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lesbianrobin · 1 year

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lesbianrobin fic scraps #5: you construct intricate rituals to be lifted by other men

"You do know that you have curly hair, right?"

"Uh, yeah," Eddie says, yanking a brush through his hair and wincing at the ripping sound.

"So you're destroying it on purpose? It's, like, a metal thing?"

"Huh?"

"Do you even use conditioner?"

"I didn't invite you here so you could heckle me in my own home."

Steve leans against the front door, all casual like he hangs out in Eddie's living room all the time. "You didn't invite me here, I came to pick you up and you weren't ready. Also, I'm not heckling," Steve says, "Just observing. You don't, do you?"

“Yes, as a matter of fact, I do,” Eddie says, “It’s called two-in-one shampoo and conditioner, asshole.”

Steve lets out a noise that's halfway between a groan and a gasp. "You're joking."

Eddie raises an eyebrow.

"Oh my God, you're not joking," Steve mumbles, eyes wide.

Eddie drops his hairbrush on the coffee table and grabs his keys. "Didn't realize I needed perfect hair to ride in Steve Harrington's fancy car."

"No, but you do need shoes."

Eddie looks down.

"Oh," he says. "Yeah, that would probably help."

"After this party, you and I are going to the store and getting you some real shampoo and conditioner."

Eddie's still tying his right shoe, seated in the passenger seat of Steve's BMW. "I shudder to think what overpriced garbage you consider the baseline for hair-care products."

“Whine any more and I'm buying you leave-in, too.”

“What's leave-in?”

“Jesus Christ,” Steve says mournfully, looking up at the sky as if asking the man himself to lend some strength before starting his car.

Eddie observes as they pull out of the trailer park. “So, O Great Master of the haircare arts, how did you acquire such knowledge on the demands of curly hair?”

“Did you miss when people called me 'The Hair' for four years?”

“Your hair isn’t curly.”

“What, I’m not allowed to know things?” Steve sounds agitated, and he looks straight ahead at the road, not even glancing at Eddie a little bit as he speaks.

"...Oh, there's a story here!"

"No, there's not."

"The lady doth protest too much," Eddie sings, leaning close to Steve's face. Steve glances at him, though he looks back to the road quickly, shoving Eddie back toward his own seat without looking at him.

"Don't laugh."

"I won't, swear on my life," Eddie lies.

"Alright… so, you know Lucas."

"Yes."

Steve sighs. "Well, you've seen me fuck with Dustin's hair, right? I do it to Max and even Mike sometimes if he doesn't look like he'll bite me, and Lucas, he used to have, like, shorter hair, so you could kinda give him a noogie and it was, like, whatever, but now he's got the flat top and I didn't know if I could, like, touch it without messing it up, yknow? So I went to the library—"

Eddie bursts into laughter.

Steve slams his hands on the steering wheel. "I knew you were gonna laugh!"

"No," Eddie struggles to say between laughs, "No, oh my God, that's the cutest thing I've ever—"

"I fucking hate you," Steve sulks.

He can just see it, is the thing, Steve walking into the library and ringing the little bell and stumbling over his words as he asks the librarian for help finding books about hair. Squinting at the spines of books, checking out a few, carrying them back to his car and dumping them in the passenger seat with a satisfied grin.

"I had to help Dustin with his hair for the Snow Ball, too, and his is curly, so you know, I started with him back then, and then Lucas, and then I just kept reading, and it was…" Steve shrugs. "I don't know, it was cool."

Steve says it nonchalantly. As if that isn't the most precious thing on planet Earth.

"You're so cute," Eddie says, and Steve rolls his eyes, but there's something there, Eddie thinks, something soft and fond in the slight curve of his lips. There's something.

This isn't how Eddie had imagined getting Steve's hands on him, but he really can't be mad about it.

“Alright, alright,” Dustin chants, as Robin hoots and whistles her support.

Someone begins pounding on the table repeatedly.

“Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve!” Lucas begins the chant and Max joins in, followed shortly by Robin and Dustin. Mike looms over Eddie with his arms crossed and a scowl on his face.

“No pressure, Harrington,” Eddie says.

“Man, shut up,” Steve replies, and starts to push.

Astoundingly, Eddie rises.

“Oh, shit,” he says, tensing his body as much as he can. Steve would never drop him, but Eddie might not have the abdominal muscles required to keep himself from toppling off to the side.

The Steve chant gets louder and faster, more hands pounding on tables and feet stomping on the floor. Mike is clearly trying so hard to look unimpressed, but his eyes just keep getting wider as Eddie rises higher and finally reaches the peak, Steve's arms extended as much as they can without locking out, and he holds Eddie aloft for a few seconds, and Eddie wishes more than anything that he could see Steve's face right now. Steve begins to lower him down, and god, this was all over too fast, and Eddie's heart is pounding like crazy, so loud in his ears that it almost drowns out all of their friends' raucous screaming.

“What in the hell is all this racket?”

Eddie startles, almost falling, but Steve digs his fingers in, and holy shit Eddie's going up again, and then he's coming down, and how is Steve this strong?

“Two,” Dustin calls out, “Holy shit!”

As Eddie goes up again, Nancy explains, “Steve said he can bench, like, two hundred pounds or something, and Eddie said he bet Steve couldn't even lift him and he's about one-seventy—”

“One-sixty, Wheeler,” Eddie calls out, and then he's coming back down again and Steve says, “I don't know, feels more like one-eighty.”

“Oh, screw you.”

“Three!”

"...Steve, Steve, Steve, Steve..!"

“Huh.” Mike's dad almost sounds impressed. “Well, keep it down, your sister's trying to do her homework.”

Mike snorts. “Holly's homework is coloring.”

“Hey, don’t knock coloring,” Eddie says. It’s hard to sound normal, with Steve’s hands pressing into his back and thighs, but he’s pretty sure he’s managing it. “It’s a noble and honored tradition, Wheeler, one of humanity’s oldest pursuits. Art is—”

“Four!”

"...Steve, Steve..!"

“—what makes life worth living, after all.”

Steve grunts with effort, making Eddie’s chest seize up, but he rises for the fifth time. Someone says, “Jesus Christ,” but Eddie’s not sure who.

“Mike, maybe you could ask Steve here to take you to the gym sometime.”

“Dad,” Mike groans.

“And five!” Dustin begins to clap as soon as Eddie’s back down. The hooligans abandon pounding on the table to cheer, hooting and hollering with all of the enthusiasm of an adventuring party confronted with a chest full of riches.

“Alright, get off of me,” Steve grunts, and Eddie acquiesces, rolling to the side and leaping to his feet. God, he could scale a mountain right now. Eddie turns to look at Steve, and holy shit, actually, he could not scale a mountain right now, because his heart would explode. Lying on his back, face slightly flushed, arms splayed out and hair messy, Steve looks utterly obscene. To be fair, Steve always looks obscene, but Eddie can still feel the phantoms of Steve's hands pressing against him, and he holds a hand out without thinking. Steve takes it, leveraging himself up in a way that nearly has Eddie toppling down onto the floor next to him, but they manage to both stay standing.

"What do I owe you, again?"

"You guys forgot to actually bet anything," Dustin says helpfully.

"Shit," Steve sighs, letting go of Eddie's hand to put his hands on his hips.

"Maybe you could get me that hair crap you were talking about earlier."

"I win, and my reward is that I get to buy you things?"

"Yep," Eddie says. He can feel himself smiling, so wide that it's almost embarrassing, but he can't help it. Steve is smiling, too.

Steve eyes his hair, and apparently he's distressed enough by what he sees to sigh and say, "Shit, alright. But you have to use it exactly how I show you, asshole."

Eddie puts one hand on his heart and the other in the air. "Scout's honor."

#em talks #lesbianrobin.ficscraps #stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #steddie #ignore me posting this at 2:45 am my time. i just had an itch okay

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prince-kallisto · 3 months

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Taking their Left Hand: A Deal with the Devil

I find it fascinating that now with the release of Crowley’s card and his groovy art, the “extending of the hand” theme has become even stronger. But now that I am looking at Crowley, Malleus, and the hand in the mirror, I noticed they are all extending their left hand!

In traditional superstitions, left handed people were associated with the Devil or just overall bad luck and clumsiness (sad to hear as a lefty myself 🤣). It is to the point that in the past, and in some cases in the present, that left handed children were forced to learn how to write with their right hand through the use of physical punishments or straight up tying their left hand down so they couldn’t use it. But where does this malicious association come from?

It varies from both culture and religion, but this book from 1891 covers the basics of it. Greek and Latin translations of “left” has several negative connotations related to clumsiness, ill omens, and in Latin it directly means “sinister.” Some lore also mentions that the left road is “the road to ruin,” and Scottish folklore even say that it is an ill omen to meet a left handed person when setting out on your journey. …Let’s put a pin on this particular note and return to it soon 👀

You may notice that in Christian iconography, God is often depicted with significance to his right hand- the “right hand of God” being his favored hand, and his left hand is the hand of judgment (The Archangel Gabriel is also known as “God’s left hand”). This is seen most clearly in the parable of sheep and goats, where the sheep are on his right side will “inherit the kingdom of god,” and the goats on his left are the fallen souls who will “depart from me… in everlasting fire.” The “right hand of God” is also used as a metaphor for his omnipotence.

This is where the Devil being associated with the left hand begins to grow. You’ll often see in art (such as cartoon or in movie cinematography) of an angel and Devil being on someone’s shoulder- and the devil is nearly always on the left- because it was believed evil spirits and even the Devil himself watched over one from the left shoulder. Some believed in the 17th century that the Devil “baptized” his followers with his left hand. And in the infamous statue of “Le Génie du Mal” (The Genius of Evil or the Spirit of Evil), Lucifer is depicted crying from his left eye, and holding a broken scepter and crown in his left hand. Notice the bitten apple below his feet, and how his left hand is also chained!

In western esotericism, there is a concept of the “left-hand path” and “right-hand path.” Right-hand path magic is light magic and associated with good and the right hand. Whereas the left-hand path is black magic, associated with evil, “amorality,” and the left hand. (Important to Note: Although the left-hand path is highly associated with black magic, it is not the same as what the left-hand path is. Many occultists critique this definition, some saying these paths don’t necessarily refers to good or bad magic. It is more the idea of amorality and seeking power and freedom through breaking constrictions, whereas true right-hand path has stricter moral codes and believe in the idea of karma/judgement)

It was even believed that witches greeted the Devil with their left hand. Women who were left handed or even had natural markings on the left side of the body were accused off being a witch during the time of the Salem Witch trials, and burned alive for it.

Now that we’ve went over this, what does this ACTUALLY mean for Crowley, Malleus, and the hand in the mirror? Returning to the pin I left earlier, meeting this left handed person is an ill omen, a road to ruin. Crowley and the hand in the mirror are the FIRST scene in the game, with Crowley even saying to take the hand in the mirror. This phrase of his is repeated throughout trailers and the manga.

Malleus is technically never the “first” person we really meet. He is notably absent at the opening ceremony, and even though he makes mysterious appearances at Ramshackle, it’s never really the “first” 🤔 BUT when we look back at Book 7, Malleus is essentially making everyone reborn into a new world without sorrow. And this scene is also where he says to take his hand. With Malleus recreating the world, he is the “first” to introduce you to it, and by taking his hand, it is the beginning of a new journey. Notice how his live 2D model has him using his left hand for magic in these scenes as well!

Crowley’s opening ceremony where he unlocks the coffins to wake everyone up feels very much like a parallel to Malleus being the orchestrator of the dreams- everyone is asleep and can only wake up by his command. We don’t yet know the identity of the hand in the mirror, but I do think it’s interesting that the Dark Mirror is the one who states that the nature of Yuu’s soul is shapeless and colorless.

And and, in official art, Malleus is frequently the one front in center, sometimes directly associated with the hand in the mirror. In this art above, there’s is the idea of the true “happily ever after,” where a crow with a key (Crowley’s symbol) is in front of the Dark Mirror, right above Malleus. All three of them are directly connected with a column of light 🤔

And and and, in Malleus’ Glorious Masquerade card and Crowley’s Raven Jacket groovy, don’t they look like they’re reaching out as a gesture of salvation or mercy? The way the light is always above on them only as they reach their hand out to you…and in Crowley’s card, the perspective is taken from inside the coffin- likes he’s leading you out/waking you from your death or something- even though he looks a bit sinister in his art🤔

Now, this is not to say that I think Crowley and Malleus are evil characters (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*) I do think there is purposeful symbolism with their left hand being an “ill omen” and associated with Devil imagery, but when I think about the left-hand path vs right-hand path, it feels like taking their hand symbolizes both freedom AND the road to ruin. Remember Crowley’s lines in the prologue- they are all running out of time, and Malleus in book 7 is looking for the happy ending. I think the story of Twisted Wonderland is inevitably a story that goes down the road to ruin, but these characters are looking for some hope in this darkness 🤔 Crowley has hope in Yuu and Grim in that they can change everything- and this change will indeed bring a lot of necessary suffering to it for the good of everyone.

I hope what I’m trying to say makes sense! 🤣 I think these parallels are really interesting, but in the end I don’t really know what they mean 🤣 I’d like to hear everyone’s thoughts on this pattern and your interpretation of things- there’s a lot of possibilities that I have never thought of! \(//∇//)\

I’d also appreciate any insight/needed correction for the biblical texts 🤔 I am not religious- so there’s possibly things I missed (*ﾟ▽ﾟ*) I have actually considered reading the full text of some sections of the Bible and such religious texts tho for Twisted Wonderland just because I’ve made several theories by now connecting to biblical lore 😭 One day perhaps- anything for my Crowley theories 🤣 I’d like to cover connections to Faust, Paradise Lost and maybe Dante’s Inferno too one day, so…my reading list is stacking up! 🤣

#twisted wonderland #twst #dire crowley #twst dire crowley #twst spoilers #twst theory #twst crowley #twst malleus #twst malleus draconia #kallistopost

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g0nta-g0kuhara · 3 months

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CG and Execution Thumbnails

I recently got my hands on the V3 art book and I am absolutely obsessed with it!! I wanted to share some of my favourite (mostly subtle) differences between CG/Execution thumbnails and their final iterations.

In this death road of despair cg, Miu was originally supposed to be in the same slice as Kokichi and Gonta, and a tenth unknown person in the top left corner.

Angie seems much more defeated in the original sketch for the other death road of despair cg, with her head drooping rather than praying.

I just find Shuichi's grimace in the sketch of the first training cg Very funny compared to the final one (which is much more dignified).

Shuichi and Kaito's shocked expressions in the original sketch for the cg with Maki joining in training are delightful to me, I wish they kept them.

Maki originally was reaching out to Kaito in the trial 4 cg where his illness is revealed, as opposed to her straight posture in the final cg. Shuichi's expression in the thumbnail is also very funny to me.

The stupid little nose they gave kiibo in the sketch of the cg where he's lying flat in the hydraulic press made me giggle.

Maki's expression was much more intense in the original sketch for her pointing the crossbow at Kokichi in this cg.

Himiko's >_< face made me smile in the cg of everyone (minus Kiibo) training together after trial 5.

THIS thumbnail from trial 6 is especially interesting to me. I wonder if the thumbnail was made before the trial character placements were decided at all, so this portrait and figure are random. Or maybe this was done later on when it was partially decided, and a survivor was initially next to Tsumugi, before they were moved later. It's kind of hard to tell because of the, uh, lack of detail in this one. But I'm very curious.

In the dark belt bonus scene in chapter four, originally Himiko, Shuichi, and Gonta were in their normal outfits! Also, Gonta's expression is MUCH different. I'm glad we got that cute little smile in the end, its such an iconic Gonta CG and probably one of my favourites because of it.

Initially, the end of Kaede's Execution had everyone sitting as members of the audience. Its much less intense then the final result, so I think this was a good change.

Originally, there was no death fake out for the v3 survivors! Kiibo just let them be and proceeded to blow up the school.

BONUS:

Nothing different here as far as I can tell, I just LOVE how detailed the storyboards are for Kaito's execution. This is just one example. Its so, so pretty looking

#danganronpa v3 #drv3 #drv3 spoilers #shut up me #posts for me and me only #I LOOVE THE ART BOOK!!!

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yorshie · 11 months

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Bayverse Headcanons

Just some headcanons I keep in mind when I'm writing bayverse. Will probably come back and add more as I decide on them.

Leonardo

Height/weight: 6’2”, 670lbs

Theme song : Loyal by ODESZA

Ambidextrous but if he needs to punch someone he uses his right hand

Has a dry sense of humor, more little quips and witty one liners than anything planned

Turns into a bit of a caveman when you’re in danger. He catches you going someplace dangerous? Straight to turtle jail for 1000 years. You don’t wanna be picked up and carried to safety? Too bad, it’s happening

Is the King of small touches. A hand on your back, a nudge of his knuckles to get you moving. Mr. soft eyes and low voice when he wants to get his way

Still gets into arguments with Raph. Sometimes they still dissolve into fisticuffs.

References vines to the horror of his brothers (his fav is “road work ahead”)

No one will play Risk with him because even if he’s losing he somehow bleeds everyone dry

Has a gameboy with exactly one game, Harvest Moon: Friends of Mineral Town. All his animals have names like "Bob" or "Tilda"

can't cook, is banned from the kitchen, once set water on fire.

reads science fiction, fantasy and sagas a lot, though if you pay attention to his books the covers are sometimes swapped and it's almost always poetry or romances.

Not a big fan of PDA. Will give you a snoot boop or a chaste forehead kiss in public, but anything more is off limits. What’s that? You wanna snuggle? You better hope none of his brothers walk in because this turtle might panic and shove you off his lap in a snap decision instinct. You wanna go to his room? The scandal. What will everyone think? Fine, but he’ll ninja you in there. No one will know or see. Ninja silent. Except- Donnie will know. Donnie will see. Because he was sitting in the chair right next to you two and you both somehow forgot he was there.

Hogs the bed. And the covers. And the pillows. Basically if you want any bed commodity you better be prepared to snuggle

If you want him to watch tv that’s not sports it’s gotta be some older saga or classic that you actually have to pay attention to. Loves black and white martial arts movies. You once caught him hugging a pillow and watching Princess Mononoke with tears in his eyes.

Will just stare at the person who asked him to kill a little harmless spider before leaving the room

Donatello

Height/Weight: 6’8”/ 680lbs

Theme Song: Frequency by Tim Wolf

Left handed

Donnie is THE sarcastic little shit.

He realizes quickly that while Leo has softness, and Raph is filthy, he doesn’t need to stoop to theatrics to get what he wants. He just has to make eye contact, tilt his head, and tell you in a calm, plain voice what he desires, and it works.

Can’t keep his attention on one thing for a long period of time, or has to have multiple stimuli going on to keep focus. King of multitasking

The turtle most likely to curse

Can’t sleep without a nightlight and either music or a movie

Listens to filthy music when he’s working.

The others gang up on him during trivia night to give everyone else a chance

the adrenaline junkie

one time he got Leo's tea mixed up with his coffee and he spat the substance clear across the Lair.

can cook but it's kinda bland. Can't bake to save his life, despite arguing with every failed cake like it’s out to get him: “it’s science why won’t you work??!”

hasn't opened a real book since the invention of the internet. Has a library of hard drives with the subject matter clearly labeled in alphabetical order. Mikey doesn't know about it and thus it has stayed relatively in order.

Doesn’t use his bed much, so the upside is you always have room to stretch out. Bad news is, if you want this turtle to get any decent sleep, you have to figure out how to keep him trapped enough where he can’t move without waking you up. And he’s a ninja.

Donnie likes to watch informative things. Like how it’s made, or unsolved mysteries. His crack show though? Cryptid hunters. He’ll laugh himself silly over people trying to trap Bigfoot or corner Mothman

The one that kills spiders

Raphael

Height/Weight: 6’5”/ 720lbs

Theme Song: Don’t Get in My Way by Zack Hemsey

Right handed

Turtle has a MOUTH and he is not afraid to open it to to get what he wants. Absolutely filthy when he wants to be.

Will turn into a little melted turtle puddle if someone is sweet to him. Doesn’t really turn to butter over words, but actions will get him every time.

Watches crocodile hunter and golden girls when no one else is awake. Loves animal documentaries, and zoboomafoo

Rough around the edges when it comes to heartfelt affection or feelings. With seduction he’s smooth, but telling someone he genuinely cares for them? Good luck stringing two words together my dude.

Prefers silence or listening when hanging out with someone. He’s slow with his input, careful with what he says. You’re winning if you can make him laugh

in the kitchen he’s either making the most disgusting looking thing that tastes fucking amazing or he’s grilling. Doesn’t tell anyone he learned how to make bread watching Julia Childe.

If he's doing something dangerous or something stupid, the worse thing you could say is along the line of "Leo said-" like, congrats, you just made sure he's gonna do the thing everyone knows he shouldn't. Flip side, he's trying to talk you out of doing something? Just sigh and say "ok, guess I'll go ask Leo-" Boom. Thing is done. Is it healthy? no. Does it work? yes.

Is the most considerate when it comes to sleepy time. He’ll make sure you have your own pillow, own blankets. He sleeps on his stomach and doesn’t move much, and is large enough that you could sleep tucked under the lip of his shell without fear of being squashed

Not the one to call if you see a spider. He will scream

Michelangelo

Height/weight: 6’0”/ 640lbs

Theme Song: Handclap by Fitz and the Tantrums

Right handed but if he puts his mind to it he can use his left equally for everything but writing

Is legally obligated to use cheesy pick up lines, and is a Talker

Uses lollipops and hard candy to keep his focus, bit of an oral fixation

completely ruins heartfelt moments by getting sidetracked. Can be giving the mushiest compliments then in the next breath go "so you gonna eat that leftover cake in your fridge or nah?"

Changes nicknames for you on a semi-weekly basis just to keep you on your toes and to annoy his brothers

Prankster extraordinare

Can cook, but like the annoying ‘these are the worst ingredients to combine and somehow this tastes good and I'm going to sue you over telling me what's in this’

Is the best with understanding emotions and expressing himself. Yes, Leo might be better reading body language, but Mikey has empathy over why someone might react a certain way, not just 'if I do y then x happens'

Will push buttons to see how much he can bug someone

The one most likely to help you sneak out and get up to shit. Also the one most likely to get you two caught.

Makes up song lyrics when he doesn't know the actual words. Will change them to suit his needs, or how badly he wants to tick off his brothers. Not sure who would get the MOST annoyed by wrong lyrics on purpose, but you just know he has a different set fine tuned for each brother

His bed is basically a storage container for pillows and blankets. Which is good, because he is a serial cuddler, and if you need space to sleep you’ve got plenty of pillows to act as a body double if needs be

Loves soap operas, iron chef, diners drive-ins and dives. The more drama is in it, the more he eats it up. He and Raph bond over Golden Girls once the bigger brother realized he wasn’t going to get teased over it

Will pick up the spider to show you it’s not something to be scared of

#tmnt headcanons #tmnt bayverse #tmnt bayverse headcanons #bayverse leonardo #bayverse donatello #bayverse raphael #bayverse michelangelo #my writing snippets

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heleentje · 1 year

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So there's a take that crops up every so often in the Breath of the Wild fandom, and it goes something like this:

Windblight Ganon is such a piece of cake! If Revali were as talented as he claimed to be, he wouldn't have been defeated by it, so clearly he's just an arrogant blowhard.

I disagree. Because while Windblight might have been relatively easy for the player to defeat, circumstances conspired against Revali in every possible way.

Strike 1: The Blight Ganons were tailor-made to defeat the Champions

While it's not stated outright, the Blights seem to be custom-made to put their respective opponents at the worst possible disadvantage. So while Link can avoid the whirlwinds on the ground, they would be very disruptive to Revali's Gale (something he's only been able to do consistently for a short while). Arrows, too, can easily get blown off course by the wind even when using a heavy bow (so can a Rito, who is presumably lighter than a Hylian).

If, on top of that, it was raining (implied by memories #16 and #17), then Revali's favoured bomb arrows would have been useless. Not a great recipe for a fight.

Strike 2: Rito don't see well in the dark

Botw is a game that doesn't tell you a lot upfront, but you can find a wealth of information in every little corner. Case in point, in Gerudo Town there's a Rito named Frita. And she has a very interesting tidbit to share if you talk to her at night.

[Image ID: A Rito named Frita in Gerudo Town says: "Us Rito... We haven't got the best night vision, to be honest."]

When the Calamity emerged, an unnatural darkness blanketed the land. A darkness that persists from its appearance all the way through Link and Zelda fleeing and their final stand at Fort Hateno, up until Zelda temporarily sealed the Calamity (memories #15, #16 and #17).

That’s without even mentioning the laser show Windblight Ganon puts on. Ever encountered a car with LED lights on a dark road? Now imagine how Revali felt.

Strike 3: Revali had to fly non-stop for hours to get to Medoh

After sinking some hours into playing botw, you probably get used to warping all across the map via the shrines. Going from Lurelin to Rito Village is a matter of seconds. And if the Sheikah had been able to unlock the Sheikah Slate fully in the past, that would have been a massive boon to the war effort.

Unfortunately, they didn't. Which means that, when Calamity Ganon emerged, all the Champions had to take the long road to their Divine Beasts.

Now what does that mean for Revali? We can hazard a pretty good guess, but we don't have to, because the art book tells us: Revali flew straight from Lanayru East Gate to Rito Village. It's hard to tell exactly how long that would have taken him, but I'm estimating that would be about 8-10 hours flying non-stop.

[Image ID: A map of Hyrule showing the presumed routes the Champions took to get to their Divine Beasts. Revali's is a straight line across Hyrule.]

Which means Revali (like the other Champions) was probably already exhausted by the time he got to Medoh.

Aaaaaand that's three strikes, he's out!

But if that's not enough for you yet, here's one more thing. Admittedly, this is less solidly canon than the previous parts, but it's conjecture that, in my opinion, is backed up by the Champions' Ballad DLC.

Strike 4: Revali lacked his best weapon and may have been injured

The artbook shows us another salient tidbit. Revali could have detoured if he wanted to, but he didn't: he flew in the straightest possible line across Hyrule Field.

Hyrule Field, better known as the center of the chaos at the time.

Can we really expect a Champion, especially a Champion who's so eager to prove himself, to not stop and at least try to help? And while trying to help, what might have happened to him?

When you fight the Blights in the illusory realm, you gain a set amount of equipment, implied to be what the Champions carried with them at the time. And with Revali, something's missing.

[Image ID: The bow inventory during the DLC fight against Windblight Ganon. It includes a Falcon Bow, Duplex Bow and Phrenic Bow.]

Where's the Great Eagle Bow?

Would Rito Champion Revali, greatest archer in known Rito history, really not be carrying his signature bow, when every other Champion carried their favoured weapon?

This, combined with his route straight across Hyrule Field, makes me suspect that he did engage the Guardians, lost his bow, and may even have gotten injured in the process.

So there you have it. Just about everything was against Revali in that fight. And while Link, and by extension the player, may have had an easy time of it, they went into it at full health and with all the advantages of the Sheikah Slate.

Meanwhile, Revali arrived at Vah Medoh after a frantic hours-long flight only to be thrown into a fight he didn't expect against an opponent tailor-made to counter his every move, while he was unable to see properly and lacked his best weapon. And he still managed to put up one hell of a fight.

#botw #revali #meta #look I didn't write my first botw fic about this very thing just to have this nonsense persist #Revali is exactly as good as he claimed to be #and the Champions were thrown into a fight that had them at a massive disadvantage #(sidenote: Urbosa doesn't have the Thunder Helm either even though it probably could have saved her)#(Presumably she didn't want to detour when they were so pressed for time and she didn't expect a fight on Vah Naboris)

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batboyblog · 1 year

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Super Gay Reading List

The Long Run by James Acker Simon vs. the Homo Sapiens Agenda by Becky Albertalli Another Dimension of Us by Mike Albo Wonders of the Invisible World by Christopher Barzak Alan Cole Is Not a Coward by Eric Bell Alan Cole Doesn’t Dance by Eric Bell The Darkest Part of the Forest by Holly Black In Other Lands by Sarah Rees Brennan Felix Yz by Lisa Bunker Last Bus to Everland by Sophie Cameron The House of Impossible Beauties by Joseph Cassara Peter Darling by Austin Chant Carry the Ocean by Heidi Cullinan The Love Interest by Cale Dietrich Half Bad by Sally Green Half Wild by Sally Green Half Lost by Sally Green Heartbreak Boys by Simon James Green Gay Club by Simon James Green We Contain Multitudes by Sarah Henstra Totally Joe by James Howe After School Activities by Dirk Hunter At the Edge of the Universe by Shaun David Hutchinson The Past and Other Things That Should Stay Buried by Shaun David Hutchinson We Are the Ants by Shaun David Hutchinson The Five Stages of Andrew Brawley by Shaun David Hutchinson A Complicated Love Story Set in Space by Shaun David Hutchinson The Boy Who Couldn’t Fly Straight by Jeff Jacobson Haffling by Caleb James The Lightning-Struck Heart by T.J. Klune A Destiny of Dragons by T.J. Klune The Consumption of Magic by T.J. Klune A Wish Upon the Stars by T.J. Klune The Extraordinaries by T.J. Klune Flash Fire by T.J. Klune Heat Wave by T.J. Klune The House in the Cerulean Sea by T.J. Klune Openly Straight by Bill Konigsberg The Bridge by Bill Konigsberg Destination Unknown by Bill Konigsberg The Gentleman’s Guide to Vice and Virtue by Mackenzi Lee Two Boys Kissing by David Levithan Every Day by David Levithan Boy Meets Boy by David Levithan How to Repair a Mechanical Heart by J.C. Lillis Take a Bow, Noah Mitchell by Tobias Madden When Ryan Came Back by Devon McCormack Red, White & Royal Blue by Casey McQuiston Fraternity by Andy Mientus The Song of Achilles by Madeline Miller The Art of Starving by Sam J. Miller Hero by Perry Moore I’ll Give You the Sun by Jandy Nelson More Than This by Patrick Ness Junior Hero Blues by J.K. Pendragon The City Beautiful by Aden Polydoros When Everything Feels Like the Movies by Raziel Reid Kens by Raziel Reid Jack of Hearts by Lev A.C. Rosen Camp by Lev A.C. Rosen Carry On by Rainbow Rowell Wayward Son by Rainbow Rowell Rainbow Boys by Alex Sanchez Rainbow High by Alex Sanchez Rainbow Road by Alex Sanchez So Hard to Say by Alex Sanchez The 99 Boyfriends of Micah Summers by Adam Sass The Darkness Outside Us by Eliot Schrefer All Kinds of Other by James Sie They Both Die at the End by Adam Silvera History Is All You Left Me by Adam Silvera More Happy Than Not by Adam Silvera Grasshopper Jungle by Andrew Smith Freak Show by James St. James Ray of Sunlight by Brynn Stein The Dangerous Art of Blending In by Angelo Surmelis 366 Days by Kiyoshi Tanaka The Language of Seabirds by Will Taylor Cemetery Boys by Aiden Thomas Wild and Crooked by Leah Thomas Because You’ll Never Meet Me by Leah Thomas Spin Me Right Round by David Valdes Always the Almost by Edward Underhill Hell Followed With Us by Andrew Joseph White

Blue= realistic fiction Purple=fantasy/magic Green=for younger readers Pink=sci fi/magical realism

if you want help picking out a book send me an ask, also I love it when people let me know they read a book off the list

#reading list #reading recommendations #gay books #reading #books #red white and royal blue #Carry on #Love simon #the song of achilles #half bad

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pinkinku · 6 months

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Malfoy's Mudblood

pairing: death eater!draco malfoy x hermione granger

description: Death Eater Draco Malfoy has his very own Mudblood to play with.

word count: 3k, approx. 15 min reading time

warnings!: very dark, extremely dubious consent, rough sex, face fucking, face slapping, deepthroating, doggy style, evil draco malfoy, use of wizarding world slurs, stockholm syndrome, self-harm, blood and injury, come swallowing, lust potion, spit kink, praise kink.

author's note: i'm currently writing something long and very fluffly, so i needed to write something completely opposite ^^ if you clicked on this after reading the title and the tags, enjoy reading :)))

art by: @irinakulishart

( •̀ ω •́ )✧

Malfoy, clad in his Death Eater robes, apparated right in front the gates of the Malfoy Manor, opening them with a single swish of his wand. His strides through the road toward the house were confident and severe, like he was going there with a goal in mind. That was true – something good was waiting for him there. Or rather, someone good.

Today was rough for him. He had killed, yes, that wasn’t new, but today specifically he killed a lot of people and, whether he wanted that or not, it still left some heaviness inside him that he needed to release as soon as possible.

He came inside the Manor, the house creaked and howled from the wind outside, but it was warm inside, and it smelled like what he remembered from his childhood. Three years ago, before her, the Manor smelt like rot and blood, with pain and suffering soaking through its walls and ceilings. He used to hate coming back to an empty house, preferring his nights spent at the brothel then. Now, it was different. Now, he was no longer alone. Exhausted, ruthless, but not alone.

He took off his Death Eater mask while ascending the stairs, aware of how much she hated seeing it. Upon entering his chambers, he realized she was there waiting for him, just like he told her to be. She was sitting comfortably on the sofa in front of the fireplace, wearing nothing but a dark green silk nightdress and a black nightgown on top of it, and none of it was enough to hide her from his gaze. He went straight for the glasses and the decanter of whiskey on the small table on the side, pouring himself a drink and downing it all in one gulp. She was reading and hadn’t registered his presence yet – her mind was working slowly on the potion – so he took the time he had to check what book she was reading. It was nothing suspicious nor dangerous, simply a beautiful collection of Agatha Christie’s mysteries she had found in the library of the Manor and brought here to pass the time.

“Mudblood,” he called out, finally catching her attention.

She looked up at him from her book, her eyes glassed, but he could tell the effect of the potion was wearing down. Every time he forced her to take it, which was every time he got a suspicion she was about to regain her wits, the potion got less and less effective. That’s why today, before anything else, he would force her to drink it.

She put the book down without looking away from him as if she simply couldn’t focus on anything else that wasn’t him. She scrambled up from the sofa and started walking toward him.

“Master,” she spoke softly. “You’re back. I was waiting for you.”

“Good,” he said, beckoning her closer, the bottle of the potion ready in his hand. “Come here and drink this.”

She took the final two steps that separated them while Malfoy unscrewed the bottle. She stopped right in front of him, looking up at him like a puppy, opening her mouth and sticking her tongue out obediently. There, he didn’t even have to force her.

He grabbed her chin with his free hand, gloved in leather, and positioned it to add a few droplets of the golden potion right on her tongue. She closed her eyes at the taste, which couldn’t have been bad, and swallowed it without even being told to.

Putting the bottle of the potion back in its place, Malfoy commanded her, “On your knees.”

And while she dropped to her knees before him, looking up expectantly, he took off his leather gloves and shrugged off his cloak, watching the way the potion gradually took effect on her. Her eyes glossed over even more; it looked like a white film was drawn over her eyes. Her whole body relaxed, and there were no thoughts left in her mind except those concerning him. He loved seeing her like this. She was the only one on his mind just then too.

He started working on the buckle of his belt while watching her intently, his passion growing with every second, his dick already half-hard in his slacks. He leaned in to slide the nightgown off her shoulders and the rest she shrugged off herself.

“Open your mouth,” he told her, and she complied, albeit it took a few seconds for her to understand him.

He dropped his slacks to his knees and didn’t bother to do any more of the work he had already done. “Your turn,” he said. “Take me out. Do what you do best.”

His Mudblood shimmied closer on her knees, putting her palm on his cock through his underwear, seeing how much he liked it, and he liked it a lot. She rolled her palm a few times, making his whole lower abdomen melt, and then slowly took off his underwear, revealing his already more-than-hard cock, its head bobbing free straight into her face, turning her attention from his face to the head of his cock and making her gasp softly, that sweet sound reverberating in his ears.

She took his cock in her beautiful soft hands and kissed the tip of it with her plump lips tenderly, then licked the precum at the crown.

He hissed in pleasure. “Look at me.”

She did, all the while taking his cock into her mouth and humming in pleasure, her eyes never leaving his. His Mudblood started moving her head rhythmically, her lips wrapping around his cock halfway through and her hands stimulating the remaining part at the root that she couldn’t reach with her mouth yet, all the while making sweet little sounds of pleasure for him. He moaned in pleasure, wishing nothing more but to take control, however allowing her to blow him off on her own for a few minutes. Malfoy enjoyed the sight of her sucking him off so enthusiastically herself.

“Show me those tits,” he directed, having half a mind to rip the nightdress off her himself, but she quickly lowered the strips of it to her forearms and exposed her magnificent tits to him. He squeezed one of them, then the other, not forgetting to pinch the nipples the way she liked. The sensations he brought upon her made her suck his cock with even more enthusiasm.

At last, Malfoy lost his composure and grabbed a chunk of her wild curls, entwining them in his fist and forcing her on his cock until it reached the back of her throat, making her gag. Her eyes fluttered shut and she moan-gasped at his roughness, but the sounds were muffled by his cock in her throat. She grabbed the top of his thighs with her hands instinctively and although she was so weak it didn’t make him feel a thing, he still said, “Hands behind your back.”

She listened, of course, bringing her hands behind her back, the fingers of her right hand wrapping around her left hand’s wrist. Malfoy took over the control, bobbing her head up and down in vicious rhythm, not giving her the chance to take a breath, not allowing her to get away from him, holding her in place as if she was sewn to his body and breaking them apart would cause a catastrophe. She gagged and choked on his cock, her teeth grazing the skin of his cock slightly, but he didn’t mind that, in fact, it even added to the experience.

When it all felt like it was going to be too much but not enough at the same time, he thrust her head on his cock all the way down until her nose touched the flesh of his sternum and her whole face was pushed into him. He held her there for a few blessed moments, groaning in bliss at the sounds of her gaging and moaning, begging him for release. He let go of her hair and her head pulled away from his cock in a violent start while the rest of her body remained it place where it belonged. She coughed and gasped, trying desperately to catch her breath. His cock was wet with her saliva and as hard as ever.

“Open your mouth,” she ordered her. “And stick out your tongue.”

His Mudblood did as she was told, and Malfoy grabbed her jaw in his hand, leaning in closer and spitting into her waiting mouth. She didn’t close it immediately, only after he said, “Swallow it,” to which she happily obliged.

“Such a good girl,” he praised, his tight grip still on her jaw, her mouth still open for him to do whatever he wanted. “You like throating my cock, don’t you?”

She nodded eagerly, her eyes glassy and half-closed.

He slapped her cheek very lightly. “That’s my Mudblood.” And thrust his cock back into her throat, resuming the vicious rhythm he had set up before.

She gurgled and spat the saliva on his cock while he didn’t let go of her head, using it as his own personal fleshlight. His groans and moans of pleasure mingled with the sounds of her gagging. There were tears in her eyes and the hands behind her back were shaking, her attention no longer on him but on the lack of oxygen. He took his cock out and slapped her hard a few times, so hard that her cheeks blushed beautifully, and the mark of his fingers remained for a few lingering seconds.

“I told you to look up at me,” he told her. “You’re forgetting to listen.”

“I’m sorry, Master,” she whispered, her voice shaking as if she was close to tears. “I’m sorry.”

He slapped her once, twice, just because he could. He loved the way her face turned redder.

“You’re my Mudblood, and you will listen to me. Is that clear?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, Master. I’m yours, Master.”

He thrust his cock back home, and this time she was listening, looking up at him no matter how distracted she was, hypnotizing him with his eyes, making him come almost immediately. He took himself out, fisting his cock with one hand and using the other to keep her face close. She kept her mouth open with her tongue out without being ordered to, and his sperm soon coated her tongue. She swallowed it all, humming in pleasure.

His Mudblood was going to continue deepthroating him, but he had other plans.

He fisted her hair, keeping her away from him. A confused look passed her beautiful features.

“Not so fast,” he said, going to his canopy bed and pulling her with him by her hair. She crawled after him on all fours obediently, mewling from the pain but not complaining. “Get on the bed, ass in the air.”

She did so.

He lifted his silk nightdress which was already so short that her ass and pussy were practically already all visible for him. He moved the string of her thong out of the way and sheathed his cock deep inside her pussy, making her moan loudly. He pushed her head into the mattress, his rings digging into her skull. His thrusts were deep and merciless, brutal and wild – he was losing all the control he still possessed of himself. She was so warm and griped him so tight he was about to come a second time moments after the first release, but somehow managed to keep himself at bay. His Mudblood moaned and mewled in tandem with his thrusts while he fisted her hair, lifting her upper body slightly and continuing his attack on her.

Malfoy watched entranced the way his cock went in and out of her wet warmth, all and every thought fleeing his mind, only her soft sounds in his ears. He grabbed her by the throat, bringing her body flush close to him, his thrusts losing the rhythm, his hips shaking violently with every heave. His breathing became uneven, and when her moans reached crescendo, when he felt her tight pussy grip his cock like a vice, he lost it all and emptied himself inside of her, still holding her close even after his orgasm, kissing the hollow of her throat.

They were both catching their breaths when he released her, and she sank on his bedding with no will to do anything as if he was the only thing that kept her up and gave her direction. Malfoy disappeared and came back a few minutes later with a washcloth, cleaning her and himself up before tucking her up in his bed and lying right next to her.

He kissed her forehead tenderly, that glassy look still on her face.

“You did very well,” he praised her. “You’re a very good Mudblood, did you know that?”

She nodded, smiling softly. “Thank you, Master,” she whispered. Then fell asleep.

The next day was no better than the others, but Malfoy had his Mudblood waiting for him at home and that thought alone comforted him enough to get through it. He killed and tortured and mauled, the sounds of screaming and screeching still echoing through his ears. But he had her. So it was all worth it.

Malfoy entered the Manor and immediately realized something wasn’t right. He sniffed the air, but the smell here, in his home, wasn’t much different than where he had just come back from and that couldn’t have meant anything good. The scent was sour and rusty.

Blood.

“Mudblood!” he called out.

No answer.

He bolted to his bedroom, calling her out, his shouts echoing through the Manor. She wasn’t where he was used to always finding her. He followed the scent of the blood in panicked frenzy until he reached its source. She was in a dark room, so dark that he couldn’t even see her at first, but he could smell the rust and the suffering. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, and he saw his Mudblood with her back turned to him, her shoulders slouched and shaking violently from sobbing. She had a blade in her hand, one of his cherished silver blades he always carried on his belt, that’s the one he found missing today, believing he had lost it.

She was cutting the smooth perfect skin of her wrists, slicing into her tender soft flesh, the one that warmed him up and pleasured him every night. Blood was pouring from the wounds she had inflicted upon herself, blood, crimson red, blood, no different than that of his other victims, not muddy or dirty or different at all.

No different than his own blood.

They both bled the same.

“Stop it!” Malfoy shouted, throwing himself at her.

She turned, seeing him in his mask, her eyes no longer glazed. She was as sober as he had seen her in the past year. She was not all there, she probably would never be all there again, but she was thinking clearly enough to scream hysterically in terror upon seeing him and try to destroy herself the first chance she got because she knew that was her only way out.

She screeched when he got near and he realized he had forgotten to take off his Death Eater mask, amplifying her fright. He quickly took it off and tossed it aside, wasting no time to grab her and take the blade out of her hands.

“What are you doing!” he yelled at his Mudblood while she screamed in utter agony.

She writhed in his arms, trying to get away, trying to run as far away as possible from him, but he held her tightly. Her blood poured all around them, soaking into his clothes, but they were black, so her blood seemed invisible.

She wasn’t going to let him help her so easily, and he couldn’t give her the golden potion while she was bleeding profusely, so he had to Imperio her to take care of her wounds. Malfoy brought her back to his bedroom, hoping that a familiar space would help her panic less. He cleaned and bandaged up her wounds, then softly put her to his bed. This time, coming back home was worse than doing his job.

He lifted the Imperio curse to see if she would still fight him; fortunately, she didn’t. Her gaze was empty, but not empty in a way that she wasn’t herself. It seemed deflated of any hope. Malfoy would even have felt sorry for her if only he still had feelings to spare. He caressed her head softly, making sure that the bandages didn’t bleed through. She looked at him. Her eyes were quite clear. He wanted to give her the potion, but he would have to wait until she was better. He didn’t want to mess his Mudblood up, he wanted to keep her for as long as he could.

It was weird the way she was watching him. Observing. Scrutinizing. Inspecting. Understanding?

He decided to lie next to her, her back to him, because he couldn’t handle that gaze. She turned to him, that same strange look on her face.

“Do you hate me?” she asked quietly. Her voice was so clear it took him off guard.

“No,” he answered almost immediately.

There was a pause.

“Do you love me?”

He met her eyes, daring himself not to look away. He was thinking. About her. But there was nothing to think about.

“Yes.”

She watched him for a long time, trying to see if he was telling the truth. Of course, he was.

“Then why are you doing this to me? Why can’t you let me go?”

“Where would you go?” he asked her gently. “All your friends are dead. Everybody from the Order is dead. The only reason you’re alive is because I took you. If I let you go, someone will still catch you. And they wouldn’t be as nice to you as I am. They wouldn’t give you potions to make you not think, forget.”

There again, that understanding in her eyes.

“I don’t want that potion anymore,” she said.

Malfoy shook his head. “There is no other way.”

“There is,” she rushed to assure him. “There is, Master. I’m yours. All yours.”

He gazed at her. These were the words he always commanded her to say, and she said them only under the influence of the potion. He liked, no, he loved the way they sounded coming from her mouth while she was seeing him clearly, understanding the implications of them fully.

She lifted her bandaged arm and took his hand in hers, entwining their fingers.

“I’m all yours,” she repeated.

Their faces were inches apart now.

“Okay,” he whispered, afraid that his voice might disturb the moment.

She leaned in and kissed him on her own accord for the first time, ever. She gave herself to him completely.

She was all his. Malfoy’s Mudblood.

THE END

#fanfiction #dramione fanfic #dramione #fanart #harry potter fanfiction #mudblood #hermione granger #draco malfoy #draco x hermione #fanfic #writng #writers on tumblr

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balladofsallyrose · 5 months

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Dennis Hopper's collection of owned and gifted books (a few are listed under the cut)

Islands in the Stream (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1970)

Magic (Delacorte Press, 1976)

Sneaky People (Simon and Schuster, 1975)

Strange Peaches (Harper's Magazine Press, 1972)

I Didn't Know I Would Live So Long (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1973)

Baby Breakdown (The Bobbs-Merrill Company, Inc., 1970)

37 (Holt, Rinehart and Winston, 1970)

Presences: A Text for Marisol (Charles Scribner's Sons, 1970)

Little Prayers for Little Lips, The Book of Tao, The Bhagavadgita or The Song Divine, and Gems and Their Occult Power.

Lolita (G.P. Putnam's Sons, 1955)

The Dramas of Kansas (John F. Higgins, 1915)

Joy of Cooking (The Bobbs-Merrill Company, 1974)

The Neurotic: His Inner and Outer Worlds (First edition, Citadel Press, 1954)

Out of My Mind: An Autobiography (Harry N. Abrams, Inc., 1997)

The Savage Mind (University of Chicago Press, 1966)

Alive: The Story of the Andes Survivors (J.B. Lippincott Company, 1974)

The Documents of 20th Century Art: Dialogues with Marcel Duchamp (Viking Press, 1971)

The Portable Dorothy Parker, A Portrait of the Artist as a Young Man, I Ching, and How to Make Love to a Man.

John Steinbeck's East of Eden (Bantam, 1962)

James Dean: The Mutant King (Straight Arrow Books, 1974) by David Dalton

The Moviegoer (The Noonday Press, 1971)

Erections, Ejaculations, Exhibitions and General Tales of Ordinary Madness (City Light Books, 1974)

Narcotics Nature's Dangerous Gifts (A Delta Book, 1973)

The Egyptian Book of the Dead (Dover Publications, 1967)

Tibetan Yoga and Secret Doctrines (Oxford University Press, 1969)

Junky (Penguin Books, 1977) by William S. Burroughs

Weed: Adventures of a Dope Smuggler (Harper & Row, 1974)

Alcoholics Anonymous (Alcoholics Anonymous World Services, 1976)

Skrebneski Portraits - A Matter of Record, Sketchbooks of Paolo Soleri, and High Tide.

Raw Notes (The Press of the Nova Scotia College of Art and Design, 2005)

Le Corbusier (Heidi Weber, 1965)

Henry Moore in America (Praeger Publishers, 1973)

Claes Oldenburg (MIT Press, 2012)

Notebooks 1959 1971 (MIT Press, 1972)

A Day in the Country (Los Angeles County Museum of Art, 1985)

Album Celine (Gallimard, 1977)

A Selection of Fifity Works From the Collection of Robert C. Scull (Sotheby Parke Bernet, Inc. 1973)

Collage A Complete Guide for Artists (Watsun-Guptill Publications, 1970)

The Fifties Aspects of Painting in New York (Smithsonian Institution Press, 1980)

A Bottle of Notes and Some Voyages (Rizzoli International Publications, 1988)

All Color Book of Art Nouveau (Octopus Books, 1974)

A Colorslide Tour of The Louvre Paris (Panorama, 1960)

Dear Dead Days (G. P. Putnam's Sons, 1959)

Woman (Aidan Ellis Publishing Limited, 1972)

The Arts and Man ( UNESCO, 1969)

Murals From the Han to the Tang (Foreign Languages Press, 1974)

A (Grove Press Inc., 1968)

Andy Warhol's Index Book (Random House, 1967)

Voices (A Big Table Book, 1969)

Another Country (A Dell Book, circa 1960s)

On The Road (Signet, circa 1980s)

#dennis hopper

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local-lamppost · 1 year

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Utena’s Caged Intelligence

Something of a continuation of this.

TL;DR Ohtori, like pretty much every school, was not designed for those with developing intelligence (like middle schoolers) to be able to grow and flourish.

So I’ve gone over a little bit of the initial curiosity of Utena and how that diminished, but I wanted to address some topics I might have missed because I mainly focused on Utena’s logic.

When I say logic, I mean her matter of fact/overtly blunt manner of problem solving. She forces her way through problems headstrong, making her solutions equate to the dumb joke stereotype. She sees things in a straight line in a world that is determined to pave only curved roads. Her logic makes her the biggest moron in a world of the illogical. This can actually be seen in Miki as well. Miki is an artist at heart, but doesn’t think he can express himself that way because of the “feminine” nature he’s been taught the language of art is. Miki tries to translate his artistic thoughts into logical dialog, and because of his inability to correlate his mind and voice it makes him one of the easiest characters to manipulate; he’ll mimic what those around him says-especially after an emotional moment-because that must be how a regular “logical” speaker would act.

Utena is similar to a degree, she’s just in no way self aware. Less frantic than Miki, but easier to condition once you can tug Utena’s logic away from her own and onto someone else’s (Akio’s).

Utena is not allowed to come to her own conclusions. Akio or Anthy or whatever student council member has been enlisted are all quick to put her in situations that derive her of exploring other options. It becomes that the best way to solve her problems is to go along with the duels (to the point that she challenges Touga to a duel purely for herself and her own issues, because that’s how problems are solved at Ohtori).

I think the best way to dumb this thought process down is to think that everyone is playing a game. Utena plays by the book and is a naturally very skilled player, others will have mind games or better items to try to gain an upper hand; but then there are players like Touga, Akio, and Anthy who have cheats enabled, but Utena is unable to realize this.

Lastly, the point that can slip people’s mind is that Utena is 14 and the people pulling the strings are all older than her/more experienced. Akio is in his twenties or thirties(not even counting that he might be a magical immortal deity), Touga is both an upper classmen but someone who appears to be living the most ‘adult’ lifestyle of all the underage duelists (the mindest for them is very much sex=maturity/power), and Anthy’s bread and butter is preparing sacrifices for her brother(as well as being a maybe immortal witch).

Her age is Utena’s greatest detriment in the game she’s playing. The only characters that get manipulated as much as she does are Miki and Nanami (Nanami especially) and they are the youngest of the duelists. Yet there are the scant few times it gives her strength, such as her duel with Wakaba (but even then, this duel gave Akio that firm line in the sand he would need to eliminate to further bring Utena under his control).

A school is supposed to be where you go to grow your logical intelligence, while being placed in an environment meant to grow your social intelligence. Ohtori, under Akio’s direction, does not comply to this standard: they value the independence of the students. Something that sounds good, until you remember that these are kids still in need of support, support Akio is glad to provide as he frames himself as the only truly mature and reliable presence in these children’s lives.

#rgu #revolutionary girl utena #utena #anthy #the rose bride #akio ohtori #touga kiryuu #miki kaoru #ohtori academy #it phsysically makes me ill to talk about Akio #i hate him so much he's that well written #i want to write something about him but my disgust for that insect makes it difficult #ride your stupid carousel while utena helps anthy to save herself #no other character illicits such contempt and loathing from me

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separatist-apologist · 1 year

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Cowboy Like Me

Never thought I'd meet you here

Summary: When Nesta is stranded in rural Montana, she finds herself rescued by an unlikely pair.

Day 1 of @sjmromanceweek: Meet-Cute

Also, check out this art of Cowboy Cassian from @melphss

Read on AO3

Nesta was in hell.

Who got married in Montana? Montana seemed like the sort of place you exiled people to die in lonely misery. She didn’t give a fuck about all the open sky, the clean air, or the nature that quite literally ambled up to her rental car looking for a snack. Nesta wasn’t built for this sort of life and maybe it said something about her that she couldn’t imagine anyone else who was.

She’d made a mistake, though. When she’d rented her airbnb, she’d just assumed it was an actual home, like the pictures had depicted, and not some ramshackle hovel with a literal hole in the ground for shitting.

For fifty dollars a night, she supposed she deserved that. Nesta thought that maybe she also deserved her twisted ankle. Heels on a gravel road had been an obvious mistake—was she supposed to go barefoot? She hadn’t brought anything else. Nesta emitted a soft scream of hatred for this new, cheerful place before propping herself up on the hood of her car to look at her swelling ankle.

All this for a wedding. The minute Nesta managed to get back into her car, she was going to book a flight home and block this friend forever. Why was she even trying to have friends outside of Gwyn and Emerie, besides? Nesta maneuvered her phone from her black skirt pocket only to find that of fucking course she didn’t have service.

She screamed again, irate with the whole endeavor.

“All right, ma’am?” a masculine voice called. Nesta whipped her head to the side of the long, gravel drive, intending to give that busybody man the middle finger for his trouble.

She hesitated. To start, the man in question was astride a large black horse. She had no quick comeback for a man who was pulling towards her shiny red sedan like he’d stepped straight out of eighteen forty six.

He swung one of his long, powerful legs off the creature with ease, revealing himself to be at least six foot-five. Nesta had never considered herself a small woman, standing at five-nine without heels, but as he approached, his rough stubbled face hidden beneath the brim of his cowboy hat, Nesta felt positively dainty.

He swept his hat off his head and Nesta wished he hadn’t. Holding it against the blue and green flannel of his shirt, he was like something out of a magazine ad for country living. Warm brown skin, hazel eyes, and dark brown hair that fell to his shoulders was a lethal combination on this man. His chiseled jaw, the stubble grazing his cheeks, and his rough features made Nesta think he had no trouble picking up women.

And that irked her, even as she swallowed with desire. He was absurdly stunning, the absolute dream of anyone hoping to marry a cowboy from a long-forgotten age. Those eyes of his, framed with ridiculously long lashes, swept over her, and then her surroundings.

“Tricked, huh?” he asked in a rich, deep drawl. “You wouldn’t be the first. Won’t be the last.”

“Someone should burn this place to the ground,” she hissed, one hand still gripping her hurt ankle.

He chuckled. “I don’t think that would stop someone from tryin’ to sell it. You hurt?” he added, his eyes falling on her ankle.

“I twisted my foot,” she admitted. He knelt, the sight emptying out all of Nesta’s thoughts. She could only stare at his thighs, bulging in his tight jeans. His hand was large enough to wrap fully around her ankle, and ever so slowly, he pulled her foot from her scuffed black heel.

“This is your problem,” he said, holding up her shoe with a frown.

“Well I know that now,” Nesta hissed, “you must be a psychic.”

His eyes flashed. “Can you drive?”

“No,” she admitted, crossing her arms over her chest.

"I wouldn’t go around insultin’ the only person who can help…but that’s just me,” he replied.

Nesta hesitated. “Are you a doctor?”

He snorted, rising to his feet again. His large, muscular body blocked the bright sun the way a tree might, and Nesta couldn’t pretend she wasn’t grateful.

“Cattle rancher,” he replied, “but I know a thing or two about tapin’ up a sprain. We’ll get you iced up and bandaged and on your way Miss…”

She sighed. “Nesta Archeron,” she half grumbled.

“Miss Archeron—”

“Nesta. Don’t be ridiculous.”

He smiled, setting her heart racing. “Miss Nesta, then. I’m Cassian, and I’m walkin’ towards you real slow because I don’t want to spook you.”

“Why would you—put me down right now!”

He shook his head. “And let you finish breakin’ what you started? No offense, darlin’, but carrying you is a lot safer than letting you hop on the horse—”

“Why can’t we drive?”

He looked down at her, his amusement plain. “And what would I do with Bryaxis?”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Nesta breathed, gripping Cassian’s neck until her nails dug into his skin. “I’ve never been on a horse.”

“He doesn’t bite,” Cassian replied. “I’ll be right behind you.”

She couldn’t help her squeal as he hoisted her up into the fine leather saddle. Nesta’s bare thighs touched the material, spreading her legs obscenely, though Cassian didn’t seen to notice or care. He merely swung himself up behind her. He put one hand on her hip, the warmth seeping through her silken skirt, before reaching for the reins.

“What were you doing out here, anyway?”

He nodded towards a saddle bag. “Needed a few things in town.

“And you took a horse?” she replied, trying to imagine where he’d even park it.

Cassian’s laugh rumbled through his chest. “Where are you from, Miss Nesta?”

“Chicago,” she replied, well aware she was proving every city slicker stereotype true. “Have you ever been?”

She felt him shrug. “Nope. I’ve been to cities before, but not so far south.

So far south. Nesta didn’t know how to respond to that. “You’re not missing much, honestly.”

“No? Is Chicago not home sweet home?”

It was Nesta’s turn to shrug. “It’s where I live.”

If he had thoughts about that, Cassian kept them to himself. That was just as well—Nesta didn’t want to fight some stranger when she was currently on his horse, unable to even run. He’d left her shoes on top of her car and her suitcase in the trunk. Nesta was literally at his mercy, given the small, two-lane road they were currently traveling down had no hint of civilization besides the two of them.

She’d done such a shitty job picking an airbnb.

“What are you doin’ up here, then?” he asked after a moment. His voice had the most pleasant gravel, deep and dark like a star-flecked sky. Nesta knew she was leaning against the broad plain of his chest and found she didn’t care.

“My friend is getting married,” she said. “I guess her fiance grew up out here.”

“Oh yeah?” he replied, an obvious smile in his voice. “Married on a ranch?”

Nesta twisted in her saddle. “Don’t you dare—”

“Lots of people rent out my barn on the edge of the property. You can stay up with me, if you need a place. I’ll charge you a real fair price.”

She rolled her eyes. “What’s that?”

“You ever mucked out a stall, Miss Nesta?”

She poked him in the ribs, turning back to face the endless expanse of cloudless blue. “Is that your thing, then? Humbling the city girl by making her clean up shit?”

“Maybe I think you’d be real pretty with a little mud on your face.”

Nesta swallowed. “I don’t do mud,” she said, looking at her immaculate nails.

“What do you do, then?” Why did he sound so suggestive? Nesta’s hands were clammy–nervous. When had a man ever had that effect on her?

“Law,” she told him. “Corporate law.”

He made some soft, noncommittal noise that was, honestly, a lot better than a lot of the finance men she dated. Cassian acknowledged he’d heard her without feeling the need to cut her down in service of his own ego.

“I don’t know much about that,” he finally admitted. Nesta could have kissed him for it, though she wouldn’t.

“It’s pretty boring,” she said, earning another of his soft noises.

“I don’t believe that for a minute,” he replied. “You don’t strike me as the type to spend your time sufferin’.”

“Well…I do get to humble really rich men with a fair amount of regularity,” she admitted with a smile. His grip on her waist tightened.

“That’s what I thought,” he murmured, his breath fanning against the back of her neck. She shivered, unintentionally leaning further into him. She was acting like a cat in heat over a man she’d known for fifteen minutes.

“I’ll pay,” she breathed. Behind her, Cassian went stiff.

“Pay?”

“For a room,” she clarified, wondering what he was thinking. “If you were serious about your offer, I’d pay you for it.”

“Oh, darlin’, there’s no need for that. Just a little hel—”

“I told you I don’t do dirt,” she snapped. “You can have money or nothing at all.”

“I’m not takin’ your money,” Cassian drawled. “Just keep after yourself and don’t disturb the cats.”

Her heart stuttered. “Cats?”

“Yeah. My girl just had kittens and she’s real skittish, so if you see her, be real quiet and soft.”

Nesta could have died. “What's her name?”

She wanted a cat so badly. Her landlord expressly forbade any animals at all, and Nesta was too much of a rule follower to risk a secret cat. The thought of spending three days surrounded by a mama cat and her little kittens seemed like heaven.

“Cheddar,” Cassian admitted ruefully. “She’s orange. Dad must be black, though, because half her little beans are black, too.”

A soft squeak slipped from Nesta’s throat. “Do they have names?”

“Not yet. Maybe you’ll help me out with that,” he added with what sounded suspiciously like hope.

She didn’t dare unpack that. Not as Cassian pulled off the road, steering his steady horse down another gravel path. Untouched grass stretched for miles in every direction until the sky met mountains in the distance.

“Your friends will be down there,” Cassian told her, his lips brushing the shell of her ear. Accident, she swore, watching the point of his finger. “But we’ll be up here. I’ll walk you down for the wedding…keep you from wreckin’ that other pretty ankle of yours.”

“Does that work on the women around here? Your folksy charm, your aw shucks—”

Cassian laughed. “Are you askin’ if being nice gets me laid?”

“Does it?”

“My good looks get me laid, darlin’. My folksy charm, as you so eloquently put it, is just called manners outside of the city. No need to pretend.”

“You’d be surprised,” she told him dryly. Cassian merely held her close, his eyes fixated on the two story ranch just in the distance. Nesta could have wept with relief. The saddle was rubbing against her inner thigh, chafing her delicate skin and the woodsy scent of smoke and pine coming off Cassian was threatening to throw all Nesta’s good sense out the window.

His home sprawled against the Montana countryside. Built to look as if it was made of wood—and maybe it was, for all she knew—the house had to be worth a cool million in Nesta’s estimation. She didn’t dare look over her shoulder at him, though. Didn’t dare acknowledge she knew this man wasn’t the simple, rural cattle rancher he was trying to embody.

And Nesta certainly didn’t let him see that she was weirdly relieved. She liked an ambitious man. And unlike all the men she’d been dating back home, Cassian wasn’t slick. Nesta would have put all the money she had on Cassian being the sort who had his heart on his sleeve for all to see. She had no business thinking about that.

This wasn’t a date.

Cassian swung off his horse and gently pulled her back into his arms.

“Don’t you go runnin’ off,” he warned Bryaxis.

“Will he?”

Cassian merely shrugged as he took her up a stone laid path towards his glass and wood front door.

“If he goes anywhere, it’ll be next door to his girlfriend.”

She couldn’t help the giggle that escaped her. “Your horse has a girlfriend?”

“He’s a good-looking horse. Why shouldn’t he have a girlfriend. I catch him all the time down by the fence nuzzlin’ her with his nose.”

“Like you, then?”

Cassian chuckled. “I am very single, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she interrupted, breathless as he brought her inside. “The Miss makes me feel like someone’s kindergarten teacher.”

“Fine, Nesta. I, unlike my horse, am very single.”

“Any particular reason?” she asked, wishing she sounded snide and not interested.

Cassian set her on a long, dark leather sofa, He swept his hat off his head as he knelt in front of her again.

“You want to know why I’m single? Maybe I work too much,” he said softly, sliding her his hand up and then back down her knee. “Maybe I’m a shitty kisser.”

“I’ll bet it’s the second,” she replied. Cassian’s hazel eyes met her own, a smirk curving over his sensual mouth.

“And you? Are you a shitty kisser?”

“Terribly deficient.”

“I figured,” he murmured, turning his gaze back to her swollen ankle. Cassian grabbed a red pillow from the corner of his couch to prop up her foot. “Why don’t you stay here and I’ll get us all set up, hm?”

“Okay.”

Cassian vanished long enough for Nesta to fire off several quiet texts and otherwise study his really nice home. The living room had a wall made of pointed windows, and though everything had that wood cabin aesthetic, it was cozy and cheerful and bright. She flipped through her work emails while she waited, dragging a knitted blanket off the back of the sofa over her lap.

Was she insane for hanging out in a stranger's house? She would never have dared back home—her friends thought she was insane. And yet she was at the right place, and if Cassian wanted to hurt her, surely bandaging up her foot wasn’t necessary. She doubted his neighbors would have heard her scream if she stood outside and emptied her lungs of air.

Cassian returned nearly an hour later, balancing a glass of water and a plate in one massive hand, and her suitcase in the other.

“You got my things?” she asked him, surprised he’d bother. She’d assumed she’d have to hobble back out there for it.

“Of course, darlin’,” he replied, setting a nice sandwich and two ibuprofen down on the wood coffee table right in front of her. “Unless you plan on wearin’ that skirt the entire time? I don’t mind, but…”

Her cheeks flushed. “Thank you. That was really nice.”

He ducked his head. “Have somethin’ to eat before you take the medicine. You look like you haven’t had anything but coffee today. Pain killers won’t settle well on an empty stomach and while you’re cute, you’re not cute enough to clean up puke.”

Nesta was rendered speechless. That was for the best. Everytime he casually said something nice about her, Nesta was far too tempted to crawl into his lap and repay him for his generosity in a different sort of way. Instead, Nesta remained perfectly still while Cassian wrapped up her ankle with a beige colored bandage and pressed a bag of frozen green beans against the aching bone.

“Keep this elevated,” he insisted, taking a spot close enough that Nesta could have scooted forward and put her head in his lap. She was far too tempted.

“Want to watch something?” she suggested. “Or are you busy?”

“Not too busy for you,” he teased, reaching for the remote. “How do you feel about history?”

Their eyes met, and in unison, they said, “Ancient Aliens.”

Cassian smiled with satisfaction. “Fuck yeah.”

They wasted the afternoon that way. Nesta inched closer and closer until her head was propped up against his thigh. Cassian kept his arm casual against the back of the couch, unconcerned as they giggled their way through each new show. He didn’t stop until the sun dipped low, bathing the room in shadow.

“Want to help me make dinner?” he asked, his voice gruffer than before. She looked up at him.

“No eating out?”

His lips curved into a sly smile. “Are you asking to be eaten out?”

She smacked at his stomach, heart racing all the same. “You don’t seem like the cooking type. Isn’t that something for your little wife?”

“Are you offerin’?” he joked. “I accept. C’mon, lazy bones. At least come talk to me.”

“Does anything bother you?” Nesta asked, unconcerned when Cassian lifted her back into the air. She winced at the jolt of pain lancing through her ankle, though she couldn’t pretend she didn’t like the ease with which he carried her through his house. Cassian was careful, setting her atop a granite kitchen island so she could watch over his attempts at cooking.

“So tell me, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta.”

“Nes,” he grinned. “Miss hot shot attorney. What do you think about my humble home?”

She looked around, pretending to survey with an arched eyebrow. “It’s a little rustic—”

Cassian’s fingers were between her ribs before she could stop him, tickling until she thrashed and gasped for a breath of air.

“Stop it, stop—”

“Rustic,” he chuckled, pulling out a nice creuset pot and setting it atop the range. “You’ll have to work on your insults.”

“I think you just wanted an excuse to touch me,” Nesta replied. Cassian smiled.

“Maybe,” he conceded. “It’s not everyday a beautiful woman is waitin’ for me on the side of the road.”

“I wasn’t waiting. I was stuck.”

He shrugged. “Sure felt like you were waitin’ for me.”

“Maybe you were waiting on me.”

“Almost certainly,” Cassian agreed cheerfully. “Do you eat pasta?”

“I’ll eat anything,” Nesta agreed. Cassian nodded.

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

And God, but Nesta wanted to find out if that was true. Cassian had a box of recipes he’d inherited from his mother that he’d been more than happy to show her. While Nesta pulled the cards out one by one, Cassian made his own tomato sauce. She knew it shouldn’t have impressed her and still it did.

He was nearly done when his cat, Cheddar, slunk into the room. Three black and orange kittens flopped just behind her, the third tumbling face first over the threshold from the hall to the tile. Nesta gasped.

“Oh my God,” she whispered.

“Where are the other four, mama?” Cassian asked his cat as she wound her way through his legs to rub against him. “What are those little demons up to?”

Nesta carefully hopped off the counter so she could scoop up one of the babies.

“Probably peeing in my boot,” Cassian grumbled, stirring his sauce with a wooden spoon.

“Babies,” Nesta breathed, delighted when the three that had ambled in with their mother immediately bounded towards her. Her favorite, for no reason at all, was the one with the split black and orange face. She had the brightest blue eyes and when Nesta lifted her up to really look at her, the small creature meowed loudly.

“Well now you’ve done it,” Cassian teased as Cheddar trotted over to see what the fuss was. “Be careful–mama cat has claws.”

Nesta scratched behind her ears. “Maybe for you.”

“I suppose like calls to like,” he grumbled. While he plated their food, Nesta played with the kittens until there was a snag in her skirt. Cassian offered Nesta a hand and when he pulled her up to her feet, balancing on one foot, he yanked just hard enough that she fell into his chest.

Into his lips.

“Oh,” she whispered, unsure what to do. Cassian kept her steady with one arm, the kiss polite and chaste and just enough to make her want much, much more.

“Sorry,” he murmured, brushing a strand of her hair off her face. “Probably shouldn’t kiss the woman rentin’ one of my rooms, but…”

“It’s alright,” Nesta assured him, letting him lead her to the blocky table just outside the kitchen. It might have been awkward had Cassian not been so charming. So laid back and nice. He’d made her spaghetti and didn’t care when his cat spent the entirety of the meal winding her lithe, orange body through his feet and purring so loud Nesta felt like she was competing for his attention.

Cassian kept the conversation going as if nothing had happened, but Nesta couldn’t get the feel of his mouth against hers out of her mind. He’d smelled crisp and clean and when her hands had pressed against his chest, he’d been all hard, toned muscle.

“Why don’t I clean up down here, and you can get settled in your room?” Cassian suggested when Nesta had been silent a little too long. She was undressing him in her mind, and when she looked up at him, the little smile on his face made her wonder if he wasn’t aware.

“Sure,” she agreed, if only to get out of helping with the dishes.

“I’ll carry you up,” he added, his eyes flashing. Nesta shook her head, her pride unable to stand being taken up and down the stairs.

“I can do it myself.

“Are you always this difficult?” he asked, rising to his feet. Cassian was a big man. Nesta had never felt small in comparison, had never once looked at a prospective lover and thought herself little. Cassian, though. Cassian exuded strength. In another life, he might have been a warrior prince worshiped by the masses.

Nesta offered him a feline smile. “Maybe.” Back home, that refusal to yield would have earned her nothing good. With Cassian, though? A slow smile spread over his rugged face.

“Wouldn’t be any fun if you weren’t, I suppose. Go on then, Miss Nesta. Yell if you need me…I’ll come runnin’.”

Nesta suppressed a shiver at his sensual tone. “Is that a promise?”

He looked her up and down, his expression suddenly ravenous. If Nesta had less pride, she might have hopped over to him, pressed her hands to his chest, and let him finish what he’d started.

“It is,” he said simply, those hazel eyes finding her face again.

It was shree will that made her turn. As if she had something to prove. And Nesta made it all of four little hops before Cassian was coming behind her and sweeping her up off her feet. Nesta gasped, unprepared to be so close to him again.

“C’mon,” he murmured, holding her like she was something delicate.

Something fragile.

And no one thought that about her. Nesta swallowed hard, biting back the urge to snap at him. He didn’t know what she was like and maybe that was a blessing, because Nesta didn’t have to put on a show for him. She could press her head against his chest and sigh, “Thank you,” without needing to scowl, to stare him down so he knew not to ever try such a thing again.

“Tell me if I’m wrong,” he drawled softly, taking that first wooden step. “But I’ve got the feelin’ that back home, you’re somethin’ of a ball buster.”

Nesta tightened, her hackles raised. “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No, ma’am,” he chuckled. “It’s just…I’m thinkin’ that most of those men up there don’t know how to act right when it comes to you. And because they can’t make hide or hair of you, they treat you bad. Try and break you, make you small? So you’ve gotta be real tough, don’t you baby?”

Nesta swallowed. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said crisply, careful to enunciate every single syllable which she knew only proved his point.

“That’s what I thought,” he said softly, taking her upstairs. Nesta didn’t want him to let her go. I was a strange thing, to be so seen. To be laid bare by this man she didn’t even know.

“Don’t get mad at me for sayin’ this, but you remind me of Bryaxis—”

“Your horse?”

“He was mistreated too,” Cassian explained. “Screamed at, whipped…you name it, he endured it. But all he needed was a soft hand. A little patience. I figure you probably aren’t too different.”

“Where are you taking me?”

Cassian had opened a bedroom door that absolutely belonged to him. The dark masculine reds and blacks of the bed were a dead giveaway, along with the half-full glass of water on a wood bedside table and a stack of books dog-eared haphazardly. A leather jacket was hung from a chair near the open closet door, and though it was dark, Nesta could see an adjoining bathroom at the far end of the room.

“Where, I think, you want to be tonight. Tell me if I’m wrong—I’ll put you somewhere else.”

“This is your room, Cassian.”

She could see he was trying not to smile. “Yes, ma’am.”

Tell him he’s stupid. Tell him he’s wrong. Demand he put you back in your own room and—

“Okay,” she whispered before she could talk herself out of it.

Relief all but crumpled over his features. He murmured something that sounded suspiciously like Thank the good lord, and set her atop his neatly made bedspread.

Nerves shocked through Nesta, rendering her silent for a moment. Cassian, for his part, seemed to have realized that he, too, had her in his bed and didn’t quite know what to make of that.

“I ah…why don’t I wash up the dishes and you can take a shower?”

“That sounds good, Cassian.”

It sounded better than good, and though Nesta swore she wasn’t going to say so, she called, “Unless you think I need help in the shower?”

Cassian froze. For all his bravado, it was obvious he’d never thought he’d get this far. Nesta crawled toward the end of his bed with exaggerated slowness, holding his stare. He took a slow breath, those eyes of his darkening to almost black.

“Is it safe for me alone in there?”

The knot in his throat bobbed. “I reckon it’s not, Miss Nesta—”

“Just Nesta,” she reminded him, rising up on her knees so she could touch the hard planes of his stomach. “Do you think you could call me that, Cassian?”

“I…” his voice trailed off when her fingers found his belt and tugged.

“You know,” Nesta continued with far more bravado than she felt, “I don’t think I’ve properly thanked you for coming to my rescue today.”

“You..” he cleared his throat. “That’s not necessary. I—Nes—”

“That’s better,” she crooned, having undone the button of his jeans. A lump was forming—hard and thick and Nesta was desperate to see what the cowboy had hidden in those black pair of briefs.

“Nes,” he tried again, his hands resting on her shoulder. He wasn’t stopping her, and given the way his fingers curled against her, she thought he was trying very, very hard to be a gentleman.

That wouldn’t do.

“I’d be a poor guest if I didn’t thank you,” she said, slipping past the waistband of his underwear. Nesta gasped when she curled around him—or, tried to. As she pulled Cassian out, she realized she’d need to rethink her plan to thank him with her tongue. Cassian was enormous, both thick and long. Hardly a grower, given he was still stiffening in her curled hand.

Neither of them spoke for a moment, each waiting for the other to do something. Deciding he was erect enough, she pumped him. Her fingers just barely fit around his shaft, and even with two hands she couldn’t have fully covered him. Nesta certainly wasn’t going to be able to fit him all in her throat.

But god she wanted to try.

He exhaled a breath when she stroked him again, earning a chuckle from Nesta. “Tell me how you like it,” she murmured, softening her grip. Nesta had to hope that the cowboy liked it rough, because she wanted him to fuck her within an inch of her life.

“Nice and slow?” she tried, making a sweet pass over that large cock of his.

Cassian shook his head, his dark tresses, whispering against his broad shoulders. What was he like out of control?

“What about this?” she tried, pumping him harder, squeezing tighter. He shook his head again, allowing her to make a third, rougher pass. Nesta twisted her wrist against his head, her nails grazing the sensitive vein trailing his now very erect cock jutting from between two powerful legs.

“That's what I thought,” Nesta murmured, looking up through dark lashes. “Just like me.”

“Nes—”

Nesta silenced him by taking him into her mouth. She had to use her hand to make up the difference and she didn’t care. A soft, strangled noise escaped Cassian as his fingers plunged into her hair.

Yes.

This was what she needed. Nesta took him until she gagged, and then she took a little more, teeth grazing his sensitive skin, hand punishingly tight. Cassian moaned, tugging at her hair. Nesta sucked again, trying so hard to communicate that she could take it. He was holding back, practically shaking from the effort.

Nesta took more of him, widening her jaw in order to accommodate the sheer size of him. That was all it took. Cassian made a rough, snarling sound, pushing her off him.

“You’re a lady,” he panted, reaching for the buttons of his shirt.

Finally.

“And in my house, ladies come first,” he continued, eyes flashing as he shrugged out of that shirt. Nesta swore softly at the sight of all that gleaming, corded muscle. Nesta had never seen someone so effortlessly toned, so big.

Powerful.

“I seem to recall something about eating out,” she said breathlessly, swallowing hard when Cassian prowled toward her.

“I haven’t forgotten, darlin’,” he promised, hovering over her with his unbuttoned jeans and a smile that made Nesta’s heart race. “But first, I think I’m owed a kiss.”

“Just one?” she asked as his lips ghosted over her own.

“Let’s start with one and go from there,” he said, sliding his hand around the back of her head. Nesta had only her ripped dress between them, which provided no protection against Cassian when he pressed the weight of his body against her.

In another life, she might have kissed him nice and slow—teasing it out, exploring him thoroughly. Right then, though, Nesta thought she might explode if she didn’t have his mouth directly on her, his tongue stroking, thrusting, tasting. He was just as excited, grinding himself into her while she pulled at the strands of his hair.

He tasted like snow kissed wind, somehow. Like the crackling of a fire and a frosted window—like some memory she’d long forgotten. Nesta dug her nails down the back of his neck and against his shoulder blades until he bucked into her, wild and nearly unrestrained. Nesta could not remember the last time she’d wanted someone the way she wanted him.

“Off—get this—off,” Cassian panted between messy, hungry kisses. He was pawing at her dress, trying to figure out how to take it off. Nesta arched her back into his chest, earning matching moans from them both as she yanked down the zipper

Nesta would never know how she managed to get that dress off her body given Cassian never stopped his frantic kissing. Nor did she figure out how her bra joined her clothes on the floor. She only realized she was nearly naked when Cassian licked down the column of her neck before burying his face between her breasts.

“Fuck, Nes,” he breathed, both hands covering them entirely—no easy feat, given how large they were. Cassian massaged them, callused thumbs dragging over her aching nipples until Nesta was certain she was making a mess all over his bedding.

His mouth latched around her and Nesta was lost, ripping at his hair as her body bowed off the bed.

“Responsive,” he teased, his tongue tracing around the sensitive bud. “I wonder…”

“Cass—” she gasped when his hand made its way between her legs. Nesta writhed when he began drawing circles on her clit, teasing touches that weren’t even close to what she needed, even as he switched between her breasts, sucking and licking. She could feel it all in her pussy, like every nerve in her body was intimately connected.

She could have come from that—for the first time in god knew how long. At least, without her own hand, without assistance from a toy. Nesta couldn’t recall the last time a man had pleased her so easily, so effortlessly.

Cassian pulled back, wild and impossibly sexy. Holding her gaze, he nipped his way down her body until he found the red pair of panties still clinging to her hips.

“Aw, for me?” he teased, kissing against the fabric. “Sweetheart, you’re soaked.”

Nesta pushed herself against his face, but Cassian was still licking against the lace.

“I’ll bet you could come just like this. Couldn’t you?”

If he was doing it? Probably. Nesta merely whined, arching when he hooked his fingers into her underwear and peeled them off her.

He whistled softly. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty, baby. Do you know that? I feel sick at the sight of you.”

She didn’t have a chance to respond. Cassian’s tongue slid down the center of her, rendering speech impossible. Nesta reached for something to hold on to, and found his hair for purchase. Cassian groaned, the sound vibrating against her. Her thighs tightened around his face, earning another groan of pleasure.

Cassian’s tongue was everything. She realized, after a lifetime of thinking she was just difficult to get off—too fussy, too particular, too exacting—that what she really needed was someone who knew what they were doing. Cassian had her spread apart, licking and sucking her clit with the sort of expert precision that told Nesta he liked what he was doing.

She regretted not sucking him more. Nesta was going to come apart in record time and she knew she was going to beg him to do this again in a few hours. All weekend.

For fucking ever.

Release was gathering on her spine, burning hotly through her blood until Nesta didn’t recognize the noises coming from her throat. Cassian, too, was rolling his hips into the mattress, trying to alleviate his own arousal. Nesta nearly stopped him, if only to have that long, thick length in her body.

As if he could hear her thoughts, Cassian pushed one of his fingers into her. Nesta tightened around him and Cassian swore at whatever he felt, though he didn’t stop. He fucked and sucked in time, working her like she was an instrument only he knew how to play. Nesta built up, up, up, until she was fucking his hand, rolling all over his face like a wild animal.

Nesta broke apart with a scream she couldn’t control, bucking against him as she shattered into fractals of starlight. Cassian didn’t stop, riding her through wave after wave with clear, obvious excitement. It was only when pleasure became edged with pain that Nesta released the grip her thighs had around his face and Cassian came up for a deep breath of air.

“Fuck,” he said, his lips gleaming from her arousal. “Fuck, Nes—”

“Come here, come here,” she panted, scrabbling for his shoulders. Cassian obliged, kissing her frantically. His tongue was coated in the taste of her, pushed against her own. Nesta liked it, wanted more of him.

“Condom,” he breathed, finally shucking his jeans to trip over to his dresser. Nesta propped herself up on her elbows to watch, admiring his firm ass as he went. Cassian was quick about it, rolling the condom onto his cock with what she swore were shaking hands. His eyes shone, and if she didn’t know better, she would have sworn Cassian could not believe his good luck.

“You sure?” he asked, hesitating at the end of the bed. Nesta nearly laughed, given she was spread out and still trembling from his mouth. Any other man would have jumped on her, would already be balls deep buried in her.

He was sweet, she decided.

She wanted to keep him, though she had no idea how. She’d figure it out later. “I’m sure.”

“Good,” he said with another heart stopping smile. “I don’t know what I would have done if you’d said no.”

“Sure you do,” she offered in what she hoped was a sultry voice. “You’d have gone into the bathroom and used your hand.”

“That was my plan to start,” he agreed, settling between the cradle of her thighs. “But this is much better. Have I said how pretty you are?”

“Once, at least.”

“Well.” He pushed himself an inch or so into her. Nesta gasped loudly. “You’re fuckin’ beautiful, darlin’.”

He’d punched all the air from her lungs. Nesta didn’t think she’d ever been stretched against anything half as large as Cassian. It was the sweetest pain that, with each shallow stroke inching him in deeper, became wholly pleasure. By the time Cassian had fully seated himself within her, a bead of sweat was trailing down his temple from the effort it took to go slow.

“Good?”

“Good,” she agreed, gripping the back of his neck for a kiss. “Cass?”

He hummed in response.

“I’m not fragile. You can fuck me, if you like.”

Cassian pulled himself out before snapping his hips so hard the headboard above them rattled. “Like that?” he grunted.

“Yes—yes, Cassian—”

He did it again, groaning loudly when she tightened involuntarily around him. This was Cassian unrestrained, his hair wild around his rugged, handsome face. His muscles bunched and shifted from the effort, held over her just enough that she could incline her had and watch his cock slide in and out of her body.

He wasn’t finished, and Nesta already wanted to have him again.

And again.

Cassian reached for her knees, bending them up by her shoulders to drive himself deeper. Nesta moaned, eyes rolling up into her head. The balls of her feet were pressed to his chest pushing him with each slide out, only for him to return with twice as much force. When she’d said she’d wanted it rough, well…this was exactly what she meant.

“Nes, fuck—” he panted, eyes rolling up into his head as she came on his cock. Nesta arched hard, every muscle in her body going taut all at once. She clamped around him and Cassian came too, clearly unbidden and unprepared for the force of his own release. She wanted to drown herself in the noises he made, in the frantic thrusting of his body driving himself deeper on instinct.

Cassian collapsed on top of her, dropping Nesta’s legs carelessly. She hissed when her bruised ankle hit the bed.

“Sorry,” he whispered, lips against her jaw. “And I’m not, at the same time. Nesta, I…”

“I know,” she agreed, because she was certain they were thinking the same thing. Something else had happened between them, something they couldn’t so easily walk away from.

“We’ll figure it out,” he said, perhaps guessing those words were never going to come easy to Nesta. “I can hear you worryin’. Baby, you don’t have to worry about me.”

Nesta brushed her fingertips against the rough stubble of his face. “Promise?”

Cassian grinned. “I promise.”

#nessian #nesta archeron #cassian #bryaxis #i mean bryaxis IS a horse but still #a good boy #montana!cassian #dustjacket you better LOVE this

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