough to make Alastor that powerful to take down overlords. But maybe that why it works? The father not losing out much if Alastor quickly fell. But his father won his gamble, and Alastor practiced calculating precise killing tipped the scales in his favor. Now he has Alastor as a weapon and defender that can not be used against him.
It crazy enough that it can work. I don't think it is. But it may make a fun angst fanfic if anyone up for it.
#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#alastor the radio demon#hazbin hotel alastor#hazbin hotel headcanon#hazbin hotel theory
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Alright, update on the tablet situation, I do NOT have good news but there are some silver linings.
First off, thank you all so much for your patience. That one week I took off to relax seemed to be an invitation for the universe to fuck with my shit because my tablet literally chose the worst time to get on my nerves ( This is totally not something I'm gonna bring up with my therapist as proof that I'm not allowed to rest /s) I've tried just about everything to get it working again, I got a replacement 3-in-1 cable and even that didn't do anything, so I've ordered in a new pen, but that's not due to show up for another week or two.
However, I do not want to wait a week or two on the off chance that a new pen even solves the problem.
So the GOOD NEWS in all this is that I do still have my iPad. It wasn't setup with Clip Studio Paint because I own a perpetual license for my PC, but seeing as how now I can't use it on my PC (at least not with my tablet pen) I've gone ahead and setup the mobile version on my tablet, thankfully I got a discount because I already own a perpetual license but it's still gonna cost me $10/month so that's yet another subscription to slap on the 'ole credit card.
Now that does mean I have to go through the painstaking efforts of moving everything from my PC onto my tablet, but thankfully that issue is easily solved with cloud backups and transferring. Really all I need to be able to do is draw, I can still do speech bubbles and text input and texture overlays and all that post-production stuff on my PC, but anything that requires actual drawing I'm gonna be using my iPad for. So please, don't mind if you notice some weird little art differences between Episode 30 and 29, I'm adjusting to a new workflow! It shouldn't be too bad because I'll still be using the exact same brushes and textures and all that fun stuff that I do on my PC, it just comes with the adjustment of drawing primarily on iPad, which I don't normally do (I usually only draw on my iPad for tattooing and that's in Procreate which I still suck at using outside of lineart LMAO)
This is a very stressful situation that I'm hoping will only be temporary until I get that new tablet pen, and if THAT doesn't solve the issue, then I'm gonna have to start shopping for a new tablet entirely, and that's not something I can do immediately because I'm already starting to struggle financially due to the slow season creeping in at work and I'm still paying off that new PC I put down on layaway (which I'm regretting already). All that said, if you want to help a pal out, please consider tossing a dollar or two at me on my Ko-Fi, it's all gonna go towards a new drawing tablet if I need it (and if the pen solves the issue, then you'll be helping me stay afloat so I can keep bringing you guys the good shit LOL)
What's wild is that in all my Google searching, I found a thread from two months ago with literally the EXACT same issue, under the exact same conditions, in which OP's tablet pen unexpectedly stopped registering with their Huion Kamvas 22 Plus that they had owned for two years. According to them, it did start working again, after resetting the PC and re-installing the driver over and over again, but I've already done that myself a ton of times and I'm tired of being let down and that doesn't seem like a "real" solution beyond luck, so I'm gonna take a break from doing that while I get my iPad set up. I have the sneaking suspicion this might have to do with some recent Windows updates that just rolled out, my PC had definitely gone through a couple leading up to the malfunction. This wouldn't be the first time Microsoft has fucked with my tablet functionality so I literally wouldn't be surprised if it was something like that. Either that, or the '2' in Kamvas 22 stands for "will only last for 2 years before stopping entirely" LOL
Anyways, that's all for now. Thank you all so much for your patience and understanding through all this. While I don't want to have to reduce the quality or frequency of what I put out for you guys due to technical issues, I also don't want the comic to stop entirely, so if this turns into one of those desperate situations where I'm delivering you guys episodes of Rekindled drawn on a Nintendo DS, so be it. I'm not gonna let this beat me.
#update#update post#lore rekindled#lore rekindled comic#lore rekindled update#technical difficulties#genericpuff#generic puff
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Can I request some super sick Steve with a bad cold/sinus infection and Bucky being all cute and protective? Canon or AU! Thank you :))
Okay so I somehow missed the part of your ask where you requested that Bucky be cute and protective. I think I got the cute thing, but not sure about the protective thing. I hope you like it anyways! I'm on a real Stucky kick and this was so fun to write.
(Modern AU Stucky with post-serum Steve bod bc I can lol)
“Which pumpkin do you want?” Bucky asks, hands on his hips as he stares down at the pumpkins in the pumpkin patch they’re visiting..
Steve shrugs, wrapping his jacket tighter around himself as he shivers. “I’m good with whatever. Hey, can we stop for hot chocolate or tea or something on our way home? I’m freezing.”
“God that sounds incredible. Absolutely.”
Steve sniffles, rubbing at his nose. He reaches down to pick up one of the pumpkins near his feet. “hhh’ISCHih! Snff! Sorry. This is a good one.”
“Bless you. That is a good one,” Bucky agrees, looking at the large, round, bright orange pumpkin that Steve has in his hands. Steve adjusts the pumpkin, holding it like one might hold a baby on their hip.
When Bucky just stares down at the other pumpkins without making any move to pick one, Steve quirks a brow at him, “so…are you going to make a decision for yours, or are we going to be out here all night?”
Bucky rolls his eyes, “it’s a very important decision.”
“Clearly.”
“Can’t pick the wrong one.”
A tickle blooms in his sinuses, and he rubs at his nose again, trying to ward off the impending sneeze. “Oh god no. Can’t have that. World War III might start if you pick the wrong pumpkin.”
“So you see my dilemma.”
Steve turns away from Bucky, “Ih’tschiew! Nng’tsch! Snff! Excuse me.”
“Bless you, sweetheart. Okay, I think I found one.” He says, walking a few feet to pick up one of the pumpkins he’s had his eye on since they got there.
“Well thank god for that,” Steve chuckles. “I was starting to worry we’d die here before you ever made up your mind.”
“I’d probably have gotten us out before we died,” Bucky says. Steve is still fussing with his nose when Bucky looks up at him. He looks deeply bothered. Bucky’s eyes soften, “hey…you okay?”
Steve nods, trying not to wince when he swallows past the sudden sharp, raw feeling in his throat. “Cold and windy out. That always bothers my nose.”
“Let’s get you warm, then. Still want to stop for tea or whatever?”
His breath hitches again, and he muffles a volley of sneezes into the crook of his arm. He nods, sniffling and trying once again to get rid of the itch that just does not want to leave his sinuses.
He scrunches his nose. “Y-yeah that s-hih…hih’TSCH! Tsch! Ihhh…hih’tSCH! Snff! That sounds ndice-hhh’ISCHih! h’sschUH! SnffSnff!...Snff! Oh mby god, sorry. Do we have andy tissues in the car?” Congestion seeping into his voice, blurring all of his consonants together.
“I’m not sure…are you feeling okay, Stevie?” Bucky says cautiously.
Steve grimaces, “I think I might be getting a cold.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Bucky frowns, nudging him with his shoulder as they walk to pay for their pumpkins.
“It’s ndot a big deal,” Steve sniffles. “I’mb finde. I really dond’t feel that bad.”
“Okay…you promise?” Bucky says, and they both set their pumpkins down to be weighed. He hands the man behind the till his credit card and looks over at Steve.
Steve holds up three fingers, “scout’s hondor.”
“You sound like shit.”
“Gee, thagks. I’mb finde. I swear. It’s just a cold. I’ll take sombe mbeds whend we get hombe and ndap.”
Bucky decides to drop it, but he suspects that Steve is bullshitting him. The fact that he’s volunteering to take medication and have a nap instead of needing Bucky to sweet talk him into it is suspicious as hell. This never happens unless Steve feels downright awful.
But he isn’t going to get anywhere by forcing the issue if Steve isn’t ready to admit he feels awful.
So Bucky pretends he believes Steve.
*
“I’mb finde,” Steve says sharply as Bucky casts him what feels like the umpteenth concerned glance that car ride. “Stop looki’gg at mbe like that.”
He’s spent the majority of their drive to the coffee shop, and now on their way home, sneezing and coughing and sniffling. He’s sounding worse and worse, and Bucky can’t help the fact that he’s worried.
He’d been fine this morning, albeit a bit tired-looking and sounding, but nowhere near this level. It just kind of seems like it hit him out of nowhere with zero warning.
“I’m not looking at you like anything,” He says nonchalantly, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye as he pulls onto their street.
“Y-yes you-hihhh…oh for the love of god-hih’TSCH! Tsch! Ihhh…hih’tSCH! Snff! hhh’ISCHih! h’sschUH! Snff!” He sighs in frustration as Bucky pulls into the driveway.
“Bless-”
“-Dond’t say it,” Steve grumbles, rubbing his forehead. All of the sneezing has given him the worst headache. It’s throbbing and pounding behind his eyes and in his forehead, and he doesn’t care for it one bit.
“Stevie, come on,” Bucky says softly, putting a hand on his thigh. It’s like the touch melts him completely, and he suddenly deflates, sniffling pitifully. “It’s me. You don’t have to hide how you feel with me.”
Steve sighs in defeat. He’s right. There’s really no point in denying it any longer. He knows Bucky isn’t buying it.
He sure wouldn’t.
“I dond’t feel great, Buck.”
“I know,” Bucky says gently, giving Steve such a soft look, he could cry. “Come on, let’s get you inside. You can change and pick out something to watch and I’ll grab you some meds. Sound good?
Steve coughs into the crook of his elbow, “yeah that sou’ds great.”
*
“Okay, I really think we need to get you to a doctor,” Bucky frowns, looking down at the thermometer. “That, or this thermometer is broken.”
He had thought Steve felt warm while they were cuddling, but he wasn’t expecting the number it beeped in at.
“What’s it at?”
“102.4.”
“....Oh,” Steve mumbles, taking stock of how he feels. He grimaces when the conclusion he comes to is really bad. “Ndo, I thiggk that’s right.”
He’s been sick going on five days now, and it doesn’t seem like he’s getting any better. He’s getting worse, in fact. He’s been so congested and sniffly and sneezy that he was having a hard time getting any sleep. All meds did was take the edge off, but not enough to let him get more than a couple of hours at a time before he was awake again.
He’s exhausted and achy, and Bucky hates how listless he’s been.
“How are you feeling? What’s bothering you?”
“Awful. Everythi’gg. Mby face hurts,” Steve groans, eyes closing. He feels so congested that his eyes feel swollen.
Bucky winces, “I think you might have a sinus infection, Stevie.”
Steve feels his face gingerly before inhaling sharply and dropping his hands. “Ow.”
“God, yeah, this definitely sounds like a sinus infection.” Bucky groans, “let’s go to urgent care…get you some antibiotics, maybe some steroids…and stronger pain meds.”
“Cand we go later? I’mb tired.”
“Sweetheart, the sooner we go, the quicker you’ll feel better,” Bucky says, stroking Steve’s cheek. “I know you don’t feel well and going to urgent care is the last thing you want to do, but you need medical attention.”
It takes some more convincing, but eventually, Steve relents.
Or, rather, Steve allows himself to be bribed with a milkshake (and as much soup and as many snuggles as he could possibly want). All this in exchange for being a good patient (and not a pain in the ass, which were stipulations Bucky may or may not have added to their agreement), and going to the doctor.
*
Finally, after what feels like forty eight hours, they’re finally home from urgent care. Bucky claims it was only three hours, but Steve thinks he’s probably lying to spare his feelings.
He’s not sure why Bucky would need to spare his feelings, but there’s also no way that only took three hours.
They’ve been to the pharmacy already and have picked up his antibiotics and steroids, as well as the milkshake Steve was promised.
“Okay,” Bucky says, shutting the door behind them. “I’m going to put these away, you go get comfy in bed and I’ll bring you your meds and some tea and then we can cuddle while you nap.”
“That’s a great pland,” Steve sniffles.
“I thought you might like that,” Bucky smiles, stroking Steve’s cheek. “Let’s get you feeling better, yeah?”
They go up the stairs into their bedroom, and settle in for another quiet few days until Steve is finally feeling better.
They also finally carve those pumpkins.
#Stucky#modern au#fever#sneezing#congestion#I was watching Winter Soldier while I wrote the majority of this#and ironically I was writing Bucky be super cute with his boy while actual Bucky beat the shit out of Steve on screen lol#I prefer this tbh
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˚ ｡˚ Place In Me ˚｡˚
Eddie Munson
Content Warning: fem!reader, y/n use, tons of original characters throughout the story, strangers-to-lovers with a fun twist, angst, fluff, eventual smut, nsfw MDNI +18 (I'm serious), loss, constant grief, miss communication, abandonment issues, daddy issues (f), monoparental family, violence, drug and alcohol use and abuse. If anything's missing tell me and all add it. But for now that's it. Enjoy!!
Introduction 0/?
November 19
I adjusted the edges of my black dress, my stockings and the laces of my boots. I had to look presentable. Still, I was uncomfortable, dresses aren't my thing, but mom had insisted that it would look cute. If Lucy could see me now she would surely be dying of laughter on my face. Well, it's funny that I used that verb, since she was already dead.
On the door of the church could be read:
"Mass for the life of Lucy Kell 6:00 p.m."
I walked in with my head down, I knew her picture was in front of me. That photo that her mother had chosen, where she smiled with all her teeth and her face was covered in acne. Lucy hated her smile and her acne. But apparently her mother wasn't aware, she hadn't even asked her best friend in the whole world for her opinion on the matter.
I sat in the second row behind some of her relatives. When I felt ready I was able to lift my head and look at her photo, only to realize that I would never be ready to see my best friend there, lying in that horrible place, her eyes closed, her hands relaxed on her chest.
Suddenly everything was blurry and I couldn't hear well, I know my mother was talking to me, but I couldn't focus on her or her words. I was about to have an episode. I tried the best I could to channel my emotions, The hand of my little sister, Lynn, caught me at that very moment when I closed my eyes with force. She was looking at me fearfully, but knowing it wasn't a one time thing. She knew me and she helped me, she squeezed her fingers harder until I calmed down.
Lucy's parents had given a beautiful speech about her and what she was like. Too bad I didn't hear it all, but I knew they were full of shit. They didn't know her own daughter, at least not in the way I knew her. She had always been totally transparent with me, she was real. If they had known half the things Lucy had done at 17, oh my god. This funeral would probably be nothing more than something simple. The shame would eat them alive, and it's that I knew the Kells, so conservative and hateful with her. They had never supported her in anything. But I can't claim anything anymore, Lucy wouldn't suffer anymore.
The posters for prevention against suicide and drug use were not lacking to decorate the neighborhood, and I say decorate because nobody sincerely cares.
"… and receive y/n Robbins, who will offer a few words for my Lucy" Mr. Kell's voice was clearer now. When I agreed to write a few words for Lucy I think I forgot that I would have to read them out loud. My steps felt like when you walk silently on autumn leaves. All eyes were on me as I stepped onto the stage. I opened the paper and arranged the microphone.
I clear my throat:
"Um well, for those who don't know me, I'm Lucy's best friend" maybe I should have said was, right? No. She is my friend, my soul mate. "I have shared most of my life with her and vice versa, I don't need to express what she means to me. What happened is difficult for all of us. From the bottom of my heart, Lucy Lu, I love you and I hope that heaven has beer and Nickelback" at this point the tears just fell, but they didn't affect my voice. "thank you".
I went back to my place, but not to sit down. "Mom, I'm going outside to get some air." She gave me a sympathetic look and looked straight ahead. The mass continued, but I headed for the door.
It was warm outside, the sun was about to set. I closed my eyes and hugged myself by the shoulders feeling the warmth on my skin. An almost inaudible noise brought me out of my thoughts. I followed it where I thought it came from. At the side of the church a boy around my age, leaning against the wall, smoking what I could recognize as weed. If this isn't a sign of Lucy, I don't know what is.
I would soon find out if meeting him would be my heaven or my hell.
A WIP I've been on for the most part of the last 3 years. Hope you enjoy it, I already have a few chapter written so I'll release them most on September 🤗 don't be shy, leave a comment and reblog if you liked it, gives me will to keep posting ❤🩹
#eddie munson#eddie munson angst#eddie x fem!reader#eddie x reader#eddie x y/n#stranger things#eddie x you#eddie munson fanfic#eddie munson fic#eddie munson smut#eddie smut#eddie munson blurb#eddie munson imagine#eddie munson x fem!reader#eddie munson x reader#eddie munson x reader fluff#eddie munson x you#fanfic#writing
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Kissing La Squadra under the mistletoe
This may be the Christmas post I have been most excited for ヾ(＾▽＾)ﾉ Enjoy!! ❤️💚
Risotto
The others absolutely set him up for this. They've been scheming on how to make you two walk through the doorway at the same time. And now they're all watching. They actually point it out as well.
Ah, well it seems we've ended up under the mistletoe.
He seems a bit unsure of what to do. That is, until a soft chanting of "Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!" starts echoing from the others.
He leans in slowly, but with a sense of confidence. He closes the space between your lips gently and steadily, not wanting to startle you.
There's a tender sweetness to his kiss. As if some sort of emotion was hiding under the surface of the holiday tradition. It's warm and soft and leaves you extremely disappointed when you have to separate.
You'll probably be doing some of your own scheming the rest of the holiday season, trying to end up under the mistletoe with Ris once again.
Formaggio
He probably literally runs into you in the doorway on accident. What a guy.
While he's apologizing and laughing that off, he realizes what's hanging just over your heads.
He points up at it with a half smile and says, Hey, check out where we ended up.
Prosciutto
He smriks for a second, giving you a moment to adjust and take in the situation at hand before he quickly closes the space between the two of you.
The kiss is warm and happy and intoxicating. You can't help but lean into it, and Formaggio willingly accepts your enthusiasm.
When you two finally split, he gives you a wink.
I hope I'll catch you under the mistletoe again soon, sugar.
This is a bit of an inconvenience to him. He's not real interested in such a silly tradition. But if he must.
I'm not even sure why we hang this thing each year, but it seems we've ended up together under the mistletoe.
He shrugs and straightens out his suit jacket, trying to act nonchalant about the whole ordeal.
Inside he is freaking out a little bit. But that's nothing you'd need to worry about. Or know about. Ever.
Pulls you in sweetly and gently, one hand on your waist and the other on your neck, and gives you a warm and firm kiss, though it seems to be lacking in passion.
He pulls away and fixes his hair and clears his throat. He's a bit mixed up over this, but nothing some time alone, by himself, with no one else there, can't fix.
Pesci
Oh, god, this is gonna be awkward.
He's keenly aware of the doorway with the mistletoe. He's nervously been avoiding it all he can.
But now it's happened. His fears realized. It's not that he has any issue with you, it's just the whole kissing thing makes him uncomfortable. Kisses are supposed to be more special and meaningful than that, right?
He laughs nervously, hoping you'll let him off the hook. There's a possibility that you would, but, unfortunately, you have an audience of a few others who won't let it slide so easy.
He takes a deep breath, gives you an apologetic look, and starts to lean in. His lips brush against yours in a ghost of a kiss that leaves you wanting more before he bashfully pulls away.
It's up to you if you truly want more of a kiss here.
Ghiaccio
At first, he's a bit upset that you've ended up in this exact doorway together. He has places to be and things to do. And now he has to waste time here.
He grumbles angrily. What a stupid tradition.
"Well I guess we have to kiss now, huh?" You pause to brush your hair out of your face.
Okay. Maybe it's not that bad.
He's very unsure about how to do this. He grabs onto your upper arms and leans in... Then leans back again. Maybe another angle... Or not. Ummm. His face is bright red at this point.
You'll have to meet him in the middle on one of the times he leans in close.
His eyes go wide and his face goes impossibly redder as your lips meet, and he timidly kisses back, before his quickly pulls away.
The kiss is short and a bit stiff, but it lingers in both of your minds.
Illuso
Ah, what an honor. You get to be caught under the mistletoe with Illuso? Amazing for you. Or so he thinks.
Looks like it's your lucky day.
He smirks at you while fixing his hair, making sure he looks perfect.
How about we slip away from the prying eyes, my dear?
Before you can even answer he's whisking you into the nearest reflection, likely on some sort of shining Christmas decoration.
Melone
You can't help but roll your eyes. You can't deny that you appreciate his enthusiasm, though.
He pulls you in by your waist in the most dramatic way he can muster, bringing your face close to his. He takes a moment to smile and take in your expression before locking your lips and tilting you back into a dip. He's so extra.
When he pulls away and tips you back onto your feet, he hits you with the smuggest smile, confident you'll be back for more.
This is no accident. He has been on a stakeout watching and waiting for you to near the mistletoe in the doorframe.
Now is finally his chance. He scurries to the doorway and stops you in your tracks.
He says nothing, just glancing up at the mistletoe and back at you, eyebrows raised. He can't stop the smirk that crosses his lips.
He pulls you in quick, before you can hardly process what's happening, pressing his lips to yours and sliding his hands down your sides.
There is much more passion, and tongue, in this kiss than there really should be in a mistletoe kiss.
And it will happen again. He's waiting for his opportunity to do this again and again.
#hehehehe my favoritism came out oops#what can i say maggi is the best kisser#jjba#golden wind#jjba part 5#la squadra#la squadra esecuzioni#risotto nero#jjba risotto#risotto#jojo risotto#formaggio#jjba formaggio#jojo formaggio#jjba prosciutto#jojo prosciutto#prosciutto#jojo pesci#jjba pesci#pesci#ghiaccio#jjba ghiaccio#jojo ghiaccio#illuso#jojo illuso#jjba illuso#melone#jjba melone#jojo melone
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My Mother’s Day Sermon
I'm David and my mom is right back there, she's the organist. Happy Mother's Day to her.
I wasn't assigned a topic to speak on, so I've chosen to focus my remarks on repentance.
Pshhh. Can you imagine? It's Mother's Day, of course the topic will be motherhood.
I recognize that like a lot of holidays, Mother's Day can be difficult for some. Some of you have mothers who've passed away. Some moms have a child who has passed. Many people deal with infertility issues or have miscarried. Some had a parent who was abusive. Some moms here today have children who've distanced themselves. Some don't want to become moms and others have longed for it but it hasn't happened for them. There's many reasons this could be a hard day. We acknowledge that, and we grieve and mourn with you and respect your feelings.
I hope my remarks don't add to the burdens you carry.
I've heard a lot of men speak on Mother's Day about angel mothers and how perfect their mom is. Only sometimes have I heard about real women who had real struggles and how she gained insight as she read the scriptures, she held family prayer and did her best in those circumstances. I like the latter example because none of us are perfect and could use some practical examples and encouragement.
Nine years ago I spoke on Mother's Day and gave examples of my mom being an imperfect mom, but whose overall efforts showed she measured up. I want to put her at ease, this is not going to be a repeat. I'm going to talk about women from the scriptures.
Mothering is not for the faint of heart.
For those of you in the trenches with little children, it can be hard. They're busy, they require a lot of care and attention. Moms of young ones often need a break and some adult time.
Moms of teenagers encounter a different set of challenges as their child tests boundaries and tries a lot of new things, including things their parents wouldn't approve of.
Then they're out of the home. You organized your life around them and now what? It can feel empty.
You know this, but it's worth saying, you don't have to be perfect to be a good mom.
Life doesn't wait until we're perfectly prepared and feeling up for whatever is coming. We learn by doing. We work to improve and strive to be better. Just because we aren't perfect or have everything figured out doesn't mean we don't have a lot to contribute, that we don't make an important difference in the lives around us.
Mary left 12-year-old Jesus in Jerusalem and it wasn't until after a day's journey that she noticed. It took another three days before Mary found Him in the temple. No one calls Mary a "bad" mom. She did her best, made mistakes, corrected them, and remained committed. That's a good model.
Hagar was a servant who was taken away from her homeland and impregnated by her master. She tried running away, but without food & water in that harsh climate, her baby was dying. She went back and stayed a servant for many years. She made difficult choices in order provide food, shelter, and education for her son. Many moms make great sacrifices. People have to compromise, make the best from the options that are available to them.
Sariah packed up her house, lived in the wilderness, and moved across the world. Her children fought the whole way. It was tough.
Emma Smith had 6 children die in infancy.
Did they complain? Yes.
Did they weep? Of course.
Did they yell? Guaranteed.
Was their best sometimes just barely hanging on? Indubitably.
Were they imperfect? Absolutely.
Did God work with their imperfections? Very much so.
Elder Stanfill came to our stake conference last September. He grew up a rancher and farmer. He tells the story of harvesting grain in Montana. The machinery they used would harvest the grain, throwing it into the holding tank and the chaff would be left behind on the ground. They adjusted the combine several times to maximize the amount of grain being gathered, and yet some of the kernels of grain still wound up on the ground with the chaff. The imperfect harvest was as good as the machine could do.
God works in that imperfection. "Migrating swans, geese, and ducks descend onto the fields to nourish themselves on their long journey south. They ate the leftover grain from [the] imperfect harvest. God had perfected it."
Some of life's most important lessons come in the imperfections and are to be found in the mess.
You are involved in an amazing work, to train and prepare people for the world, to be their best selves, to be a person of good character and curiosity, to become people who make positive contributions. That's truly noble.
I know it's easy to see our shortfalls, to have regrets, to wish we could have do-overs. I hope you also take time to appreciate all the good you do. Look at your successes. You're good enough. Whether you are a married or single mom, a young or more seasoned mom, a working or stay-at-home mom, the Atonement makes us all enough.
Alma 7:11-12, describes the Atonement as Jesus suffering pains and afflictions and temptations of every kind so that He feels mercy for us in what we are dealing with, and so that He knows how to aid and comfort and sustain us. I think it's comforting to think Jesus knows what I'm feeling because He's felt it, He understands. I can ask Him for strength, I can ask Him for help.
Today I'm also thinking about Esther from the Bible. Reading her story reminds me there are times when God will ask us to do things that are difficult. Esther found herself in a position to rescue her people from death, but it was a big risk and might not be successful and could cost Esther her life. She was reluctant. It was difficult for her. She put her trust in God. She wasn't perfect, but when it
counted, she measured up.
That sounds like a lot of moms I know. Sometimes it's hard. Sometimes it's changing poopy diapers when you're not feeling well. Sometimes it's getting a phone call from school about some trouble. Sometimes it's a visit to the police station. You never know what will come your way, but when it counts, most people find a way to measure up.
Mother's Day is a reminder that all of us should respect mothers, and mothering figures, and thank them for their impact on the lives around them.
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I binged through all of Dragon Age: Absolution today and honestly I really really liked it! I was allowing myself only some very cautious optimism after watching the twitch premiere of the first episode, but freed from the need for infodumps and setting up the characters the rest of the show actually rapidly gets better from there (some pacing issues here and there excepted but hey they were given 6 episodes, I think they did pretty well considering those constraints)! If like me you HUNGER for, you YEARN for, you CRAVE more Dragon Age right the fuck now, this is not at all a bad thing to help keep some of that hunger down while we wait for the next game, and has a few loveable new characters to get into and some great action animation to boot.
More idle thoughts/reactions under the cut!
first and foremost I love Roland and Lacklon so much haha, a surprisingly well paced romance considering it mainly happens in quick background-ish moments! I'm especially interested in Roland's backstory, since he's very chill and openminded for what seems to be a decently well-trained/educated Orlesian? Lacklon being like 'I want to hold his hand and suck his dick 😔 fml' every time Roland did something cool in battle was just *chef's kiss* too, it was kind of smart to have their fight scenes double as foreplay as well on a writing level since they're arguably the least plot-important characters overall (though they and Qwydion are definitely the heart of the story as far as I'm concerned)
I understand why Miriam clung to Hira so much since she just lost literally everything in her life, good or bad, moments before and that relationship was the only time she had tasted anything like real love since her brother died, but girl... girl when people show you who they are, believe them. marry Qwydion instead you deserve so much better (Hira gave me the Bad Vibes right away from how she didn't respect anything Miriam said or expressed and kept pushing in ways that made me really uncomfortable, so I won't say I was shocked or anything lol.) There is the (??deliberate??) mirror of Hira hugging Miriam from behind in the blood magic dream and Qwydion coming up behind her in very much the same way to rest her hand on her shoulder in the real world afterwards, so I have hope maybe?
can you imagine Dorian watching shitshows like this go down every other week all around Tevinter and tearing at his perfectly sculpted hair because Andraste's tits if you motherfuckers would stop acting stereotypically for FIVE MINUTES! could any of you go take a PISS without resorting to blood magic! Dorian's job is a shit job and he's probably been doing it for a while by the time of Dreadwolf so y'know. get my son a drink
speaking of Qwydion, I am so glad for further support for my theory that vashoth born away from the Qun are actually some of the most well-adjusted people in all of Thedas. they've dodged the Qun from birth by definition, they don't seem terribly interested in the Chantry or grand politics of any kind, they don't have a caste system hanging over them, they can step on anyone who tries to mess with them even if they don't have magic... truly the only sane people running around out here
so you're telling me the Inquisition screws Fairbanks over no matter what you do, b/c either he dies or he's forced into Orlesian politics. Oh buddy I'm sorry we should've just let you frolic around in the Emerald Graves on your own you didn't deserve this
Poor Tessa. she is probably better off without him in the long run but that's a rough week
I was so excited to see Kirkwall again, I saw the horrific chain statues and went 'OH HELLHOLE MORE LIKE HELLHOME'. it's so grim and awful I miss it so much lol
meredith, huh. so uh. hawke really has failed at everything, pretty much, then. even the few people they did manage to kill to protect everyone didn't stay dead. I'm just waiting for the dragon they killed in the Bone Pit to come back and ravage the city as well now, just to top it off. celestial punching bag of thedas hawke. babyyyyyyyyy if it helps I still love you the most and so does your collection of bi weirdos found family
rezaren wasn't even that good a mage, as far as we can tell, so you have to wonder what the FUCK dorian's ancestor was pulling to have created this thing that he could barely control with half a dragon's worth of blood (and what someone like Dorian, who helped crack time like an egg in his student days sort of just to see if he could, it seems, could do with it if they didn't have like scruples or other pesky things like that. everything we see about tevinter magisters makes me more impressed with how comparatively not fundamentally shitty Dorian has managed to turn out (no wonder Bull is kind of impressed with him for having actual integrity, if this is the competition he's up against). can you tell I miss him lol)
I found it genuniely interesting how much rezaren and hira are thematic mirrors to each other and mutually cannot see it, right down to treating miriam ultimately as an object. same self-centered idiot, different hairstyles. what a scathing indictment of Tevinter high society that even Hira, who's family was notoriously progressive and trying to enact change, still treats people exactly the same way as the other magisters when push comes to shove.
thank u to Lacklon for pessimistic cynical bastard representation, he is right that that dragon is going to ravage the countryside and someone on the crew has to keep clear eyes for that sort of thing even when it's a downer
#dragon age#dragon age absolution#dragon age absolution spoilers#dragon age: absolution spoilers#dragon age: absolution
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Okay, so, here's a random scene that popped in my head for the Cryptid AU! This is the first time I'm sharing fanfiction that I've written, so any feedback is helpful! I'm still working on character voices too, so I hope it's showing up on the writing. Anyway, enjoy!!
-------------------------------------------------------
"Is this thing on?" The camera jostled as hands began to adjust the screen and move the lens in place.
"Danny, be careful! It's expensive equipment, we can't have a fiasco like last time" another voiced responded, with a slightly annoyed tone. "Don't worry about the tech stuff, I got it all taken care of." The image of a young man's chest focused in the viewfinder. His brown, handmade sweater was the main focus of the entire screen, until he stepped back to be seen. "Okay, stop there for a sec... let me try to find a better angle..." The camera moved back to get the boy in the frame. A row of corn stalks were seen standing behind him, waving as a slight breeze rolled a cloud, briefly, over the setting sun. The golden light cast long shadows of the stalks, shading him and his features, darker than they usually were.
Danny tapped his foot as he waited, turning towards the left side of the video, shoving his hands in his black jeans' pockets. "Sam, are you sure I have to wear this? It's itchy..." he shrugged in the sweater, trying to get it more comfortable and shivered as another breeze rolled by.
"I made that, you better wear it!" Sam chided from out of frame. "Besides, it makes you... blend in a little. You don't look as out of place, like you usually do. Like a local, or something. Also, seeing as your shivering, it'll keep you warm as we investigate, Clueless."
Danny rolled his blue eyes and then averted his attention back to the camera. "C'mon Tuck, we go live in about 2 minutes, we have to be ready. It's the first live video on the channel!"
"Hold your horses, let the tech master work his magic!" Tuck shouted. "Dude, you're really on edge."
"Sorry, Im just excited... and kind of nervous. I mean, what if the audience sees something theyre... not supposed to, ya know?" He tugged on his sweater sleeves.
"It'll be fine. We picked an easy investigation. Trust me, I researched all night about it." Sam said.
After a moment of more adjusting, a muttering under breath, "There! Alright, we're ready to go live!" Danny beamed, eyes glowing, and clapped his hands together, instantly shaking off his nerves.
"Alright keep your eye on the time. Remember, we're just going to focus on the legend. If anything happens, act like it's nothing. Then we'll end the stream..."
"And then we can take care of some real business." Sam finished, walking on screen. She wore a dark purple cardigan, over a black turtleneck, a thick book in her arms. She opened it up to show Danny a couple pages. "Here, this should help ease that overly active brain of yours. It should either be dormant, or not active. Besides, according to this book, it won't be hard to deal with at all. The easiest way to keep it away, if we need to, is by walking backwards. That way, it'll feel like we're watching it. Should be a good show, with no issues!" She smiled towards Tuck behind the camera, humor dancing in her eyes. "So long as you can keep everything in frame this time, 'tech master'" she joked, raising a pierced eyebrow.
"Ha ha." A red gloved hand came into view, shooing at Sam. "We're on in 30 seconds! Get out of frame, cryptkeeper." Sam stuck out her tongue and moved out of frame, still smiling.
Danny adjusted the mic hooked to his sweater collar, smoothed his messy hair as best he could, and took a deep breath. "Ready Tuck?"
"Always ready, Danny." Tuck responded. His gloved hand came back into frame, giving a tuumbs up. "It'll be awesome. Nothing will go wrong." He counted down from five with his fingers, and pointed at the other to start.
"Welcome back everyone to Phantom Haunts, the channel where we investigate Paranormal occurances..."
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man this mod is adorable. Im excited to see the subway boys as parents if you choose to implement that
I'm glad that you think so! We actually filled out all of the dialogue prompts regarding submas having children so, yes, you can become parents with them. Whether or not they're good at it.... well.....
We tried to keep things as realistic as possible between them while following the same kind of prompts found within the parenting dialogue for the vanilla characters (which... includes more awkward things like how they would hint at wanting a second child... ;;>.>)
For Ingo, we thought would have a better time being a parent than his brother, since he's the customer service representative between them and would be more experienced in taking care of others/children. Emmet..... would try his best! He would struggle more with things.... he's not the the best with people in general, let alone children. Emmet is more used to taking care of Pokémon and has a lower tolerance for usual child things like making messes or not following whatever rules he sets (they're babies... they can't read or understand him...) and he gets frustrated about that. That's not to say that Ingo doesn't have his share of struggles, either! They love their children, but they both get terribly worried and stressed about them.
The both of them do enjoy being uncles to each other's children, though! They always talk about each other and make sure to visit often (.... pretend children ever actually leave the house in Stardew lol).
You can see all of the parenthood related lines under the readmore! ("OneKid" indicates the farmer having one child, with "TwoKid" indicating having two children)
▷ Station Steward Thylak
▲ Ingo ▲
"OneKid_0": "Our little conductor has been quite curious as of late! [Kid Name] has been running around at full-steam! Even Chandelure has not been able to keep up with them!"
"OneKid_1": "I hope you don’t mind if I take [Kid Name] with me to the station sometime! Emmet has been wanting to show them how a steam train works! Of course, they won’t quite understand the complexities of a locomotive just yet, but I’m sure that he would allow them to sound the whistle! Since [Kid Name] already enjoys the sound of a wooden train whistle- well- I can’t wait for them to hear the real thing!"
"OneKid_2": "I have noticed that our little conductor seems a bit lonely as of late.... Do not worry, my dear. [Kid Name] is happy and healthy! Though, I can’t help but think they are missing something..... I’m not sure what. Perhaps it will come to me at a later time. For now, they seem content with playing with the Pokémon! Why, Excadrill has been attempting to teach them how to dig outside! Which.... leads to the problem of them tracking mud everywhere…. Ghuugh… I’ll see if Garbador can help with cleanup."
"OneKid_3": "[Farmer Name]... our little conductor has been having an issue falling asleep at night. They have become quite the troublesome Noctowl.... On top of that- when they do sleep, they are like a Snorlax. I cannot get them to wake! I feel as if [Kid Name] has inherited my sleeping habits, as I do make it a habit to be up quite late during work hours and, well, you know how I can get in the early mornings. Perhaps a visit to Dr. Harvey can give us an idea how to adjust their schedule! They are still growing and need a proper schedule!"
"TwoKid_0": "It fills the firebox that is my heart with joy seeing [Kid Name] and [Second Kid Name] play together. They have certainly become their own two-car train. Much like myself and Emmet when we were kids.... [Kid Name] cares a considerable amount for [Second Kid Name]. I should perhaps take them to see Emmet."
"TwoKid_1": "[Farmer Name]... are you alright with our little conductors leaving home someday? Of course, it’s in the far off future.... but, I cannot help but worry about what's to come. Why, alongside my brother, I went off on a Pokémon journey just like most other children do when they reach the age of 10, of course others start a bit later in their teens... To travel and see the world with Pokémon... it is a life changing experience. You learn a lot and are never alone. No matter what tracks [Kid Name] and [Second Kid Name] choose in life, I will support them every step of the way. I will always encourage them to aim for greater heights! Aah... apologies, my dearest..... Emmet may be right about my hairline if I keep worrying about unplaced tracks."
"TwoKid_2": "[Second Kid Name] has become quite fussy with their food as of late. Why, they keep feeding Garbador the vegetables you have worked so hard to grow! Perhaps there is a texture they dislike..... It is quite the problem. I also believe [Kid Name] is hiding their food as well...... Uuugh... I hope Emmet and I were not like this towards Drayden when we were younger. Though. I wouldn’t doubt it if we were!"
"TwoKid_3": "I noticed today that [Second Kid Name] was upset about something. I was about to check up on them when [Kid Name] stepped in and cheered them up! I can’t help but be proud of them both... I hope that they continue on these tracks, with no end terminal in sight! Sorry dear, for derailing a bit..... I can’t help but miss my own brother at times! Our children both remind me greatly of when we were little conductors ourselves! Though, I know I can see him anytime, as his tracks are right around the corner! Perhaps I should plan to take them both to visit their favorite uncle!"
✦
▽ Emmet ▽
"OneKid_0": "I am Emmet. I've never expected to be a father. I will be the best! Yup! I will make sure [Kid Name] is verrrry happy! I am nervous, though. What if I mess up? Is this what Drayden felt? If it is, then it is not a nice feeling. Nope."
"OneKid_1": "I am Emmet. I have to pay attention to [Kid Name]. I do not want Eelektross or Galvantula to accidentally shock them. That will be verrrrrrry bad! They are not used to Electric-type Pokémon. Joltik should be okay though. They do not conduct their own electricity... and if they do accidentally exert it, it is like a static shock. I may be immune to paralysis now, but I remember static not being that bad. A kid can handle it. I did. I'm fine now. Unstoppable, even! Eelektross will have to learn to be verrrry gentle though. But do not worry darling. [Kid Name] will be okay! Worst case, I'll protect them!"
"OneKid_2": "[Kid Name] seems lonely. They play with plenty of Pokémon. But they have no one to share their experience with.... I can't imagine growing up like that. I am Emmet. I was always a two-car train with Ingo. I think it would be verrrrrrrrry lonely without him. I wonder if we would have been okay with only our Pokémon.... That makes me rather sad to think about. Nevermind. Maybe I'm projecting. I am Emmet. [Kid Name] is [Kid Name]. Maybe they would be better with a sibling. Maybe they're fine as they are now. It is what it is."
"OneKid_3": "I am Emmet! I will be taking [Kid Name] to see Ingo at the station! It will be verrrry exciting for [Kid Name] to learn about trains! Ingo is a verrrry good Uncle! Yup! However, he spoils [Kid Name]..... That is not good if he accidentally praises them for breaking a verrrrry important rule..... [Kid Name] will be on their best behavior! Yup! It is verrrry important at the Railroad to follow all safety checks and operating procedures! Follow the rules. Safe driving. Follow the schedule. Everybody smile! Check Safety! Right, [Kid Name], you will be verrrry well behaved! All aboard!"
"TwoKid_0": "I am Emmet... I am verrrry happy to have [Kid Name] and [Second Kid Name]. I love them verrry much. They have become a two-car train. They look out for each other. However, they are trouble makers..... They get into everything. Yup. Galvantula has tried to help, but she has her Joltiks to worry about. [Kid Name] and [Second Kid Name] are our little Joltiks."
"TwoKid_1": "[Second Kid Name] keeps on pulling on Archeops' tail. He is being verrrrry patient with them. But he cannot fly away, as he is not good with flying. So he is stuck with [Second Kid Name]... [Kid Name] keeps leading themself into trouble. I found them hiding in a laundry basket. Yup. They made a mess everywhere. Durant has been helping with finding them, as they run around everywhere. They have a lot of energy! Too much energy…. They are a speeding train with no end in sight!"
"TwoKid_2": "I am Emmet. I am getting verrry annoyed at Ingo. He says I can be a bit too hard on our kids.... But there are rules that [Kid Name] and [Second Kid Name] must follow! Safety checks are verrrrrry important. Especially around our Pokémon. They may break the rules. Or plan behind my back. Thinking that I am not watching…. But I see them. They are verrrrry quick learners though. I cannot stop them. I should apologize to Ingo for teasing him about his hair. Having [Kid Name] and [Second Kid Name] has made me verrrrry worried for their safety! I just want them to grow up to be the best! Yup! But it is verrry difficult! Because they do not follow any rules!"
"TwoKid_3": "[Second Kid Name] has become verrrry competitive. They think everything is a game..... Do you think [Second Kid Name] will be a good Pokémon Trainer? The tracks of becoming a Pokémon Trainer are verrrrrry far away. I went on a journey with Ingo when I was 10! Just like everyone else! Yup! If [Kid Name] and [Second Kid Name] decide to go on a Pokémon Journey. I will miss them and worry about them everyday. But I know they will be the best! With you by my side, [Farmer Name], I know I will be okay with our little Joltiks leaving to pursue their own dreams. But for now. They need us! They are toddlers! Verrrrrry troublesome toddlers...."
#mail car connecting line#subway to stardew#The twins are total uncleguys#Fathers.......................... well.................. they try#Make them into parents and they'll go bald in no time#Personally I can't imagine it going particularly well but if you really want to see what happens.... go for it#Thank you Kade for writing most of this and figuring it out ^^;;; there isn't a paternal bone in my body it'd be a trainwreck#ALSO there's no way to have dialogue change based on kid genders so all of your kids are they/thems I hope that's okay
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All the Time in the World - Chapter 8
Birkhall, March 2020
“What did your test say?” His voice sounds husky over the phone and it sets my heart in a little flutter of panic.
“It’s negative, Darling.”
“Thank God. Phone me in an hour. I have to write a letter.”
The days have merged together in a way which seems to make time stand still. An ongoing void of hours which lead to more isolated hours, filled with worry. I look up from my book expecting at least twenty minutes to have flown by but they never do. They crawl. I made a shrewd prediction with this virus but I expected that we would be safe at Birkhall, not infected and hiding away from spreading it to other people. Why him? Why not me?
The phone rings again and at first I’m glad for the hour to be over, and then very aware that only fifteen minutes have passed and I’m gripped with panic again. I know it’s him. “What is it?”
“William, he’s positive.”
Oh, good Lord. “He’ll be fine, Darling. He’s young, fit. You don’t need to worry.” Please don’t worry. Concentrate on getting better. I’ll do all the worrying for you.
“He says he feels fine.”
“Well that’s just what you need to hear. Thank goodness.” I’m going to phone his wife later and prize out the real story. William’s never let us know when he’s ill. Not when he was at school and was struck down with flu, he carried on attending lessons until his house master noticed how much he was struggling and phoned us. Not when he was at university and had a kidney infection and Kate phoned us in a panic when she found him doubled over in pain. It’s as if he has to maintain a facade at all times.
“I’m sure you’re right. I seem to be fine anyway.”
He doesn’t sound fine to me but I bypass the issue. “Well that’s good to hear.”
“Darling, if I’m not, I don’t want you to come and visit me.”
“What?”
“If, and I fervently hope it doesn’t come to this, but if it does, you’re not to come to see me.”
“Darling, if you’re ill, I’m coming to see you.”
“No. I don’t want you to. I’ve seen those awful videos from Italy. I don’t want you visiting me when I’m like that.”
“How ridiculous. I don’t care what you look like.”
“And if I’m ventilated, you must stay away.”
“I will not!”
“Everyone else has to die alone. I’m not being the exception.”
“What the fuck?”
“I know they’ll let you in if you push them. No one will say no to you. They won’t dare. I’m telling you now, I don’t want you there.”
The shock from his words strikes through me and I’m at a loss for what to say.
“Darling, put your camera on. I want to see you.”
“I don’t…”
“Camilla, put your camera on.”
My hands are shaking as I reach for my iPad and press the call button. He never uses my full name and there was something about the tone that I couldn’t argue with. It takes us a few minutes to fix the connection between us and to adjust the video and the volume on the speakers but the time gives me a little chance to think and devise my argument.
“You can’t be seen to have special treatment.”
“That’s the most ridiculous argument. If you’re about to die, it matters not two hoots what anyone thinks. The entire country can hate me, it’s not anything I’m not used to. And it wouldn’t matter. I’m not living this life without you.”
“Darling, you can’t come. What if you catch it from me?”
“I don’t care!”
“Well I do!”
“You wouldn’t even know - you’d be hooked up to a ventilator.”
“I want you to promise me, you won’t come.”
“No!”
“You have to.”
“No, I bloody don’t!”
“I want to die knowing you’re safe. Knowing that I’ve not made my family’s position harder than it already is.”
It’s been a very long time since he made me cry and I do now without hiding my eyes, letting him see but he’s resolved; his face is crumpled with guilt but he holds his position. He watches me cry. “How can you not let me say goodbye to you?” I do cover my face now as the tears turn to sobs and I turn my face to shield myself, my shoulders shaking.
“Let me see you.”
“How can you watch me cry?”
“Because I want you to be safe. Promise me, Milla.”
“No!”
“Dammit, it’s the only thing I can do to make dying alone in a hell hole bearable. I need to know you’ll be okay.” He shouts at the camera and the speakers distort his voice.
“I’m not going to be okay!” I scream the words back at him and end the call. Then I turn it off and unplug the phone, just as I hear it ring. I’m so angry I want to hit something and my heart has cracked and the pain is like nothing I can remember. I pace about in my room until I can’t take it anymore and I fly to my bedroom and grab the largest pillow and hug it to my chest to staunch the pain. His first reason, his primary reason, isn’t anything to do with me. All he cares about is his public perception. Then the tears come with a vengeance, making me rock with the violence of the emotion as I cling to the pillow as if for life. I want his arms around me. I want to push my face into his neck and breathe him in.
2000, St James’ Palace
As wonderful as it is to be able to be seen with him, out in public, I feel bereft this morning when he leaves me to go to his appointments. I need to remember how far we’ve come and try not to wish for more time. The impossibility of our situation was almost easier to deal with when there was no hope of a life together. Now it feels like it could be possible, I’m impatient. And bored. So bored. It’s difficult to maintain life as it used to be. There are so many ordinary things which are now almost impossible for me to do, but that gaping hole in my life isn’t filled by being able to see him more often. We still have so little time together.
Charles tells me to occupy myself by getting involved in charities, but I feel like a fraud, like I’m trying too hard to be someone I’m not, or worse, like I’m emulating his ex-wife. I don’t want to take her place. I don’t want to be anything like her. My life is narrowing to a point where I can see why she was so angry and frustrated but I refuse to complain about the pressure to him. The constant humiliation and attacks I get from the media, from supposed friends, from The Firm, from Charles’s family, are almost crippling and everything I do is wrong. I embarrass him. I damage him. I’ve made him the laughing stock of the entire world. His younger brother has a particularly visceral reaction towards me, sitting on his mother’s knee, whispering my faults like a serpent around her neck. It’s like fighting the wind. I try at least to look the part, pay more attention to my personal grooming. He didn’t ask me to but he didn’t object when it was suggested and I’ve now got a rather generous allowance just for that. I’m torn between the knowledge that I must look the part, and a deep resentment that I must do this to be considered acceptable. But whatever I do, the photographers always see the worst. I see the pictures occasionally and I look so awful, I sometimes worry that they’re right. Why would he choose to be with someone so hideous? And then I give myself a stern talking to because I know better than any person on the planet where his heart lies. But the allowance is almost an admittance that I’m not enough for him. This deep-set hurt is so insignificant in the grand scheme of things that I ignore it, try to lock that feeling away. I don’t want to make anything in his life any more difficult than I already have done.
His distinctive footsteps distract me from my thoughts and I get up to greet him. He’s so happy to see me, I see his eyes light up and I forget the pain. He is what I am fighting for.
“Darling, thank goodness you’re here.”
Where else would I be? I don’t say it as it feels a little peevish. Instead, I kiss him and help him take off his jacket before pulling him for the tea that’s already laid out ready for us, chatting to him, asking him about his day. He looks at me peculiarly, alarm in his pale blue eyes and my heart knots with anxiety.
“Sit next to me.” He yanks my arm and I sit next to him, worried as his hands rub my thighs like he’s trying to comfort me. “I don’t think you’re being very honest with me.”
“What am I not being very honest about?”
“I think you’re being false with me to try not to upset me.”
“I’m not being false.”
“You’ve stopped arguing with me.”
“Perhaps I just agree with you more.”
“You’re always pretending to be happy, dealing with me…”
“I want you to be happy…”
“No. I feel like it’s no longer real… This, between us. It’s a facade. It’s you appeasing me. It’s not a real relationship.”
My breath chokes in my throat and nothing comes out. I feel my eyes welling up and have no control as my nose blocks up almost instantly. The worst thing about it is that he’s correct. I’m living on a tightrope, dealing with him, managing him. Concealing my own pain from him.
“I’m right, aren’t I?”
His eyes are watery and they break me, letting uncensored tears flow down my face, each moment that passes makes it more difficult to breathe. “Please don’t do this to me again.” I don’t know how the words escape but they stab me when I hear myself say them; the memory of phoning him to be told he doesn’t want to speak to me, he doesn’t want to see me anymore, is still so raw it merges with this new agony. To my shame, I clasp onto his hands, bending double so my face is on his lap and my body erupts into sobs.
“Do what?”
“Please don’t leave me.” I feel his body tense up with my words and I know he’s angry.
“I’m not, I’m not. Of course I’m not.”
But his voice is gentle and I feel his lips kissing the back of my neck even as I break into a fresh round of sobs.
“No, Darling, I’ll not do that to you ever again.”
He doesn’t try to shush me as the pain from not being chosen jars through me.
“I’d convinced myself that everyone was right about you, that I needed to let you go.”
“You didn’t even tell me…”
‘I was a coward. I’m so sorry.”
He pulls his hands from the clasp of my own and then strokes my hair. I feel him kiss the back of my head even as I burrow further into his lap.
“But you told me it was okay. That you understood.”
“I did understand!”
“And you’re doing the same now. You’re so understanding but you’re doing it at your own detriment.”
“I’m sorry. Please don’t leave me.”
“I’m not leaving you. I’ll never leave you. Don’t apologise. I don’t deserve it. Please sit up, Darling.”
It takes me some time to sit up. For the shock to dissolve through my body, for my nerves to calm. He sits with me, stroking my hair, my back, until the sobs become a trickle down my face that I can’t stem and I sit up enough to look at him, feeling him holding my shoulders.
“I thought that the only way the public would accept me divorcing Diana was if you took the fall.”
“You were manipulated…”
“No, I wasn’t. I thought I was making the right decision. You need to know that I chose to do that to you. It was my own poor judgement. I’m so sorry but I wasn’t listening to what people said and was swayed. I thought I was doing the right thing. You don’t need to worry about what other people are saying to me; every person on earth can tell me I should leave you and I’ll never do that again. They were some of the worst weeks of my life.”
“You just cut me out.”
“I know, I know. I’m sorry. I was so cruel to you. It was easier to not speak to you, to let my secretary inform you I didn’t want to talk to you again. I was so, so wrong. But Milla, you just forgave me, I didn’t know you were still so upset about it.”
“You rang me hysterical, what was I meant to do? I love you. I know you.”
“That’s what you do. And I love you for it, but you internalise everything. And I don’t realise how much you’re hurting. Milla, that was four years ago, you sheltered me from that for far too long. What are you hiding from me now?”
“Nothing.”
“That’s a lie. Darling, I want this relationship, but I want it to be a relationship between two adults. Let me in.”
I shake my head at him, trying to stop the tears from falling down my cheeks. It’s too difficult.
“Do you not trust me?”
No. I don’t. I know him too well. I know I can’t do this. I have to be the strong one. “Yes, I trust you.”
“You don’t trust me.”
I hear his sigh and I reach for him automatically, knowing I’ve hurt him, wrapping my arms around his head, feeling his arms encompass me. “It’s too much, all at once. I do trust you.” I’m trying to appease him and I’m not sure he believes me.
“Well then, start small. Tell me one thing that is hurting you.”
We’re silent for a long time. Long enough for the tears to dry on my cheeks, enough to almost be in a daze of sleep. He holds me and doesn’t let go. He’s waiting for me. “Sometimes…” But the words tie around my tongue and it’s like a brace, holding them in. I feel his thumb rubbing against my shoulder and I know he’s waiting. I take a breath, “Sometimes I allow it to get to me…” I feel my chest constraining the words and they tail off. He waits but I can’t continue.
“What gets to you, Darling?”
“What,” I clear my throat, “people say about me.”
“Is there anything in particular?”
“Everything.”
“What’s everything? Tell me, Darling.”
“I can’t.”
“Well shall I run through the things I think you might be bothered by and you can just tell me yes or no?”
I feel like he’s scraping away at my insides with a scalpel and I have to evade the scrutiny. “It’s not one thing. It’s just a cumulation of everything. I’m being silly.”
“You’re not being silly. I don’t think any person alive has ever had to suffer the indignities you’ve suffered.”
“It doesn’t bother me…”
“It evidently does…”
“It doesn’t. It’s not that people say things, it’s that because of their words, we’re pulled apart.”
I’m so sorry. I’m sorry I exposed you to the press. I’m sorry that you’ve been made into a pariah. I’m sorry that loving me has hurt you so much. But it’s going to get better, I promise you, My Darling, I will do everything I can to make things better and we’ll be together eventually.”
And even as I love him for his words and I tell him, it’s not the whole truth. What upsets me is that I am never, and never will be, his first priority. Although the words and spite cause me pain, I can rise above them. What makes my heart ache is the understanding that I am an embarrassment that he needs to manage, carefully mould into his life. If I ever become too damaged to rehabilitate, he’ll drop me like a stone to ensure the good standing of his family. It’s not something I will ever say. I understood this a long time ago and I accept it. But that doesn’t mean that it doesn’t hurt.
#duchess of cornwall#camilla#camilla duchess of cornwall#camilla fanfiction#charles and camilla#duchess camilla#love story#prince charles and camilla#charles and camilla fanfiction#charles and camilla fanfic#king charles lll#king charles and queen camilla#king and queen#marriage#divorce#dysfunctional family#soul mates#old friends#trauma#love conquers all#romance#passion#prince charles fiction#prince of wales#covid#covid19#pandemic#lockdown#sickness#frustration
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Hey, it's the Grace of Light again. Thank you for the reassurance, and I know you say that putting it out of mind is best, but...
Well, it's just really freaking me out that I know it's coming, but don't know what it'll be... and I know that there probably just is no way to know for sure, but I'd like to at least narrow the possibility space a little?
Basically I'm hoping you could give me examples of Grace cataclysms you've seen/heard about? Just so I can at least have some understanding of how bad it'll be?
A lot of guides seem to avoid posting specific examples, or don't say if they're talking about a Grace specifically, or a Waste. I feel like I'm flying really blind here.
I imagine specifics are light in the wild, either because the nature of the cataclysm is unpredictable (the common joke is that when you're making plans for your sessions on a whiteboard, you draw a line, on the left is your "pre-cataclysm" plans, and on the right you leave "post-cataclysm" plans blank because once it happens everything you wrote up to this point will have been rendered obsolete) or because of causality. The state of knowing a horrible thing will happen, but letting it happen anyway, is something non-Time players have trouble grasping, but in much the same way that you need to let it happen or else you create a Doomed Timeline, you need to let your cataclysm happen. SBURB's intention in making you a Grace is to put you into the spotlight, and preventing your abilities from causing a cataclysm necessarily reduces your visibility. Which SBURB will respond to by killing you.
You're a native Time player, so I imagine you already know this, so I will help you out. But I wanna underline it. If you attempt to prevent the cataclysm from happening, you will die.
Graces bring change through passively igniting catastrophic chain reactions. Their influence is more akin to poison than it is to setting off bombs. Light governs the domains of probability manipulation, favorizing outcomes, and good luck, as well as light as a physical phenomenon. Graces are a heavily passive caster-type class, and Light is heavily oriented around support abilities. With all of these bases in mind, I can somewhat easily formulate some ideas as to what your cataclysm will look like.
As a Grace of Light, you'll have a number of extremely powerful support abilities, mainly oriented around giving good luck to allies or issuing blessings that make things easier for them in their ventures. You'll be handing out luck like they're asses, and your coplayers have known nothing but years of bitter ass famine. And because the Grace class is so powerful, it'll be really good luck as well. So much good luck suffuses the air, passively increasing luck accumulation for everyone. People will probably begin leaning on it more, alchemizing equipment which provide chance-based special effects, or creating impossible plans that would only work if 1-in-a-million chances happen 9-times-out-of-ten. Then, at some point, because you've tilted the sclaes so far in one direction, the scales will flip right off the table. Probably once you go berserk and use [Dance of Thorns], accumulating truly massive amounts of luck such that you become a black hole of good fortune and go supermassive.
I predict that your cataclysm will be the luck probabilities for your session being thrown permanently out of whack as the session tries to re-adjust the values back to normal. In doing so, all of the very lucky players (except you, naturally) will have their high values overflow into naturally being dogshit, thus making everyone permanently unlucky. On the flipside, NPCs (who normally do not accumulate luck, and indeed benefit less from luck as a game balancing mechanic) will be naturally very lucky. Not only making combat a lot riskier, but ensuring that the player's plans (which they'll need to re-learn actually making real plans) will go sour in some way inevitably. You will thus be extremely noticeable for not only being the only one not cursed with bad luck, but for being the only real means through which people can be "blessed" to normal-or-higher levels of probability.
This is just one possibility, keep in mind. The "luck crash" could end up not happening, and instead the team's good luck fritzes out at a critical, session-derailing moment. Or Light's other domains of opening new paths, allowing new possibility, and alleviating burdens, while normally good, end up opening the path for something that should be impossible and changes the nature of your duties, or alleviates a burden that should never be alleviated (like hardcoded NPC behavior or basic game mechanics concerning aspects of physics or reality). I just think the luck crash is the likely one.
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