#say it on my face and give legit arguments
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Allahu Akbar 🙏?
DUMB BITCH.
Stop watching reels and YouTube.
Not on insta and not on yt much either fyi. Maybe elaborate other than just mindlessly throwing curses around lmao
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dance the night
"Baby, you can find me under the lights
Diamonds under my eyes
Turn the rhythm up, don't you wanna just
Come along for the ride?
Oh, my outfit so tight
You can see my heartbeat tonight
I can take the heat, baby, best believe
That's the moment I shine"
summary: barbie date and an invitation from clarisse you can't refuse
pairing: clarisse la rue x f!reader
word count: 3.4k
tags: fluff fluff fluff
series masterlist 2/?
You were getting more and more comfortable at camp. You were getting along very well with your siblings. Especially Lee and Cornelia, who explained everything – sometimes twice – to you. They also explained to you that if you wanted to leave camp during the summer, you needed to get an authorisation from Mr. D. And Clarisse knew, so she told you to get it since it was your idea to go see that movie. Your siblings told you he rarely gave them away.
“Mmh. I accept this challenge.”
“It really wasn’t,” Lee said. “It was a piece of information at best.”
You walked, determined, to Mr. D’s office. You didn’t have many arguments, but Cornelia did tell you Mr. D was always looking for campers to give him alcohol even though his father, Zeus, forbade him to drink any. Mr. D was playing cards with Chiron. Maybe it wasn’t the right time, you hesitated before Chiron looked up.
“Yes?” he said, putting his cards down.
“Mmh,” you froze before staring at your camp director, “I needed to talk to Mr. D, please.”
Chiron turned his face to look at Mr D, and he took off his sunglasses before looking at you.
“What?”
“I need authorisation to leave camp for one day,” you explained firmly. “Please.”
“And why would I give you that?”
“Because I need it. For next week, the 21st,” you begged.
Mr D stared at you, bored. He was ready to take back his cards, when you shouted, desperately.
“I–I’ll give you alcohol in exchange!”
“No you will not!” Chiron gave you a hard stare. “Zeus–.”
“I’m desperate, so yes I will.”
Mr D was still silent.
“What is this about y/n?” Chiron asked. “Why do you need to leave camp?”
“I– I asked Clarisse on a date. Well,” you faltered. “It’s not exactly a date I don’t think, it’s more like I won a bet, and what I asked for was for us to go see a movie together. So maybe it is? And it would suck for me if I can’t go, when I won the bet you know.”
Chiron and you were both looking at Mr. D, and you had your best puppy eyes for him.
“Still a no for me,” Mr. D took his cards.
“Please, please, please, please, please!”
Mr. D shook his head. You sighed, thinking about what to say to try and convince him to let you go.
“That’s–,” you hesitated before blurting out “such a homophobic thing to do in 2024 to refuse to let us go on a date! Which is what that is… a date, with us girls.”
“What?” Mr. D muttered confused.
“And during pride month? You have no shame. It’s–.”
“Fine, if I give you this authorisation, will you shut up and leave?”
You nodded vigorously. And Mr. D sent you a flying paper with the snap of a finger, and after reading the paper to make sure it was legit – which did take a few minutes – you ran away in case he changed his mind. The first person you ran into Luke and asked him if he had seen Clarisse. He pointed at the Ares cabin, and told you he saw her go in.
You walked to her cabin, and knocked, shouting Clarisse’s name over and over again. The door flew open, revealing an annoyed Clarisse.
“Hi,” you smiled.
Her face softened slightly at your sight, but she still looked at you annoyed, with her arms crossed.
“What?”
“Guess what?” your hands were in your back, hiding away the piece of paper you got earlier.
“Your boyfriend called your mom to ask her why you ditched him?”
“What?” you hesitated. “No. First, I don't have a boyfriend, they were all losers in my school. And no girlfriends either for the same reason.”
“Good,” she nodded. “So what was the news then?”
The paper was still held behind your back, you held her gaze a few more seconds before showing her proudly the paper. She looked at the paper, frowning, and then took your paper. You stood there patiently, swinging on your feet, waiting for her to finish reading it at her own pace.
“How did you get Mr. D to agree to this?” she puts the paper down.
“It’s a secret. But I’ll tell you if you want to know.”
“Of course I do, no one here in years got one of these,” she shook the paper in front of you.
You held up your index, and made a ‘come closer’ motion with it. She came closer, and you put your face even closer, her nose almost touching yours. Clarisse was taller than you – taller than most campers actually – and your face was facing up. And having her this close to you, it was as if time had stopped. You smiled.
“I promised him alcohol,” you whispered.
“What!” she stepped back. “Do you know Zeus–.”
“I know, I know, Cornelia told me. I don’t remember what I said after that,’ you lied, “I guess he just likes me.”
“Okay,” Clarisse smiled, “liar.”
Clarisse and you stood there, at the threshold of the Ares cabin for a few more moments, just enjoying each other's company before her siblings ran in, pushing you toward Clarisse. Your body slammed against hers, her arms wrapped around your shoulders to steady you. You would have been upset if it weren’t for the outcome. But Clarisse quickly let go before grabbing the shirt of her brother – Mark – and made him stop in his tracks. You didn’t hear what she said, but you saw Mark nodding vigorously before walking away.
“Let’s get out of here,” Clarisse grabbed your arm and led you outside.
“So,” you started when she stopped under a tree and sat there. “Do you know what you’re going to wear?”
“No. Do you?”
“Uh obviously! I have the perfect outfit for Barbie. I actually planned this before coming here, minus the ‘going to camp half-blood’ cause I didn’t think I’d end up here. It’s all pink, and cute and oh, should I also do my nails? Should we do our nails all pink?” you beamed at the idea.
“No.”
“True, yours do look very good in black,” you nodded. “Oh, we could cosplay Barbie and Raquelle. But it’s not going to be accurate, Raquelle hates Barbie.”
“I think it’s pretty accurate,” she shrugs.
You slapped her arms playfully before laying your head on her lap. The weather was nice, the sun was out and the leaves were shading you from it, the perfect combination for you to take a nap. And then Clarisse started to run her fingers on your arm which made it for you. You were asleep in no time.
“Wake up sunshine,” Clarisse pinched you lightly on the hip. You jerked awake.
“What?” you mumbled, standing up.
“I have to meet up with my brothers and sisters for the next Capture the Flag strategy.”
“Can I come too?” you yawned.
“We’re not on the same team, remember.”
“I won’t tell them anything.”
“Nope,” she walked away, “don’t follow me,” she turned around, walking backwards.
I’d follow you everywhere you go Clarisse La Rue.
“I won’t,” you said instead.
The night before the date, you laid out your outfit neatly before washing up to go to bed. Cornelia was your bunkmate, with the bed above yours. But before going to sleep, you loved updating each other’s day.
“So tomorrow huh,” Cornelia sat on your bed. “I never thought I’d live to see Clarisse being friendly with anyone other than her siblings.”
“I think she’s funny.”
“Sure, if funny was a synonym of mean. Wait– do you even have money to spend on tomorrow’s activities?”
“Actually I do. Mr. D did tell me he wouldn’t give me any, and thank gods I found a load of cash in my backpack. My mom gave it to me. I mean she did write it was for any expense that I would have to make on my way home, but I have other priorities.”
“Clearly,” she rolled her eyes, laughing. “You’re gonna regret this in August.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
Like before any exciting day, it took some time to fall asleep. Anxiety and excitement mixing together, making up the worst and best scenarios. What if Clarisse is just messing with you and forgot? That can’t happen, you just saw her a few hours ago talking about it. What if you annoyed her so much with it, she’d stood you up? What if she doesn’t like everything you planned? Not a single positive and happy ‘what if’ comes to your mind.
“Wake up!” someone shakes you awake. “It’s 8 already, you're going to be late!” Cornelia said.
“Fuck!” you ran to the washroom.
You rushed through your routine, before rushing back to your bed and grabbed your outfit, and put it on. And all of that only took 28 minutes. You looked at yourself in the mirror for a final check up, before opening the door. Clarisse was already there. Her curls free, just like the first time you saw her. It felt weird not seeing her in her usual orange tee, but she still looked pretty. She wore a simple short brown tank top with blue faded jeans, with her beaded necklace still hanging from her neck.
“You look really pretty today,” Clarisse smiled shyly, holding her arms around her.
“Thanks,” you approached her, putting your hands on her arms and leaned in, “you look pretty every day.”
“Don’t come home too late,” Lee interrupted, appearing just next to you.
“Don’t worry, but also don’t wait up!”
You grabbed Clarisse’s hand and dragged her away from your cabin. A taxi was waiting for you outside of the camp, and in no time you were at the local theatre in the middle of nowhere. And lucky for you, the people of this town weren’t going to see the 9:30am slot for Barbie. Except for that one couple sitting in the back. You dragged Clarisse in the middle, and sat with the popcorn and sodas. You ate in silence, watching the trailers.
Well that was not fun. The worst ‘what ifs’ from last night came back immediately making you anxious. It was not supposed to be like this. What if she wasn’t enjoying herself. What if she was mad because she ate a salty popcorn when you asked for the sweet ones. What if she was disappointed—
“Ouch,” you looked at her, frowning, rubbing your arm. “Why did you do that?”
“You were ignoring me.”
“What? Oh I– I didn’t hear sorry.”
“I asked you, what’s the deal with Barbie anyway? Why are you so excited about a blonde, white, plastic doll?”
“W– Barbie is not– ok. She is a plastic doll, and she may not look like us but it’s the idea of Barbie, the idea that us women can be anything we want. And how in Barbie Land, it’s all about girls and women being able to be whoever they want, and have whatever jobs they want. Barbie is literally a doctor, a pilot, a model, a chef, a fashion designer, a business woman, a teacher – she has every job in the world. And there is no one telling her that she can’t do that because she’s not a man. And also, the Barbie franchise is my childhood. The movies, they deserve an Oscar honestly–,” you stopped. “Sorry, I talk too much.”
“I asked,” her attention went back to the screen. “So did you have any barbies?”
“Of course! I had Barbie's dreamhouse, and so many barbies and outfits. I’m surprised I didn’t end up being a writer with all my imagination. Did you?”
“No.”
“No?”
“My mom wasn’t the kind to buy me anything. And certainly not dolls.”
“Oh.”
“Don’t feel sad for me, I’m fine,” she gave you a quick glance.
“I’m not!” you frowned. “So you never watched Barbie and A Christmas Carol? The best Barbie movie ever?”
“Nope.”
“Oh, we have to change that. Mmh. But phones and laptops aren’t allowed though… Maybe if I bring my mom’s DVD player next summer.”
“Already planning on your next move to woo me?” she teased, approaching you.
Your eyes widened, your cheeks were hot.
“I– No! I– I– I don’t.”
“Relax sunshine, I’m kidding,” she laughed.
And just then, the lights went out and the movie was about to start, thank the gods. Because you did not know what to say. The movie was incredible, you shed a few tears at the end, and sang Dance The Night with Clarisse laughing and cheering you on. It was a great experience, and it was even better to have watched it with Clarisse.
“Did you like it?” you asked her when the credits started rolling.
“Yes. It was great.”
“And you’ll love the other Barbie movies because they are way less depressing.”
“So, what’s next?” she stood up.
“It’s almost time to eat, what do you want?”
“Whatever you want.”
“No you choose, I insist,” you smiled.
Really you were just very indecisive. Clarisse settled for a burger place not too far away from the cinema. There weren't many people inside, so you were able to choose where to sit – a table next to the window. It was a booth seat, so you had your own booth each, facing each other, menu in hand.
“So, what are you choosing?” you asked her.
“I’ll take the Highwayman. You?”
“The Roadhouse looks good.”
Clarisse raised her hand and weaved at the waitress, when you grabbed her hand.
“Wait!”
“What?”
“Can you order for me please?”
She furrowed her brow, but nodded. You smiled. You only waited ten-or-so minutes before the waitress came back with your food. Like always, you checked the inside of your burger before eating it, you picked out the onions and the tomato.
“What are you doing?”
“I don’t like these.”
“Couldn’t you have asked the waitress to take them out.”
“No…”
“Give me your tomato then,” she opened her burger bun.
You were the one entertaining lunch. Clarisse asked questions about your life and you told her – you told her stories about your childhood, your school, your mom and she listened, nodding along. Once you were done, you took a cab and decided to go to the mall.
“We don’t have any money,” Clarisse stopped you when you were going to step into the mall.
“I do. Remember I paid for the tickets, and the food.”
“Yeah, but I thought you only had enough for these.”
“Nope. Well, remember how I said my mom is an opera singer. It was you fifty percent talent and fifty percent nepotism and generational wealth. Meaning I’m rich, I mean my mom but her love language is sending me money for not raising me,” you joked.
She stared at you, concerned.
“I’m kidding,” you grabbed her hand, “let’s shop.”
Clarisse refused to accept anything you’d set eyes on for her.
“Well, at least try on some of them, just to see.”
She agreed to it, which was a mistake because now that you knew her size, you could buy her everything she laid eyes on. She was trying on this dark green simple long sleeve tee shirt, and after she put it back, you took it with you.
“What are you doing?” she tried to grab the tee shirt back.
“I might want it for myself!” you hid it behind your back.
‘Doesn’t look like something you’d wear.”
“My style changes, it depends on my mood. Maybe I want us to have matching clothes.”
“Then why is there only one in your hand?”
You quickly grabbed another one. And then it was settled. You’d buy her things and then another copy for you – everything went, from boots to tee shirts to pants, and jackets. Then you went to a jewellery shop. You needed new rings because yours flew away from your hands during the last Capture the Flag – they were obviously a tad too big.
“Did you find anything you like?” you asked her.
“No, they aren't the most useful things to have.”
You pouted, and threw a bunch on the table.
“What are you doing?”
“Putting these back on the shelves, cause I chose half of these for you,” you sighed dramatically.
“Oh,” she took a look at the jewellery.
Various rings and bracelets.
“They’re great, I love them.”
“No you don’t.”
“You picked them out so yes, I do.”
“You don’t have to, it’s fine,” you sighed.
“Maybe you don’t have to buy all of it, just one of each.”
You nodded, and picked one ring for her, and two bracelets for each of you. You gave them to the seller to wrap them and left to look at other items. Clarisse soon joined you and soon enough the seller gave a little bag, you paid and left. Your hands were full of shopping bags, and before leaving you needed a little bit of rest so you two sat on the chairs in the resting area. Thankfully the mall wasn’t too crowded as it was still early in the afternoon on a random Tuesday.
“Huh!” you gasped pointing at something behind Clarisse.
“What?” she turned around swiftly, not seeing any threat.
“A photobooth!” you smiled.
You stood up, grabbed all of your bags and walked to the booth, hoping Clarisse was following you. You turned around, and Clarisse was still sitting still, legs crossed, leaned into the chair, staring at you. You held your hands together, and motionned her to come. She didn’t move for a good minute, but seeing how you weren’t going to move, she caved in and stood up.
“Sunshine,” she put her hands on your shoulders, “you can look at me for free, I won’t charge you, don’t worry.”
You rolled your eyes, smiling.
“You’ll thank me in a few years because of this. Pictures are the best kind of souvenirs.”
Clarisse got in first, the space was a tight fit, and you were glued to Clarisse, but you two fit in the frame so it was good. You put the coins inside, and waited for it to take the picture. But that was not good enough for Clarisse – she put her arm around your waist and scooped you onto her lap.
“Better?”
You nodded, staring at her.
“Better,” you confirmed.
You went to take a pose but too late, the four pictures were already taken.
“It’s fine, we’ll take another one.”
Another turned into another few more and you ended with a ton of pictures. By the time you left the mall it was already pretty late. Almost time to go home. But neither of you wanted that, so you went to the beach instead – main beach in the east. It was empty – people at this hour were all eating. You two sat on the sand, far from the shore.
“Did you have a great time?” you asked.
“Yes,” she looked at you, “did you?”
You nodded enthusiastically.
“Aren’t you glad you lost that bet against me?”
“Mmh,” she shrugged, “my option would’ve been just as good for me.”
“Well, I am glad I won. I prefer this option much better.”
Clarisse started to lay down but you grabbed her arm.
“Sand will get in your hair.”
“I’ll wash it tonight, it’s fine.”
You shook your head, and took off your blouse and laid it on the sand, behind Clarisse. She tried to protest, but you were quicker.
“I don’t want this day to end,” you admitted, staring at the waves. “I don’t think Mr. D will give us another authorisation anytime soon,” you laughed.
Clarisse stared at you, not saying anything. You arrived at camp only a week ago, and yet you two were already closer than she was with any of her siblings. You were nice to her, always rooting for her, and you were a great friend. Not many people were these things to the Ares kids.
“There this field trip around October,” Clarisse sat up again, “I suppose you’re not staying around the whole year. But it’d be great if you could come.”
“A field trip? To where?”
“It’s something we do once a year at camp,” she explained. “A trip to Olympus.”
You thought about it.
“Are you asking me to meet your father? I didn’t think we were already at this stage so early on."
#clarisse la rue x reader#clarisse la rue fluff#clarisse la rue x y/n#clarisse la rue fanfic#clarisse la rue pjo#clarisse la rue x you#clarisse la rue#clarisse x reader
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Could you maybe do a fic about Carmy and the reader where they dated all through high school and carmy asked the reader to marry him and she says no bc she doesn’t want to hold him back from going to NYC ?
THIS TOOK SO LONG IM SORRY
as they go by ☆ c. berzatto
ship carmen berzatto x fem!reader
warnings angst with an ambiguous ending (sorry babes <3), slight manipulation?, a hell of a lot of arguing, possible break-up (choice is yours), not beta-read
word count 1.5k
summary initially, you were fine with having a long-distance relationship with carmy while he was in new york city. after all, you’re just his girlfriend; you were happy with that, and that’s how you want it to stay when he’s gone.
a/n this took so insanely and unnecessarily long and i am so sorry for postponing this fic. took a while and it was difficult to write, but i felt determined to finish this. disclaimer: not my best work but i legit tried
The proposal came as a shock. You were sure it had been many seconds, maybe even a minute or two since Carmy had uttered the words “Will you marry me?” as if it was a common phrase, thrown out into the open.
To be fair, you both did discuss the possibility of marriage in the future. But you were naïve high schoolers, merely seventeen and blind to the problems you’d have to face in your personal and shared lives.
You weren’t annoyed or angry that Carmy had gotten the opportunity in New York City; on the contrary, you were happy. It’s a great thing for his career in the culinary world, and seeing him be so excited about the prospect made you feel so proud to see how far he had come.
Granted, maintaining your relationship while he was in New York and you stayed in Illinois would be hard. You told him to expect a lot of phone and video calls, as well as a bombardment of messages, but you didn’t know at the time that he would be gone for a year at least. Still, you both agreed to try.
You could handle being a long-distance girlfriend, but being a long-distance wife?
“I don’t know,” you default to as no other words could come to mind.
Carmy looks at you confused. “You don’t know?” he parrots. “What do you mean?”
You open your mouth, but no words come out.; you don’t even know why you couldn’t just say a simple “yes” or “no.” It’s hard to look him in the eyes, especially when an argument is now inevitable, so you keep your eyes glued to your fidgeting hands in your lap.
“Well, um,” you stammer, struggling to find your verbal footing, “I don’t…wanna move to New York.”
Although you only see a blurred version of him through your peripheral vision, Carmy nods slightly and purses his lips. “I know that already.”
You sigh softly, thinking of what to say next. “I’m comfortable here — I like it in Chicago. It’s just…I don’t know if we can make a long distance thing work if we’re married. I’d be busy and I’m sure you would be too, I don’t know how we would be able to see each other in person if our schedules are so full.”
He sighs; you don’t know if this is actually how he feels, but you swear that he’s annoyed that you didn’t say yes. “Is that it? Y’know, I can just stay here if it worries you—”
“No,” you’re quick to cut him off as you snap your head to look at him. “I don’t want you to give up on an amazing opportunity just because of me.”
“There’s other Michelin star restaurants in Chicago,” he reasons. “I can apply to one of them and stay here.”
“But New York!” You didn’t mean to say it that harshly, so you breathe and try to regain your composure. “I don’t know why you would want to give up being a chef in New York just for me.”
Carmy buries his face in his hands, but his mouth is still exposed. “I’m not…giving it up; I’m just relocating, that’s all. Why are you trying to put my career ahead of you?”
You scoff at the notion. “I’m not.”
“But you are,” he counters exasperatingly. “Why?”
Your lips form a line and you look down. The words are hard to conjure, but they come eventually. “You’ve just loved to cook for so long…and now you have a really good offer and I want you to take it.”
“I’ve loved you for longer.” You can’t really argue when it’s kind of the truth. But then again, he’s always had a interest in cooking — and you’re sure that he developed an interest in you after that.
Knowing that you won’t win this portion of the argument, you sigh, and try to change the topic…sort of. “There’s also another thing,” you mention, and he looks at you again. “I don’t think I’m ready for that sort of thing.”
His tone has a tinge of frustration. “You mean marriage?” he asks sarcastically.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” You’re starting to grow annoyed at his stubbornness; of course you knew he could get like this, but he’s really not letting this conversation go for another day. “You know I didn’t mean like that.”
“Well it’s the implication.” The hell does implication have to do with anything right now? “You’re saying it like it isn’t important for our relationship.”
“You couldn’t have waited until you got back from New York to pop the question?”
“I’ve waited and I’m impatient.”
“Carmen.” The nickname is no longer effective. It’s clear to him now that you’re genuinely pissed with him and have had it. “You’re not listening to me; I’m not ready. Please drop it.”
“Last time we talked about this, you were excited,” he says. “What changed?”
“Well, for one, age,” you retort. “We were, what, seventeen? It’s just teenage talk, and we were too young to be thinking about marriage already.”
You tiredly sigh, looking down at your hands again. “There’s more, isn’t there?” He doesn’t ask it like a question, but instead he says it like a statement for you to confirm.
Hesitantly, you nod. “Just— I’m not ready now, but that doesn’t really mean that I don’t want to get married ever,” you try to grasp at any rational explanation you can, struggling to try to explain why. “If you loved me, then you’d wait, y’know.”
Your eyes shoot wide at the realization of what just slipped out of your lips; did you really just say that? It sounds as if Carmy is thinking that exact same question. “I didn’t mean—”
“You think I don’t love you?” His voice carries a sliver of anger and insecurity as he asks that.
“No, Carm—”
Your words force him to look away from you, his brows furrowed and his nose scrunched. He breathes once through his nose deeply before abruptly getting up from the couch and making a beeline towards the bedroom. Worried, you follow his path and find him harshly opening the closet door and pulling out an old suitcase.
You stand there, a few feet away from him, realizing what he’s doing. “Carmy—”
“You want me to drop it, I’m dropping it.” He doesn’t even so much as glance at you as he tosses the suitcase on the bed and starts to grabs his clothes. “You want me to go to New York, I’m taking the fucking offer. I know you don’t want me here anymore; that’s fine.”
“That’s not true.”
The way he packs is haphazard, rushed and angry; much like how he tends to cook when he gets too emotional. He doesn’t even take the time to fold some of the clothes, opting to instead stuff them in and hope they fit well enough to get the zipper closed. “You have all these excuses and you keep delaying it. It’s clear — you’re fine with marriage, but not with marrying me. You keep saying that you’re not ready, but you’re just too scared to say no. And now I have to do it for you.”
He does manage to close the suitcase and he’s fast to collect it and move past you. “Carm, please,” you turn to follow him, the initial annoyance from earlier flowing out of your body and being replaced with some sort of anxiety bubbling up in your stomach. “Let’s talk about this.”
“We did.” He’s white-knuckling the handle of the bag and he looks at you for only a second. You see a flash of anger, disappointment, and something else you can’t quite put your finger on in his eyes. He unlocks the front door.
“Carmen—”
And you’re interrupted by the abrupt slam of the door closing and the absence of him. Just like that, he’s gone; not even giving you a chance to change his mind or even explain what he means to you — what he meant to you.
You’re supposed to cry, but you can’t even try to force any tears out. You’re just numb and bewildered at how fast the situation unfolded.
You consider for a moment about chasing him like the end of an early 2000’s romcom, but you know that this isn’t like a movie. This isn’t fiction, it’s reality; he wouldn’t just accept you back into his arms like nothing happened, he’d be bitter and loathsome, even more so than he usually is.
You’re not sad. You can’t bring yourself to be sad over him, especially when he couldn’t try to understand how you felt. No, you’re…angry? Would that even be the right word for how you feel now that he’s gone?
You don’t need to think about that; you don’t want to right now. Instead, you drag yourself back to the couch where this all started and you fall onto its cushions, tired of him and tired of this.
The next step to take isn’t clear to you at the moment. You could call Carmy, you could wait, or you could not speak to him ever again. The choice is yours to make, but you don’t want to choose right now. Your eyelids grow heavy, and so you let yourself fall into a cold sleep.
would y’all want a part 2 or not? i’d only write it if y’all wanted it.
#✩ ⊹˖ ꒰ carmy ꒱ ୨🎧୧#the bear#the bear x you#the bear x reader#carmy berzatto#carmen berzatto#carmen berzatto x reader#jeremy allen white
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my most tinfoil hat AtS opinion is that legit straight up canon spangel was like RIGHT beneath the surface of season 5, like the show was ready to pivot in the direction of them being at least friends with benefits at a moment's notice despite fate and the censors' best efforts
Season 1 had shit like Angel's first power walk shot set against a pride flag and him awkwardly telling guys he wasn't hitting on them, going for a kinda Adam West Batman kinda gay thing where people assume that about him bc it's the early 2000s and his clothes fit VS Season 5 in the premiere alone giving us Angel correcting a guy who calls him a "little fairy" with "I'm not little" and the legendary, blog-inspiring "I have no problem spanking men" (one of which he says to a guy he's about to kill and one to a guy he knocked out, almost like Angel lets gayer behaviour slip if he's around people who can't bring it up later hm) followed by the only man we KNOW Angel has fucked literally appearing from thin air in his office
then you get Life of the Party where Angel's Whacky Magic Antics are set off by Lorne telling Angel and the person he's having sexually tense arguments with to get a room, causing him to have ill-advised hate sex he ordinarily would not have with someone he is reluctantly attracted to. and I believe in my BONES that at SOME POINT in the scripting process that that person was gonna be Spike. Even setting aside my admittedly subjective opinion that Angel and Eve had even less sexual chemistry than Xander and Willow, it just... scans. Angel and Spike have their "I need to get our faces within an inch of each other or I'll die" arguments in front of EVERYBODY in literally every episode of the season, so I feel like if Lorne was gonna say it about ANYONE it'd be about them. I will never budge from my belief that Spike still being a ghost at this point and early 2000s tv politics caused them to abandon the Angel And Spike Magically Fuck At The Party plot early in the writing process for the episode and slot Eve in there instead while Spike gets the easy-to-write-into-existing-scenes positivity thing.
and THEN. AND THEN. it becomes a plot point that the show Angel's friends are suddenly really on board with him getting back out there dating-wise (the unperson-ing of Cordelia helps here. whee.), with us all suddenly being in agreement that there is little to no danger of his curse being triggered by sex (even though both times he's lost the soul since his curse, real or imagined sex played a significant role in the moment of happiness). Like, Nina is one of the more one-dimensional characters in the Buffyverse and her midness seems to be for the purpose of setting the audience at ease that Angel's soul ain't going anywhere from hooking up with her.
WESLEY is all for it! Wesley "Most Paranoid and Prepared For The Return of Angelus" Wyndam-Pryce is saying look man we're all rooting for you go have a relationship with a girl whose only flaw that I can come up with is that she's a werewolf. Like sir??? How can you be sure the Beautiful Engaging Young Woman Who Actually Wants You won't accidentally make Angel happy with her extremely inoffensive flavour of Nice?
Whereas if, say, there was a beautiful, engaging blonde who actually wants Angel and Angel wants but comes with the caveat that THIS beautiful blonde not only drives Angel up the fucking wall but recently had magical sex with Angel at the office party in front of the whole main cast, proving that as much as Angel gets off on screwing Spike that he is Not happy about it? I can see Wes giving the all clear on that one ngl
bonus points that Angel and Nina got the Official Couple upgrade in Smile Time which comes right before the Illyria tragedy forces Angel and Spike into the... maybe not friendly but LESS hostile dynamic they keep for the rest of the show, so the season structure of their relationship still follows a lot of the same beats. honestly besides getting a lot more moments of David Boreanaz and James Marsters trying to out-six-pack each other in their post-coital shirtless scenes the only thing you'd need to do is change the world-shattering "Me and Angel have never been intimate. Well except that one..." to something along the lines of "Me and Angel have never been intimate, I just shag the bastard"
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domestic simon riley headcanons perhaps?
ooh i'm gonna love writing thissssss!!
Domestic Simon Headcanons:
wakes up at either 4 or 5 am, even after retiring. doesn't let go of the military morning routine.
if you're sleeping, he'll give you the softest kiss before fixing the blanket so you're not cold.
brushes his teeth and immediately hits the gym. loves the food you make, will tear that shit up but he thinks he should be keeping his body fit too. doesn't want Johnny to tease him for becoming soft(you personally love him even when he's a huge teddy bear).
when he comes back and sees you making breakfast, he won't hesitate to give you back hugs despite your complains of him being sweaty and smelly.
"Si, no! Take a shower first, you're stinky!"
"Shower can wait, lovie. I need to give my girl a kiss first."
calls you all sorts of nicknames like lovie, darling, sweetie, doll, my girl, etc.
if he's hungry and you're not at home, the only thing he can make is tea and toast. might burn the bread a little, might add a can of beans or potato mash(bri'ish tings), do not trust him with the kitchen.
if you're doing chores together, he would definitely want to help a lot even if he doesn't know much. for example, he'd definitely help with keeping the counter clean and taking dishes out from the dishwasher if you're cooking.
why waste water? take a shower together!
"Water's too hot, doll. You're gonna burn."
"Water's just fine."
"You make me wonder what kinda demon I fell in love with."
genuinely gets scared if you call him Simon Riley, or worse if it's Ghost. will start contemplating about every single thing he did and where he might've gone wrong.
"Simon Rile-"
"I'm right here, sugar. Anything wrong? Need a shoulder massage?"
"I-...please get the box of pasta from the top shelf."
"Anything for you, doll."
he generally refuses to let you see him in full gear, prefers to keep Ghost out of his lovely Manchester apartment. but once after he was done with a long mission, he was so tired that he entirely forgot he had a significant other and walked inside the house with his balaclava and everything. you almost let out a scream when you saw a tall figure with a skull face hovering over you as you were sat on the couch, reading your favorite book.
"AAAHH-"
"Darling?"
he would legit go "?????" before he realizes that he has his mask on and everything. removes it immediately and sees your eyes soften, arms wide open for him. he takes you in a bone crushing hug, not forgetting to kiss your forehead.
always the big spoon when sleeping, but loves your arm around him too. will keep one arm out for you to rest your head on, doesn't care if it's numb, and the other around your waist. when you're facing him, he will hold your head and hips protectively, letting you bury your face in his chest and neck.
doesn't believe that a man should be controlling what his partner wears, he will encourage your to wear whatever makes you feel comfortable and confident. keeps a protective arm around your waist in public to show that you're his.
"Wear whatever you want, sweetie. I can fight, ain't got all this body for nothing."
arguments with him are always short. he would not let anything get to a point that you two are shouting on each other's faces, he does not want to be like his father. goes to a different room to cool himself down before he opens the door to find you.
has a hard time apologizing with words at first, will try to get you something like flowers or give you a silent hug. but he soon learns to say "sorry" and to be gentler with you.
will get down on one knee and present you the ring when you least expect it. wants to have a small wedding at a church with only a few people, preferably TF141, Laswell, your immediate family and a few close friends you have.
wants kids, but won't force you if you don't want to. will consider resigning from the military if he does end up being a dad, he doesn't want to risk his life out there when he has two beautiful human beings to come home to.
"Such a poppet, isn't she? Just like her mama."
"Don't give me all the credit, honey. She's got your looks too, pretty little thing."
will take you out for dates, dinners too. believes that a relationship shouldn't be stagnant. you get to pick the restaurant and he will willingly pay for whatever you want to eat. you just have to look pretty <3
although he likes to put the most effort, he expects you to put effort too. he takes offense if you disregard how he feels, is devoted to you and expects you to love him the same.
little things matter to him. he pays attention to how you make tea for him, how you do not push him when he doesn't want to talk about something, how you adjust the blanket over both of you every time he comes home late and plops himself down on the couch with you.
overall, the sweetest but realistically speaking, it might be a bit tough to live with him considering he's in the military and has a bitter past. but as long as you're ready to compromise and understand him, he will return the love tenfold and more.
proofread ✓
pearly venus, 22:00 240229
#pearly venus asks#mw2 ghost#cod#cod mw2#call of duty modern warfare#simon riley#simon ghost riley#ghost x reader#simon ghost x reader#ghost#simon riley x fem!reader#pearly venus
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Dating Dallas Winston
summery: in which these are random things Dallas Winston may do in a relationship.
· Dal is and always will be the type of boyfriend that isn’t too big on affection in public but the second you two are alone he can’t get his hands off of you. Literally.
·The only time he will show affection in public is when he is getting jealous or when he feels you two aren’t in a place of complete safety.
·If he feels you are in any kind of danger in your surroundings he will always sling and arm around your shoulders or waist and not let you go until he feels comfortable doing so.
·Neck.Kisses.
·This man is obsessed. He legit can’t get away from your damn neck.
·”Baby, please! I’m trying to work!”
·”I’m sorry, Doll. I can’t help myself.”
·Sadly, if you try to hold his hand he would jest slap it away and look at you weird.
·But then when your feelings get hurt he would pull you aside and try his best to say sorry, but we all know how that goes.
·He’s gotta keep that tuff persona, you dig?
·This man will lie straight to your face and tell you he doesn’t like cuddles.
·The second everyone is out of the room...
·”Baby, come here. Lemme hold ya.”
·Surprisingly, isn’t a fan of you smoking.
·He would let you, but he would always be a little uneasy about it.
·He knows what they put in those cancer sticks and he doesn’t want anything to hurt you. He couldn’t deal with that.
·”Put that down, doll. I don’t like seeing that in your hand.”
·Would literally take it and smoke it instead.
·Will go completely bonkers if you get hurt in a fight/rumble.
·If it were a rumble: “I told you. I told you not to go out there! Didn’t I? And look what happened to you. Why don’t you just listen to me?! Can’t you understand I can’t see you like this?! I can’t, man!” Would lowkey get emotional.
·If it were a fight: “Fuck, Doll. What did you do? They pulled a blade on you, didn’t they? Don’t worry Doll, I’m going to get you all cleaned up and I’m gonna beat there ass. Ain’t nobody gonna touch you again. You hear me?”
·This may come as a surprise, but he can be a gentleman.
·I know, I know. Dallas Winston a gentleman? But trust me it is so subtle, he doesn’t even notice it. Such as opening a car door for you or just opening the store door for you. Small things like that.
·Would try his best to comfort you while you’re crying.
·“Doll... you’re going to be just fine. Please don’t cry, I hate it when I see you cry.”
·Back rubs as any time of day. Cuddling? Back rubs. Walking? Back rubs. Kissing? Back rubs. Crying? Back rubs.
·Calling you “stupid” or “dumb” and doing his cute little laugh after.
·OUUHHUAHHAUHHAUHHAU (My impression on Dal’s laugh)
·There are a lot of arguments. But not huge ones like a lot of people make out to be.
·Yes, there are big fights, but not any less or more than any other couple.
·Dal can say goodbye to that brown leather jacket because once he give it to you he is never getting it back.
·He would ask for every damn time her saw you but the answer was always “Nope!” or “Shouldn’t have given it to me then.”
·When in public would lightly grab your writs if you tried playing with his hair, but when alone would grab your wrists and put them on his head.
·When finally comfortable would completely vent to you about everything he has gone through and all the feelings he has been feeling.
·Would do anything and everything for you.
·He would steal, cry, kill, die, anything for you.
·”Come on, doll. You know I would do anything for you. You know that, right?”
·Would be petrified to say “I love you” first.
·I’m telling you, you are either going to have to say it or he would end up screaming it during a serious argument.
#Dallas Winston#The Outsiders#dally winston#headcanon#dallas winston x reader#the outsiders x reader
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Max Verstappen X Celeb Ex!Reader -Angst.
Part 2, no warnings, just mentions of alcohol, reader gets really drunk, breaking up and arguing, so pretty angsty. Mentions of flirting but that’s it. Daniel Ricciardo is a legit Angel.
Now Max Verstappen is crowned champion of the Silverstone Grand Prix, y/n watches on with a bitter sweet feeling, remembering all those races where she’d be the first person to congratulate him. Now everything’s different. She turns to the endless flow of alcohol that night when out in a club, things get a little tense when Max also happens to arrive at the same place. Alcohol distorts tf out of her poor, heartbroken brain and an argument ensues.
“And Max Verstappen takes first place in the Silverstone GP!” Without thinking about it, my arms reached into the air as I jumped up with a joyful cheer. Max was dominating the track this season, and it was a break from reality to utterly immerse myself in the race. I knew cameras were on me when a few eyes turned my way so I settled down with a genuine smile, glancing around the area to find where Max’s car would pull up. Already I’d joined his mum and sister in the Paddock for a few- too- many drinks, it wasn’t awkward, but I didn’t know if that was just the champagne talking.
It was safe to say I’d got completely and utterly wankered. I’d liked to have thought that it wouldn’t have continued, but I ended up heading to an exclusive club after the race, unable to give in and go back to my lonely hotel room. “Wow, you really are heartbroken girl.” Anise, who I worked with with Sky watched me shot down the Tequila. I’d sobered up from a small pit stop at the hotel room, so I was making up for lost drunkness now.
“Fuck it!” I shrugged, spitting the lime back into my glass as her eyes trailed over my shoulder. I followed her gaze to see Max had just walked in with a bunch of other guys from Red Bull. My heart jumped and immediately the distraction of alcohol no longer felt effective.
“Fuck.” I repeated as she offered me a sad smile. “I’m on the next round, girl…”
Hours had passed and my attempts of avoiding Max had been successful. Well, apart from the glimpses we’d share from across the packed club. Every time I’d watch for him, I’d find him doing the same to me. It hurt way more, we used to love going out together, now we were acting like people who had never seen one another before.
“Hey! Hey, y/n/n!” A voice caused me to jump from my trance that was Max Verstappen. I blinked back, looking up to Daniel Ricciardo as a smile broke on my face. “Danny, hi!” I embraced the longtime friend who squeezed me a little extra harder. “How are you, you okay?” He kept a hand on my arm seeing as I stumbled slightly.
“I’m- I’m good! I’m a little drunk, how about you?!” I yelled over the music as he smiled back to me. “I can tell, I’m great, you wanna come over and say hi to everyone?” He offered, nudging me over as I shook my head. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”
“Are you sure? Max wont bite you.” He teased causing a sad little smile to form on my face. “He might do.” I teased as Daniel threw an arm over me. “I’ll look after ya’.” With that the Australian was leading me back to where Max was stood with the rest of the team.
“Look who it is!” Daniel pointed as a bunch of men cheered out, I noticed Geri was there alongside Christian Horner, and I was overwhelmed with happiness when they welcomed me first into a hug. I was scared they’d hate me and my drunk mind was sensitive, especially when Geri had told me how much she had missed me.
“How are you sweetheart, we miss you?!” Christian asked, kissing me on the cheek as my eyes landed on Max. He’d blanked me completely, tapping on the bar below with a solemn expression. I wanted to say hi, but he didn’t look up once.
“I’m good, I’m good, yeah.” I blinked a few times, back to the conversation ahead of me. “Stay here with us for a bit, we missed you!” Geri insisted, repeating Christians words. I could feel my chest knot and tighten painfully the longer I stayed around Max, and I knew I wanted to cry. Not here, not here, you never cry in public don’t ruin that now.
“I miss you guys!” Instead I forced out a sad laugh, glancing back to the free space at the bar. “Do you need another drink?” I then eyed up Geri’s empty Prosecco glass. “I’ll grab another bottle.” I insisted, hurrying towards the bar, further down than where Max sat. He looked like he was forcing himself to have a good time, and it kinda irked me that I was probably ruining his celebrations. I’d never felt unwelcome with Max, not once, but now I just felt like I was invading a space that wasn’t mine.
The longer I waited at the bar the more awkward I’d convinced myself to feel. I was just about to leave when a man blocked my view. “Oh, hi!” I drunkly spoke, not having a single clue who he was. “Oh hi!” He chuckled, holding out his hand. “I’m Frankie, you’re beautiful.” Oh no…
“Ah, thank you.” I shyly spoke, stumbling as I attempted to lean back slightly. “Woah!” He chuckled, reaching a hand to rest on my back. “You alright?” He questioned, hand lingering as I felt myself grimace in frustration. Not the man I wanted to see or talk to right now.
His hand began trailing down to the curve of my spine over the bump of my ass, I cringed, nudging him away. “Really not interested in you or your fucking creepy hands right now.” I hissed, the turn causing him to hold up both his hands and strut away with wide eyes. As if he thought that would work. When my vision was free, I looked up to see Max now occupied. Talking to a girl. My heart dropped and stomach churned. He hand a hand on her back as she giggled besides him, nodding eagerly before his his hand slipped off again.
Oh, fuck.
Now that was a massive punch in the gut. My drunk mind was erratic as I shook my head, expression clearly disgusted, the girl catching my eyes with a confused expression before I stormed away. I had the right mind to launch myself over there and yell at him for being so disrespectful. Right under my fucking nose. He couldn’t even say hi? I was furious, beyond angry, god I was so wasted I couldn’t walk in a straight line but I sure as hell wasn’t dealing with Max flirting up with another girl right under my nose. That was just a dick move.
“Ay, ay!” Daniel took both my shoulders, just as I tried to pass him. He’d seen the full exchange. “Daniel, please, I need to go.” I struggled to get past him. He tilted his head down in a slight concern when he noticed the tear that slipped from my eye. “Ah, okay, let’s go.” He ushered me out, an arm slung over my shoulder as we wormed our way out to the private smoking area that was reserved for the ‘celebrities’ only. Fucking prissy if you asked me.
“I need to go home, Daniel.” I repeated, wrapping my hands over my bare arm. “I know, I know.”
“I am so fucking done with him.” My voice cracked and a sob rattled through me. “Hey, no don’t cry.” He was quick to pull me in for a hug, rubbing my back quickly. “Aw, no I don’t know what to do when people cry..” Daniel slurred slightly as I sniffled, wiping under my eyes quickly.
“Sorry, but I just- I just can’t watch him in there talking with all those girls.” I too, was slurring, it only became apparent to me when we’d got into the fresh air and I somehow felt 10x drunker. “I’m so fucking angry.” I wept. “I’m gonna regret this in the morning, I’m sorry Daniel.”
“Nah it’s a dick move from him I agree, look he’s probably just jealous.” The Australian explained, hand still on my upper back in support. “Uh huh.” I nodded looking up to the night sky in order to prevent more tears falling. “Please don’t get this upset, I know it’s shit to see but he won’t have meant anything bad by it. She probably just wanted a picture with him.”
I took a deep breath, using my sleeve that was luckily black to dab under my eyes. “Yeah.” I agreed. “She’s just really pretty.”
“She’s got nothing on you.” Daniel bluntly spoke causing me to laugh out sadly. “Seriously, y/n/n, it’s just a shit time, especially when you’ve both had to be in the same place.”
“I know… I think I just need to go home.” I sighed, chewing on the inside of my cheek. “Alright… Have you got your bag?” Daniels words caused me to search frantically for my bag. “Shit, it’s at the bar.” I panicked, knowing my phone and everything was in there.
“It’s okay, I’ll go get it, you wait here, alright?”
“Thanks, Daniel.”
“That’s okay.” When Daniel went inside I was left with silence. Well, that and the noise of the obnoxiously loud music. Gold digger was a playing and somehow it made me tear up knowing how often Max played this in the shower. Fuck, how was I about to cry over fucking Gold Digger by Kanye West. I was pathetic. A pathetic, drunk mess. It was kinda laughable.
Daniel returned moments later, with my bag in his hand. I let out a sigh of relief. “Thank you. Thank you.”
“I’ll get you back, okay? I’m tired anyway, promised Heidi I’d call her.”
“Thank you.” I nodded once again as we turned around, Daniel leading me back inside. Before we even reached the doors, they swung open again revealing nobody else other than Max. Fuck.
“What’s going on?” He stumbled out, eyes full of confusion as I looked back to him, my mouth slightly agape. “Where’s re you both going?” He blinked in utter confusion.
“Back to the hotel, mate. She’s upset.” Daniel attempted to lead me through again with a hand on my back. “Together?!” The stupid question sent a rage like no other through me.
“Oh, Max what?” I spat.
“Mate.” Daniel sighed in frustration. Why on earth would he even think Danny and I would be like that. “What’s going on?!” He questioned again as I swallowed. “Why have you followed us out?” I questioned as he winced.
“You ran out, I saw Daniel with your bag? Why are you crying?” He was obviously drunk, I could tell from the bloodshot look in his eyes.
“Max, leave it out-“
“No, what’s going on?!” He probed again as I sighed, looking towards Daniel. “You can go if you want, I’m just gonna…” I shrugged awkwardly as he nodded. “I’ll be inside.” He nodded back to us both, slapping Max on the shoulder in a friendly manner before heading inside, leaving me face to face with Max.
“Why are you crying?” He attempted to reach forwards and touch my arm but I pulled my arm away. He didn’t like that, he blinked as I stared back up to him.
“Look, you can do whatever you want with girls, I don’t give a shit, just not right under my nose.” I gestured harshly, attempting to move past hun to go inside. “What?!” Max spluttered out a laugh, causing me to stop completely.
“You’re the one that was dancing like that right in front of me, I saw you and the man at the bar!” He exclaimed as I felt another surge of anger ripple through me. “That man was trying to feel me up, I told him to fuck off.” I spat back, my heart setting off at the confrontation. I was never good at arguments.
“And dance like what, Max?”
“Like you’re trying to get everybody’s attention!” He fired back. “Oh, shut up.”
“No, don’t tell me to shut up!” Max argued as I rolled my eyes with a frustrated sigh. I turned around and began pacing towards the exit towards the street. “Where are you going?” Max was hot on my heel as I ground my teeth.
“Away from you, I’ll let you flirt in fucking peace!” I hissed as he choked out a scoff. “Are you kidding?!”
“Do I sound like I’m fucking joking, Max?! It’s been three weeks! Three fucking weeks, I turn around and you’re already talking to other girls!” My eyes began welling up again.
“Am I not allowed? You left me!” He jabbed a hand into his chest as I felt another wave of pain hit me. “You knew how lost I was.” I broke down, wiping at my eyes harshly. “You can’t use that against me, just don’t fucking do that shit right under my nose- do you know how much it hurts?” I rambled through tears as Max looked completely taken back.
“It doesn’t mean I don’t still love you, you absolute fucking prick!” I cursed as his brows winced. “Y/n-“ he attempted to mutter but I turned away and quickly tried to wipe my tears. “Such a dick fucking move, Max. Did you want to hurt me?”
“Yes.” He muttered, just when I thought I’d asked an unanswerable question. “I wanted to get back at you for leaving me.” Max spoke calmer now, scratching at the back of his neck as I shook my head in disbelief.
“That’s fucked up.” I turned around, beginning my journey back to the hotel. “I know.” He sighed, his voice following after me. “Stop following me, Max.” I rushed past the security guards, towards where there was endless cars lined up.
“Hi, Whittlebury hotel please.” I forced a smile through my tears to the driver. He must’ve thought I was a fucking psycho. When I opened the door, Max muttered my name again. “I’m not letting you go back alone.” He put a hand on mine causing me to tense up. I was so hurt, I couldn’t even look at him.
“I literally don’t care.” I lied, climbing in the back seat to which he followed me in. “I’m being serious, you’re not going alone.”
“Max, leave me the fuck alone.” I spoke lowly so the driver wouldn’t hear me. “No.” He firmly spoke, reaching over to plug my seatbelt in. That was the first time I gave in that night, finding it harder and harder to direct angry words towards him.
Now he was sat besides me in a moving car, I couldn’t exactly kick Max Verstappen out onto the streets of Silverstone either. It was more than fucking awkward as I sniffled, texting to tell my friends I was on my way back and apologise profusely to Daniel. I couldn’t even text normally, my fingers were trembling and the alcohol blurred my vision.
“You’re not coming up to my room.” I then attempted to firm, “that’s fine.” Max spoke softly, watching towards me. I refused to look at him. I couldn’t, no matter how much my heart yearned for him. My brain was growing more and more confused as I dropped my head in my hands. “Why can’t you just leave me alone?” I questioned glumly, Max reached over and placed a hand on my upper back. The action being small but something that made me cry 10x harder than before.
“I’m not leaving you alone, y/n.” I could see from the corner of my eye the way his head hung low, how he watched me, his touch was so soft and gentle how I always remembered. “Im sorry for making those assumptions earlier. It was so wrong of me.” He whispered as I sighed. “And I'm truly sorry for trying to hurt you, that’s fucked up.”
“Stop.” I whispered feeling my whole body aching for my boyfriend back. I’d made a massive mistake of leaving him, now the guilt was eating me alive. Max sighed gently, but his hand didn’t move off my back the whole car ride back to the hotel. Of course, there was paparazzi.
“Are you okay, do you want to wait a minute?” Max asked as I looked up to him for the first time the whole car ride. His whole expression has changed from earlier, he looked more gentle, tired, there wasn’t a trace of anger left on his face. “I’m sorry, Max.” My lips trembled as I undid my seatbelt. “I’m sorry for hurting you.”
“C’mere.” He wrapped an arm around my shoulder as I sunk into his touch, a little too scared to touch him myself, but the comfort I gained from the hug was unalike anything else. He was patient with me, rested his head on top of mine for a couple moments before he took me by the hand, keeping me besides him through the row of flashing lights as I attempted to hide my face as much as possible.
When we got back in the lift, it was a little awkward again. I pushed a 3 for my floor and he then pushed a 4. The floor were all the drivers stayed. “I’m just gonna go to bed now. I’m sorry for interrupting your night.” I finally spoke when the lift started moving. If I didn’t, it would be awkward as hell.
“You didn’t.” Max responded as I stared at the doors ahead of me. It was like a scene straight out of Grey’s anatomy. Soon enough, the doors swung open and I reluctantly headed back to my room. “Night, Max.” I muttered.
“Night.” I didn’t turn around to know he was glum, I knew he would be, and I couldn’t bare seeing it. I went to bed that night crying pathetically, confused as to what had actually happened. The whole thing was a mess, my mind was a mess. I really knew I’d made a fucked up decision leaving Max, now I just had to deal with the consequences…
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A rant about the blatant transphobia/non-binary phobia going on in the "The Summer I turned Pretty" Fandom right now.
FOR GOD'S SAKE. I AM DONE DONE with this fandom hating on Elsie. The things people say online are legit hate speech or bordering on hate speech. There is a HUGE DIFFERENCE between simply disliking a character for their characterization and what the fandom does online ((1) targetting the characters apperance, (2) referring to Skye as "it"?!??!?!, and they refer to Elsie the same way too especially in press junket vids).
Firstly, I hate all the comments that are like "Did you see Chris' face, he probably hates them." Or like "The cast probably has a gc without them." Like I could be petty and be like "Well ELSIE PROBS HAS A GOLDEN GLOBE NOMINEES GC WITHOUT ANY OF THEM IN IT" but also its pathetic to assume things about people you dont personally know. And if you really wanna based things through a screen then as we can see on social media they hangout and get along with Elsie JUST FINE OKAY.
Also, Minnie and Elsie are friends, so trying to constantly default to "I just hate that they replaced Shayla" and trying to seem like hating Elsie is some form of justice isnt the white knight-ing they think it is (also the two characters arent even equivalent to each other so its a nullified argument).
Thirdly, I feel like the hate is too far (people try to justify it bc they dislike Skye as a character but all the tiktoks I see are about their appearance, which I feel is so unecessary). Considering that the character is a socially, anxious teenager, who seemingly has no friends but their mom then YEAH plot wise of course they're only going to know their mom's side first and defend their only trusted person in life first. When the Fisher bros do legit anything, everyone is proud of their "character growth" but the same people won't even give Skye a chance to maybe undergo the same growth.
Also IDK in my opinion its easier to morally defend this socially anxious teenage defending her closest friend/mom with a snarky comment rather than a girl who DATES BETWEEN TWO BROTHERS. So, lets maybe not be to harsh on them.
All I'm saying is PLEASE lets be kinder. It legit costs nothing to be a little nicer or at least restrain what you say about people online.
#tsitp#the summer i turned pretty#elsie fisher#belly conklin#conrad fisher#jeremiah fisher#nonbinary#lgbtqia#lgbtq community#lgbtq
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Hot Take Bunny Headcanons and Responses to Common Bunny Arguments that Really Aren’t Even Hot Takes Now That I’m Reading Over Them But Whatever Lol.
I’m gonna start off with some good ol’ headcanons.
Butters is a short king and Kenny is a tall king. That’s just how it is.
I headcanon that although Butters is fairly secure in his identity as an AMAB, he still finds comfort in, and even encourages, feminine pet names. Kenny calls him “princess,” “wife,” and very jokingly, “babygirl”
Butters smokes. Kenny is a stoner. Argue with ya mama. Also Kenny gets pissed sometimes because Leo gets lipgloss on his blunts and it just throws off his mojo. But he can’t stay mad at him for long <3
Bunny is a pretty couple. I don’t care they just are. Kenny has a very pretty face, very charming and very handsome. And Butters. Butters is fucking gorgeous. All of his bullies in elementary school got ugly. Him, though? He got his glow up.
I am a huge fan of flirtatious Butters. LIKE. HUGE FAN.
Bunny is ADHD x ADHD couple I’m correct I’m correct I’m correct.
I actually really like the idea of rebellious reckless Kenny. Like, that’s my shit right there. Because if he is, and he gets hurt, that gives Butters an excuse to doctor him up and be all fluffy with him.
Vic Chaos is Dr. Mccormick’s sugar mama-
Fuck y’all “Buttercup” is an adorable nickname. Nicknames in general are just adorable.
All of my other “hot-take” headcanons are inappropriate. So I’m not gonna talk about them-
What I wanna do now is take a minute (or twenty) to talk about common discourse-starters in the Bunny fandom.
But first, I wanna reiterate one more time. When I say butters is gnc, he is a gnc CREATUREEEEE. He is hyper-femme (me fr). He has meltdowns about his trauma, then covers his tears with makeup (me fr), he expresses his feelings through his sewing machine (kinda sorta me fr), has the best outfits in school (me fr), and will key your car :)
But don’t assume that I also believe he’s a meak, powerless, washed up little baby just because I headcanon that he’s gnc (If you automatically associate femininity with any of these traits, I’m gonna give you the nastiest side eye.) Butters, from what I can understand, is a slick little guy. He’s shady, he’s a gossiper, he’s prone to snapping at people, and I’m happy (<- lying) to admit that he has this weird jealousy relationship thing going on with women. Personality ≠ Hair and Makeup and feminine outfits. Those are two totally seperate things.
Protective Kenny
In terms of Bunny, people say that Kenny would not be Butters’ protector/save his little meow meow from the evil Stephen-Wephen. I’d like to argue that both of these aren’t outlandish ideas. They just need to be done right in order to seem legit.
Protective Kenny is such a real and accurate headcanon because…that’s who he is! That’s what he does! He protects his little sister from their questionable foster home and strange new school, he protects his friends from Cthulu’s clutches by stating that he’ll die for good if it means that his friends would be safe, he voluntarily goes to hell to protect the fucking world!
Question, if this boy is willing to sacrifice so much to make sure nothing harms who/what he loves, why is it so jaw-dropping to say that he would do so for his boyfriend?
I do get that this headcanon can be trivializing because, yeah, it does kinda bolster the whole “meak little overly-dependent meow meow” pretense onto Butters. Yes, Butters most likely will stand up to his parents one day all by himself, but what happens when Stephen inevitably responds negatively? I feel like Butters would double down after seeing Stephen’s reaction to being yelled at. Because snapping and delivering one loud, detailed, emotional monologue triggered by years of hurt, anger, and mental disintegration isn’t going to magically undo the complience, discipline, and obedience Stephen has drilled into his head.
Butters is going to back down and go back to obeying his father because it’s instinctual. And because of that, he needs someone to step in and encourage him to not fall into this headspace. He needs someone to let him know that what he feels isn’t disobedience, it’s his conscience recognizing that this is bullshit. And if that backfires, then yeah, Kenny’s gonna take matters into his own hands.
Now, the dramatic dinner table scene that ultimately leads to a shootout between Mr Stotch and Kenny while Butters watches on in fear while pissing his pants, and then Kenny shooting Mr and Mrs Stotch dead and running away with Butters to California (or vice versa) is kind of a stretch. But to defend the people who may see it as one big showdown: it’s South Park! You think these characters are going to sit over cups of tea and have a civil conversation? No! Sure, you’re allowed to dislike that outcome and dislike the fact that people write it in fanfics, but you can’t really blame authors for writing it this way because the source material is batshit insane. Think about it this way, if Matt and Trey were to write a scene where Butters stands up to his father and Kenny is there to back him up, do you think they would either:
A) Write it like this: Butters blows up at his dad, his dad retaliates, they eventually settle down and have a reasonable conversation, and then everything is fixed…
B) Write it like this: Butters blows up at his dad, his dad retaliates, Kenny steps in, Mr Stotch attacks him, they get into a gunfight with lasers and condoms rain down from the sky and Mrs Stotch flashes her tits and there’s totally unsubtle political commentary in the form of a satirical new character nobody cares about and Holy Shit, is that Joe Biden on a bicycle?!?!
Idk. I’m neither Matt nor Trey. So anyway, Kenny is a protective boyfriend.
Stephen-Hates-Kenny
I honestly don’t think Stephen would hate Kenny as much as Bunny fans think he would. Although he’s a crude kid and one that’s mysterious and questionable when it comes to making money, it’s not like he’d be outright vitriolic towards him at first sight.
What I think does happen is that Stephen starts to dislike Kenny because he can tell that Kenny has an obvious influence over his son. If his son doesn’t meet the standards that he aggressively sets for him, and he knows that an outside force is disturbing that process, then yeah. I would assume that Stephen wouldn’t like whoever that “outside force” is because that person is taking control away from him. Not because he’s poor, or a manwhore, or even because Stephen and Stuart may or may not dislike each other. It’s simply because he’s no longer allowed to manipulate and warp his son into what he believes should be the standard, because Butters is starting to think for his own and not living by the ideals and harsh life lessons his father is instilling in him.
Homophobic Stephen Stotch
Okay, this one has takes that I both agree and disagree with. Some Bunny fans think that Stephen would be totally homophobic and unsupportive of his relationship, others believe that he wouldn’t care much in that regard and even support him. Both sides just seem fundamentally weird? To me? I don’t think that he’s homophobic, per se, but I definitely don’t think he’d support it full out.
The main evidence people use in this debate to prove that Stephen isn’t homophobic is the fact that Stephen Stotch…is literally gay himself. He has a history of going to gay bathouses and watching explicit gay films. So yeah, if this is a thing, then how would he be homophobic? Easy answer. Stephen doesn’t seem all too proud of himself for his behavior. In the same episode, he expresses to his wife that he doesn’t want to be this way. So yeah, he’s fruity, but in a “Catholic gay man is ashamed of his wicked ways and wants to undo his sins before God” way, or whatever the hell.
But that isn’t it, there’s another piece of evidence that argues that he is homophobic, and that’s the infamous “Butters Bisexual” episode. When Butters is almost tricked into sexually gratifying Cartman, his father walks in. Petrified, he sends him away to a gay conversion camp. Pretty harsh stuff, and pretty telling of where he stands in terms of homosexuality, specifically when it pertains to his son. At the end of the episode, though, he…accepts? His son for being bi-curious. And then the bi-curiosity is no longer explored nor mentioned or alluded to for the duration of the show up to season 26.
I feel like another vital piece of evidence that happens to be forgotten when having this conversation is how Stephen responds to Butters getting into a relationship period. He doesn’t seem apalled by his son getting a girlfriend at all, leaving us with the conclusion that Stephen isn’t against the prospect of his son finding a partner. But it still leaves a few questions unanswered, the main one being If Stephen is okay with a straight relationship, what would his reaction to a gay relationship be?
In my opinion, I really think it’s all a matter of perception and interpretation. The problem in this discourse isn’t exactly the idea of Stephen being homophobic or supportive. (either interpretation is backed up by canon, so it’s a matter of choice really) The main issue that people take in this aspect of Bunny is the extremity of either interpretation. Rampant Homophobe Stephen Stotch kicking his son out and murdering his son’s promicuous boyfriend v.s Accepting Healing Understanding Stephen Stotch who loves his son and embraces his son and his boyfriend with loving, caring arms. Neither of these are accurate responses to the supposed scenario of Kenny and Butters dating to me.
Raging Homophobe? No.
Accepting Ally Parent? Not exactly.
Closeted Gay Man who renounces his own homosexuality as well as his son’s? Yeah, that’s probably it. But IMO a combination of both sides of the discourse can be accurate and interesting if explored with nuance and an extra dose of consideration. I’m down with either.
Womanizer/Cheater Kenny
Uh. Idk. I do think it’s a little strange that people translate “10 Year Old Boy is exposed to sexual content and infatuated with it” to “He will grow up and get around with many girls (and maybe many boys).” Ultimately, though, it isn’t something I have extreme hatred towards, moreso something that I just. Scratch my head at. And don’t really have any need to talk about. Then again, it’s not a headcanon that has no evidence to back it up. Kenny does pursue sexual encounters even at a young age. He spent what I’m assuming to be multitudes of money to buy a concert ticket and condoms, and then he sat down and watched over an hour of said concert, solely to get a BJ from Tammy Warner. So, yeah, maybe he is seeking out stuff he shouldn’t be seeking. Plus, when you take puberty and hormones into consideration, Kenny might find himself persuing a few sexual encounters as a teenager.
One scenario that I see in Bunny fics a lot that really doesn’t make sense to me is Kenny selling himself for money. Like, yeah, okay, that headcanon is also backed up by canon. He was offered $20 (I think?) to give a popular radio host a BJ. But idk? I feel like that’s something the fandom should talk about more.
Cheating Kenny just pisses me off. Like, what? The most loyal character on this show would not cheat on any of his partners, and he sure as hell wouldn’t cheat on Butters. And you can play the “it’s for angst purposes!” card all you want, but out of all of the angsty shit both of these characters go through, you wanna take the easy way out? Yeah, no. We’re not even gonna go there.
Going Native
“Going Native had no particular moments that would ever allude to Kenny and Butters becoming a thing!”
Yeah. Exactly. That’s kinda the point of crackships. You don’t need any pivitol moment to justify the ship, you just need two characters, an Ao3 account, and a broad imagination. Besides, Going Native develops Kenny and Butters’ friendship. And where there’s friendship, there’s also potential for a romantic relationship!
Angst vs Fluff
I’m sorry, but if you base a ship’s validity/quality on the angst-to-fluff ratio, I just think that’s rather silly. People often make the claim that Bunny is a boring ship because it’s too fluffy and every time I see that take I just have to internally face palm. Isn’t that…good? Isn’t fluff a good thing?
I think the reason people don’t like overly-fluffy ships is because fluffy content in general mostly consists of nothing but cuddling, dates, wedding, domestic endeavors, and overall cuteness. Nothing about fluff makes you think, and that’s the point.
What drives them away from all of that is the obvious lack of sadness. It’s showing only one side of the story. In some cases, people wanna see a breakup, trauma, another breakup, an impromptu suspected cheating arc, character development, some more of that good old trauma, and then you can get to the cuddling. Kind of like a reward for using your brain and analyzing the characters first before portraying the romantic and silly stuff. But if you specifically enjoy the cuteness of the cuddling, then you’re neglecting to mention the characters’ dramatic backstories and placing a magnifying lense on only their good, loving qualities. Which isn’t inherently bad?
Like, yeah, I like angst too. Sometimes, I need to see my babies hurt so that I can see how they cohesively decide to move forward as a couple. Cool, three-dimensionality. But what if I just want to see Kenny and Butters rub their noses together like cute baby cows in love? What if I wanna see them awkwardly fumble and cutely make mistakes in an effort to make their first date the most perfect evening of their lives? Shit, what if I just wanna read about them having a pillow fight and playing footsies under the covers? Wanting either of these things is not a bad thing to want.
Now it’s very plausible that I’m just running my mouth here and people simply want to read about character depth in fanfics. That’s fine! We all have our preferences! But when you start disliking a ship simply because the popular consensus among the ship’s fanbase is that it’s fluffy, then I just think that’s a little silly.
In my opinion, yes! Bunny is a very fluffy ship! However, with both of these characters having a history of trauma and abuse on them, chances are you’re not going to get fluff 100% of the time. There will be fights, there will be hardships. Hell, if people are bold enough to portray such a thing in fanfic, and if it’s done in a way that is tasteful and in no way romanticized, then there may even be some abuse or manipulation thrown in there as well. It’s not a crazy concept, the cycle of abuse is a real-life thing that real-life couples struggle with.
Whether or not these struggles are portrayed is up to the author of the work. But if you don’t see any of that in Bunny fanfics, then you are capable of being the author that takes that risk and writes about it in your own fanwork!
ok thats all i can think of im gonna go drink some apple juice now
#south park#sp#leopold butters stotch#kenny mccormick#sp bunny#kenny x butters#friendly reminder that as i am posting this it is STILL bhm#which means i am correct and immune to criticism about this post /j#/j
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[fic] A Summer Affair
A Summer Affair
Ikemen Genjiden | Kitsuji Sueharu x f!Reader | E | 6k words
ao3 link (registered users only)
Or: five encounters with the man who calls you ohime-sama.
A/N: Shoutout to @midnightmiscreant for giving me inspiration to write this fic! My first legit full-length smut fic. Please be gentle with me lmao. I stopped reading Sueharu's route at chapter 5-6 so I can't guarantee the accuracy of his characterization (and the accuracy of anything in this fic full stop). Horny first before in-character-ness.
Tagging @m-mmiy @aquagirl1978 @altairring @thewitchofbooks ! Hope you enjoy this lmao and sorry in advance 😂
Content tags/warnings: honorifics/title kink, cunnilingus, PIV sex, creampie, competence kink (vague, from Sueharu's side), sexual tension, resolved sexual tension, possible OOC, excessive use of em dash
1.
Your father brings you to one of his most important negotiations to date. Observe, he had said, sliding his critical eye over you to make sure you're listening, which you were, restraining the urge to grab your yukata tight—from nerves and from the responsibility.
The place he's going to is a shop that sells different kinds of things. There are clothes displayed, colorful yukata and obi that steal the attention of passers-by, an undeniable allure that seduces customers to whip out their purse and purchase their chosen temptation. Other aisles, there are medicinal ingredients, brushes and ink, and many more that you wonder how this store has not crushed other competitors yet. It makes you wonder, then, about the owner of this establishment.
“Please come in here,” the shopkeeper who's welcomed you earlier says, gesturing to a passageway that leads to a backroom. Away from other perusing customers, whose voices gradually fade into the walls, and your footsteps remain, soft and quiet against the floor.
When the corridor reveals another room—darker in color scheme, more apropos for business negotiations—you spot a man lounging about behind a table. He lifts his head at your father's arrival, a ready smile in place. Then he sweeps his gaze at the people trailing your father—you at the end of the line. He raises a brow—and you know how you look among the stern-faced men who entered first—but nonetheless his lips remain in an upward curve—and if your eyes don't deceive you, it even stretches further.
“Kitsuji-dono,” your father begins, bowing lightly from where he stands. The action pushes your own eyebrows up; you know your father to be firm and imperious. Respect only comes when he has gauged a person's worth through their deeds and conviction. And to see this respect directed towards a younger man surprises you, somewhat.
Kitsuji waves his hand, his movements light and—you sense—deliberately aimed to make people feel at ease. “There is no need for formalities. Come sit.” He gestures across the table, and your father follows. His assistants remain standing a few steps behind, and you maintain another step behind them.
Then it starts. The assistants murmur among themselves about some supply or other. You try your best to keep up, but there is still a long way to go before you can stand proudly right next to your father.
Observe: you concentrate on the main negotiators' facial expressions. Your father with his ever-craggy countenance, designed to intimidate; Kitsuji's, however, is loose, relaxed, with a lace of challenge underneath that lazy smirk. He's very different from your father—negotiation style different—but perhaps that is why he's won your father's respect.
In the middle of their argument, you catch Kitsuji flit his gaze to you. A quick, fleeting thing, easily missed. It's as if it didn't happen at all, but you know it did, because you can't deny the skip of your heartbeat when his eye—sharp, shrewd—finds yours in spite of the important discussion. There's no reason for his attention to wander.
The negotiations prolong enough for Kitsuji to suggest a break. A shopkeeper appears, serving tea for him and your father, who accepts the offer most graciously. The assistants excuse themselves to evaluate the progress so far, and you follow them outside.
They don't stay inside the shop, wary of Kitsuji's men who could overhear. But you decide to remain, instead browsing among the products sold. One of the yukata captures your interest, its intricate patterns reminding you of your hometown. It draws your fingers in to trace the patterns, a reminiscent slowness that has your memories of childhood resurfacing.
So occupied with the yukata that you fail to sense the approaching man.
“Do you like it?” a low, warm voice says almost next to your ear. The sleeves of your yukata brush against his.
It's a blessing that you don't shriek and jump, but it's an almost thing.
Beside you, Kitsuji offers an inviting smile. “They tell me that you're the daughter of my esteemed guest. An honor to grace the meeting with your radiant presence, ohime-sama.”
Ohime-sama. A spark jolts at your spine, hot and strange that has you squirming in your place and averting your eyes.
You part your lips for a reply, but nothing comes out. Bewildered, speechless, you just shrug, mumbling some collection of sounds that mean nothing at all.
Kitsuji's smile persists, as if knowing his effect on you. And that smarts your pride. Part of being a good negotiator is being able to withstand external force in any shape or form. Grace under pressure. A little flirting shouldn't affect you like this.
Just as you have finally mustered enough nerves to shoot him a decent comeback, Kitsuji continues: “It's very admirable to see someone's daughter inheriting the family business. Does this mean I will get to see you more in the future?”
Your jaws click shut. He's good at this. So very good, in fact, that you're left answering with complete honesty.
“I suppose,” you answer helplessly. “I only wish to be helpful to my father. He's the only one I have left.”
That takes Kitsuji slightly aback, if the little flinch is an indication. Too much sincerity, perhaps? Can this be considered a victory?
You never get to find out his reply, because this is when your father calls your name, signaling of your abrupt departure. You look to Kitsuji, wide-eyed and questioning, and he just grins, silently mouthing your name, testing the syllables for himself.
“Well, then,” he says. “It seems like the negotiation has concluded.”
“But—how?”
Another call of your name. You turn to go to your father.
And then—Kitsuji says, “I'll see you soon?”
You pause, giving it serious thought.
“If fate allows it. Good day, Kitsuji-dono.”
“Sueharu.”
“Pardon?”
The smile Kitsuji presents you now is roguishly charming, his eye dancing with amusement.
“Call me Sueharu.”
You have no appropriate reply to that, so all you can answer him is an aborted smile and the galloping of your heart.
2.
In a few days it will be your father's birthday, and you're darting around the market, searching for the perfect gift.
It's almost mid-summer, the sun high up and challenging your tolerance for heat and humidity. Everywhere you go there are people sweating and people fanning themselves in the heat. If you could, you would, too, but a little sweat won't deter you from acquiring a worthy present for the father who has raised you since you were little.
A kimono? A wakizashi? A sumptuous meal? There are plenty of choices, but you feel, this time, that they are not fit enough for the smoky, dignified air that permeates around him.
A writing set—that may be a better choice. You've heard him once complain about the state of his current one. Perhaps it's time to replace it, and what could be a better occasion than on his birthday?
“Ohime-sama,” a voice—low and silver—breathes on your temple, and the way your spine tingles, you know whose voice it belongs to.
“Kitsuji-dono,” you acknowledge, stubbornly looking at the wares in front of you and ignoring the proximity between your hand and his sleeve.
“Ah, didn't I say that you can call me Sueharu?” he says, amusement lilting his words.
“I must give respect to those whom my father respects.”
“And you must respect my desires, as one whom you give respect to.”
Your eyebrows scrunch. Such a sly man. But still.
“... Kitsuji-san,” you allow.
Next to you, Kitsuji lets out a disbelieving chuckle. “A compromise? Fine, I'll accept.” And that's when you decide to turn around. In your movement your hand accidentally brushes his. He's adorning that crooked smirk, as though there's something he finds entertaining, almost hedonistic and indulgent in the geometry of his lips. “What are you looking for?”
“A gift.”
His smirk widens even further. “For who? For me?”
“For my father.”
“Ah.” He leans back, and makes a show of thinking, a loose fist on his chin, eye drawing closed. “What do you have in mind?”
You've only seen him once or twice, and to reveal something to him that's personal hinders your openness towards him. And Kitsuji senses that reluctance, that wariness, because he opens his eye again and sheds the loftiness that layers his movements, his expression. The smile he presents you now is subdued, but nevertheless generous.
“I may be able to help, ohime-sama.”
“You can start by not calling me that.”
“Oh, but you like it, don't you?” he says, boldly. And that takes you by surprise—the way he just tells you directly, confidence wrapped in a sly gaze, a canted hip. A precise, pitched tone. “And you are, you know,” he adds. “A princess. A precious one, at that.”
You don't know what to reply to that, so you just answer his previous question. “A writing set—I'm looking for a writing set.”
He nods in understanding. “Ah, an excellent choice of gift. I know exactly what your father would like.”
And you know exactly what he'll say next, so you beat him to the punch.
“And what is the catch?”
“Hm?”
“The catch,” you repeat, monitoring his reaction. “You can't offer me something like that without getting something in return. There's a reason you told me that, right?”
“Clever girl,” he says, his eye narrowing in delight. “I can give you a high quality writing set if ... you and I have a lovely dinner together.”
“Dinner?”
And Kitsuji's expression melts into something soft, almost fond.
“I'm not that easy,” you say.
“I know. That's why I'm making an effort.”
“And I'm finding your effort lacking.”
Kitsuji laughs. He laughs like the summer sun. Then that tender look is back again.
“Then I'll get serious,” he says. “Get ready to negotiate.”
3.
On the way to your hometown, you're attacked by bandits.
You only have your one bodyguard with you, and you're both astride a single horse. He wraps one arm around you as a shield, the other brandishing his sword.
“Hold on tight, ojou-sama.”
You close your eyes and cling to his torso. The twisting of his body—the slashes and the sound of clanging steel that accompany it—makes your breaths shallow, the unruly combination of dread and panic taking hold of your muscles and your lungs. A stray swipe cuts the ends of your yukata, and you whip your legs closer to your body.
It doesn't help that the horse is spooked whenever a blade lunges in your direction. Your bodyguard decides to face them on foot, handing you the reins.
“Ojou-sama, go!”
“But what about you, Endou-san?”
Endou fights off a couple of bandits with a huge sweep of his blade. “I'll be fine—now go!”
You trust his skill with the sword, so you take off.
You don't manage to get too far: an arrow embeds itself in front of your path, and the horse rears back in fright, throwing you off.
A bandit emerges from the shrubs, weapon poised above him, ready to strike.
Far to your right, a shout of your name.
There's no time—you take one step back, place your weight on your feet, and pull out your tanto that’s hidden expertly under your obi.
Distantly you hear your name again, distraught.
The bandit gets closer, roaring. His sword swoops down—
—and you meet it with your own, both hands straining against the handle of your tanto.
Your father had foreseen such events like this. A shrewd businessman like him, who had named you as his successor, would anticipate such things to happen. Threats to his family's lives—yours specifically—are part and parcel of his reality. And he has long ago accepted the fact that he can't be with you all the time; hence: Endou.
But even Endou can't be with you at all hours.
You're not adept with the blade, but you know how to defend yourself in times of emergencies. Like this one. Your father made you wake up early in the morning during your youth, had you practice stances by a skilled teacher, and seared into your mind the ways of warding off opponents—honorably and otherwise.
And that otherwise is what gives you victory.
Without warning you shift your weight to lift your foot and drive an angry kick to his crotch.
He goes down like a sack of rice.
Not giving him any opportunity to recover, you slam the butt of your tanto onto the back of his head, knocking him out. Exhaling a heavy breath, you drop onto the ground, suddenly exhausted.
Another call of your name, and you look up to find Kitsuji panting heavily, expression slack with wide-eyed shock.
“Kitsuji-san?” you begin, wobbling towards him. “How are you here—”
You don't finish your inquiry; he strides towards you and scoops you into his frantic arms.
“Um?”
He kicks the unconscious bandit farther away, then tightens his embrace.
“Kitsuji-san?”
He finally releases you—hands still on your shoulders—but his gaze roams over your body, searching for any wound or injury. When he finds none, he sighs in deep relief.
“Really,” you insist, “what are you doing here?”
“I was just in the area,” he dodges. “But you—”
His hands glide down your arms, and then gently cradles the hand holding the tanto.
“You fought a bandit.”
“I—yes?”
“On your own.”
“I had to.”
“And you kicked him”—a glance at the bandit's lower body—“there.”
“I'm not strong enough to parry his attacks.”
“I know,” he says, looking torn. But after a few beats, it seems that he has decided upon something, and his mood becomes serious. “I really want to kiss you right now.”
Oh.
“Oh.”
“Yes.”
You bite your lip, and his gaze follows.
It's not as if you're blind to the signs. It's also not as if you're giving him mixed signals, because you know, as well as he, that the effect that he has on you scorches the very marrow of your bones—a dark and heavy longing that needs to be devoured, empty spaces desperately yearning to be filled. The stolen glances, the accidental brush of fingers, the distance—or the near-lack of it. In there all the answers to the questions are given, with a clandestine touch.
You give him a smile and an “Oka—”
You can't even finish the word and he's already on you. Kitsuji—no, Sueharu kisses like a man starved, as if he has restrained his desire for you for so long, chained it so close to him that it's threatened to burst. And now it has. The shuddering gasps he makes as he angles his head to take your kiss deeper and deeper send heat into your head, and all you can do is shut your eyes tight and return the enthusiasm as much as you can.
The tanto falls from your loosened grasp, and Sueharu migrates his hands to your waist and pulls you flush against him. His body is all muscle—broad, firm, and hot—and you rest your hands on his chest, where you can feel his rapidly beating heart. From nerves or thirst or a mix of both.
Before things can escalate, you pull away. His mouth chases after you and lands on the corner of your mouth. You tap his chest to catch his attention.
“Kitsuji-san,” you start, words warbled by his insistent kisses. “I have to go back to Endou-san.”
He freezes, and reluctantly retreats. The want still burns underneath that sunset eye, but he listens to your plea.
He steps back. “Your traveling companion?”
“Yes. He told me to leave him but—”
A rustle of leaves, and you whip around in caution, Sueharu positioning himself between you and the oncoming danger.
To your relief, it's Endou, and you cry in joy upon seeing him.
Endou nods at Sueharu. “Kitsuji-sama, thank you for protecting ojou-sama.”
“I actually didn't make it,” Sueharu replies, grinning. “When I reached her, ohime-sama already knocked the bandit out. It was such a show.”
You blush, but Endou looks proud of that.
Endou's arrival signals that things are over, and that you have to leave for your hometown soon. Sueharu volunteers to take care of the fallen bandits for you, and before you can refuse Endou accepts the offer. Once Endou herds your horse, it's time to say goodbye to Sueharu.
“Don't worry, ohime-sama.” His tone is assuring. “I'll see you again. And maybe—” He bows down to whisper in your ear: “Maybe we can continue where we left off.”
You return to your hometown with that promise on your mind, burning.
4.
There's an inn at the outskirts of your town, operating for longer than your father's life. It's run by a large family headed by an old woman, a sprightly wickered shrub of a grandma, whose idea of a pastime is to poke her nose into her customers' businesses, much to her family's dismay.
But you get along with her, having been a constant conversation partner in your youth, when you'd been so fed up with your father's awkward attempts at parenting. Distance had been a good way to cool off, moreso with grandma's stories. It also helped that on some occasions, she'd drill you life advice that even now you follow like the word of god.
“Oho!” she shrieks in delight at the sight of you entering the inn, Sueharu in tow.
“As usual, obaa-san,” you tell her without pausing on your strides. Instead of the reception, you make your way towards the hallway at the far end of the lobby.
The interaction puzzles Sueharu. “No reservations?”
“I practically have a room with my name on it.” It sounds strange, when you say it aloud. “I've been a frequent customer here that the owner practically adopted me.”
Sueharu hums. “A story for another time.”
When you enter the room, it's as if a bubble has burst: your hands can't keep off each other, mouths latched onto one another, tongues twirling and twining.
When you part, Sueharu's gaze roams all over you, his breaths ragged and loud, matching yours, the want so palpable between you, unable to stay hidden.
“Bed,” he says—demands.
He continues to touch you even as you prepare the futon, and you laugh at his impatience. Once it's done, Sueharu pounces, and you both tumble into the futon, pawing at your clothes, mad with the desire for bare skin.
“Ohime-sama,” he teases, and your breath catches. He smirks at your reaction. Brings down his lips to your ear, whispers: “O-hi-me-sa-ma.”
“You don't play fair at all.” His kimono is pushed back to his elbows, exposing his torso. Beneath him, you look and look and look—he's all you can see. In return, Sueharu watches you have your fill, before he palms one of your clothed breasts.
“Kitsu—” You moan when he squeezes, then caresses downwards until his fingers brush over your nipple. You jerk against the touch, arching your back.
“So cute,” he murmurs, untying your obi—string, belt, sash—the whip-slide of fabric against fabric resonating loudly in the room. Once free, your yukata falls off your shoulders, revealing your chest, and the sight of it elicits a groan out of him. Sueharu licks his lips. “So cute.”
And his mouth descends.
You can't stop the whine that escapes your throat. His mouth is hot, wet, and his tongue does something with your nipple that has you bucking up. His hands fly to your waist to control your movements. Aligns your hips to his, and something brushes there—hard and huge—
“Kitsuji—”
His mouth releases you with a pop. Looks at you, your flushed face, with his hazy gaze.
“Yes, ohime-sama?”
“Mm—” Every time. Every time he says it, it does something inside you, a spark that tingles between your legs, crawling outwards, pinpricks that bring pleasure to your flesh.
There must've been something unfolding in your expression, because Sueharu moves so he's eye-level with you.
He kisses the corner of your mouth. “Don't worry, ohime-sama,” he says against your skin, “I'll take care of you.”
He gets up, and takes the warmth with him. There's shuffling, and you feel your legs being lifted and arranged in a way so he's kneeling between them, your inner thighs snug against his sides.
He leans forward, and begins kissing the skin under your jaw. This close to your ear, you can hear and feel him inhaling deeply then sighing, the spot warming. You're aware that in this non-existent space between you, he can sense the flush spreading from your cheeks to the tips of your ears, to your neck and nape, and then to your chest. But he doesn't mention it—instead, he's intent on bruising your skin with the weight of his kisses, the sucking and licking that alternate with the act.
He wanders downward, sucks particularly loudly at the column of your neck, and you grab at the back of his head, his silky hair between your trembling fingers, not tugging, not yet. He grunts at that, however, and responds by dragging his tongue at the length of your collarbone and punctuating the end with a bite.
“Kitsuji-san,” you whimper, your free hand tapping at his shoulder, “I want to kiss you.”
Sueharu surges and meets your open mouth. Sighs into the kiss, his tongue caressing the roof of your mouth before entangling with yours. His left hand cups your jaw, guiding you by tilting your head for deeper access, as if he wants to melt within you. His right hand is braced at the side, minor tremors belying his unspooling control. Sweat gathers in the crevices of your bodies, and your breasts brush against his, causing both of you to moan, voices mingling, your legs tightening their hold around him.
“Did you know,” he murmurs, once you've separated, your breaths hot and one and Sueharu's stare is half-mast and lust-drunk. He proceeds to play with your ear (nip and kiss and lick and suck—the shell of your ear, the lobe, the contours), in between saying, “that I've decided to allow myself to want you—ngh—since the moment you took care of the bandit trying to hurt you?”
You groan at that—and not in the sexy way.
“Kitsuji-san—”
“You make it so easy,” he continues, raining kisses down your chin, your neck (the pristine parts, and one on the angry-red mark he gave earlier), your sternum, where he slides his hands down—a ghost of a touch, leaving goose pimples on their way—to settle below your ribs. His hands are big, spanning the width of your side, and it feels safe somehow, under those hands.
“Easy?”
“When I met you the first time, you looked so serious and it was so cute.” He pauses in reminiscence. “I wanted to tease you, ohime-sama.” He chuckles, and at your light slap on his chest, he captures the hand and kisses your palm. “But you're very dedicated and smart and brave—so I had to resist surrendering to my ...”
He trails off, exhaling heavily, and then shows you a wicked smile, the grip on your hand tightening a fraction.
“I'm going to enjoy you so much tonight. There will be no sleeping between the two of us.”
And so he resumes his ministrations.
Out of your clothes, you lay back, as Sueharu gives you a long once-over. Shame vibrates in your skin, but you swallow the urge to cover yourself with your hands. The feverish ardor present in Sueharu's gaze burns your nerves, and that—in a way—makes you brave with what you're about to do next.
You sit up, snake your hands around Sueharu's torso, press yourself up against him. Skin to skin—heat, flesh, the rapid beats of his heart, yours, the snag of his breath. You tug off his belt, pull his kimono down, until he, too, is completely bare before you. There are no words exchanged, just the intent of each act, the shiver of bodies at every touch.
“Ohime-sama,” he begins. When you look down, his cock is flushed, hard, straining. You want to know how it feels inside your mouth, its weight, its size. The quality of his voice gains a tinge of desperation, almost broken with yearning. “Let me have a taste of you, please.”
And it's the please that has you lying back on the futon again. Sueharu starts by kissing you on the lips, then down and down and down—your navel, then below it, then the line of your pubes, and then, finally—
He kisses your cunt once, and then goes for it.
“Ahn—Kitsuji-sa—” Your hips buck up, which presses further into his tongue, and it's like your whole body lights up. He takes this opportunity to draw a line down your slit, before parting your folds to delve inside.
The last reddish glow of the sky peeks through the slightly open windows, awashing the room with a burnished red hue, two shades darker than his kimono that's now splayed on the floor several paces away from the futon. In a fleeting moment of silliness, you wonder if the open windows would carry your cries outside, where people could hear your molten desire for Sueharu's tongue. But when he moves on to lap at your clit, the thought dissipates, replaced by the mindless urge to roll your hips against his face and keen at the pleasure.
The sounds of his deft mouth on you—so thirsty—and his garbled words against your sensitive skin: “—so sweet, delicious, ngh, how are you this—ohime-sama—”
“Kitsuji-san,” you gasp, shuffling your legs because you don't know how to handle the sensations bombarding you. Without looking up, Sueharu grabs your legs and spreads them wider. Then one hand lets go and migrates downward. As his mouth continues to pour attention to your clit, a finger slides inside you. You let out an embarrassed whine, and that inspires a smirk on his face—the muscles of his cheeks pressing against the junctions of your thighs.
When he lifts his head to check up on you, his face glistens with your slick, and you swallow the heavy, unbearable want crawling out of your throat.
His eye is hooded, dark with lust, and without your conscious prompting your hand hovers over his eyepatch. You trace the design with your index finger, almost tentative, afraid that he'd turn away from it. But he doesn't. Instead, he cants his head so his lips touch your finger. One quick kiss, before he brings it inside his mouth.
His tongue swirls around your finger, moans around it, and you watch, mesmerized. Gets it wet, saliva trickling down his chin, his implacable gaze refusing to leave you.
He curls the finger inside you, your thighs twitch.
Sueharu chuckles, silvery rich and low. He glances down. Says, “Sorry. Got a little distracted there.”
And he's back to your cunt, with more intent than before. He's slurping and sucking and lapping as if you're the most delicious meal he's ever tasted, and it's driving you to the edge. He inserts another finger and pumps them, a relentless assault that amplifies all the sensations you’re experiencing. It’s too much, it’s not enough. You grab at his hair again—tighten it into a firm fist this time and maneuver him so his mouth can get to the angles that send firebursts across your entire body.
“I'm going to—” you pant, rolling your hips against Sueharu's greedy face. Another finger enters. The squelch of his gestures adds to the sounds of his thirst. You're leaking between your thighs—your slick and his saliva—and it pools on your futon. At the back of your mind—the tiny part that's still stubbornly clinging for awareness of your surroundings—you think, This is going to be messy.
You don't want grandma to find out.
“Don't think of anything else but me,” Sueharu warns, somehow sensing your drifting away. He lightly drags his teeth at your clit and does something with his fingers as punishment, and you jerk from a shot of pleasure, which has you crying out in surprise. You yank his hair in revenge, and that affords you a glimpse of Sueharu's roguish grin. “You're almost there—focus on me. Only me.”
So you do.
And he's so good at what he does: his mouth, his tongue, his voice, his fingers—every part of him born in service to you. So when he brings you to your climax, everything fractures, shatters, white-heat burning every nerve, every muscle in your body. You're vaguely aware that you're wailing—
“Kitsuji-san—Kitsuji-san—Sueharu—a-ahh—”
—and Sueharu rides out your orgasm, still licking and lapping at your cunt, pumping his fingers in you, as if he can't get enough of it. When you go limp, he finally lets go, moving above you, slurping your slick off his fingers, observing your blissed-out expression. His own expression is smug, and without warning he kisses you.
You taste yourself in his mouth.
When you part for air, a string of saliva stretching between your lips, he shuffles until his lower body is lined up with yours. His cock presses hot and hard against your slit.
Sueharu brushes away a lock of hair clinging to your sweat-drenched temple. His touch is light and gentle, a contrast to his harsh breaths and tense posture.
“I want to be inside you.” The words are uttered breathlessly, the last syllables pinched into an anticipatory smile. As if he can’t wait to have all of you. “May I?”
Sueharu and his silver voice and his sunset eye and the glister of his sweat-coated skin. The tremble of his limbs, ruddy with need and hunger. There’s a palpable moment when everything feels suspended in time, and all you can do is commit this image into memory.
And then: you nod.
He releases a shuttered exhale and swallows. The head of his cock nudges at your cunt, entering slowly, carefully, inside—
He starts moaning.
“Ohime-sama,” he begins, as his cock slides in, pausing every now and then, gauging your reaction, and the cries that clamor to escape remain stuck in your throat. He's big, overwhelming, crowding everything, all your senses, and you squirm, trying to accommodate him. He groans at your little shifts; shivers and braces himself to avoid collapsing on top of you, the veins of his forearms stark in the periphery of your vision.
“Ohime-sama,” he repeats, rasping, when he pushes deeper, and you whimper in response. Hands encircle his shoulders and pull him down to you, and you can feel his staccato heartbeat. He pushes and pushes in, until he bottoms out.
He stills—then chokes a sigh.
“Sueharu,” you whisper, your thinned voice still carrying into his ear. His nose is buried on the crook of your neck, and he shudders when you call his name. His cock throbs inside you.
“You're so tight, so hot, you completely took me in. Such a good girl. So perfect,” he murmurs into your skin, then drags his tongue to taste your sweat. He gets up again to slide out of you until the head of his cock remains, and slams back inside.
Sueharu fucks like he's made for you. The way he pants in time with his thrusts—the sounds that come straight from the back of his throat like it can't wait to escape his mouth. In his drunken pleasure he slurs your name—hot and saccharine-thick between his lips—that melts into an indulgent moan, wanton and pure and sensual, his head thrown back, neck exposed and glistening.
You long to taste it—so you do.
“Haa—ohime-sama,” he rasps, and you feel the vibration in your mouth. “So bold, so lewd, so—” He twists so he’s sat on the futon and you're astride his lap and riding his cock, his hands gripping your waist tight, pounding into you as you suck bruises on his neck.
The new angle hits something inside you—and you sob, a different flavor of pleasure quaking your body. Sueharu watches you with half-lidded gaze, and hits it again. You cry and cry and cry until your body can't contain the tightness anymore—it explodes, wracking your body with unbearable pleasure, shaking you to the core.
Sueharu swallows your second orgasm with a hungry kiss, growling as he conquers your mouth with his desire.
“I want to come inside you,” he pleads against your mouth, “I want to—to—come—”
What else can your answer be when he begs that way?
“Yes—yes. Come for me, Sueharu. Come.”
“Ohime-sama,” he pants, his voice increasingly low and increasingly wet and increasingly broken. “Ohime-sama, ohime-sama—ohime—sa—ma—”
He comes with a long, loud, cascading open-mouthed groan that reverberates throughout the room, filling you up inside in thick, hot spurts. You cling to him throughout his climax, meeting his lips and his tongue in the last moments of his peak. He reciprocates with as much fervor as you grant him.
In the aftermath, only both your breaths break into the quiet. Sueharu leans his head on your chest, still panting. His hair tickles your skin, and you lift a hand to stroke the back of his head. You feel more than hear a purr. Sueharu hasn't extricated himself from you.
Nobody moves beyond your caress and his smoothened breathing. But when he finally raises his face to look at you—kiss-bitten lips, lingering hints of flushed cheeks, eyepatch askew—his expression still holds a glint of something wicked—
And it reveals itself through his sharpening gaze and his wide, insatiable grin.
“You know that this isn't enough, don't you?” he says. “That we're not finished. And the night is still young.”
He presses a kiss on your chest, directly where your heart is.
“We'll enjoy ourselves until we can't anymore—or when morning arrives. Whichever comes first.”
5.
Autumn starts to creep in before you know it, the beginnings of the season's chill snaking below and crawling upwards. It isn't apparent yet, but you can see the shift in the people's glow, the tighter movement of their limbs.
Inside the establishment you're currently at, the interior remains clinging to summer. Brighter colors, verdant and inviting of energy.
The assistant shopkeeper serves you tea, and you thank him, the faint smile on your lips eliciting a flush across his young, innocent face. It's the first time you're seeing him, which makes you conclude that he's probably new.
“Kiyowara, help out in front, will you?” a voice snaps, and Kiyowara startles into an apology, scurrying back outside with his head bowed, a mouse running away from a tetchy wildcat.
The owner of the voice sits across you, settling down his own cup, and you offer to pour him one.
Sueharu smiles indulgently.
“What a jealous man,” you say, teasing.
He waves it off, seemingly unbothered. “I merely wanted to start the negotiations right away.”
“Of course.”
He thanks you for the tea and, sipping, observes you with a pointed gaze.
“I can't believe your old man let you go here by yourself to negotiate on his behalf.”
“What can I say?” You grin. “I'm a quick study, and I'm eager to master this.”
The lips around the rim of the cup widen and curve. Sueharu closes his eye as if savoring the tea.
“An excellent decision on his part.”
Beyond the walls of the backroom, the chatter of people: customers asking and haggling for the prices of products, and shopkeepers trying to maintain their retail price. Summensftr is leaving, but you welcome autumn with the open embrace of a lover with a newfound romance. You smile as you sip your own tea.
“Well, then,” you declare, and Sueharu leans forward, “let us begin the negotiations.”
#ikemen genjiden#ikegen#ikemen genjiden fic#ikegen fic#kitsuji sueharu#ikegen x reader#ikegen sueharu#ikegen sueharu x reader#kitsuji sueharu x reader#fic#my fic#nsft
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tease tidbit tuesday
tagged by @wikiangela @forthewolves @eddiediaztho @eowon @mammameesh
tagging @hippolotamus @alyxmastershipper @apothecarose @thewolvesof1998 @folk-fae @wildlife4life @monsterrae1 @911-on-abc @theotherluciferr @heartshapedvows @bonheur-cafe @disasterbuckdiaz @loserdiaz @giddyupbuck
putting most of this under the cut, because i highly doubt this wip will be finished, hence putting this for tease tidbit tuesday
okay, putting buddie in a miraculous ladybug au since that show and buddie are brainrotting me super bad atm. if some of this doesn't make much sense, that's because i just wrote this. basically, eddie is ladybug and buck is chat noir. (keeping eddie as ladybug because male ladybugs are still called ladybugs so *shrugs* anyways that's it here's the snippet!
The thing is, Buck may not be able to see Eddie, but Chat Noir is.
It’s reckless and stupid. Possibly on the verge of letting his secret identity become known if he does this. He can already hear Maddie’s arguments of checking in on the Diaz’s in his superhero persona while this lawsuit is still going on. How he might slip and say something so Buck Eddie can’t help but figure out that it’s him. Maddie always claims that if she didn’t see him transform right in front of her when she moved back she would figure out Chat Noir is him anyways.
For some reason he doesn’t care. He knows Eddie is trustworthy. If anyone can keep a secret, it’s Eddie.
Buck lands on the Diaz balcony railing when he’s face to face with the man himself. He has to force himself not to yelp in surprise. Still in the Chat Noir persona which means he has to appear calm, cool, and collected. Along with suave and secure in what he’s doing. Eddie, meanwhile, pulls back in shock at the sudden intruder on his property.
“Chat Noir?” he asks. Eddie’s eyes rake over him as if he can’t believe Buck is actually there. Or well, that Chat Noir is actually there. Buck has to admit the disbelief in Eddie’s eyes is more welcome than the hostility he’s seen earlier today at the grocery store. “What the hell are you doing here?”
“Oh. Um. Patrol?” Buck winces as his tone makes the statement into a question. “Patrol. I’m doing patrol right now. With Ladybug. He has the other half of the city. We do it about once a week to make sure everyone stays safe from being akumatized.” There. Sounds legit.
Eddie’s mouth twitches up. Buck is familiar with that expression. He gives Chris that same look whenever he’s lying to his dad. Eddie will let Chris lie to him long enough to realize that whatever web he’s spun has become too tangled for him to weave himself out of. Buck’s not sure why Eddie is currently giving him that look, but he’s going to ignore it. “Right. Sounds fun. How do you two coordinate all that? Big city like LA? Must be complicated.” Eddie leans back against the balcony, allowing himself to get closer to Buck who’s still crouching on the railing.
Jumping fully onto the balcony, Buck waves his hand in the air. “Ah, you don’t want to learn all that. Too boring.” Eddie snorts. “Anyways, how are things with you, Eddie?”
“How do you know my name?”
Buck scrambles to think of some lie. “Also part of the job description. To know every person I’m supposed to save. You’re Eddie. You have a son, Chris.” His smile widens. “Awesome kid, by the way. Great choice of costume last Halloween.”
That brings a groan from Eddie. “He went as you. Of course you think it was a great choice.”
“And you made a fantastic Ladybug with him. Though not as great as the original.” He brings a finger to his lips. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
A laugh escapes from Eddie’s lips as if he couldn’t help it. “I’ll…I’ll try not to.” There's silence for a few seconds. “My friend had a bet on how many people would wear Chat Noir costumes.”
Buck tries to keep his composure under control. He remembers that stupid bet he did. Although at the time it didn’t seem stupid. An ego boost - a way to see how much everyone in the city actually likes him. He was looking forward to Halloween. Constantly going to stores to see which costume would be sold out the fastest. Ladybug’s was always the winner by just a hair. When he saw Chris dressed as him he felt such elation he felt like he had all his powers without wearing his suit right then and there.
“Oh? Who won?” he asks, pretending as if he didn’t already know.
“I - I think he said Ladybug did.” Eddie rubs his hand over his mouth. That’s when Buck notices the bruises.
“Hey. What happened here?” He goes over to take hold of Eddie’s hand. Eddie immediately snatches his hand back. As if snatching his hand would erase the fact that Buck already saw the damage.
“Nothing. Don’t worry about it.”
“Eddie. Come on. It’s me.”
Eddie’s brows furrow at him in confusion. Right. Buck forgot. He’s not Buck, he’s Chat Noir. There’s no reason for Eddie to confide in him. No reason for Eddie to trust him. “I mean, who better to unload your problems than a random superhero, huh?”
Eddie looks like he’s fighting something within himself. Then finally he nods, agreeing. “I just needed to punch something.” The words send an uncomfortable sense of deja vu. Something Ladybug said at their last akuma attack. I need an excuse to punch something right now.
“Any-any particular reason?”
“Buck.” Buck winces at the venom that laces Eddie’s voice when he says his name. “My friend. Or, at least I thought he was. Sometimes I even thought he might be-”
Buck holds his breath as he waits for Eddie to finish his sentence. Might be what? “Things are just really fucked up right now. Chat Noir, I don’t think this is something you can fix right now. Or Ladybug,” he adds as an afterthought.
“Are you sure? Just tell me what’s going on and I can talk to Buck and-”
Eddie gives him a sad smile. “No. But thank you. Really.” His hand settles on Buck’s shoulder. Like it’s done so many times before. “Go out and finish your patrol.” The smile then turns sly. “Say hi to Ladybug for me, will you?”
Buck watches Eddie head back inside. When Eddie notices Buck still hasn’t moved, he makes a shooing motion with his hand. The movement is so similar to Ladybug that Buck can’t help but roll his eyes and jump away onto the next balcony. Shaking his head, he grumbles under his breath how stubborn the man is.
Maybe he’ll just have to do more “patrols” and see if any chinks in Eddie’s armor start to crack.
He’s not really paying attention to where he’s going. Just enjoying the feel of the night wind against his body as he’s gliding through the city. So it’s a surprise when suddenly a familiar, wry voice says next to him, “Patrolling without me, kitty?”
“Ladybug? Shit, where did you come from? How did you even know I was here?”
The red and black spotted suit shakes with laughter at Buck’s fumble. “I hear things. Have any news to share?”
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hello!! i hope you're doing well^^ just wanted to stop by n' ask a for little something. all just considering your account is fairly new!!
i'm caught up in the jacq hype; lmfao. like, idk what's up with the guy, but he's just great and was instantly my fve scarvio character. i spent most of my time just doing all of the academic courses instead of exploring the map just because of that guy. scarlet/violet, my fave teacher dating sim.
n e ways, i've been wondering about said guy a bunch. you're open to legit just gush about jacq. if you're wanting to do a specific request, i don't mind hcs of? like? jacq being flustered or something!! wonder what a person would do to get him to such a state 👀
Jacq x Reader HCs - Flustered
Thank you for the request Anon! Sorry it took a minute to get to this, my family got crazy lmao. I love Jacq sm he makes me so happy.
Info: Established relationship, g/n reader, reader is 18+, fluff, mild language at the end
---
🧪I feel like it'd be fun to get him flustered
🧪Like you would just be chilling in his office after school hours and then start making comments while he works on lesson plans
🧪"Hey babe?" You called out from a random chair in the room
🧪"Yes?" He responded while still looking at his computer at his desk
🧪"You're cute." The comment was so random he just froze there for a second
🧪He looked up at you with that same "wtf did I just hear" face that he sometimes gives his students during lectures
🧪He doesn't mean to be rude! He's just confused why you would say that out of the blue
🧪"Disculpe?" he said, forgetting English
🧪"What?" You were half laughing, "You good?"
🧪"I-I'm fine, jus..." he trailed off, not really knowing what to say
🧪You started laughing at the situation and then got playfully defensive.
🧪"What? I can't compliment you?"
🧪He kept looking away, like off to the window with the orange light coming in because of the sunsetting, or to his desk then the door.
🧪Literally anyone and thing but you
🧪He was adorable, like a little Fidough trying to act like it's not upset
🧪Although, there was no denying the crazy blush on his face
🧪You got up from your seat and over to his desk
🧪"Are you alright?" You went onto his side of the desk and leaned on it
🧪It was a genuine concern! He hadn't been like this since like... ever
🧪He didn't know how to react, simply huffing and continuing to type on his computer on the opposite side from you
🧪"I can't tell if you're upset, or if you just don't wanna talk to me."
🧪Jacq turned to you with one hand resting on his desk. It gave off the same energy of a parent watching you come in the house 7 minutes past curfew
🧪"Look, Y/n. I love you. Okay? But you CANNOT just say stuff like that!" He had this laugh in his voice that assured you're not in trouble, but it still felt like a Fidough lmao
🧪"Why not?" You smiled
🧪"Because, Y/n..." he honestly couldn't come up with a reason other than "ily and i wanna kiss you when you do that but that makes me look like a simp so stfu" but he didn't say that lol
🧪In reality, he just stuttered variations of. "I, just. eh,sh ,uha."
🧪Even though it was comical how silly he was being, he was adorable all the same. It was almost like you could read his mind
🧪"I love you. you know?" you said with a sweet smile
🧪Jacq didn't even say anything, he just put his hand on your jawline and kissed you. He knew he wouldn't win any argument about his behavior, so might as well express his love
🧪When you stopped and separated, you laughed. Looking up into his eyes, you could have kept the romance going... but instead decided to be a brat
🧪"... Yeah I'm totally going to tell Miriam about this," then attempted to bolt
🧪"NO THE H3LL YOU'RE NOT" He chased after you, running out the door and into the hall
🧪In summary, the best way to get him flustered is to compliment, tease, and embarrass. You're welcome
#pokemon scarlet#pokemon violet#pokemon#jacq pokemon#jacq x reader#jacq x y/n#i hope you have a good day today#im in love with this man#x reader#x y/n#fanfic#headcanon#hcs#pokemon hc#oneshot#fluff#hehe
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So im the anon who asked when you'll publish again cuz I missed it and I just wanna say sorry im so late but i jus saw ur post. BESTIE i dont even know where to begin. so first im gonna say i just read the new fermin fic and it was INCREDIBLE. SO CUTE. AND I LOVED IT. second, i want to give you my complete understanding. of course im not a writer but it takes very little empathy to understand why a lack of engagement would make you demotivated to write. im so sorry and im sure others here too that we dont give u the appreciation u deserve. for me personally, its the fact that im afraid to come off on anon and comment with my account, but i realize even i can give feedback through anon. whenever you are ready to come back, even sporadically, i will talk to u more here because u deserve to hear what we think of the fics u so cutely write for us to enjoy. let me just tell you for now that i have never found someone that does non smut in such a mature way. i cant even explain what i am thinking so bare with me i hope you get this. often i just want to read reality and what a real relationship with these boys are like. that's the stuff that makes me kick my feet and giggle fr. but you are one of the only ones that can do that in a way which is perfectly descriptive and realistic. your fic with Gavi for the fight after he waves a sandwich in your face??? BBG. i cant believe i never told u how much i loved that detail. of course it was a shit thing for his character to do but that is the kind of stuff that realistically happens in a relationship fight and leads to a silent treatment and argument -> discussion -> solution like in ur fic. i was reading it with my mouth covered like damn she got it JUST RIGHT. i legit read ur fics over and over they are so SO good and SO well crafted. i really feel like i am in these stories. and i know it wasn't your intent so please dont feel bad for your well deserved post to my anon note, but i feel so embarrassed that i never gave u the credit u deserve. please dont look at this anon and let it pressure u into writing again because that is nowhere near my intention. i just want to say take your time, relax and also GET READY. cz im gonna talk to u more and more like i should and all ur followers should. te queremos!!!!!!!!!!! i even learned some slang from ur culture clash fics
Hello dear anon! I hope you're doing great! :) First of all, I'm truly glad you liked the fermín fic and thank you for taking your time to write this lovely message, it means a lot💖
Thank you for also understanding my point of view, I don't really want to come off as rude or ungrateful, that's not my intention and it will never be. It's just really hard to come, write for hours, wanting to do something enjoyable for others and not get any feedback (I know it is not mandatory but it would be very nice for me and I can take constructive criticism to improve in new writings), but it's also something that it's going to the point where I reblog any ask game or tell you guys that I'm bored and wanna chat with any of you and only two or three asks pop up in my inbox (And I don't even know if those two-three asks are from the same person😭🤷🏻♀️) however when I post that my requests are open, I can assure you that my inbox can be 0 but once I come back +20 asks are in there and it makes me kinda feel like I'm just here to write. write. write. write and write😭
I also understand you, if I wasn't a writer here I would also go to my favorite writers inbox and tell them my thoughts as anon but like you said you're writing on anon, which means I don't know your account (or anyone who writes on anon) you could be also commenting on my post/reblogging/etc and I wouldn't even know it's you! Either way I respect that🙏🏻and I appreciate the fact you'll be on my inbox more often either if it's to rant about your day, talk about a fic or anything, even if I'm not as active with writing as I used to be, you can still sent me an ask and I will gladly answer you!🌻✨
I try my best to do the fics as realistic as possible, obviously I don't know the guys (sadly😭) but I try my best to imagine how they can be outside the pitch and insert that into a real life couple with ups and downs but gurrrllll you even made me go back and read the sandwich fic 😂lol. Anywho, I'm really glad you like my fics and go back to read them again when I'm away for a bit. Slang🇻🇪 is very chevere, hopefully I get to do once again Latina!reader😌 Once again thank you for your message and once more I don't want to be rude or ungrateful. 💜 yu guys too, hope you're having a great day/evening/night!
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(Alright babes chill, you sent me this same ask twice. How would the marriage proposal be obviously staged?? They did that specifically to look real and so Snow would leave them alone. Kinda funny how you also couldn’t counteract the most important detail, which was Gale still willingly showed up, let Katniss explain what actually happened, and supported the idea until he found out about the revolution.)
okay last I checked katniss and Gale were not in a relationship she owed him nothing in that regard and had no right to be mad at her regardless if it was a real engagement or not . and to me him getting mad at her engagement feels very much like a "nice guy" thing to do.
(Which also, Gale DID apologize for not running (“I was wrong. We should have gone when you said […] It’s not to late”] Not only does Gale regret his choice, he admits he was wrong, which is very honorable imo, and he is clearly devastated Katniss is going back to the games, as he also pulls her in for a big hug in this scene.)
not all the time like when he called katniss a product of a capital and I know Gale wants to fight and help the revolution and help everyone but to say that everything she's been through shows how little compassion he has for a trauma and what she's been through because if he did he wouldn't throw that s*** in her face and he would have listened to her the first time she said she can't deal with a romantic relationships at this
(For your argument of the 1st kiss in Mockingjay, that legit makes zero sense. Gale was in physical pain in CF to the point he was unconscious and could’ve died, wow Gale was really forcing her to kiss him there.) actually Gail was conscious when katniss kiss him he says so himself and I think that's how he got the idea that when he's in pain whether it's physical or emotional katniss will show him affection. he did however he did however kissed her without consent the first time because and it wasn't pleasant to read.
(In Mockingjay, he was devastated throughout the whole chapter, which you would know if you actually read the books. How dare Gale cry about the trauma of reliving the bombing of District 12. Also again, please actually read these books, Gale has NEVER cried in front of Katniss. There’s no way he knew she would kiss him until afterwards, which he literally tells her not to worry about him.) here's the passage before they kiss
(Remember?" he asks. "This is where you kissed me."
So the heavy dose of morphling administered after the whipping wasn't enough to erase that from his consciousness. "I didn't think you'd remember that," I say.
"Have to be dead to forget. Maybe even not then," he tells me. "Maybe I'll be like that man in 'The Hanging Tree.' Still waiting for an answer." Gale, who I have never seen cry, has tears in his eyes.)
as you can see in this lovely scene he is not crying about his home being destroyed because I would actually have sympathy for that he's crying about that is not wanting him and katniss not showing him affection and then because Katniss feels guilty she kisses him wish in my opinion is gross and so unromantic not to mention manipulative as hell
(Look, I’ll give you the Finnick scene, that’s about your only accurate point. It’s important to know Finnick legit asked Katniss if she found him distracting, which while Finnick was joking, Gale obviously would not know that). actually Gail wasn't there for that so there's not really an excuse for him to be jealous
(But I know you did not say Gale “took advantage” of Katniss when he literally stopped her from kissing him because he knew she wasn’t mentally there. That is so insanely inaccurate and weird asf. Stop taking good Gale moments and shifting them because you don’t like him, it’s not a good look.)
well in my personal opinion he didn't stop because it was the right thing to do and because she wasn't in the right mental day to be kissing somebody he stopped because it didn't count as her choosing him. because it didn't feel like the beach scene. because it was clear he wasn't peeta. because like if he had any care for her emotional well being he wouldn't be making moves on her after literally fighting out about Peeta hijacking
Me rn: Hun, I tried explaining in a respectful matter why you’re Gale takes are weird interpretations but even agreed with you at times. You’ve basically just said the same shit for 3 separate posts, all of which I counteracted. Lmao Gale is the entitled nice guy? I don’t think he was the one who ghosted Katniss and threw statues at her when she kissed someone else (But wait, remember who DID that 🤗) And I really don’t get why you’ve brought up the beach kiss? That doesn’t make any sense. You’re really skewing the narrative and hold Gale to far different standards to Peeta.
And as for your other ask, you brought up what Liam Hemsworth said? I love Liam but Idgaf what his take is on Katniss and Gale bc he and I can have different interpretations! I don’t agree or really care what he thinks of it lol. You clearly just want the last word, have at it. It’s weird as hell that Peeta manipulating Katniss into a relationship, stalking her, ghosting her, and making her extremely uncomfortable at times is sweet and romantic, yet Gale stopping Katniss from kissing him makes him the devil. Goodbye
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If you had any advice for someone new to posting fics, what would it be?
I am absolutely jaw dropped, crying on the floor in love with your writing, and it’s inspired me to start writing again. I’m sure you hear that all the time, lol.
But I’m so anxious about putting work out there, and the idea that it may not be liked, or even seen. Which, like, is hard because I know no one owes me anything! and there are so many incredible writers out there! I guess what I’m trying to say is - what is the best way to become a part of the community, and not the creeper breathing breath on the glass window looking into the party?
You’re genuinely so kind to all of your followers and readers, I would just love to pick your brain a little!
Thank you for everything you give to us. 🫶🏻
FIRST - get over here and tuck yourself under my arm ❤ feel the squeeze I am giving you, in both welcome and reassurance! ❤
This ask couldn't be better timed because I was literally just having a conversation with @astroboots today about how I feel like tumblr is a safe space for sharing my writing, but I am absolutely petrified about sharing it any other place. The thought of even talking about my writing out loud makes me want to curl up and hide my face, and even on this platform, I still get anxious sometimes. The Dinner, recently, was a good example of that - I was beyond nervous to post that one.
All this to say: you are not alone ❤
This fandom can be utterly terrifying because of the 1) sheer amount of talent but more so, 2) the sheer amount of content. It's being constantly created, even more with Pedro becoming bigger these days and it's so fucking intimidating even thinking about tossing your fic into the literal OCEAN that exists.
On one hand, an argument could be made that it's actually easier to post because of those reasons, but it's also legit anxiety producing in many, many ways.
The thing that I always say about writing is: find your people. Reach out to people you admire through reblogs, send them asks, pop into their DMs. Share and spread their work, their art, their gifs. Find one or two or ten that seem like they would vibe with you and connect! Because once you have your people in your corner, cheering you on, it becomes fun to post thinking about them reading it.
Instead of thinking of this place like the ocean, think of your curated corner like a little tide pool and your mutuals like little cheerleading starfishes. It's so much easier to share things when you know they will be accepted and supported by people, so start there! You're right in that no one owes you anything, but I am a HUGE supporter of not only writing for yourself, but writing for the seven (7) targeted people you love the most. The ones you know are going to scream in your DMs about it, the ones who helped you brainstorm, the ones who beta read and held you on their shoulders for a lap of victory after you hit post. THOSE people are who you post for (in addition to yourself.)
I (frequently) get pretty freaked out about the size of this fandom and get anxiety when it comes to the rapid upload of content - if you've ever seen me put on my "Out of Office", that's usually why...but thinking of this place as a condensed little bubble can really help ❤
That's exactly how I did it, and how I continue to do it! When I posted my first piece of writing EVER three years ago, I had 8 followers and one serious friend on here. ONE. But that ONE person gave me all the hype I needed to share, and even though my hands were shaking when I hit post, I was.....okay, because I knew they were there with open arms, ready to receive it. ❤
Second, we are ALL the creeper breathing on the glass, looking into the party - every single one of us. I can go on and on (and on and on, seriously, I have so many thoughts on this) about how this is a social media site and how that affects you psychologically for hours, but I don't want to bore you, lol. The best part about there being so many of us though is that...there are so many of us! You are bound to find your people. ❤
If you are scared, DM me. I would love nothing more than to cheer you on. This place has been such a safe haven for me, the only way I can even begin to pay that back is to pass it on.
OH - and EXCUSE YOU, I do not have people telling me that all the time! Holy shit?? I wish you could have been the soft ass look on my face when I got this ask, because that's just about the nicest thing someone has ever said to me, literally. I could kiss you on the mouth. Me? Inspiring you? I am BLUSHING.
Squeezing you EVEN TIGHTER AS I TALKED - do you feel the love, nonnie? 😍❤🥰 Congrats on beginning writing again - I am so FUCKING proud of you and WELCOME!!
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Well go on, how are you gonna lore your Argynvostholt? oO
You're right, I should have followed this up. Get some water and strap yourselves in, ok? I saved my initial brainstormy post in my drafts, so... I guess I'm prepared for this. Are you? (dun dun dun...)
First thing: I want to use I, Strahd as the Tome, as-is, full stop. And I want it to be accurate (accurate to what Strahd thinks/believes happened, anyway--not propaganda, not a mislead). This has been my biggest hurdle, re: Argynvostholt.
I, Strahd sets up the von Zarovich army and the valley it conquers as incredibly low-magic. There is magic, yes. However:
The majority of people are suitably spooked by it. The Ba'al Verzi dagger having weird runes on it and the idea that it must draw blood before it can be sheathed are very freaky. When Strahd stands stoic in the face of this weird cult object and reenacts the rite of binding himself to the land again, everybody present (even Alek, "the least pious and most hedonistic of the lot") make signs of the faith. Which of the elements in that event are even by-definition actual magic or just mundane ritual and superstition is mostly left up to interpretation. Strahd did discern some arcane power in the dagger.
Aside from the use of this particular item, the only people who ever perform what seems to be by-the-book, honest-to-god Magic is Ilona (a high-ranking cleric), and Strahd himself (who admits to having limited ability when he's still human, and describes the use of material components in a legit spell almost fifty years thereafter). Leo Dilisnya also uses a number of magical protections that he's scrounged together over the same fifty years, but his use of magic seems to be limited to the traps he had lain for Strahd (which were really solid, but ultimately not enough to defeat a vampire).
Ilona was pretty high up there as far as clerics go. The one cleric more powerful than her was their high preist Kir. The book doesn't say what his abilities were, but we know some of Ilona's abilities. She can tell if someone is telling the truth (Zone of Truth or good insight?). She can Speak With Dead, but she can't always successfully prevent someone from dying or bring them back. There's no way to tell for sure how strong she really is, or what level of life-giving necromacy she could have attempted--especially because she has an army to look out for and might be spreading her resources a little thin at any given time--but from my experiences having played clerics, I'd cast my suspicions around 6th level.
Which is nothing to sneeze at. But. If she is the most powerful spellcaster in Strahd's army (and one of, presumably, very few)...
Would they have defeated a dragon?
Sure, Strahd's army could take out a dragon. I have no doubt. It's probably a pretty sizeable force. Strahd is an effective general. Would there be a lot of casualties? Yes. It is war. That's a thing.
But it would be kind of weird if no one ever referenced the dragon. There again, whatever, I, Strahd is from Strahd's point of view, during a time immediately after the wars are over, and he is not exactly the kind of person who would boast about his victory against a dragon. It probably doesn't even phase him that much. He's probably just like, yes, of course my army subdued a dragon. It is expected. I do not fail.
But what about the revenants?
The module has this very actiony little blurb about how Strahd's army fought the Order of the Silver Dragon and the knights died horribly, and Vladimir was so enraged that he got back up as a revenant and brought a lot of other knights back with him. It's cinematic. It's cool.
But this is where it gets dicey, in relation to I, Strahd. Would Strahd's soldiers have thought twice about fighting an opposing force that will just keep getting back up again? They don't have anything for this, aside from possibly whatever Ilona was prepared for. Even ignoring the argument about which force the army fears more--their fierce human general or the walking dead--would Strahd's army have been able to win?
Against undead? Okay, sure, why not. Maybe Strahd's soldiers don't even realize they are undead, since the bodies are so fresh at that point and covered in armor anyway. Maybe they just don't notice they're fighting the same guys again. They simply don't register that as a possibility; they're just trying to stay alive in the fight. Ilona, who could probably have sensed they were undead, wouldn't have gotten close enough to them to discover it.
Okay, so Strahd's forces could possibly take down Argynvost. They could unwittingly fight a bunch of the recently-undeceased. Fine. That solves my conundrum about the setting's descrepancies in the frequency of magic and supernatural forces.
That's about where I had left it when I was going to ask ye other Curse of Strahd DMs for ideas.
I've encountered more conundrums since then.
Point One being: I think I read that revenants usually have a one-year timer on their revenge before their spirit passes on, heedless of success. But if I'm using I, Strahd as gospel, there would have been at least three years between the Fall of Argynvostholt and the start of the curse. Which means... no revenants in cursed Barovia. Their souls would only have been trapped there in perpetuity if they had still been around when the mists closed in. If they had become revenants at the initial battle, their timers would have long run out already.
I also realized that, if they had turned at the initial battle and kept fighting... Strahd's army would have just killed them again. Like.
I tried to give them the benefit of the doubt. If they don't die again, what do the revenants do? Strahd's not just going to let these guys wander around, right? And it's pretty vital to the plot that Strahd's army did, in fact, win. They could not be locked in combat forever.
Do they play dead? That seems absurd for a revenant bent on revenge. If nothing else, the consensus on medieval battles seems to be that the living would loot the field of anything valuable (armor, weapens, clothing, even the raw metal of broken eqipment) and then pile the bodies into a large burial pit. I could not be convinced that a revenant would just lay down through all that.
So this is what I came up with for them, because I read that thing about the burial pit and went OH MY GOD...
It took about 24 hours for Strahd to fully become a vampire (you could say it took that long because he hadn't killed Sergei yet, but he had already been spared from death by consuming Alek's blood and was already well on his way to full-fledged vampirism by the time he enacted that part of the plan).
If we use that as a precedent for the turning process, revenants could take that long (or longer; as long as we need it to) to return to their bodies and become fully-realized revenants. It could take a long time for their spirits to be shunted toward the astral plane, break free, and return to animate their corpses.
Anyway. Do you see where I'm going with this? It's not good.
Argynvost has fallen. The knights of the Order are dead. Vladimir's vengeful spirit rages against the natural forces pulling him toward the Astral Plane, and he finally breaks free with such a force that other knights are able to follow him back through the tear in the veil to return to their bodies.
But in the meantime, the battlefield has been stripped. Equipment and other valuables gone. Half-dressed bodies thrown into a deep pit, tangled together, tens deep, heavy earth piled atop them. Rain beating it down into mud, packed tight into the crevices between them.
The revenants awake in this mass grave.
They have to dig themselves out. Gather new resources. Make plans.
Having fudged how long it takes for them to become revenants, and possibly when the timer on their revenge actually begins (after they finally claw their way to the surface?)—and maybe they're a fringe case anyway, I realized later, due to either dragon magic or shenanigans from being so near to the Amber Temple or some combination thereof?—and maybe the one-year thing doesn't even matter? Throw it out the window; I just need them to not get slaughtered by Strahd's guys before—By the time they are ready, the mists have finally closed around Barovia, three years after the Fall.
Madam Eva (who I have other ideas for, too—why? why make her Strahd's half-sister? what is that? stop giving him more siblings) meets the Order on their long-awaited march toward Castle Ravenloft, and tells them that Strahd is now trapped in a hell of his own making. Satisfied that Strahd will suffer in his new situation, Vladimir is determined to keep Strahd alive to experience all of the worst this new domain has to offer.
So. That's what I have.
TL;DR - It's the same but different.
#curse of strahd#campaign notes#continuity editing#argynvostholt#dm problems#ravenloft#order of the silver dragon#revenants#i maybe thought too hard about this#it's fine#lamour dms cos
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