#male turk
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only play ff7 and learning about the franchise so I can fuck Reno and Zack :P (I legit know nothing about them but sue me)
#male reader#male y/n#top male reader#x male reader#x top male reader#reno ff7#reno of the turks#ff7 remake#zack fair#zack fair x male reader#reno x male reader#final fantasy vii#final fantasy x male reader
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Being Aerith's older brother and liking Reno
Notes: male reader, back on my reno simping,
Genre: fluff
Warnings: none
once again begging and crying to donate to my top surgery or even just share it, link in my bio + post on my acc!!
☆ At first you were just a mission. Him and the other turks were assigned to keep watch over you and Aerith since you were both valuable to ShinRa.
☆ As expected you two did not get along at all. You thought of him as Shinra scum and he thought of you as a stubborn brat despite only being two years younger than him.
☆ You avoided him as much as possible and made sure to be around Aerith whenever the turks showed up. You knew she could handle herself but you're her older brother, of course you were going to worry.
☆ Reno started to admire that. The constant love and protection you gave to your little sister. In a way Reno found himself jealous, he never had family or anyone in general who treated him the way you treat Aerith.
☆ Soon enough he started hanging around you more. He wouldn't stop bugging you until you acknowledged him either so ignoring him never worked.
☆ After months of constant pestering you realized you didn't actually mind his presence, in fact you enjoyed it. Whenever he was away you would start missing him.
☆ When you came to the conclusion you liked Reno you just told him. "I like you a lot Reno."
☆ "Wait really? I mean, ah yeah of course why wouldn't you? I like you too, cutie."
☆ You two started dating and Rude now owes Aerith 10 gil.
#male reader#x reader#ffvii x reader#reno sinclair x reader#reno ff7#ff7 x reader#reno x reader#im such a simp for reno#final fantasy x reader#final fantasy#reno of the turks#ff7 turks#reno sinclair#ff7 reno#ffvii
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Sorry but i did say i would hasan post
I will always feel like we moved on from this to quickly like?!?! 1 its so well done and has the perfect everything 2 this will never not be super hot and so sbshbdjdhejebejejs. god bless this photographer her vision is perfect!!
#yes pleaaaaase#id let him murder me#fake bl00d#photoshoot#hasan piker#hasanabi#hasan#kong magazine#fake weapons#hot turk#hot male
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izzet yüksek icon’s
#icons#turk#duy beni#site models male#mirror pic#selfie#teen boys icons#actor#model#izzet yüksek#twitter#fc
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All I’ve been doing in the Sims is getting Reno pregnant 😂
#I mean it’s fun 🤷♀️#who wouldn’t wanna impregnate him?#he’s just so#yeah#the sims 4#the sims mods#ff7#final fantasy 7#reno#reno of the turks#reno sinclair#pregnant#male pregnancy#I’m so sorry if you read this#I know I’m weird
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Hi! Feel free to reject but can I get Lucifer having a male (or female if you feel more comfortable writing that) best friend that everyone pretty much assumes they are together? Like JD and Turk friendship from Scrubs.
Example in this video: https://youtu.be/lgeoL_QV3y0?si=aupEDU2dD98aBklr
Lucifer x male best friend reader
✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿
Lucifer is obviously JD in this situation
You used to be an angel untill Lucifer fell
U threw your halo off and fell through the clouds so he wouldn't be alone (even though he was there with lilth)
In hell you took on the roll of his assistant/advisor
You even lived with him and lilith
You like his other half
He cannot function with you and vise versa
Lilith couldn't believe that as straight as the two of you are completely gay for each other
When Charlie was born it was like she had 2 dads
"Y/N Y/N Y/N Y/N!" Lucifer came storming into your room, practically jumping out of his skin.
"WHAT WHAT WHAT WHAT!" You matched his energy.
"CHARLIE INVITED ME TO THE HOTEL!" He squealed like a school girl.
"OH MY GOD! when?"
"In an hour.... We gotta get ready."
Que Lucifer and you rushing to look presentable (even though you already do)
-------
From the moment you two arrived at the hotel a certain spider demon took notice of your peculiar relationship.
You sat yourself at the bar along with mimzie.
"Soo you and the short guy fuckin'." Angel bluntly stated.
"Oh no no no. I'm straight. He's straight. But he's 100℅ mine." You explained.
"Oh like a bromance shorta thing, that's cute." Mimzie said while sipping on her drink.
"How long you two been together." Angel insist on considering you a couple.
"From the start."
✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿
#hazbin hotel fluff#hazbin hotel x reader#lucifer x reader#male reader#platonic#reticent writes#reticent writer
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When I refer to zionists as textbook genocide denialists, btw, I'm talking about literal textbooks I was assigned in my genocide studies classes. Here's an excerpt from one, Genocide: A Comprehensive Introduction by Adam Jones, detailing common genocide denialist arguments. I've bolded arguments that I've personally heard from zionists (including ‘neutral’ fence-sitters, who are on the side of the oppressor by default) — during the current Gaza genocide, but also in reference to the entire history of the genocidal zionist occupation. It's important to learn to recognize these arguments and call them what they are, genocide denial, rather than excusing denialists as simply misinformed or misguided.
"Among the most common discourses of genocide denial are the following:
'Hardly anybody died.'
Reports of atrocities and mass killings are depicted as exaggerated and self-serving. ... Photographic and video evidence is dismissed as fake or staged. Gaps in physical evidence are exploited, particularly an absence of corpses. Where are the bodies of the Jews killed by the Nazis? (Incinerated, conveniently for the deniers.) Where are the bodies of the thousands of Kosovars supposedly killed by Serbs in 1999? (Buried on military and police bases, or dumped in rivers and down mineshafts, as it transpired.) When the genocides lie far in the past, obfuscation is easier. Genocides of indigenous peoples are especially subject to this form of denial. In many cases, the groups in question suffered near-total extermination, leaving few descendants and advocates to press the case for truth.
'It was self-defense.'
'The onset of [genocidal] killing,' wrote Jacques Sémelin, 'almost always seems to involve this astounding sleight of hand that assimilates the destruction of civilians with a perfectly legitimate act of war. From that moment on, massacre becomes an act of self-defense.' Murdered civilians - especially adult males – are depicted as 'rebels,' 'brigands,' 'partisans,' 'terrorists.' The state and its allies are justified in eliminating them, though unfortunate 'excesses' may occur. Deniers of the Armenian genocide, for example, play up the presence of armed elements and resistance among the Armenian population – even clearly defensive resistance. ... Genocide may also be depicted as an act of pre-emptive self-defense, based on atrocities, actual or alleged, inflicted on the perpetrator group in the past – sometimes the very distant past. Sémelin, for example, has explained Serbs’ 'insensitivit[y] to the suffering they caused' in the Balkan genocide of the 1990s in terms of their inability to perceive any but 'their own woes' ... A substrategy of this discourse is the claim that 'the violence was mutual.' Where genocides occur in a context of civil or international war, they can be depicted as part of generalized warfare, perhaps featuring atrocities on all sides. This strategy is standard among the deniers of genocides by Turks, Japanese, Serbs, Hutus, and West Pakistanis – to name just a few. In Australia, Keith Windschuttle used killings of whites by Aboriginals to denounce 'The Myths of Frontier Massacres in Australian History.' ... Sometimes the deniers seem oblivious to the content of their claims, reflecting deeply embedded stereotypes and genuine ignorance, rather than malicious intent – as with the CNN reporter who blithely referred to the world standing by and 'watch[ing] Hutus and Tutsis kill each other' during the Rwandan genocide of 1994.
'The deaths weren’t intentional.'
The difficulties of demonstrating and documenting genocidal intent are exploited to deny that genocide occurred. The utility of this strategy is enhanced where a longer causal chain underpins mass mortality. Thus, when diverse factors combine to cause death, or when supposedly 'natural' elements such as disease and famine account for many or most deaths, a denialist discourse is especially appealing. It buttresses most denials of indigenous genocides, for example. Deniers of the Armenian and Jewish holocausts also contend that most deaths occurred from privations and afflictions that were inevitable, if regrettable, in a wartime context – in any case, not genocidal.
'There was no central direction.'
Frequently, states and their agents establish deniability by running off-duty death squads, or employing freelance forces such as paramilitaries (as in Bosnia-Herzegovina and Darfur), criminal elements (e.g., the chétés in the Armenian genocide), and members of the targeted groups themselves (Jewish kapos in the Nazi death camps; Mayan peasants conscripted for genocide against Mayan populations of the Guatemalan highlands). State attempts to eliminate evidence may mean that documentation of central direction, as of genocidal intent, is scarce. Many deniers of the Jewish Holocaust emphasize the lack of a clear order from Hitler or his top associates to exterminate European Jews. Armenian genocide denial similarly centers on the supposed freelance status of those who carried out whatever atrocities are admitted to have occurred.
'There weren’t that many people to begin with.' [*]
Where demographic data provide support for claims of genocide, denialists will gravitate towards the lowest available figures for the targeted population, or invent new ones. The effect is to cast doubt on mortality statistics by downplaying the victims’ demographic weight at the outbreak of genocide. This strategy is especially common in denials of genocide against indigenous peoples, as well as the Ottoman genocide of Christian minorities.
'It wasn’t/isn’t genocide, because ...'
Here, the ambiguities of the UN Genocide Convention are exploited, and combined with the denial strategies already cited. Atrocious events do not qualify as 'genocide' … because the victims were not
members of one of the Convention’s specified groups; because their deaths were unintended; because they were legitimate targets; because 'only' specific sectors of the target group (e.g., 'battle-age' men) were killed; because 'war is hell;' and so on.
'We would never do that.'
Collective pathological narcissism occludes recognition, or even conscious consideration, of genocidal culpability. When the state and its citizens consider themselves pure, peaceful, democratic, and lawabiding, responsibility for atrocity may be literally unthinkable. In Turkey, notes Taner Akçam, anyone 'dar[ing] to speak about the Armenian Genocide ... is aggressively attacked as a traitor, singled out for public condemnation and may even be put in prison.' In Australia, 'the very mention of an Australian genocide is … appalling and galling and must be put aside,' according to Colin Tatz. 'A curious national belief is that simply being Australian, whether by birth or naturalisation, is sufficient inoculation against deviation from moral and righteous behaviour.' Comedian Rob Corddry parodied this mindset in the context of US abuses and atrocities at Abu Ghraib prison near Baghdad. 'There’s no question what took place in that prison was horrible,' Corddry said on The Daily Show. 'But the Arab world has to realize that the US shouldn’t be judged on the actions of a ... well, we shouldn’t be judged on actions. It’s our principles that matter, our inspiring, abstract notions. Remember: just because torturing prisoners is something we did, doesn’t mean it’s something we would do.'
'We are the real victims.'
For deniers, the best defense is often a strong offense. With its 'Day of Fallen Diplomats,' Turkey uses Armenian terrorist attacks against Turkish diplomatic staff to pre-empt attention to the Turkish genocide against Armenians. In the case of Germany and the Nazi Holocaust, there is a point at which a victim mentality concentrating on German suffering leads to the horrors that Germans inflicted, on Jews and others, being downgraded or denied. In the Balkans, a discourse of genocide was first deployed by Serb intellectuals promoting a nationalist–xenophobic project; the only 'genocide' admitted was that against Serbs, whether by Croatians in the Second World War (which indeed occurred), or in Kosovo at the hands of the Albanian majority (which was a paranoid fantasy). Notably, this stress on victimhood provided powerful fuel for unleashing the genocides in the first place."
* Zionists make two demographic claims to deny genocide, and specifically to deny the Nakba: the first parallels what Jones says here — that there weren't many (or even any) Palestinians ("Arabs") in Palestine to begin with, and/or mass expulsions were actually voluntary migration. The second is a reversal, where zionists point to demographic data and claim that Palestinian population growth must mean genocide never occurred (as if genocide survivors aren't capable of having children). For further reading on Nakba denial specifically, Nur Masalha's work is a good place to start, especially The Palestine Nakba (2012), Politics of Denial (2003), A Land Without A People (1997), and Expulsion of the Palestinians (1992).
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Reno Sinclair x Jealous! Reader
(Y/n) sat quietly at the bar, eyes closed and sipping on a drink. Tifa was throwing a party for one reason or another, the (H/c) haired girl couldn't be bothered to try and remember as she was too busy fighting her irritation. This young lady had been in a relationship with a certain red-haired monkey, he was quite loyal but when drunk he had a bad habit of flirting and being flirted with. Currently he was a few stools down, 3 girls flirting with him, and he was soaking it up. She was on her 5th drink, having been so jealous that she hadn't realized how fast she was throwing them back. "Hey sis, you ok?" The sweet voice of (Y/n)'s favorite person caught her attention, she turned to Yuffie with a small smile. She loved her little sister; she was her best friend. "Re-Reno'ss drunk again." She could have facepalmed at how slurred her words were, she was certainly a power drinker when jealous. This wouldn't have really been a problem, if it wasn't for the fact, she was a light weight.
Yuffie looked around until her eyes settled on Reno, her cheeks puffed as she stomped her foot. Then she got an idea. "Come on, I know who can help us." She drug her drunken big sister over to where Vincent sat with Rufus, Cloud, Tifa and Rude. "Guys, (Y/n) needs our help." That got their attention, the (H/c) haired female never asked for much, so they were quick to focus. "Is someone bothering you (Y/n)?" Cloud was the first to speak up, setting his drink on the table they were at. When (Y/n) looked back at the bar so did they, quickly seeing what it was that bothered the girl. Rude had facepalmed, shaking his head before giving his partner's girlfriend a sympathetic look. "I told him when we got here not to drink so much." Cloud and Vincent sighed while watching the drunk male soak up the attention he was getting; Tifa had her hands on her hips. She didn't even know who those girls were, and the party was invite only, she walked over to tell the girls they had to go because it was a private party and maybe literally kick Reno out.
"Cloud I'm gonna need your and Vincent's help with my idea. We need to teach Reno a lesson." Yuffie turned to the two males, they didn't bother arguing as they knew the young girl would get her way one way or another.
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-
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Reno sat bored at the bar and staring at his drink, the girls having left at Tifa's request with apologies. Unlike with them Tifa wasn't as nice to Reno when threatening to throw him out, he had glanced around the room to try and find his girlfriend who had disappeared from the bar at some point. When he did find her, he found her paying a lot of attention to Vincent, and surprisingly he seemed to be returning that attention. They were drinking, sitting closer together than the red-haired Turk was comfortable with. He stood, stumbling in a rather uncool fashion as he almost fell on his face, and made his way over to the two. He began walking faster when he watched his girlfriend begin laughing at something the older Turk told her, not knowing Vincent to tell jokes this seemed to pour gas on the fire burning in him. When he got to the table, they had looked to him, (Y/n) gave him a rather smartass looking smirk which only made his eyes seem to darken. Seeming to sober him up a bit, his tone was rather flat when he spoke. "Hey (Y/n), can we talk outside?"
(Y/n) shrugged and excused herself to Vincent, following her red head while smirking the whole way. They went through a side door that led to the alley, when the door closed, and they were left alone (Y/n) found herself pressed to the wall before she could even open her mouth. Reno had kissed her deeply, his body pressed to hers. She of course was quick to respond with the same passion. He soon began leaving smoldering kisses along her neck, her fingers slipping up and into his hair. "Heh... Jealousy sucks huh?~" Quick to realize what had really gone down he simply growled, biting roughly onto her shoulder and making her gasp. That brought a smirk to his face, he then began carrying her to his car. His anger having sobered him up, she knew where this was going and couldn't wait. "Yeah, it does. Why don't you let me make it up to you baby girl?" But there was one thing neither even thought about, how was Rude getting home if Reno was his ride?
#candy cult vault#final fantasy#Reno Sinclair#reno x reader#fem reader#fluff#Reno is my favorite red headed Monkey#second only to Kenji#if you know you know lmao#poor rude puts up with so much from the red headed macaque.
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Anybody else love Tulsa McLean?
Home Sweet Oklahoma
A/N: This is a one-shot featuring one of my favorite Elvis movie characters from his 1960 movie GI Blues. I loooooove Tulsa and GI Blues for lots of reasons, but one of them is because I was born and raised in Oklahoma. I just couldn't help myself 😂. (Also please forgive any inaccuracies in my German, the geography, the time period, the military, etc. I did my best here.)
Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, masturbation (male), kissing, cussing, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), p in v sex, unprotected sex, and I think that's about it. It's pretty fluffy.
Word count: 6.3kish (I know it's long, but the backstory is important and it's a slow burn...)
When your father was transferred to Germany in 1956, the last thing you wanted to do was leave the states. You were just about to graduate from high school, so you argued and begged to be left behind. Of course, without a wedding ring on your finger, your father wasn't letting you live anywhere but where he was.
You never dreamed you'd love it here so much. Now, you've been here for four years and you've built a pretty good life. Still, sometimes you missed being back home. Not that you'd ever really had a place to call "home". Being a military brat wasn't easy and you'd never lived anywhere longer than 4 years at a time. Most places you only stayed 2, except for the stint in Colorado where your younger brother was born and the stint in Oklahoma where the twins were born. The time in Oklahoma was particularly memorable for you. You started 5th grade there and stayed until the summer before 9th grade. You were actually there long enough to make some good friends and experience your first dabbling in love. It was nothing serious, of course, but you'd never forget how he kissed you behind the swings at the park near your house. When you moved to North Carolina that summer, you were devastated.
Still, that was a long time ago, and living in Germany had changed you. You were a grown woman now, complete with a job singing in a night club. Your dad didn't love it, but being 22, you were more free to do as you pleased. And you typically did exactly that.
******
Tulsa, Cookie, and Rick were at the train station preparing for their transfer to Frankfurt. When they met the soldiers who just came from there, the first thing they wanted to know about was the girls. Where were the prettiest ones and what were they like? Rick was only concerned about one girl, Marla, who he had met and fallen in love with a year ago. Tulsa was ready to meet new ones and Cookie was along with him for the ride.
"There's only one dame to avoid." Turk warned.
"Avoid? That sounds like a challenge to me." Tulsa joked, his crooked smirk splayed across his face. He was the perfect combination of sexy and cute and he knew it. Girls didn't typically say no to him.
"You say that, but this dame is just mean. She's prettier than sin, but no man can get close to her. I'm telling you, don't waste your time."
"Well, now I'm really intrigued. Where do I find her?" Turk rolled his eyes at Tulsa's cockiness.
"She sings at the Cafe Amerikanisch."
"Amerikanisch? Is she--"
"American? Yes." Tulsa's eyes lit up. Picking up frauleins in a GI uniform was easy. A girl from back home would present a challenge worthy of his effort.
"Well, we'll see if I can't melt this ice queen." He looked at Cookie and wiggled his eyebrows. Turk scoffed. There was a whistle and everyone moved to board the train. As they walked away, Turk called out to Tulsa.
"Good luck! Her name is y/n!"
******
The Cafe Amerikanisch is owned by an American expat and is intended to serve as a haven for homesick soldiers and other Americans living and working in Germany. As an American singer, and a pretty good looking one at that, you are a perfect act for this particular club.
Tonight is a pretty normal Saturday for you as you sit in your dressing room waiting for it to be time for you to go on stage. Your shiny red dress is form-fitting with a dangerously high slit, but your legs are your best feature, so it doesn't bother you much. There's a knock on your door and someone lets you know you've got two minutes. You slip on your black heels and long black gloves and stand up, adjusting your hair in the mirror. The last thing you do is blow yourself a red-lipstick kiss for good luck and then make your way to the stage.
The band begins and you do your normal set, singing and flirting with the audience. You've just started your last song, a jazzy version of Dream a Little Dream of Me by Ella Fitzgerald, when you notice a group of American GIs come in and stand in the corner watching you. It's too dark for you to really see them, but your stomach drops and you have to actively stop yourself from rolling your eyes. Great, now you'll have to deal with them tonight.
You've learned from experience that the soldiers usually come in with one thing on their mind. For some reason, you seem to represent some kind of prize for them to win. You gave in once early in your career and fell in love head over heels just for him to disappear several months later. Since then, you've avoided these men like the plague and turned down, quite aggressively, every advance from one of them. It sounds arrogant to assume they're there for you, but it just always seems to be true. You don't intend on calling their bluff tonight or ever, really.
Seeing them standing in the corner sends up your defenses and you start to come up with reasons to go directly home after you finish singing. Finally, your set is done and you bow, smiling to the crowd, waving and blowing kisses. You head off the stage to your dressing room to change and get out of here. You're a little annoyed because you were hoping to stay and have a few drinks with some of the other girls in the show, but now you'll have to run home. Once you're back in your navy blue and white dress, you grab your coat and purse and make an attempt to leave. Several of the other girls stop you before you can get to the door, though, and you chat with them for a bit.
"Please get a drink with us, y/n!"
"No, I really need to go. I'm so tired."
"Just one? You always run out of here so quick."
"Alright, one drink. And then I have to go."
You let them lead you to a table, keeping your eyes on the group of GIs, waiting for them to try to approach you. You accidentally make eye contact with one of them and a bolt of recognition hits you. Why does he seem so familiar? No matter. You can ignore him, and his sweet blue eyes and perfect hair, the same way you've ignored all the others.
They stay put where they are, watching you, until after you get your drink. You're starting to think that maybe they'll leave you alone when you notice them making their way towards you. You down your drink in three gulps and say a quick goodbye to the girls. You stand up and almost run smack into the one with the blue eyes.
Between the alcohol and standing up so fast, you're a little dizzy and almost running into him knocks you off balance. He catches you with both hands on your upper arms before you fall.
"Whoa, honey, where are you headed so fast?" There's something about his accent that causes you to freeze. Who is he?
"Wait. Y/n?!" Your eyes scan up to his face and you try to place him. He's so familiar and he obviously knows you too.
"It's Tulsa! Tulsa McLean!" He steps back from you and gestures to himself.
Your heart stops.
"Oh my god. Tulsa..." Your hand goes to your mouth and you look up into his eyes.
You haven't seen him since you moved from Oklahoma 8 years ago. Your brain flashes back to holding his hand, going to the movies and getting hamburgers, and most of all, that kiss behind the swing set. You wrote letters back and forth for a while, but you lost contact once you both really got into high school. Now he's here, in front of you again.
"What are you doing here?" You ask. He points to his uniform.
"Isn't it obvious? What are you doing here?"
"My father..."
"He's here? I don't remember him liking me very much." He chuckles and looks around the club like your father might be right around the corner. You notice that the other soldiers are elbowing each other and laughing, like Tulsa has a real chance here and they're impressed. That makes your blood boil and you turn back to Tulsa coldly.
"Well, it's good to see you, but I really need to head home." He blinks, surprised by the change in your tone.
"Now wait a minute, can we go somewhere to talk?"
"No, I'm sorry. It's late. Goodnight." You turn and walk away. There's a pang in your heart as you do. You've missed him, a lot, but he's a soldier now. There's no way you can trust him. You swallow the lump in your throat as you walk out the door towards your house.
******
"Tulsa! We thought you were in for sure!" He and his group of friends make their way to a table to order some drinks.
"How do you know her?" He looks down at his beer when it comes, thinking about the time you spent together all those years ago. He hasn't stopped thinking about you in all that time.
"We went to school together for a while when we were kids." He's gotten unusually quiet and the guys look at each other in surprise.
"Isn't that a good thing? It'll make it easier, right?"
"Guys, I'm not doing this anymore."
"Aw, Tulsa, come on. You're our entertainment! You gotta prove to Turk that you can do it!"
"No, I'm done. I'm going to head back to the barracks. I'll see y'all later." He stands up and makes his way to the door. On his way out, he stops at the table of girls you had been sitting with.
"Hey, ladies. Do any of y'all know where I could find y/n?" The girls look at each other, hesitant to share your location with a soldier. Still, you live with your parents, so they figure your father will keep you safe if anything really bad happens. The girl that you're closest with, Maryann, tells him your address.
"Thank you. Truly." He flashes them a winning smile and heads for the door.
Cookie sees him walk out and turns back to the guys.
"Hey, fellas. I don't think this is over." They laugh and cheer. Your friends notice this and make a note to tell you later.
******
You're sitting in your room, brushing your hair and looking in the mirror, trying not to think about Tulsa. You've already gotten ready for bed, so you have on pajamas and your robe. It's really late and the rest of the house is asleep. The only lights on are in your small apartment over the garage. You live with your parents, but the house is large and you've got your own area with a bathroom and sitting room. Your father let you move over here when you started working at the club. This was the closest he would let you get to living on your own. Just as you put the brush down and go to get in your bed, you hear something hit your window. What on earth was that?
You ignore the sound and continue getting in bed. When you hear it again, though, you start to get nervous. You walk cautiously to the window and peek through your curtains at the street down below.
What the hell??
Tulsa is down there, throwing tiny rocks from the garden at your window.
How did he find you?!
When he sees you in the window, he waves like the 10-year-old he was when you met him. You open the window and call down as quietly as possible.
"Tulsa! What are you doing here?!"
"I need to talk to you!" He hollers.
"Shhhh! You're going to wake up my father. I'm coming down there." You look in the mirror quickly on your way down. Your pajamas will have to do, since you don't want to take the time to get dressed. And your hair is down around your shoulders, unfixed. But it's just Tulsa. He saw you in junior high; this can't be worse than that.
You tiptoe down the stairs and open the front door as quietly as possible. You pull your robe tighter around yourself and step out into the chilly night air, dragging the door closed softly behind you.
"What? Talk fast. I'm freezing."
"Maybe we should go inside?"
"Nice try, soldier. I'll be okay. Just talk."
"Well, I hadn't really thought of what I was going to say. I just needed to see you again." He smiles sheepishly.
"Tulsa. Why?"
"I'm not entirely sure." You scoff and start to go back inside. He grabs your arm lightly to stop you and his touch sends shockwaves through your body.
"No! Wait! I just... I haven't ever stopped thinking about you..."
"That was a long time ago, Tuls..."
"Have dinner with me." You shake your head no. "Please, Birdie..." Your eyes snap up to his. He called you by the nickname he made up for you back then, when you used to sing while he played the guitar. You can hear his junior high voice, "You're just like a little songbird. My very own Birdie."
"Just dinner?" You can feel yourself melting a bit and it bothers you.
"Yes. I promise."
"Pick me up tomorrow at 8." He nods excitedly and you turn to go back inside. You really hope you don't regret this.
******
Tulsa watches you walk back up to the house. He's still a little in shock that you said yes. He also can't believe what a beautiful woman you've become. He knew you were cute, but this is something entirely different. As he turns to go back to the barracks, his mind wanders to the way you looked in your red dress. It hugged every curve perfectly and your leg was peeking out through the slit. He longed to see both of your legs without the skirt in the way. And then you came downstairs in your pajamas and were somehow even more beautiful with your hair falling down around your shoulders. He imagines taking your robe off and running his hands up and under your silky pajamas. When he realizes how aroused he is, he decides to get a cab so he can sit down and not be wandering the streets of Frankfurt with a blatantly obvious erection.
Back at the barracks, he's the first one home for the night. He figures the other guys are still out at the club. His mind wanders back to you in the red dress and what it might look like on the floor of this room. Before he knows it, he's turned on again and he decides to do something pretty risky. He pulls his army-issue blanket over his lap and frees his painfully hard dick from his pants. As he touches himself, he imagines what your small, soft hands might feel like on him. The possibility drives him insane as he begins to stroke himself faster and faster. Then, he thinks of your beautiful red lips wrapped around him and he moans softly. He knows he probably doesn't have much time before the other guys come home, so he continues to move his hand up and down, moving his foreskin back and forth, the friction making his hips buck into his hand. His mind stays focused on you and your curves as he imagines holding your hips and pounding into you, first from behind and then with you on top so he can watch your breasts as they bounce with his motions. The image is almost overwhelming and he feels his release building. Finally, when he pictures the face you make when he gives you an orgasm, he comes hard, moaning your name with a string of cuss words.
His blanket is ruined, so he uses it to clean himself up quickly and then tosses it in his laundry. He's breathing heavily, a little embarrassed at having just gotten himself off to the thought of you, when he hears the guys coming down the hallway. He tries to slow his heart rate and gets ready for bed, laying down just as the door opens.
"Hey Tulsa! You missed a helluva night! You shoulda seen this girl Cookie was talking to!" He rolls over pretends like they woke him up.
"How'd it go with your girl?" They all look at him expectantly.
"Oh, well, uh, we're having dinner tomorrow night." They whoop and holler, the amount of beer they had becoming obvious.
"We knew you'd get her! Nothing like a connection from the past to get a girl to go weak in the knees for ya!" Tulsa frowns.
"It's not like that, fellas." He tries not to think about what he just pictured you doing. "We're old friends. That's all. Now let me go back to sleep." He rolls back over as they continue talking and laughing. He tries to go to sleep, but he can't stop imagining you curled up next to him in your silk pajamas.
******
You're standing in front of your house in your favorite pink dress when Tulsa pulls up in a cab. You forgot that he wouldn't have a car, since he's a soldier. He hops out and opens the door for you, but you shake your head.
"We'll take my car." He pays the cab driver and follows you to your BMW convertible. His mouth pops open when he realizes it's yours.
"Nightclub business must be good." He jokes. You remember how much he loves cars and toss him the keys.
"I don't really feel like driving tonight." His eyes light up and you can't stop yourself from smiling. He really is an attractive man. This might be harder than you thought.
You guide him to a restaurant, where he parks and runs to your side of the car to open the door for you. He still has his southern manners. Once you get to the table, you both relax a bit and it feels more like the two of you used to be, talking and laughing easily.
"And how's your mama? She was always so sweet to me." You ask, taking a bite of your food.
"That's because she loved you! Always said you were too good for me. She was probably right." He looks at you shyly. "But, she's good! She and Daddy still live in the same house. I haven't seen them in almost 2 years." He gets a little somber and you can tell he must be homesick.
"Are you almost finished with your tour?"
"I've got three months here in Frankfurt and then I'm free. I can't wait to get back to the states." You look down at your plate. He's going to disappear in three months. Don't get attached.
"What about you? Will you be headed stateside any time soon?"
"No, my father is about to retire, but he wants to stay here. And even if he left, I'd probably try to stay. I like it here and I don't really have a home in the US. Not like you do."
"You could always come back to Oklahoma." He cuts himself off before he says "with me." You look up at him, noticing that it seems like he wants to say something else, but he doesn't. Instead, he changes the subject to talk about your singing career. He tells you he has formed a group with some of the guys and has been performing whenever they get a chance. He also tells you about how they want to open a nightclub when they get home.
"See, you could come sing in our club! Be our main act!" You know he's joking, but there's an edge of seriousness to him that makes you wonder.
You continue to talk and laugh through the rest of dinner and it feels good to be with him, like he brings out a part of you that you forgot exists. A happy, hopeful, youthful part of you that's been buried since you had your heart broken.
You sit together at dinner for a long time after you finish eating and even when you can't sit there any longer, you're still not ready to be away from him. He suggests a drink somewhere and you agree with a swiftness that you fear gives you away.
You like him. A lot.
He's still the sweet, funny boy you loved so long ago, just in the body of this charming and devilishly handsome man.
You decide to take him back to the Amerikanisch for drinks. It's familiar and you know everyone that works there. You sit at your table together and continue your conversation from before. At one point, he says something really funny and you put your hand on his on the table. He stops laughing and looks at you longingly. You let him take your hand and hold it, running his thumb over your knuckles softly. Your heart beats faster and you start to wish that you were somewhere other than a crowded club so he could kiss you if he wanted to. And something tells you that he wants to. The spell is broken, though, when his friends come in and see you together. He gets up to take them to a different table.
"I'll be right back, Birdie." He uses your nickname again and you wish it didn't make you melt all over again.
As soon as he's gone, Maryann joins you at your table.
"You need to watch out for that one."
"For Tulsa? No, I've known him for a long time. He's not that kind of guy."
"Yeah, well, his buddies sure think he is." She tells you about what she and the other girls noticed last night.
"Just be careful, okay? I'd hate to see you become some kind of trophy for him." You nod and look over at him at the table with the other soldiers. You can't let yourself forget he's one of them.
******
"What are you guys doing here?"
"We had a feeling you'd be here with y/n and we wanted to come check on your progress. And even if you weren't, Cookie wanted to come see his waitress."
"Check my progress? I told y'all that's not what this is. You're about to ruin the whole thing." Tulsa raises his voice slightly to let them know he's serious. Cookie's waitress comes by and he disappears to follow her to the bar. The rest of the guys agree to back off, so Tulsa makes his way back over to you. There's another girl sitting with you, though, and he recognizes her as the one who gave him your address.
"Thanks again for helping me find her...?"
"Maryann. Nice to meet you. I've been hearing a lot about you in the last ten minutes." She stands up and lets him sit back down. As she walks away, she gestures to you that she's watching.
"What was that all about?"
"Oh, nothing really. She just worries about me since..." You trail off, not really wanting to talk about why.
"Since what?"
"Since Mike." Tulsa looks uncomfortable and brings his eyebrows together in a frown.
"Who is Mike?" You don't want to, but you feel safe with Tulsa, so you tell him the whole story. How you let him take you out, let him convince you to fall in love with him, let him make you believe he wanted to marry you, let him have you. When you get to the last part, Tulsa looks away from you, obviously affected. The thought of you with another man makes him sick to his stomach. The thought of that man hurting you fills him with rage. He suddenly wishes Mike was around, so he could punch him in the face and then take you in his arms and protect you.
"That's why you don't trust soldiers." You nod, not wanting to let the tears that have gathered in your eyes find a way to fall. He's dying to put his arm around you and comfort you. He wants to wipe the tears from your eyes and make sure you never cry again. But you're still in the middle of a crowded club.
"Do you wanna get out of here?" He asks, trying to sound as genuine as possible. You look over to his table of friends hesitantly. He looks down at his hands, frustrated by the fact that they've made you nervous. He'd give anything not to be wearing this stupid uniform right now.
"Yes." He looks up at you, pleasantly surprised. You decide to trust him, despite everything. He stands up and puts his hand out for you to take, so you grab your coat and wrap your fingers through his. At your touch, his heart skips a beat. This might be more than just rekindling a friendship.
******
When you get outside the club, the cold wind hits you and you shiver. Tulsa puts his arm around you, and you let him, warmth spreading through you.
The only place you can think of to go is back to your house. You recognize that this might send the wrong message, but you're not exactly sure that is the wrong message at this point.
Once you're in the car, Tulsa asks where you want to go.
"Home."
"Oh. Okay." He thinks you mean without him. You scoot close to him in the front seat and put your head on his shoulder.
"I want you to come with me." He tries to hide his excitement and fails, but instead of being annoyed, you think it's really cute. He puts the car in drive and you make your way back to your house.
Thankfully, the house is dark when you get there. You weren't looking forward to explaining to your father why Tulsa was coming upstairs with you. Instead, you both take off your shoes and walk as quietly as possible until you reach the safety of your apartment.
As soon as you close your bedroom door, you both burst out laughing at the ridiculousness of the situation. You're grown adults sneaking around like teenagers. He sets his hat down on your dresser while you take your coat off. You stand there for a while, staring at each other in silence. Then, slowly, carefully, he reaches out and puts his hand on your cheek, brushing it softly with his thumb. You close your eyes and lean into his palm. Your heart is beating so fast and your eyes flutter open to meet his blue ones. They're soft and calm, like the ocean on a still day. As he leans in, your fingers begin to tingle. When his soft lips finally meet yours, a tidal wave of desire washes over you and you're filled with a need for him to touch every inch of you. The same wave seems to hit him as well because he moves his hands from your face to your waist, pulling your hips in close to him as you throw your arms around his neck. Your lips part and he slides his tongue into your mouth to dance with yours. You feel your body heat up as he presses against you, kissing you passionately.
After a few minutes of being locked together like this, he pulls back from your lips and looks into your eyes again.
"Is this really what you want, Birdie? I don't want you to feel like I'm forcing you into anything." You think for a second. If this continues, you know you won't be able to stop yourself from falling for him. But do you want to stop? Tulsa isn't like the others. He knows you. And even if he is leaving in a few months, you've found each other once before. Who's to say you won't do it again? You're ready to stop being scared. And three months with him sounds better than a lifetime with Mike.
"Yes, this is what I want. You are what I want, Tulsa." He dives back into the kiss and never looks back. You walk backwards towards your bed, pulling his tie off and starting to unbutton his shirt. He finishes your work and drops it on the floor, his lips never moving from yours. His hands move to the back of your dress, finding the zipper and carefully pulling it down to the small of your back. As he runs his hands back up to your shoulders, his fingers graze the skin that was under your dress and the electricity is palpable. You wiggle your shoulders as he slides the top half of your dress off. He kisses down your neck to your shoulder and each place he presses his lips burns with a newfound heat. You push your dress down over your hips and let it fall to the floor with his shirt. He slides the tips of his fingers under your slip and pushes it down too. Then, he pulls back and looks at you standing there in your garter belt, hose, bra, and panties.
"Wow." You blush a little with his burning gaze moving up and down your body and move to cover yourself with your hands.
"You don't have to hide from me, baby." He gently moves your hands away from you and you start to feel more comfortable. His presence is comforting, even as you stand there nearly naked. You take a moment to look down his body, running your hands from his shoulders down to the waistline of his pants. That's when you notice that his dick is hard, pressing against the fabric of his pants dramatically. You look up into his eyes and he looks away and clears his throat like he's embarrassed. You put one hand on his cheek and softly move his face back to making eye contact with you. Then you take your other hand and touch him over his pants, rubbing up and down his dick carefully.
"Mmm." His eyes close and his hips buck forward into your hand. He is desperate for your touch, just as you are for his. He moves his hands up and down your sides and then finds the back of your garter belt with his fingers. He undoes the hooks and then sits you down on the edge of the bed. Kneeling down in front of you, he slowly unclips your hose and drops the belt to the floor. Then, he gently rolls your hose down each of your legs, lifting each ankle to his lips and pressing a kiss there. He kisses each of your knees and then pushes them apart to kiss the inside of each thigh. As he gets closer and closer to your center, you feel your arousal begin to gather in your panties. He stops before he gets there, though, and stands up. You lean forward and unbutton his pants.
"Wait, honey." He puts his hands on yours and stands there looking down at you, breathing heavily. He wants to savor this moment with you. He's been with women before, but something about this feels like another kind of first time. It's a little overwhelming and he wants to make sure it doesn't move too quickly. He looks at you sitting there in just your bra and panties. You might be the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. Even his imagination didn't do you justice. Is this what it feels like to be in love?
"Should I... should I put on pajamas or something?" You look around the room, assuming something about you must have turned him off, despite his continuing erection. He sits next to you on the bed.
"Oh, no, honey--"
"You don't like me?" You look at him with tears in your eyes. You didn't realize it mattered to you so much, but now you know. You so desperately want him to want you, to like you, to love you the way you've realized you've always loved him.
"Don't like you?! Baby, I-I... well... to hell with it... I love you." Your eyes snap up to meet his.
"Y-you do?"
"Aw, hell. Yes, y/n I do. I always have." He searches your face for some kind of reassurance that he's not alone in this.
"I love you too..." you whisper it, but it's enough for him. He puts his hands on your face and pulls you into a deep kiss. He lays you back on the bed, running his hand down your body. He kisses down your neck, whispering "I love you" in between each kiss. His hand makes its way to your center and he moves your panties to the side, sliding his finger up your slit to the place that makes your back arch and a moan escape your lips. He smiles at how easily you come undone in his hands. After a few second of this, he slips one finger into you and then two. The feeling of some part of him inside you is enough to drive you to the edge. He sits up on his knees and slides your panties down and off. Then he climbs in between your legs and pushes his fingers back into you, moving them in and out rhythmically. You're overcome by the sensation of his hands on you and the intense emotions that are running through you. He loves you. But more importantly, you love him. Everything physical that's happening is just an expression of that and you never want it to end. Just as you think you're going to lose control, he lowers his mouth onto you and adds his tongue to the movements he's already making. You gasp and it doesn't take long for your orgasm to build up and crash over you like waves on a beach, over and over again out to the edges of your body and back again.
"Oh, yes, Tulsa!" You cry out as you shudder and pulse around his fingers. He sits up on his knees and finally lets you undo his pants, kicking them and his underwear off quickly. He unhooks your bra and literally throws it to the side. Now, it's like he can't move fast enough. He needs to be inside you as soon as possible. You help him with this task, lining him up with your entrance before he pushes into you hard and deep.
"Oh shit." He moans. "You feel so good, Birdie." When he uses your nickname again you whimper and kiss his neck. He begins to pump in and out of you and both of you begin to sweat. You feel him inside you, hitting all of your most sensitive places. The rhythm he keeps is not too fast or too slow, his hips pressing into yours and driving him deeper inside you. You can't believe how good he feels like this. But you want to repay him for the pleasure he gave you at the start, so you push him off of you and lay him on his back next to you. He follows directions easily, waiting patiently for you to straddle him and lower yourself onto him. Groaning with the change in sensation of having you on top of him, he reaches up and cups both of your breasts while you bounce. The picture that you make, sitting there on top of him, drives him absolutely crazy.
"God, you're beautiful." He moves his hands to your hips and starts to thrust into you deeply. You roll your hips to meet his over and over, your hands on his chest. His eyes roll back and close as his mouth is opened partially. The look of pleasure that he has makes you want to keep doing this forever. His arousal fuels your own as you continue to grind against him.
"Yes, don't stop!" You moan again as another orgasm builds inside you, starting in your abdomen and spreading through your legs.
"I'm gonna come, baby." He opens his eyes and tries to watch the expression on your face, but he's overwhelmed by his own ecstatic pleasure as you reach your climax together. You feel his warmth inside you and know it's risky, but you don't care. In that moment, the only thing that matters is you and him together, bodies intertwined and breathing heavily, your skin pressed against his. You lay on his chest and he wraps his arms around you and kisses your hair.
"Birdie, that was..."
"...everything." You look up at him from your position on his chest. You've never felt anything like this before, emotionally or physically. You gently run your fingertip down the line of his nose and he grabs your fingers and kisses them. The intimacy between you goes beyond the simplicity of sex. You belong to each other.
Eventually, you get up to go to the bathroom, thinking about everything that just happened. It seems like fate that you would run into each other again. And after what just happened, you don't ever want to let him go.
When you get back to the bedroom, he gestures for you to come lay beside him. He's under the covers now; it looks like he doesn't want to go anywhere either. It's fine by you that he stays. You wish he could stay forever. That's when you remember that he's leaving in 3 months.
"Tulsa, what are we gonna do?"
"About what, honey?"
"You're only here for a little while." You crawl into the bed and snuggle up against him. He's not worried about anything, though. In his mind, he's going to buy a ring tomorrow.
"Come back to Oklahoma with me." He says it matter-of-factly. You think about what that would mean, leaving your job and your friends and your family behind. But you've moved so many times before. And this time, you wouldn't be moving away from somewhere, you'd be moving towards a home with him.
"Okay. I'll go home with you. I'm not sure how my father will feel about me moving without--"
"--a ring on your finger? Let me worry about that part." He makes his crooked smirk-smile and you kiss his cheek.
"I trust you..."
******
The End
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*
I wasn't sure if anyone would want to be tagged, since this is technically not an Elvis fic...
#tulsa mclean#gi blues#Tulsa mclean smut#Tulsa McLean fanfiction#Gi blues fanfiction#elvis presley#elvis movies#Elvis movies fanfiction#60s elvis#elvis presley fanfiction#elvis smut#elvis fanfic
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Vincent for the ask meme :-)
VINCENT VALENTINE
🎟️ SEXUALITY HEADCANON: Omnisexual, which is like pansexual but includes other sapient species that may or may not be bipedal. (Back when he was human, he identified as "equal opportunity.")
⚧️ GENDER HEADCANON: Vincent actually has a very complex relationship with gender. He never questioned whether or not he was a man back when he was human, but since he's not anymore he's not really sure where on the spectrum he falls in anything—he'd like to still be a man, but he doesn't even consider himself a person, so he's not sure it applies to him anymore. His explanation of it is "'male' in the same way one refers to a dog." It's...not a fun conversational topic.
💕 A SHIP: VinVeld is my OTP, but I also gun really hard for Strifentine and Valenstrifesodos. Vincent is not my fandom bicycle, but he has a lot of love left in him.
🖇️ A BROTP: Vincent+Yuffie! He's essentially her protective older brother for many years, and eventually that segues into her essentially being his supportive older sister. Then she dies of old age. Sorry.
🚫 A NOTP: Val*nwind. Not because I don't think it could work (my Vincent has a type and Cid could fit into it quite well) but because 1. People treat it as canon when Cid is literally married to Shera, and 2. I don't think Vincent would be remotely interested in reprising his role of 'homewrecker' in another already-tumultuous and undeniably-abusive relationship between two Shinra scientists. Which Cid and Shera are. In case people forgot that.
💭 A RANDOM HEADCANON: I have...so many. This is difficult. Uhh. Vincent is actually a doctor? He comes from a long line of academic prodigies and had a doctorate at 22, at which point he left academia to join the Turks, much to the chagrin of literally everyone except himself. He never really used his education at the time, but postcanon he works with the WRO as Director of Ethics in Science and Medicine, so he does eventually put it to use explaining to people why they need to stop fucking around in specific scientific ways.
🗣️GENERAL OPINION: Vincent Valentine is my favorite character in the history of fiction. I love him more than every other character I have ever loved, combined. He's been my favorite since my first playthrough of the OG, when I was a literal child, and I just never let go. If there is one character that deserves the title of "blorbo" for me, it's him.
(For the character ask game.)
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as a turk i find your worldbuilding and characters so cosy and familiar and for my surprise i just saw that delal's face based on ibrahim celikkol!! damn thats cool!!
I think you mean Dara's face haha, but yes you have my mother's soap operas to thank for that!! As soon as I thought, "I need a rugged male faceclaim for this character" my mind immediately went to Turkish drama actors LOL
My family is Northern Kurdish and a majority of my closest relatives live in either Istanbul or Antalya nowadays, so I'm not surprised that comes through in the worldbuilding as well!!
#ask#anonymous#about the author#i did literally take the 'city on hills' vibe of marabad from istanbul so lol 🤪
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Alr you know what Im gonna ask for. You mentioned her in the srpska post so, Herze hcs?
Herze Head cannons time
Again 2 points:
1. Yes i do know when Tix made her she was probably referring to Herceg Bosna, and not Hercegovina as a whole. I am breaking that rule cause I am biased
2. Once again, I am from Hercegovina myself, and since Hercegovina has no important figure i can’t make the same Milorad Dodik joke in the last post
ANYWAY
1. Design wise nothing too interesting, I do imagine she has a lot of Sunspots tho
2. Also thick ass arms. Idk every woman from Herzegovina is always jacked
3. 166 cm for Herzegovina with Tijana Bošković existing is a spit to the face, she should be 180 cm at least
4. Thick brown hair, possibly wavy, though we barely see her hair down
5. Her “pre-conversion” name was Danica
6. She never converted actually, she remained Christian the entire Ottoman period
7. She read the bible to Ilija every night
8. Probably cut most of her hair off and pretended to be a male poturica (a serbian convert), where she went by the name Idriz
9. She wore mostly Turk-like clothing, probably stolen from a few Poturica-s she’s killed
10. Though she still wore the Herzegovinian hat, so it sent subliminal messaging of who she really was so Ilija and Montenegro didn’t have a hard time recognizing her in disguise
11. Once the Ottomans figured out her gimmick they degradingly called her Idriza, which is where her current name originates from
12. Was forcefully married to Enis afterwards
13. She refused to take his last name, the only reason people think she took it is from superficial assumption
14. I don’t imagine her being related to Croatia, she was nicknamed “Serbian Sparta” after all
15. However I di imagine Herzegovina going to Croatia for help, only for him to take off the Herzegovinian hat off of her. Symbolically representing Croats trying to strip away Herzegovinians of their culture as they came to Dalmatia for help.
16. He also tried to convert her, didn’t work at first but it took a toll on her
17. Best Bonding time with Ilija was the Herzegovinian uprising
18. She will feel the same way later in 1993 when the serbs and croats collaborated against the Muslims one more time
19. Sadly, they probably drifted apart as he grew up and became his own thing
20. Also a tarp carrier, once again easy weapon holding but it’s her holding onto her past
21. Had a meaningful connection with Zeta (Montenegro) at the time of the serbian empire, which is where their strong historical bond started
22. “Hladno krvna” as in cold blooded in serbian. Could actually be about her being very cold, but also about her getting physically cold easily
23. Ambiguously calls herself “Christian” and doesn’t specify if she’s Catholic or Orthodox
24. Celebrates Orthodox Christmas with Srpska, Monte and Serbia every time lmfao
25. Serbian new years with Srpska only though
26. I imagine the house of BiH (as in Bosnia, Herzegovina and Srpska) is somewhere outside of Sarajevo, though she probably has a smaller house in Gacko or Trebinje where she goes to so she can feel reconnected to her rural identity
27. Very specifically she has a house with a chimney, weird preference but ok
28. She kept a relationship with Montenegro for the most time during the Ottoman period, the two kind of depending on each other most of the time.
29. Turkish coffee 4 times a day, she isn’t addicted to caffeine she’s just a mom from the area
30. Goran Bregović fan, probably cause she’s also half Croatian and half Serbian
31. Despite not liking the cold, she’d rather be in a freezing river than a warm sea
32. Probably won the cross on Bogojavljenje at least once
33. Also has a very obnoxious Herzegovinian accent, except she throws in Croatian words and it sounds even worse than whatever alien language Ilija is speaking
34. Knows the whole Gorski Vijenac book by memory
35. She told Enis their marriage reminds her of the Hasanaginica story and he crossed his arms and looked at her disapprovingly for the rest of the evening
36. She has a Red Brojanica, the silver cross on the red rope is kind of a nudge to Zahumlje / Duchy of st. Sava in the past
Anyways Herze doodle to get the idea
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