#so i might have to do some things to make it make me not insane. i asked for this bc i like causing myself problems. also i was in a
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the hot dad next door (m) | park sunghoon.
﹙ 🎬 ﹚ ぃ ────𝗶𝗳 𝘁𝗵𝗲 𝗵𝗼𝘁 𝗱𝗮𝗱 𝗻𝗲𝘅𝘁 𝗱𝗼𝗼𝗿 𝘄𝗮𝗻𝘁𝘀 𝘆𝗼𝘂?
preview. the ever quintessential first time dad moves in next door with his five year old and finds it impossible not to fall for you, the pretty girl who gives his daughter cookies and him; the doll eyes. obsessed with your entire being, unable to keep his hands off you, park sunghoon questions if he's just crazy or he's crazy over you.
or where, he notices the way you look at his hands a little too long for it to be innocent.
meet the cast. single dad!park sunghoon with his pretty neighbour fem!reader.
genre. DILFF AUU !!, SMUT MDNI, fluff, neighbours to lovers, sunghoon is quite literally yes insanely crazed over you and for the sake of god can't keep his dick soft, domestic a little bit i guess, i want to make her my wife trope EEEKKK, slight age gap (hoon in late twenties and reader in early twenties) more to be added.
word count. est around 10k (current wc, 2k)
warnings. inaccuracies about parenting cause i aint a parent, i got no idea. more will be mentioned in the actual post.
releasing. very soon!!
park sunghoon was hot, he was a walking greek god. was single and wore these fitted suits that had you weak in the knees. if that wasn't hot enough, park sunghoon also had the cutest baby girl you had ever come across and it just made him hotter than he could ever have been.
"hey, um .. is ji—" sunghoon stands at the threshold of your open apartment door, one hand holding his creased blazer and the other rubbing at the back of his neck. embarrassed and shy at having to show up at yours looking like a mess after work because his daughter ran off while he was busy on a call and taking out her school bag from the backseat. and because everytime his daughter ran off, it was to the pretty girl next door who gives away sweet cookies all the time.
"is jia here? yeah she's in the kitchen," you answer, smiling soft and knowingly at the worried guy who barely looked like a dad. he worked in a corporate editorial, out before eight in the morning just as you prepared ingredients for your bakery. taking his daughter along to school, her excited voice resonating through the halls talking about how they were going to play with clay in class. around seven in the evening you'd hear her again, this time alone as she would skip over to your door because dada was too slow.
on weekends it'd be impossible to ignore the ruckus they made playing around, sometimes inviting you over for lunch because sunghoon apparently made too much and jia wanted to share her dada's delicious food. on some occasional weekends when he'd be called in to work for a few hours, jia would promise him to stay home and behave only to call you through the landline the moment he'd step out the door. and you would text sunghoon to come over to yours after work, his daughter munching on the new flavored cupcakes you made, unbothered about her dad and his scoldings.
"come on in, i made some almond lime tart, you could give me some feedbacks along with jia. you know she always says it's good and i can never know if it's actually good," sunghoon can't help but chuckle at that, slipping off his shoes by the front and walking inside. his eyes following your figure with a fond look as you tend to his daughter delicately, and might he admit— even more so than him.
you're sweet, you know how to handle kids; cue that one time jia was crying her eyes out after school and he had no idea what to do to comfort her, knocking at your door frantically and having his mind blown at how quickly you figured things out and calmed her down.
you're sweet, you know how to handle kids, you treat them both so well, always ready to help him out with jia, giving them sweet treats every other day and most of all— you're fucking pretty. way too pretty for him to handle.
taglist ( open. ) @s00buwu @lilyuwon @pockyyasii @nctislifue @shawnyle @enhastolemyheart @belowbun @aaa-sia @niniissus @tobiosbbyghorl @imjakes-wifeofc1 @youresolivlie @eun-cherry @kimsunoops @aiden2001 @brownsugarbaybee @pockettwinzz @bangtancultsposts @diorikis @heelvsted @crimnalseung @iselltulips @yzzyhee @woniebae @river-demon-slayer @lovingvoidgoatee @antonsgirlfriend @kpopslover @bugcattie @slut4hee @yunjinswifee @woniefull @nanaheex @soobs-things @dammit-jjk @starlvcieszsq @mnxnii @skylaly @mintdsunoo @uyuchoco @anittamaxwynnn @rikiwaify-blog @kill4jl @ggparkjh @sstephenzz @judeduartewannabe @jungwoneez @aye2611-blog @hybeboyenthusisast @minjaexvz
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def need more ditzy reader with mechanic 141- the only thing that tops my love for military men is blue collar boys <333
make sure to take care of yourself tho lovie!! don’t burn urself out :))
I for sure want to write more of her. Hopefully after this insane week at work I’ll be able to really sit down and crank out some writing. For now I’m battling my way through Ch 3 of Across the Way
But pls enjoy this little not proofread experimental snippet I wrote for ditzy reader
“Look.” Your landlord sighs loudly. Like you’re the one inconveniencing him. “I’ll send someone out.”
“That’s what you said two days ago! And three days before that!” You stomp your foot at no one just to get some of the anger out.
“I’ll get to it when I get to it.”
“Why can’t you-“ The line cuts before you can finish. The jerk hung up on you! What the hell!
You pout, plopping down into your desk chair and sighing. What are you supposed to do? You’re not allowed to call a handyman according to the lease and you don’t have a boyfriend right now. You can’t keep washing pans in the bathroom. It’s gross.
You huff.
“Alright?” Simon asks and you whirl in your chair. How does he walk so quietly?
“Yeah…” You pout harder under his steady gaze, slipping down further into the chair.
“You’re a terrible liar, luv.” His eyes crinkle in corners with a smile.
“Well…” You shrug, twiddling your thumbs in your lap. “My kitchen sink has been broken for a whole week and the landlord won’t do anything about it! I called and called and he just keeps saying he’ll send someone and then doesn’t!” Your voice pitches at the end, real annoyance bleeding through into the edges of your words. You fist your hands in your skirt.
“That’s all?” He raises an eyebrow. “Why didn’t you just ask one of us?”
You blink twice, staring up at him. Your face heats and you look away bashfully - not wanting to admit you didn’t think to ask for their help. Stupid. “I don’t want to be a bother…”
“I’ll come by after work.”
“You don’t have to-“
“I’ll be there.” He nods before marching back into the garage. You just blink after him as he goes.
True to his word, Simon shows up at your door with a massive tool box in hand. Really, he still can’t believe you live in such a shit complex. Price pays you well enough. The locks might as well be paper-mache. Simon lowers his mask before knocking. He trusts you with his face - hell you probably forget it every time you look away - but he also wants you to trust him too. For whatever reason.
You’re staring when you open the door. Big doe eyes looking up at him and blinking slowly. He wonders what goes on behind those blank eyes of yours - if it’s nothing at all or such a chaotic dialogue that you can’t process it enough to pay attention.
All or nothing.
“Gonna let me in, doll?” He asks. You startle, not realizing how intensely you zoned out.
“Oh! Yes!” You jump out of the way, letting him into your small studio apartment. Every time he thinks your shorts can’t get smaller he’s proven wrong.
Simon takes a look around, huffing at the net full of stuffies hanging on the wall. Everything about your home is soft - soft colors, soft fabrics. It smells like vanilla, just like you always do when you come into the shop. His eyes lock briefly on a well-loved sewing machine covered in stickers with a project still under the needle. You must have been working on it before he got here.
Did you mean to leave your bra hanging on the back of that chair right by the kitchen? Lacy and lilac. He’ll have to remember that for some other time. Maybe your birthday.
“Let’s ‘ave a look.” He sighs, knees popping as he crouches in front of the sink. It’s a fucking mess, that’s for sure. At least you figured out how to turn the water off.
“Pipe’s busted.” He says. “I can seal it but it’ll take a sec.”
“Okay.” You murmur.
Simon sighs as he turns onto his back to get a better look. He doesn’t miss the way you stare blatantly at his midsection as his shirt rides up. He might adjust some to expose just a bit more.
You really are the least subtle thing in the planet, aren’t you?
“Can you come hold the light f’me, luv?” He points to the toolbox.
“This one?” You ask, as if it isn’t the only flashlight in the box.
“Yeah.”
“Like this?”
“Yup.” At first he expects you to sit silently so he can concentrate, but he quickly realizes that was far too presumptuous.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Si?” You ask quietly.
He huffs. “No.”
“Oh.” You chew your lip. “You seem like the kind of guy that would.”
Simon has never heard a bigger misread in his damn life but he’ll take it as a compliment, he supposes. “Why do you ask?”
“Cause this is boyfriend work and you’re good at it.”
Simon tries to see your logic - he really does - but he just has no clue how those things are even remotely related. Sure, guys fix things for their girlfriends but calling it ‘boyfriend work’ when anybody with two cents could do it is a bit silly. More than, if he’s honest. He just grunts in response, at a total loss for how to respond.
Simon looks down at you. The way you kneel as your cleaving spills out of your tiny tank top - one of many you insist on wearing so often. He can give into temptation just a little bit, right? “Gonna need you to get closer, doll.”
“Oh!” You scoot forward until your knees brush his side. So ready to listen. Cute.
“Can you lean in a bit?”
“Like this?” You lean forward, chest pressing against him while your hand splays over his midsection for balance. Fucking hell.
“Perfect. Good girl.”
It’s bold and a bit uncoordinated even for him. Something Johnny would try. The purposeful choice of words seems to go right over your head. Instead you blush and smile, shifting your hips just a bit. Your chest pushes further into him. So soft.
Fuck.
You’ll be the death of him. Thank god you’re too unobservant to notice that he’s rock fucking hard.
He’s already done with the sink by the time of this little exchange, but he pretends to tighten some useless bolts anyway just to keep you against him a little longer before shooing you away. It’s cute, the way you scramble to get out of the way. Simon turns the water back on before standing, and gesturing toward the sink.
“Give it a try, luv.”
A little furrow forms in your brow as you step forward to turn it on, crouching and standing to make sure the leak has stopped. You turn the faucet off and whip your head around with a grin.
He’s pretty sure you burst an eardrum with the pitch of the squeal you let out, bouncing over and tightly wrapping your arms around his waist. “Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!”
“It’s no pro-“ he cuts off as you push up onto your tip toes and press a kiss to his cheek. He can’t help but bark out a laugh. Little minx.
“Oh, I got some lipstick-“ You reach up to smudge it off but he bats your hand away. He’ll wear it back to the garage and show off the kiss he got. Johnny’s going to absolutely fume.
#answered#simon ghost riley#call of duty#ghost cod#cod x reader#ghost x reader#cod#simon x reader#simon riley#simon riley x reader#fem reader
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Brunch w/ Steph & Beth
Part 2 - Fire on Fire Series
From Beth:
Good Morning, I know this is late notice and you might be socialised out from last night and probably have things to unpack but we were wondering if you wanted to have brunch with us this morning. I think Steph might join us too if that is okay.
To Beth:
Good Morning, that would be nice, could you maybe just come to mine again if that is okay. There are some tradies coming over this morning and so I have to be here from when they get here where I don't know when that will be. I'm up and ready now so any time would work, I could cook something for you all.
From Beth:
Oh no, don't be silly, Steph will pick something up from one of the local bakeries on her way over to ours. And then we will come to yours. Any dietary requirements?
To Beth:
No, all good and thank you. See you soon.
You looked at the plans your aunts had lying out on the tablet for the workers when they got here, they were turning the theatre room into a home gym/entertainment space, your Moster claiming they decided they needed to be healthier but you knew it way there way of trying to make their home more inviting for you now you were older and keeping you there.
From Beth:
Hi again, Steph just arrived, Viv has gone out and so I was just wondering if I could bring Myle our puppy with us, but I understand if it's not okay just thought to ask.
To Beth:
Um.. normally I would say yes but I don't exactly know if Myle could come over if the workers will be here. I'm so sorry.
From Beth:
No problem at all, we are just about to head to yours now.
You were still going through the look book, viewing all the products your Aunts were putting in both rooms when the doorbell rang, you swiftly moved towards it. You were surprised when you saw Steph and Beth standing in front of the now open door, you thought it would be the builders, they had only just left Beth's house "How are you already here?" "We actually live two streets over so it isn't far at all," you gestured for the two Women to come in.
"Um, we can sit on the couch or the table, I'll just clean all this up," "knock, knock, knock," you heard a man say from the door, turning around to see the builders.
"Oh, um just one second sorry girls, I just need to show them some things," they both nodded saying something along the lines of don't worry, and you quickly showed the builders the theatre and the plans and look book. They had already been given an in depth brief from your Aunt's so it didn't take long.
"I'm so sorry, they are just here to do some work," "Oh no it's totally fine don't worry," The women said as they followed you into the living room.
"I do have a question though," Steph said as you were grabbing some plates, "mmm" "How did you manage to get a place like this?"
"Oh, this isn't mine, it's my Aunt's, they are away for like the next 2 months in Paris, my Aunt is from there." Steph nodded as Beth was looking around at some pictures.
"Is this you or..." She said as she looked at a photo from one of your school events, "yeah it's me, they are all of me," you replied.
"Wow, that's insane, I think there are more photos of you in their house than the amount of photos my parents have of my brother and I in our home. Did you see them a lot?" She asked, meaning no harm, you knew the question would come eventually, you just didn't think it would be so soon.
"Um, yeah, I guess you could put it that way, this is technically my childhood home. When I moved out of my parents home I moved into this home with my Aunts, but we were only here for around 6 months before we moved to Australia. So technically the home we have in Melbourne is my childhood home but as this was well I guess is, the main home all the photos and trophies and everything else got moved into this house,"
"Oh, why did you move out of your parents home? Sorry that sounded a bit insensitive, you don't have to answer," "Oh no, it's okay I don't mind, I-" you were interrupted by another person at the door, they handed you a massive bouquet of flowers and as you brought them into the house and set them on the coffee room table, both girls looked at them.
"Wow, secret admirer, Leah is going all out," Beth cheeked as you looked at the gift tag, letting out a knowing sigh as you read the names.
"Of course, giving me somewhere to stay and building me a gym with some entertainment stuff too isn't enough," you lean back on the couch, before looking over to Beth.
"Wait, what did you say that about Leah? Do you think she likes me?" You asked curiously.
"By the way she looked at you when you walked into the locker room, I would say she has a crush on you" she said quite seriously, you let out a small 'oh' and both of them looked at each other, before continuing on with the conversation, changing topics.
#woso#woso community#woso fanfics#woso imagine#woso x reader#arsenal wfc#awfc#awfc x reader#leah williamson#leah williamson x reader#wosoamazing fireonfire
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rui subconsciously preparing himself for rejection even when he first meets wxs… ough my heart </3
obviously the main story is meant to introduce rui’s eccentricities comically, but is it just me or is he also just testing tsukasa in ch 9?
he reads tsukasa’s script and then goes on to suggest LIGHTNING. as if conjuring concentrated electricity is the most normal thing in the world. and he KNOWS he seems insane for it
he even highlights the danger of it to tsukasa, making it seem like he’s not prioritizing tsukasa’s safety at all, even though we know damn well he would beat himself up over it if he actually hurt anyone. (hell, the first wxs event was literally all about that) like, it very much seems like rui is exaggerating his own eccentric nature
and then when tsukasa is apprehensive about the idea, he’s dramatic, pulling out puppy eyes and seemingly joking around about leaving
and it might seem like some funny manipulative farce to force tsukasa to let rui test out whatever ideas he had, but alternatively, it might’ve just been a farce put up in order for rui to protect his feelings. he saw that tsukasa was backtracking, not actually as willing to surpass expectations as he claimed, so rui was genuinely going to leave, likely because he didn’t want to face tsukasa’s rejection and judgement. he had exemplified the risk, knowing how any normal person would react to it, because then he could just say “oh well, i knew nobody would want to do anything this crazy anyways.” he didn’t actually believe that someone would accept him or his ideas and was prepared to be alone as per usual
which is why it makes sense that he’s surprised when tsukasa (albeit reluctantly) actually AGREES to the lightning
it’s too good to be true, so he throws more crazy ideas at tsukasa: a flamethrower, launching tsukasa w jets installed in the stage; trying to push him away before rui can feel the pain of rejection again
yet, tsukasa rises to meet rui’s challenges anyway
rui has FINALLY found people who are ready to carry out his ideas to the best of their abilities and he’s noticeably happier, which nene points out
after nene and rui part, he’s off excitedly shopping for parts and gadgets for the show. he’s found a place where he belongs. where he doesn’t have to face rejection anymore. where he has people who will support and actually fulfill his ideas. people who will see him as more than just a weirdo. he doesn’t have to be alone anymore.
this idea of a found home in wxs is reiterated in every rui event, and to think he was once afraid that they might reject him too </3
(rui, you make me want to chomp on a desk :’) )
#im back at it again: ruiposting after ages of just lurking#what can i say#this ourple guy has a hold on me#rui kamishiro#pjsk#project sekai#colorful stage#hatsune miku: colorful stage#wonderlands x showtime#wxs
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Hi Sissy! If it’s not too late, could you do a Fic of Elvis based on the song “Help Me Make It Through the Night?” Like Elvis and you know you’re not good for each other, but you can’t stay away. Can develop into smut but if you’d prefer not, that’s okay too! If it’s too late, I completely understand! Thank you! 😊
@peaceloveelvis Hi! Definitely not too late! First of all, this is one of my most favorite songs. I actually have a series planned to go with this song later, so stay tuned. But also, I haven't written anything without smut in a LONG TIME. This one came out this way and I might revisit it to expand on the smut later if there's interest, but I kind of like it without it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this ficlet!
Help Me Make It Through the Night
Warnings: none really, cussing, mentions of sex
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Elvis has been a part of your life since you met him during his Timex special with Frank Sinatra. The only thing you did more than make love relentlessly was fight endlessly. The nights were hot, but the mornings never failed to conclude with both of you yelling and at least one of you crying. There was no end to the way you loved each other or the way you managed to drive each other insane. There was always something to fight about and you left each other every time swearing you'd never be together again. But somehow, you'd end up in the same place and before you knew it you were naked in an elevator or in his backseat or in a bathroom or a hotel bed in some sketchy by-the-hour kind of place. Even after he got married, you didn't stop. Your pattern of fucking and fighting stayed the same.
In 1969, though, you had a particularly spirited tryst that ended with both of you saying things you regretted almost instantly. But you were both too stubborn to admit it, so instead you threw a shoe at him and screamed at him to get out and he called you a name and swore he'd never end up in your bed again. This time, the pain you caused cut so deep that you both insisted you'd never give in again. It was over, for real this time. The hurt was too much to make the good times worth it.
So, you did what any self-respecting woman would do. You married someone else.
When he heard about it, he broke an end table and all the things sitting on it in a fit of rage and jealousy and something else he was afraid to admit.
On your wedding night, you cried yourself to sleep with your new husband snoring quietly next to you in the bed.
Then, in 1971, you find yourself walking down the street and come upon a loud and frantic crowd. Your curiosity gets the better of you and you look to see what all the commotion is about. The crowd parts like ill-meaning clouds and he looks up at just the wrong moment.
His blue eyes pierce you straight through to your soul, even from across the street. Something inside you jumps and your hand goes to your throat. Memories of every time you've ever been together slam into you like a freight train and you're somewhere between ecstasy and wanting to die. By the look on his face, you can tell he's experiencing something similar. Everything inside you is screaming at you to go to him, but you feel the cold little ring on your finger and know that you can't. You turn and walk away as quickly as you can. He fights to get away from the crowd around him, but by the time he does, you're gone.
******
You're pacing the floor of your living room when the phone rings. Even several hours later, you haven't recovered from your encounter. You pick the phone up aggressively, annoyed to be distracted by the call.
"Hello?"
"Mr. Presley would like you to meet him tonight at the Presidential Motel at 11pm." Your blood runs cold.
"Why?" The line clicks with no answer. He's left the ball in your court and you hate it. You won't meet him. You just won't. He's impossible.
But at 10:45pm you're in your car. You've spent the last several hours trying to remind yourself of all the reasons you hate him. You finally decide you're going to see him just to tell him that you don't care what he says; you were serious last time. This is not a thing anymore and it never will be again.
At 11:06pm, you sit in the parking lot of the motel, a battle raging inside you.
"This is stupid." You mutter, finally getting out of the car. At the desk, you ask which room Mr. John Burrows is staying in. The clerk tells you and you stomp towards his room getting more and more angry as you walk. The nerve of him to think he can just summon you like this.
You pound on the door with every ounce of rage your body can contain flowing through you. The door opens slowly and your heart skips. Why does he have to look so good?
"You came."
"What the fuck could you possibly want to say to me?! The last time you saw me you called me a whore and said you'd rather swallow a knife than see me again. So, whatever you have to-"
"I miss you."
"You... what?" He speaks again slowly and deliberately.
"I miss you." It feels like your stomach has fallen to your kneecaps. "I'm lonely, honey."
"Call your wife."
"Will ya just... no. I want you."
"Have you forgotten-"
"No, I haven't. And I'm sorry." He's never apologized to you before. You stand in stunned silence just outside the door.
"You're-"
"Sorry. Yes. Now, will you come in please?" You stand there completely lost. Finally, he grabs your arm and drags you into the room, shutting the door behind you.
"What the hell, Elvis?!" He pulls you close to him and presses his lips to yours. For a second, you melt into him. Then, you remember why you were mad and pull away angrily.
"No, I'm not-" He pulls you in again, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you more deeply this time. You fight to get away, but he holds you tightly. Eventually you're able to escape his grasp and you push him backwards. He goes to grab you again and you slap him across the face. Your hands go to your mouth in shock and he looks at you stunned.
"Oh god, I'm-"
"I guess I deserved that." He walks to the bed and sits down. "You actually hate me, don't you?"
You stand there for a few seconds before sitting down beside him on the bed.
"No. I don't. But we said this was done."
"I know. I'm just... I'm alone, honey. And I miss you so much it hurts worse than being with you." You look at him, but he won't meet your eyes. It comes to you that he must be pretty desperate to put himself in this position.
"You're alone?"
"You know how it gets for me. There's people everywhere, but I just... I miss you."
"Why me?" He rolls his eyes and looks at you finally.
"You gonna make me say it?"
"Yes. If you want me to stay here, then-"
"I love you. I've been in love with you since I met you. You're the only one I want when I feel like this and it's been so long-" You reach out and put your hand on his knee and he looks down at it, setting his on top of yours, gently wrapping his fingers around yours.
You're used to these vulnerable moments from him. They're what has brought you together over and over throughout the years. So when he breaks down and sobs, you pull him into your arms and hold him without thinking. Somehow you end up lying in the bed with him cuddled tightly against you, head on your chest. You stroke his hair and hum quietly. This is a familiar position for the two of you and you've missed it more than you care to admit.
Eventually, his breathing evens out and you realize he's fallen asleep. You kick your shoes off and snuggle in to spend the night. As angry as you were, you can't deny him what he needs because the truth is you love him too and you always have. You kiss his forehead and hold him tightly. You've missed this too.
******
In the morning, you make love and it's sweet and sensual and exactly what you've both been needing. And this time you don't fight. Somewhere in the year you were apart, you grew. The love that you have is more important than anything that might separate you.
And as you lay naked together, the world opens up for you. He talks about leaving his wife and you decide your husband will be better off without you.
Will it happen? Will you finally find a way to be together in a way that works for you both? You don't know.
But you made it through this night together. Something tells you that you can make it through anything now.
******
The end?
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#elvis presley#elvis presley fanfiction#elvis fanfic#elvis#elvis presley fic#elvis presley x reader#elvis x reader#elvis fanfiction#elvis presley x y/n#elvis fluff#elvis fic#elvis x y/n#elvis x you#elvis presley fanfic#elvis presley fluff#elvis presley x you
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Hmm, I think that some of my new followers might appreciate this passage I just wrote for my paper:
Ultimately, caring about culture means caring about the bodies which practice that culture. Failing to care about those bodies, letting them become “bare life” means failing to care about culture. Or rather, I should say failing to care about bodies is a failure to care well about culture. Museums have historically served to preserve culture without necessarily maintaining it. A museum is a dead thing, a place where the artifacts of culture put on static display to be silently observed. The only bodies that move in museums do not interact with the artifacts contained within in the same way that the bodies who produced them would. As Shimrit Lee puts in her book Decolonize Museums:
By displaying humans, animals, and objects alike in detailed, simulated environments, curators sought to capture particular cultures and time periods. This act of “viewing culture”—from world’s fairs to the museums of today—results in what Johannes Fabian called a “petrified relation,” whereby various non-European societies are perceived to be living in a different historical epoch. Today, these types of exhibitions continue to deny the possibility of shared humanity and connection between visitors and the people whose cultures are on display. (Lee 2022)
It is bodies in living relation to one another that make and practice culture. In museums, culture becomes disembodied and thereby disconnected the human experience of it. Instead, cultural artifacts become props in a curatorial narrative: “These objects, violently plundered from the colonies, were first “decontextualized,” or extracted from the context of their original use, and then “recontextualized” in the sense that they were inserted into new settings” (Lee 2022).
Like, imagine how insane I felt listening to Winter in Hieron while this is the sort of thing I’m studying, thinking about, and writing. Hieron is literally built on physical and metaphysical recontextualization! And beyond that, even the mortals who are unaware of the metaphysical nature of Hieron’s reality are constantly struggling over how culture should be contextualized. Mother Glory’s death hit me so hard precisely because it was a symbolic victory of Rosemerrow’s recontextualization of culture. In turn, Fero’s decision not to stay and help the gnolls is such a monumental failure to care about (I’m using that in a technical sense, dw about it, iykyk) their culture and their, er, humanity..? Gnollnity? Whatever, that which makes them subjects. And don’t even get me started on the orcs, who have so completely mastered recontextualizing culture that they it enables them to DO MAGIC. Like, pattern magic clearly depends on culture in order to give facets of the material world meaning (libraries, desks, broken mirrors, stolen fiddles, and so forth) but it doesn’t actually have any interest in that context beyond that. Lem is able to do pattern magic without really what the materials he’s using really are beyond their place in the pattern. You know, now that I’m thinking about it, I’m not even sure he knows what the deal with his fiddle even is? I might be wrong, but the point is that the fiddle seems to be more important for its place in the pattern than for the thing it actually is as defined by its history.
Ugh, this show is making me feel rabid and I gotta stop writing this post and get back to the actual paper I’m writing…
#claire thoughts#winter in hieron#jack told me to post my thoughts about the show more#so blame them for this#friends at the table
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I have an angsty aventio idea that’s haunting me (also this one’s a lil dark, just a warning) imagine ratio at some point in the future telling aventurine that just because he’s been lucky so far, that doesn’t mean that his luck will *always* hold out, and tells him to stop putting so much faith into the fact that his luck never run out. And Aventurine, who is exhausted and having a bad day because otherwise he’d make a joke or just play it off, pulls out his gun again. And Ratio scoffs because they’ve already been through this, with Aventurine proving his luck by taking all but one bullet out. But to his shock, this time Aventurine only removes a single bullet. Before ratio can stop him, he spins the chamber and points it at his own head before pulling the trigger. Nothing happens. Then, without hesitating, he pulls the trigger once more, not even flinching as he stares Ratio directly in the eye. The gun jammed, and no bullets left the chamber. And aventurine tells him then, that he’s tested his luck like that more than once, always with the vague hope of getting to see his family again, but something like that happens every time. His luck genuinely prevents him from experiencing a *permanent* death before his time. And then he sees that this time, *Ratio* is the one that’s shaking, with genuine horror and fear in his eyes. (I just love the idea that aventurine is so ‘lucky’ that something will always stop his death, and I want Ratio to feel the gut wrenching fear of seeing aventurine fire a fully loaded gun at himself right in front of him. Ratio probably holds him close and tightly after that and refuses to let go for a long time)
My heart 😭😭😭 Ratio would be left so shaken up by this omg. Especially since his original demand obviously stemmed from his fear of losing Aventurine to his gambles! This is such an excellent concept and I love it!
Also, since my angst-addict brain somehow found a way to make it worse: Imagine an alternate scenario where Ratio understands what Aventurine is about to do and just cannot stand there and watch it happen, not when he could lose the one person he loves most. Panic overrides his mind and he tries to take the gun from Aventurine. In doing so, one of them accidentally pulls the trigger, but this time, the gun doesn't jam. Instead, the bullet hits Ratio. Horrified, Aventurine lets the gun fall to the floor and rushes to his side while the doctor's clothes start turning red with blood. The wound is not fatal, but still, it confronts Aventurine to the very thing that haunts him : the knowledge that his insane luck only protects him from harm, and not those he cares about. It would also force him to acknowledge just how attached he has gotten to Ratio, and he would be an absolute guilt-ridden wreck while waiting at his bedside after he got surgery, scared to death that he might not make it. Once Ratio wakes up, it's Aventurine who'd be the one unable to stop holding him.
Thanks so much for sharing this with me, this is such a great concept, I can already tell I'll be thinking about it for days!
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So this customer placed an order late last week and one of the items was special order (listed as such on the website, with an estimated timeframe) so I sent them an email letting them know we'd send the rest right away and restating how long the special order would take.
They email back upset that the website didn't say the item was "backordered" (again, it says right on the website this is special order and takes longer to ship, also special order is not the same thing as backorder) and demand that we cancel that item because they're in a hurry. I tell them we can do that if they want, but it will actually make the rest of the order take significantly longer, because instead of some items going out that day or the next and the special order going out later, we'll have to take the whole order out of the queue and put it on hold until the refund is processed and an updated invoice is generated, which can take 2-3 business days, and then it will go back into the queue at the end of the line, which will be another 2-3 business days to get through shipping again. I ask them to confirm that knowing this, they still want to cancel the special order item. They say yes, they definitely want to cancel it.
Today (three business days later) right before closing they call in blazing mad that their order hasn't shipped. I pull up the order and recognize it, and tell them hey, looks like it got held up for a bit because there was a request for a partial cancelation, but the refund has been processed, it's back in the queue and based on its position it will probably go out tomorrow.
Customer loses their mind yelling that this is insane and next time she'll buy direct from the manufacturer (who is on the other side of the planet and only sells through dealers, but never mind) explains slowly and loudly that "slow is BAD" like she's talking to a toddler and hangs up on me.
Like, yeah it sucks that we're so short handed it takes a few days for cancelations to be processed, but YOU waited until the last minute to order your stuff, YOU didn't read the estimated shipping time frame on the product description before ordering, and when I specifically told you the cancelation would cause a significant delay YOU confirmed you understood that and still wanted it done. If you hadn't gotten impatient it would have gone out days ago. Heck, even the special order would be halfway here by now. We might be slow, but the extra delays on your order were entirely caused by you and your unwillingness to read or listen. We're transparent about how long things will take and have actually consistently been within the time frames we provided to you since the order was first placed.
Also screaming at me after shipping is closed for the day speeds up nothing, it literally cannot go out until tomorrow, which is when it would have gone out anyway at this point if you hadn't called and thrown a fit. There is nothing I can do to make it get to you faster.
Posted by admin Rodney
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misc. bribelle thoughts
prefacing this by saying bribelle is my favorite ship. actually might be one of my favorite all time ships considering whenever i catch 11:11 i make a tweet on my priv twitter saying “11:11 bribelle and rarijack” because i’m insane.
anywho…
i think it’s a lot easier to justify saying faybelle potentially has feelings for briar in a canon context because even aside from her diary, her behavior in epic winter can most definitely be read with flirtatious undertones, especially after witnessing the dream sequence
but i’m always trying to justify things to myself in accordance to canon without feeling ooc, because i’m the type of creative who would rather write my own original thing than make alterations to a pre-existing work. that’s just me.
and briar is trickier to do so with. in the show alone, she only actually verbally responds to faybelle once and it’s a line that also adds exposition. “but it’s forbidden!” girl come on throw faybelle a bone at least…
by epic winter, i’d say briar could potentially have had surface level attraction to faybelle, but it isn’t until having that dream and probably especially post-epic winter when she’d get time to actually reflect on it that she’d start to develop palpable feelings for her.
i’ve kinda noticed something about briar: she likes attention. i guess she’s kinda like faybelle in that respect.
briar grew up with neglectful parents. fill in the blanks. why wouldn’t she want attention when she lacks it properly from the two most important people in her life?
along this line of thinking, briar especially values explicit displays of affection, particularly from a potential romantic partner.
so, regrettably, let’s look at her relationship with hopper.
i.e. briar’s behavior in the webisode “Here Comes Cupid.”
when she first confronts hopper about his unconventional advances, she’s disinterested and borderline repulsed.
but after hearing him profess his love via the recording, she’s taken aback and actually grows endeared.
until this BAFOON fumbles the bag and does some really creepy shit by leaning into her personal space and calling her hot. understandably, this miffs briar and she once again loses interest.
(side note, too many people ignore how blatantly creepy hopper is to women, ESPECIALLY briar. he needs to be held accountable, not rewarded by getting the girl.)
even then, despite not necessarily returning his affections, she’s somewhat comfortable in the status quo that he devotes his attention to her. which is exactly why i think in bunny’s diary (bunny is wrong btw she doesn’t know a damn thing so idk why the one wiki that’s not the official wiki list hopper as briars crush when the source is bunny’s word like fuck all) bunny mentions observing briar appearing disappointed when ginger asks hopper to the dance and he accepts.
to briar, it’s like she’s losing one of the few things she’s familiar with, the few constants in her life. in this case, her only plausible option who she’d have reason to believe would accept. and we all know how briar is about losing things.
briar sorta settles into this state of fondness towards hopper’s affections, despite them being unrequited. because at least he gives a damn about her.
faybelle—at least, outside of her diary and up until epic winter—might as well be any villain; faybelle just wants to cause chaos for the sake of ruining somebody’s day. and i don’t think briar likes it that way.
i’d assume around the time of faybelle’s introduction to the series, briar’s stance would be one of upset towards faybelle, believing she doesn’t take their story as seriously as she(briar) does. that her role in sleeping beauty isn’t as important to her as being evil in general.
i have half the mind to say that this could potentially be read from briar’s behavior in faybelle’s diary.
first off, that underlining wasn’t added; the underlines are in the official print. meaning briar is putting emphasis on those words specifically. sure it’s a lesson to faybelle about not being an asshole, but also it reflects on briar in a way. like it could be her saying, “you’re supposed to be my villain, but you act like i’m no different to you than anyone else.”
now, this next part is obviously a surface-level gag about faybelle making a malicious act seem so thrilling, but if we close our eyes and pretend that we’re in a different world called I.D.G.A.F. dimension, we can now analyze this in a different light.
briar’s confused by faybelle’s verbal expression of almost-affection. it doesn’t help that she’s most definitely barely awake. but i’m willing to say her confusion is partially born out of actually having heard faybelle say such a thing. it’s gotta be surprising and hard to believe in that moment, because briar has every reason to think otherwise.
in the show, like i said, faybelle just does whatever the fuck. open a sweat shop? sure why not. assist her peer’s mom in attempting to turn the entire world into her own dictatorship? count her in. make a deal with the mafia? just a regular tuesday. but god forbid she focus on being the one to make the sleeping happen in sleeping beauty.
i think that irks briar. or at least make her generally act indifferent when faybelle comes waltzing around to do god knows what; if she won’t care, why should briar, right?
then there’s epic winter. or, as i like to call it in bribelle terms, “they finally fucking interacted”
when briar explains faybelle’s inclusion of herself to crystal, she simply says it’s her thing and cites the sleeping beauty story. like “hey crystal this is my villain btw, trust.”
later when briar’s yapping about the story, some may say it’s counterproductive in relation to briar’s arc that ashlynn brings up the miserable part of it only for briar to talk fondly of it, but i know briar personally, and have been filled in as to what the truth is.
briar dropped that attitude because faybelle was there. she started talking up the story, almost as a cue to faybelle, like “hey remember how you’re like a big part of my life’s purpose???”
faybelle butts in about it. and briar doesn’t get the chance to respond, but i think she was almost expecting faybelle NOT to gaf, so her doing so threw her off just a little. maybe she expected to hear something like “who cares?” instead.
then of course when they get to the castle briar’s little act is dropped and her deep fear of the sleeping beauty destiny is once again present. and of fucking COURSE that’s when faybelle decides to CARE ABOUT THEIR STORY.
listen to me, LISTEN. briar looks at faybelle BEFORE faybelle actually says “no, there’s another room far more important to our story. isn’t there, briar?” she looks at her BEFORE she actually talks. she was looking to see if she’d react, then when faybelle does speak she looks away, then she bumps her to get her attention so briar has to fight the adhd and lock in.
and faybelle just keeps instigating which honestly kinda takes briar out of her typical sulking over her destiny mood and more of like ‘what is your game here exactly’ mindset.
there’s so much to that look briar gives her. so many emotions in there.
after this they go up and faybelle taunts some more only for briar to almost actually prick her finger yada yada. and like i said, it’s a lot easier to understand faybelle’s pov. it’s very clear she doesn’t actually wanna go through with cursing briar, teasing and all. she makes as much obvious by her reaction alone when briar gets too close.
but once briar’s fine she’s like ‘yeah, okay, back to normal,’ meanwhile briar is kinda just done because faybelle is acting a fool. but she never shoves faybelle off of her unlike she did when hopper intruded on her boundaries huh briar why is that what’s that about briar still, briar has yet to have any indication from faybelle about how she actually feels in regards to their story and her role in it. or how it pertains to their relationship with each other. rather, faybelle doesn’t take it seriously much to briar’s chagrin.
then the dream sequence happens.
to me, this is the turning point.
it’s a stupid music video for an insert song, but goddamnit it confirmed darabella and even hunter got to be there with ashlynn so i’ll die standing on business.
this is what briar’s been waiting for from faybelle. that frenemy status is something i think briar wants to figure out which one to see faybelle as, depending on how she really wants to proceed with the story. and i’d say faybelle surprises her; hell, she even shows her a side of her rarely seen.
like with hopper, an outward display of affection such as this is something briar is drawn to. faybelle’s display towards briar in the dream sequence is something briar would be endeared by, as she goes out of her way to prevent her from experiencing the very thing she’s been dreading for so long. that’s gotta fit briar’s love language.
side note, i think it’s very very interesting to note that faybelle is the one to swoop in and save briar in this case, without any other characters present to show a significance in the ending of the story. i say this because hunter gets to be in ashlynn’s sequence and the bears are in blondie’s, despite none of them being in the tower asleep. all this is to say, if briar really did have feelings for hopper or really was gonna end up with him or some guy, they’d be there, right? but nope, just faybelle. I Understand.
after that we don’t really see them interact at all again, but there’s the general disdain for faybelle’s actions as a shared sentiment amongst the others. either way, by the end she shows remorse and seemingly ends on good terms with everyone, meaning i don’t see why briar wouldn’t be left thinking about the dream, seeing her in a whole new light. honestly briar would probably be kinda intrigued by the idea of the bad girl having a soft side for her. briar and i actually spoke about this the other day.
either way, this is briar learning that despite the general ignorance faybelle portrayed, she actually does care about her.
faybelle demonstrating, proving to briar that she is capable of showing affection and actually does care for her is what i think is enough for briar to begin to start falling. (which is kinda reflected in how i approached their relationship in fable fest.)
because briar knows there might actually be something there.
or maybe it’s a kid’s cartoon and one girl mean other one nice, idk.
#guess how many mental illnesses i have#2 digit number#that’s an exaggeration#point still stands#i cry when i think about bribelle#eah#ever after high#briar beauty#faybelle thorn#bribelle#briar x faybelle#briar and faybelle#ramble#duncontent#i’m half asleep so i pray i hope i don’t wake up going “who let me post this!”
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hello!!do you have skk fic recs?
Introduction
Yes, I do. I’m sorry it took so long to give you a reply, but I wanted to give you a comprehensive list and was busy preparing for my last day in high school, and then I got a job 12 hours later, and then I traveled to New York for a couple Broadway workshops. But now that today’s been dealt with, I have my wonderful notes.
So here’s the gist of it. I have three focused reviews on some of my favorite Soukoku fanfics ever, but I felt like copy pasting it would kill you a little, so I’m going to use a simplified format that echoes what I once did for two other ships years ago.
Canon Space
Here I compiled four fanfics that take place in main canon spaces (so not BEAST). While I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers. Furthermore, the styles these characters are written in, and the way they are portrayed, vary from writer to writer. Some are more “canon” based than others, but they all carry the essence of this ship. And if they don’t in your eyes, then you’re just reading a great novel with Japanese names.
i'll bleed out for you by StarshipDancer
Synopsis: After getting impaled together, basically dying in each others arms in a joint mission with the Port Mafia and the ADA, and getting brought back by Yosano, this shattered Soukoku is asked to go into hiding. In this time, things seem to start healing. But the impending call asking them to return to their positions in their groups haunts them, and when it arrives, things fall apart all over again.
Tags: Caretaking, PTSD, A Singularly Important Rat Is Present, Canon-Divergence, Post-Port Mafia Days, Love Confession, Pet Co-Parenting, Angst
Word Count: 71,848
Notes: Rattata is the best character. You cannot negate AbsoluteNegation’s incredible skill. I remember reading this fanfic between the airport and my flight, and when chapter four ended, I had to board the plane, with my shaking hands and quiet sniffles. Please read this one.
If you kiss me (I might let it happen) by encsiimomo
Synopsis: Chuuya’s done watching this. Dazai’s literally dating a new girl every week. He dates based on who asks him first that Monday, he breaks up with them that Sunday, and it goes on again. And again. And again. It’s driving him insane. So he does the only thing he can think of to earn himself a break – He asks to date him for that week’s cycle. Dazai’s surprised. Chuuya’s exhausted. But once the sparks fly, they’re unable to be put out.
Tags: Canon Divergent & Kind of Canon Compliant, Dark Era, Smut, Mutual Pining, Light Angst, Silly
Word Count: 52,127
Notes: I loved this fic because it encapsulates a pretty carefree tone that isn’t associated with Dark Era. It’s pretty smutty, but it’s really lovely to read them. It’s not a reflection of what these characters canonically represent. And while it definitely stays as a loose interpretation of these characters, it keeps the essence that makes this ship so sharp and wonderful. I loved Oda’s appearances too, they made me laugh.
A Doll's House by Abyss_In_WonderLand_likes_sexy_cannibals
Summary: After coming to contact with an ability-powered artifact, Dazai and Chuuya are forced to work together to overcome the ability’s trials, and face the bubbling sentiments they keep trying so hard to ignore.
Tags: Teamwork, Ability Loss, Poisoning, Denial of Feelings, Confessions, Light Angst
Word Count: 45,288
Notes: While definitely not a character study, this fic goes and shows how wonderfully warm a Double Black fanfic can be. You’ll giggle in some moments, be entranced in others, and it’s just fun. This is for those that aren’t scouring for the angst. This was the first fic that sunk me into a skk fanfiction hunt all throughout the winter holidays.
On Deathless Feet by AbsoluteNegation
Synopsis: Chuuya always knows the monster can get out of control, but it doesn’t get any less surprising when Arahabaki powers through him. For a while though, it’d been comforting to know Dazai could always reign it in, make it go quiet. Because he did when they recently met, when they rose through the ranks, and at the brink of their end. But after years of disconnection, and the consistent waves of betrayal, is Chuuya capable of trusting him? And is Dazai capable of letting him?
Tags: Caretaking, Controlling Arahabaki, Port Mafia, Post-Port Mafia, Mistrust, Non-Linear Storytelling
Word Count: 71,848
Notes: This story is just breathtaking. The writing style is incredibly vast and detailed, which may seem scary when described, but it flows so easily when you read it. The story takes place in an event where Chuuya loses control of Arahabaki in a Post-Port Mafia Soukoku time. But because of its non-linear style, one gets to understand their past experiences with each other in a manner that contextualizes and weighs in the events of their reunion.
Fanon Spaces
Before I begin, I’d like to note that there are so many AUs in this fandom, that I had to really search for the canon ones in my list. So understand that if you want more of these, I DEFINITELY have more of these. Also, again, while I encourage you to read, I also ask you to make sure to check the tags of the actual work for any possible triggers.
I’ll crown your inner child with laurel by acuteguwu
Synopsis: Chuuya has worked in a Michelin Star restaurant. So he really has no place in losing this cooking competition. But a sudden newcomer, who seemingly has no previous experience in the field, seems to want to tell him his bechamel sauce isn’t ready. And really, who does he think he is?
Tags: Chef Competition AU, Character Study, Slow Burn, Chuuya Is A Blunt Perfectionist, Dazai Is A Culinary Genius
Words: 197,090
Notes: I read this in two days, and I finished by waking up at four in the morning to finish up before going to a drag queen brunch. So really, my experience was incredible. You get to really know these characters, who are very themselves, and it’s lovely. Please read, it’s so worth it.
music for our funeral by itotypes
Synopsis: Dazai has always been lost on what exactly he wants to be. Chuuya knows exactly what he wants. Working with such incredible differences proves to be a difficult challenge, ending in at least a little bit of violence multiple times, but they make it work. Because their music sounds beautiful. Because they’re better geniuses beside the other. And maybe because once it started, they can’t seem to process this journey can ever end.
Tags: No Smut, Angst, 70s, Musicians!AU, Drug Abuse, References to Child Neglect, Lowkey Pretty Violent, Emotional Cheating (w/ Main Ship)
Word Count: 67,723
Notes: Look, there’s a whole genre of Soukoku music AUs. And I could tell you to read the famous “still, still, still” by icedlightroast, or the even more famous “I Was Screaming Your Name Through The Radio” by ElectricSplatter. Which really, they’re both INCREDIBLE fics that I think you should read (IWSYNTTR literally inspired me to try and write music, which led me to do an album for a school project, so I’m not kidding when I say they’re life changing), but I also know that these are famous fanfics that you can find in almost any big skk reader thread. So disregarding the following recommendation, I try to give you fanfics I found through a long scrolling process.
Everything or Nothing by Wellthathappened (Cataclysmic_Calamity)
Synopsis: Chuuya has never been able to experience much. So when he meets Dazai on the night of orientation, he lets himself explore. And as lips sink into his, and he lets himself be free, Dazai lets him know how unimportant he is by walking away when kids walk in on them. Cut to a month later, they’re paired as roommates, Chuuya’s gotten what Dazai insists is a douchey boyfriend, and Dazai Osamu has to recognize it wasn’t true. It wasn’t a night’s fluke. He really, definitely isn’t straight.
Tags: College AU, Pinning, Chronic Illness, Creation & References Of Illegal Panini Rings, Confessions, Miscommunication, Past Sexual Abuse, Bad Parenting, Cute Dates, Dazai’s Really Rich
Word Count: 264,937
Notes: I recognize I just put in my notes that there’s no major point in recommending these big fanfics, but I just read this because the person that introduced me into the fandom in the first place really loves this one. And it’s incredible. Worth every moment. I laughed a lot, and cried a lot. It’s those pieces of work that resound with you that keep you engaged. This one builds off of that.
Inseparable by milwritescausewhynot
Synopsis: Dazai and Chuuya have been joined to the hip since day one. But they’re not best friends. Or enemies. Or, worst of all, lovers. They are, however, great at pranking each other. Until one goes close to dangerous, and things begin getting complicated afterwards.
Tags: High School AU, Pranks, Light Angst, Denial, Pining, Confessions, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Crazy Kouyou, Childhood Friends, No Smut
Word Count: 107,804
Notes: I hadn’t saved this one in my compilation, but I couldn’t not find it. This fic is so charming, and I most enjoy how the characters move through the story. Definitely recommend.
In Conclusion
Again, I’m sorry for such a late response. I’m literally falling asleep right now but I felt too guilty leaving this for tomorrow morning. If you have any questions, notes, or looking for something specific for your reading, we cna talk about it.
Anyways, thanks for asking! Hope you love them, and sorry for any mistakes
#soukoku fanfiction#skk#dazai osamu#nakahara chuuya#soukoku#bsd#bungou stray dogs#fanfic recommendations#skk fanfiction#double black#bsd chuuya#bsd dazai
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!!!!! tell me!!
OKAY SO
i couldn't sleep until 1:30 am for unimportant reasons but . at 1:30 am, i was suddenly haunted by a question, right. there are these events in tokimeki memorial girls side 3 and 4 called ADV events, where you get to see a short story from the point of view of one of the main love interests. but like. why the hell was it called adv. is it an acronym for something? what does it mean
so at 1:30 in the morning, i went to look up what tokimeki memorial girls side adv means
i do not receive an answer from search engines
instead, somehow, google heard me ask "tokimeki memorial girls side adv meaning" and gave me THIS.
it's insane, right. it's really insane. this is a 27 page essay claiming that tokimeki memorial girls side (2002), beloved romance simulator, is responsible for teaching girls to view themselves in terms of real-life stats, that rejection from anime guys will give gamers self-esteem issues, and how to view yourself through the male gaze to win love.
i look at this 27 page paper and pass out for the next 5 hours, because it is 1:30 am.
BUT. when i wake up. i am READING. i liveblogged it all to my friend in discord dms (HI @nenestansunsthings) and here are. some INCREDIBLE highlights
"the game teaches you that men expect women to change their clothes from time to time"
the author has cited japanese 123 website, livejournal, and tumblr
"japanese players are more receptive to the series' lessons on femininity than overseas players because of the constant affirmations of the japanese cultural setting" the daily affirmations of being in japan
"players are encouraged to save before making choices and reload if they do not satisfy the object of their affections, teaching women to discard their desires and preferences to please men" HAVE YOU NOT PLAYED A VIDEO GAME BEFORE?!
the author can't make up their mind over whether the game has 7 or 9 love interests
they are basing their analysis on the first game specifically but they bring up the second and third game if it supports their point. but information from the second and third games is ignored if it undermines their point
example 1: they complain about rivals mode portraying women as jealous and willing to throw away their friendships for the sake of a man's love, ignoring that game 2 allows you to calmly talk things out with your friend and game 3 entirely does away with girls being rivals entirely, the game 3 girls are always on your side 100%
example 2: they bring up tumblr posts of fans talking about how they'd date the girls to point out how heteronormative the games are. they are talking about the first game. the tumblr posts are talking about a girl from the third game
weird racism
"this game MAY cause players to develop self-worth issues" "this game MIGHT cause players to see themselves in real-life stats" THESE WORDS ARE DOING A LOT OF HEAVY LIFTING.....
the author is WRONG???? ABOUT THE GAME MECHANICS????
they claim that a guy rejected their invitation for a date because they weren't smart enough but once they were smart enough they launched themselves into a monologue about how this is PROBABLY a guy wanting a girl who is smart enough not to embarrass him but not smart enough to surpass him
THAT'S NOT HOW IT WORKS. IT'S RNG. THERE'S NO MINIMUM STAT REQUIREMENT TO ASK SOMEONE OUT HE JUST FLIPPED A COIN AND SAID NO
out of the four love interests they mention by name in this, THREE OF THEM HAVE THEIR NAME SPELLED WRONG
look at this fucking bibliography
they have cited, in order.
a shitpost
someone's entire blog
and all of tumblr's search results for tokimeki memorial girls side 3.
which is not even the game they're talking about.
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nightingale
Fandom: Succession
Pairing: Roman Roy x F!Reader
Length: 15.5k words
AO3 Link: acalfinthemuseum
This is my first time writing a fanfic ever so please be gentle, I just couldn't resist writing something about my favorite little chew toy, Roman Roy. There's a little bit of Spanish sprinkled in because I love anything that keeps a miscommunication trope running. Click the AO3 link or see the footnotes at the bottom for a translation. English might be my first language but I’m bad at both lmao
Genre: Angst, Fluff, and Smut. Porn with Big feelings
Tags: weird power dynamics, spit kink, slight degradation (mutual), fingerfucking, mutual masturbation, mentions of physical abuse, mentions of familial abuse
Summary: Your job as an assistant to New York’s most eligible fascist bachelor, Roman Roy, comes with a lot of challenges. You find it hard to leave him though when you see the way his family treats him, and that's the only reason why you stay. It has nothing to do with the way he makes your face heat up at times. You both have a gift for digging under each other's skin and it's only more amplified when he visits your home late one night.
You find yourself hunched over your kitchen table and feel your eyes glaze over the unfinished puzzle taking over two-thirds of the table’s surface. Your brow furrows in frustration as you stare at the jigsaw pieces over the rim of your mug; sipping the “sleepy time” tea that has failed you miserably. You avoid looking at your phone, knowing that it’d only frustrate you more if you saw the time tick away closer to 3 in the morning. Sleep has evaded you once again, nothing new. You had decided long ago that rather than try to beg your body to let you sleep, thrashing about pathetically on your bed, you’d ride it out. You’ve rebranded your chronic insomnia as just a little bit of “me time” where you try to do the hobbies that you say you enjoy to people during small talk. You can practically hear your brain cells fizzle out and you decide to step away from the puzzle and sprawl over the nearby couch. You close your eyes in hopes that you might finally drift off but that dreadful antsy feeling— that anxiety for a train that will never pull in— seeps back in. Your eyes snap back open and you let out a small groan as you peel yourself off of the couch, opting to pace around for a bit instead. This was actually the first time in a few weeks that you’ve had to confront this problem. Your job, an assistant to New York’s most eligible fascist bachelor, Roman Roy, could almost be considered a relief to this issue of yours. Almost.
Your boss had a nasty habit of making you work late and not just an hour or two of overtime. He’d like to call you up at night when you had finally settled in at home and he’d ask —tell— you to come running right back to the office. Any sign of rebuttal from you is met with a quirky threat of firing you, raking you over proverbial coals. And, like the sweet dumb lamb you are, you do go running back to help him with whatever menial tasks he’s given that evening; there you are, hunched over the boardroom table (much larger than your own kitchen table) looking through the papers that clearly didn’t interest Roman enough for him to actually move from his perch. At times you’d look up from your work to look at him as he leans far back on a rollie chair sipping at god knows what kind of alcohol from the overpriced crystal in his hand. Each time you see him you quietly hope that he’ll lean too far and eat shit. No one has heard your silent prayer yet. The work he gave you during those nights was never too difficult, which you were grateful for, but sometimes it was the ease of it that drove you insane. It left you feeling a little hollow, an insignificant gray decoration for his desk that hasn’t had any time to do things outside of his orbit, even if you wanted to. Your own friends have started begging you to leave but for some reason you won’t. It was painfully cliché to say, but you didn’t find Roman nearly that bad during those evenings. Every so often he said something you genuinely found funny and in exchange there were other not so rare moments where you managed to make him crack. He would always order too much of some type of ludicrously expensive food for himself and then guilt you into finishing what he couldn’t. Eventually you realized it was his way to keep the both of you from starving overnight, his leftovers were always conveniently your favorites, even things he hated. He also always made it a point to message you each time you headed back home. Caring enough to check that you were still alive was as low as a bar could be but you did emphasize flexibility in your resume and you were, shamefully, a little too eager to bend. You couldn’t bring yourself to fully hate him but it was even worse that you found yourself liking him a little.
You remember one night you were in his office and he had given you the task of forging his signature on months’ worth of papers— a mind numbing task that you were certain he had given to you as a form of entrapment. You finished up rather quickly that night. The clock hadn’t even reached 1am and as you stood up, hoping to leave, he added on another task: to proofread his latest speech for a shareholder meeting. If he had asked you at a reasonable hour you might’ve been intrigued at the idea of being trusted enough to edit your boss’s work. But that night you felt snappy and asked why he couldn’t just use some sort of AI software instead to polish whatever garbage he had frankensteined together. He shot back that the moment a new Alexa or Cortana came with a better pair of tits he’d happily fire you on the spot. You must have felt sentimental that night because the only response you could muster was a bitter “thanks ”. A smarter person would’ve heard something like that and quit, but a little part of you felt fuzzy when you saw him grin at his own joke. An even sadder part was almost curious to know what that meant about how he looked at you, the phrase “better” implying he looked at your chest often enough to develop an opinion of it. Did you want that? You shake your head free of the memory, You drag your hands across your face and groan, suddenly feeling a little pathetic thinking about your boss late at night. You take in a deep breath and step towards your kitchen table once more. The loud, grating buzzer at your apartment’s door causes you to flinch midstep, fuck! For a split second you flip through all of the possibilities of who it might be and how quickly you could hide in safety if your home intrusion nightmares prove true. You slowly step back into your kitchen and you jump at the sudden ring of your phone. Speak of the devil and he will appear.
“Roman?” You answer curtly, any fear you may have felt is now blanketed by a layer of annoyance.
“Finally! I knew you were awake, now be a dear and open the door!”
“That’s you?? Why are you here? Go home.”
“Hmmm nah, nope. I’m good here. Now open up.”
“No???”
“ ‘kay, let me make it easier, open the door ooorrrr you’re fired.”
You feel your eyes threatening to roll back into your sockets as you head towards the door. You’re not particularly thrilled by the idea of him being in your home but you know he’d never leave without at least harassing your neighbors. Too tired to reason with him further, as is often the case, you do as he says and head to open the door for him. You crack the door open a smidge, blocking the opening with your body, he asked you to open the door —not to let him in. Your eyebrows raise in surprise as your gaze lands on a disheveled Roman, he raises one hand to wiggle his fingers in a hollow hello. You ignore the greeting and blurt out the first thing you notice.
“You look like shit.” Not the nicest thing you could say but you could live with that guilt.
“Aw, thanks.”
“What do you want?”
“Do you think the only reason I’m here is because I want something? That’s a little mean, I thought we were friends.”
Your mind slides the word friends back and forth, like floss between your ears.
“Are we?”
You let that question hang in the air, the idea of being considered Roman’s friend felt equal parts exciting and disappointing. Maybe he could tell you were hesitant. You didn’t like holding eye contact with Roman, it made you feel . . odd. But your annoyance, coupled with the restless hum that’s kept you awake, seems to help take the edge off and you don’t look away. The lighting is crude and sterile in the halls of your apartment building, your cheap landlord is seemingly attached to the fluorescent’s hostile charms, but you can still trace out what’s different about him tonight. You were accustomed to seeing him lose a bit of his polish at these hours when at work. His stupid slicked down hair turns unruly, suit jackets and ties go missing and his sleeves roll up unevenly, wrinkling his pristinely starched shirts. You’ve caught yourself staring at this version of him once or twice. It’s painful to admit that you thought he looked good— you’d sooner bite off your tongue than use the actual word you had initially thought of when you saw him, attractive . But tonight he looks tired, the stark lights shadow his face harshly and, when he shifts slightly, you notice he’s hurt. A busted lip and a matching cut on his right cheek are undeniable. You feel your jaw clench tight and an icy feeling slides down your neck.
“Rome…..” You hesitate using that nickname, it feels foreign in your mouth. Something indecipherable flickers past his eyes. You had heard the name said numerous times between his family but you weren’t quite sure if familiarity was a requirement for it. You push through it and keep speaking. “…. what happened?”
The smug smile he wore when you first opened the door has been pulled into a frown. He thought he’d be able to fall back into a comfy rhythm when he got you to open the door but the look in your eyes makes him feel small and stupid for even considering being here. His eyes drop to his feet and voice gets a little quieter.
“Can I come in? Please?”
The tension in your jaw releases when you hear him say please. You suddenly feel guilty making him wait outside like a stranded animal.
“Y-yeah, come on….”
You step aside to make room in the doorway for him. His shoulder brushes against yours as he steps inside and you bite your inner cheek at the rare touch, now’s no time for that. It was hard to push it down though, as big of a penchant as Roman had for draping himself over things, he rarely touched you. You had touchy bosses in the past so he was a welcome change, but sometimes it left you wondering if it meant something, like if he had a weird repulsion around you. Maybe that was for the best because you couldn't be certain that you'd pull away if he did lean in. You get a better look at him once you’ve closed the door and headed into the warm light of your kitchen and you feel a load of stones drop in your stomach.
“Shit. You look bad.” You grimace looking at the cuts on his face. He lets out a small puff of air through his nose.
“Are you always this nice to your guests?” His brow furrows as if in confusion but the hint of amusement in his voice relaxes you a bit.
“Only the ones that I’m friends with.” He can hear a teasing lilt in your voice.
“Fuck off.” You see a small smile on his face and that warm fuzziness in your chest returns.
Hot coals sit heavy in your stomach though as you think of how it must hurt to smile like that with his face the way it is now. You roam around the kitchen to fix him a cup of water and some pain meds. You remember whiffing some type of malt liquor off of him when he brushed past you and then decide to pick out the dosage for him. You feel uninterested in helping damage his liver any further. You place the cup and pills on the countertop in front of him.
“Take this.”
He picks up the cup and pills in either hand. His eyes narrow as he looks at the medicine in his palm and back up to you.
“You better not be trying to roofie me.”
“Only in your dreams, Roman….” Your reply sounds tired. Ah, there’s the annoying man you know and love , you think to yourself.
“Clearly. Can’t even get you to admit that we’re friends, fuck .” His voice grows bristly and he looks back down at the pills in his hand.
“Why are you so bent over this?” Your face is furrowed with frustrated confusion.
He glares at the bargain brand ibuprofen in his open palm. A sour look grows on his face and he mutters under his breath.
“Yousaiditfirst.”
“What?”
Despite your one worded question, he leaves no space after what he said to elaborate. He swings the meds into his mouth and chugs all the water in his cup. You stare as he drinks, watching his throat gulp it all down. He takes in a sharp breath and sets his cup down on the countertop once he’s done.
“You said it first.” He repeats it clearly.
You give him a blank stare, cocking your head inquisitively, and if it were a different time and place he’d think you looked like a pretty bird. Roman grits his teeth and narrows his eyes at you, he knows that all things considered he shouldn’t be cold around you right now. It’s a dick move, but something about the genuine curiosity on your face as you blink at him makes him feel irritable. He knew when he hired you that people often deemed you to be a patient person. At least more so than the average person. And he had a wonderful knack for testing the nerves of anyone in a 15 ft radius. A perfect fit. He felt an initial sick glee at dragging you around everywhere, a shiny new stretch armstrong toy to entertain himself with. It made things easier that he actually enjoyed being around you; he thought you were funny, smart too, in a way that mattered. He had spent plenty of time around enough mouthbreathers to know the difference. You felt like a real person to him, a nice one , and right now he feels like it’s coming back to bite him in the ass. You felt comfortable to him and that was an un comfortable thought to have. He’s noticed that he’s always looking forward to being around you, to the point that whenever you’ve tried to leave him on late nights he feels offended. Wasn’t being around him enough for you like it was for him? He liked to bury that thought by reminding you, both of you, that he could ruin your life in minutes. You can’t go away, the only way this can end is if he makes you. He knows you’re smart and part of him tries to convince himself that that is enough for you to already know how he feels. It’s a half-boiled alibi that helps him feel better about being a shitty friend. Why did you come back to the office, why did you open the door, why did you answer your phone? It’s not his fault if you kept coming back after he gave you numerous outs, right? It’s incredibly manipulative of you to look so fucking sweet and make him feel guilty for being a constant shithead. Yep, your fault. Not his.
“You were the first one to say it. Remember? Amigo ?? Your cousin???” His voice sounds like he tastes something bitter around the word amigo. You give him an empty blink and then it clicks.
“Oh.”
He was right.
——
That night was such a shitshow, it’s no wonder that you had forgotten what you said. There were parts of it you wish that you could forget. It was while you were all still in Argestes, Roman and his siblings were set to speak on a panel together and address the controversy surrounding gross misconduct rampant in their company’s cruise line. In a twist no one could ever have predicted, Shiv and Kendall use it as a chance to stomp each other out, and then there’s Roman, with barely enough room to squeeze in a paltry line. You remember the dejected slump of his shoulders when they all walked back into the green room, you stood close by but didn’t speak, listening on as siblings and father bicker. You remember hearing Roman grilling into Shiv, the way she threw their dad overboard. He sounded vaguely content, like he was eager to have a chance to kick the dog rather than be kicked. The smugness was knocked out clean in one sudden strike. You blink, there’s the loud smack, a blur of Logan’s hand, and Roman keeling over, hand over his face. You feel cold, stuck in place watching it unfold. His siblings help him up, others focus on talking Logan down, pleading with him, and when you see blood you think you can feel your heart stop. You snap into movement, scrounging around the room for ice and a towel– a rag, anything that might help. Your head nervously sways around the room, looking at Roman and then back at your surroundings, each time you look at him it feels more urgent, you have to stop the bleeding. You look back and he’s making a beeline to leave. You need to stop the bleeding. You chase after him.
“Roman! Roman, wait! Rom—”
He groans loudly and turns on his heels, about to tell you to “fuck off” when you crash into him slightly from momentum. You mutter a few “sorry”s but don’t leave him any room to reply, your hands press a makeshift ice pack to his face. He tenses when you take his hand in yours, guiding it to hold the bundle in place.
“Come on, let’s go.”
He doesn’t respond, he feels like he can’t. Maybe the slap was enough to bite his tongue off. But even if he could retaliate, he doesn’t want to, not now when your hands rest on his forearm; your grip is gentle as you guide him to the parking lot. He gets in when you open the car door and it’s not till you’ve driven off the property that he looks back at you and manages to mumble something.
“Where the fuck are you even going?”
“Not sure.” A dentist hopefully. Home, eventually.
You don’t look at him when you answer, eyes locked on the road ahead. He notices your knuckles growing white as you grip the wheel but he doesn’t say more, icing his wounds feels like a perfect excuse. You call up a distant cousin, one who, luckily enough, had opened up their own dental practice less than an hour away. It’s only till the third call that they answer, they had been getting ready for bed. You speak to them Spanish, it serves as both a familial appeal and a chance for some privacy. Roman focuses on you as you talk, suddenly regretting not paying more attention in his language classes back in college. Your face is enough to keep him vaguely in the know. Your cousin sounded tired, unconvinced and you looked scared.
“Anda primuis…. Por fa?? Es mi amigo.” ¹
Now that’s a part that he understands, he feels a funny flutter in his chest when he hears it. That sentence feeds a warm hopeful part of him but it’s accompanied by a strong sense of guilt when he hears your voice crack oh so slightly. You were scared. He fucked up and now you’re stuck here trying to help piece him back together. Great. He turns his head away and looks out the passenger window. There’s dozens of things that could float around his mind at this moment but he tries to hold on to that weak little sound byte. It’s all he could repeat in his mind to keep from crying, he keeps his face stiff and watery eyes trained to the window. He doesn’t speak the rest of the car ride, you barely make out a slight nod of his when you hang up the phone and tell him you’re headed to your cousin's office. You give silent thanks when you see your cousin's car already in the parking lot.
Roman greets them politely, a bit more quiet than you’re used to seeing him, but he looks collected and that gives you some relief. You act as your cousin's assistant, handing them tools you vaguely recognize and holding a mirror and light in place. Apparently Logan had managed to knock off one of Roman’s veneers; the porcelain had left some nasty cuts on his gums. It was a quick enough fix between the two of you. You neared the final step and you watched your cousin prep a needle, ready to numb an area where Roman needed a suture. Absent-mindedly, one of your hands grips his arm. He tenses slightly under the comforting squeeze and you worry that you overstepped something, not used to seeing him so still. Once the final stitch is tied off, you step back and admire the work. Your cousin instructs Roman to smile and you both feel relieved that your work paid off, his smile looked as unfairly handsome as you thought it always did. Before you can think clearly you blurt out something that Roman can only conceive of as a stupid joke.
“You look nice.”
He clicks his tongue in response. You think you can see warmth in his eyes when he smiles at you; a small dimpled thing. He opens his mouth to give you another quip in return but your cousin ushers you away to the corner of the office and Roman feels a chill on his neck. He hears them speak to you in Spanish again and he tries not to look strained as he leans forward a bit, trying to hear you.
“Sabes que me puedes decir lo qué sea, verdad?” ² Your cousin's voice sounds soft, a little like yours.
“Qué?” Roman knew that word, you’ve even made that same scrunched up face at him a couple times.
“Es tu novio?”³ He knew that word too, your cousin's head tilted slightly in his direction. his ears perk up and that weird flutter comes back. His eyes stay on your face, he tries to decipher the look on your face: embarrassment? disgust?
“No.” You punctuate that word with a small bark of laughter. Roman suddenly feels sick.
“Creo que el no sabe eso. Te queda viendo.”⁴ He’s lost again. Your head turns to look right at him. Shit . You lock eyes with him and smile. If he didn’t already feel a little dizzy, he would have now. Something about that smile felt like a slap. He supposes that rejection doesn’t always need a physical hand to follow in order for it to hit. You look away and he feels something sharp. It’s as if you had just sliced him, belly up.
“Soy la única cosa en este méndigo cuarto que él reconoce. Obvio que me queda viendo. No soy pendeja.”⁵ He’s got no clue what you said, but you sound a little defensive, annoyed even. There’s still a smile on your face when you turn back to talk to your cousin. Roman can’t see it fully but it loses its warmth. He assumes that, as usual, he’s the distasteful thing in the room. In reality you turn away to avoid your face growing flushed once more. Leave it to the family to strike a nerve so easily.
“Hm.” A skeptical sound from your cousin.
“Hm.” You mimic, not enjoying the doubtful look they give you. Not enjoying the skip you felt in your pulse when you noticed Roman looking. This was something you’d have to think about later and you weren’t looking forward to it.
“Me vale madre pues. Dile que le va a costar 60 bolas, descuento familiar.”⁶ Your cousin gives a smug smile, believing your annoyance proves their point. They’re definitely telling your aunt and uncle.
—-
“Oh.” You can’t say much more. You feel your face grow hot as the memory comes back. He heard that , you wonder what other parts he listened in on.
“Oh.” He echoes bitterly. The accusing glint in his eyes is gone but part of you wants it to come back. Anything might be better than the disappointment that’s left there. That pang of guilt you had swings back in at full force.
“I’m sorry.” You sound defeated, your head tilting down. You feel a pinch of regret following him that night, you never questioned if he even wanted you there.
“You’re sorry ?” You’re gutting him.
“I— I shouldn’t have said that.” Maybe you had misread things, maybe he didn’t want you close. He certainly reminded you often enough of your fragile position to make that a possibility. That couldn’t be further from the truth though and your meek little “apology” for calling Roman your friend entrenches him further in his belief that there’s no way you actually ever liked him.
You won’t look him in the eyes, his empty glass on the counter now more interesting than him. Oh, you are twisting that fucking knife into him.
“Oh so now you’re just taking it back??” A new emotion for tonight. You had the displeasure of an angry Roman in your kitchen now and you weren’t even exactly sure why.
“Wha– do you want to be friends?” Your eyes snap back up to his and he almost flinches. You look upset, sound upset, but the question is worded the same way a kindergartener would ask it. He’s surprised your teeth aren’t rotting out from the sickly sweetness. He didn't want to answer you. It would have been easier if you had never picked up the phone tonight. Of course, he wanted to be friends, he’d take anything you’d give him and it feels humiliating.
“Fuck no.” Roman lets out a mirthless giggle.
You’re not happy with his answer. You don’t want to believe it and you’re not gonna. You wonder if Roman would’ve ever done the same for you; given you the option of being friends. He’s got on a cruel tight-lipped smile and you realize he never would’ve given you the option. Why offer that courtesy to him? You take in a short breath and smile.
“Sounds like you really want to be friends with me.” You ignore the prickle of heat at your tear ducts and manage to conjure up a self-assured smile.
“I don’t. You probably have cooties.” He quips with a jeer.
“I do, actually. Aaaaaaand you drank my spit water.” He ews. You keep going.
“So we’re pretty much cootie-bonded to each other forever. I’m, like, legally your friend now. ” You see his face struggle to shape itself into what he wants. His nose is wrinkled in disgust but his mouth threatens to pull into an earnest smile. You grin, feeling a speck of warmth grow in your chest. Every so often you understand why Roman enjoys being a pest, his annoyance is funny to you.
“Yeah? Well, I’m not yours.” He was, though.
“That’s fine. I can work with that.” You manage to sound casual.
“I don’t like you.” There isn’t any acid in his voice as the smile that was pulling at the corners of his mouth fully takes hold. He likes you. But the words still sting a bit. You feel your throat getting a little tight, you have to tread lightly. Back and forths were fun for you till they suddenly weren’t.
“Bummer. My cooties like you, I can hear them. They're swirling around in there.” You step a little closer, eyeing his stomach in stubborn commitment to the bit. There’s a glimmer of pride when you hear him laugh. A full bellied, honest laugh.
“You’re gross.” And just like that you manage to coast past something stormy, Roman’s no longer souring the air. He really fucking likes you. A small part of him wants to kiss you, condemn you with real cooties. But he smiles back at you instead. Your heart rate shoots up and you blame it on the lack of sleep, not the twinkle in his eyes.
“At least I’m not the one who looks gross.” You move to grab a damp paper towel. “Seriously, did you even bother cleaning yourself before you got here?”
“Shut up. It’s not that bad.” His brows rise up in emphasis.
“It kinda is.” You move in closer, feeling bold. Your hands reach out to wipe his face but he grabs hold of your wrists. You let out a small huff and try to pull out of their grip.
“Stop that.” His voice gets a little higher, like he’s nervous.
“No.” You both wriggle around like that for a bit. It looks a little silly, like he was trying to keep you from tickling him.
“Fuck off.”
“Just lemme see it.” You lift your arm in a way that gives you a chance to bite his hand. He lets go of your hands, swearing loudly but not in pain, just surprise. You manage to wipe at the cut on his cheek. He can feel his mouth go dry when you stand so close.
“See, that wasn’t so bad, was it …” You trail off, distracted. That cold feeling creeps back in. He watches your brow furrow in concern. “You’re still bleeding.”
“It’ll be fine.” He looks unconcerned and that breaks your heart. Maybe he’s ok with bleeding out but you weren’t.
“It will be. Wait here. Don’t . . . don’t fucking touch anything.” You take a step away from him and he feels like the room gets a little cold without you in it.
As you make your way to your room, looking for the first aid kit you kept somewhere, Roman stands in your kitchen. For a moment he’s stuck in place, all he can do is think of what just happened. Clenching and unclenching his hands into fists repeatedly, he tries to linger on how soft your wrists felt, it unsettles him how nicely his fingers wrapped around them. He feels a little dizzy knowing he’s actually in your home and you haven’t even tried to kick him out yet. But the sting and dull painful ache across his face sober him up a bit. You were a nice person, and you were doing the things a nice person was expected to do for their friend. He shouldn’t think anything of this. Part of him wasn’t even sure if he would have gotten such a warm welcome if he didn’t show up bloodied on your doorstep. He didn’t dis like you patching him but he didn’t want this to be the only thing you saw in him, a sniveling puppy of a man. He lets out a deep breath and walks around your home, trying not to dwell on his feelings of inadequacy. The puzzle you left on your dining table catches his eye. His eyes scan over the pieces, he remembers your instruction to not touch anything and decides to ignore it. A single jigsaw bit stands out to him, he holds and places it gently, like he doesn’t want to make any noise. The piece fits right in and Roman smiles to himself, a small blink of accomplishment. He hears your footsteps but he’s still caught off guard when he looks up and sees you right by his side.
“Didn’t I say not to touch anything? You better not be fucking up my puzzle.” You sound so warm. The small smile you give him is annoyingly cute.
“I’m not. I’m just giving you the help you clearly need.” Roman’s stomach feels lighter.
“Charitable of you.” You say flatly. There’s a smug smile on his face.
“Very.”
“I hear you’re getting the key to the city tomorrow?”
“Yep, everyone loves me. Wouldn't kill you to be grateful either. You should be saying " Oh, thank you sooo much, Mr. Roy!” He bats his eyes at you. “Please, how can I repay you? I’d do anything . . .” His voice goes high and airy trying to mimic you. You fail to hold back a laugh and he feels ill from the dopamine rush that sound gives him.
“I don't sound like that.” You try to sound annoyed, it's unconvincing.
“You do.” He gives you his signature shit eating grin and flicks a jigsaw piece at you, it bounces off your shoulder.
“I do not.” You fling a puzzle bit at him in return but it sails right past him miserably. He chuckles, sticks his tongue out and blows a raspberry. Actually annoyed now, you reach out and flick his nose. He groans and his face scrunches up; the sound makes your cheeks feel a little warm.
“Fuck you.” His voice is a little lower as he rubs his nose. You giggle a bit.
“Anything for you, Mr. Roy.” You say dryly. You continue and give Roman a smug smile of your own. “Now go sit on the damn couch.”
With a dramatic “ ugh!” he does as you say and moves to the couch, you follow close behind. You set out the first aid items on the side table. You perch on the sofa’s arm as you flip through the kit for some alcohol wipes. You open the packet and stand up, thinking it might be easier to just lean over him. He suddenly feels squeamish when your hand guides his chin to look up at you.
“You washed your hands right?” He asks. He already knows the answer but he’s looking for something to fill up the silence.
“Of course I did.” One of your legs knocks against his knees and it rattles through him.
“You’re sure?” He does his best to not look a little panicky but he can smell the laundry detergent you use and he hates how much he likes it.
“Positive.” You look down at him a little worried. You think he’s still making a fuss in stubborn faith that the cuts will turn out fine. Your frustration leaves a bit of a kick in your words. “Roman, I need you to trust me and shut the fuck up for once in your life .”
“Okay, okay. . . I’ll shut up now.”
You both end up feeling oddly guilty. You regret telling him to shut up. Your hands reach back for his face gently, you hope he can't tell there’s a slight tremble in your hands. He can’t, he’s too focused on how warm they are. But the words you said are snagging into his sides. There's a part of him that wonders how much he annoys you and if you knew how much he actually did trust you. You were the first one he thought of when he got hurt.
“Sorry. That was a little mean.” Your voice is quiet again and it sounds so soft. Weight is piling onto Roman’s chest.
“It’s fine.” He sounds so small, there’s a part of you that wants nothing more than to just hold him. Another small but loud and prideful part is disgusted by the idea of coddling him and it shames the rest of you into stoic submission. The guilt eats away at you but you give him a small doleful smile before you tilt his face to the side.
“Deep breath. This is gonna sting a little.” He does and you begin to lightly wipe the fresh cut on his face. You hear him grunt a bit, his face scrunches slightly in discomfort. You let out a small commiserating hiss as you stare in concentration at the angry welt along his cheekbone. You bite your lip as you apply ointment to the area.
“This really looks like it hurts.” The concern in your voice is clear and he can feel the skin on his cheek tingle from both the rubbing alcohol and your touch. He looks up at you from the corner of his eyes, his head still turned and he feels like it's almost worth the pain when you glide your finger across his cheek to keep the bandage in place. Your tightly knit brow drops when you hear him chuckle.
“You should’ve seen the other guy.” He slides back into that sarcastic tone so easily. You don’t fight it, you know it helps him feel a bit safer.
“Oh yeah, what did he look like?” Roman sees a flash of teeth when you grin as you speak. Your voice sounds amused and he tries to ignore the blood rushing to his face when you guide him to look you head on again. It feels like you’re taunting him when you gingerly push his hair back a bit, his scalp tingles where your nails drag along and he wants to sink into your couch.
“Geriatric. Wrinkly old fuck kicked my ass.” His voice is quiet and tense. The latter for more reasons than you were aware of.
“Hm” You let out a quick, sharp puff of air, not enough to even be classified as a snort or a chuckle. You mull over his words for a moment. You know he meant his dad and you feel something in you freeze. You hate seeing him get hurt, but you know well how much someone could put up with, how strongly you can want someone to love you back. You rattle your brain trying to find something a little helpful to say. You can’t. “You were doing your best.”
“I fucked it.” He frowns. Your palms are warm when they cradle his chin and he wants to enjoy that but he can’t. It’s a little sad that this is the only way he can get you to touch him.
“Maybe. You tried though.” Your thumb presses lightly against his bottom lip, trying to get a better look at the wound. Roman hisses a bit, he can feel his cock get hard and he feels . . . icky, for lack of a better word. You’re trying to care about him and he was being gross, creepy; he needs to leave.
“I think that makes it worse.” You sigh through your nose, you want him to let you in but you focus back on patching the cracks for now.
“Deep breath.”
A pitiful, pained noise is caught in his throat, his body jerks away from you and it’s just enough to make you lose your footing. You steady yourself by gripping his shoulder roughly, one your legs that fell forward against the couch is now slotted between his knees. You’re the closest you’ve ever been and Roman’s scared shitless.
“ You fucking bitch. ” His words are slurred as he sucks in air to soothe the chemical sting. You feel like a disembodied hand is tightening its grasp on your throat.
“I told you to breathe, and don’t call me that.” You manage to spit out a response that doesn’t sound as weak as you feel.
“What? A bitch? Sowwy, does that hurt uwr feewings??” His voice slips easily into a mocking babyish voice. The tone sounds meaner than you’ve ever really heard it being directed at you and you aren’t sure how to respond, you feel your face grow pink with shame.
“Fuck you.”
“Fuck you! And close your fucking legs, you’re letting in a draft!” He shoves your leg away from his knees and he shuts his legs tight, he tries not to look at his lap when he feels his cock twitch a bit in his pants. You’re completely oblivious.
“Stop saying that shit. I’m trying to fucking help you.” You bite your inner cheeks for a moment, a habit you developed as a kid to keep yourself from tearing up in front of others.
“Can’t help me much if I fall into your cavernous vagina, can you?” Hostility stretched into a smile makes it feel more like he’s baring his teeth. Roman’s mind is racing with things to say to get him out of this. A coyote typically settles for biting off his own limb to escape but yours will do fine.
“It’s not my fault that everything looks huge compared to your sad little cock.” Finally . You’re finally biting back, he’s trying to build a reason to push you out and you just took the bait.
“Oh that’s nice. I think Human Resources will love that one.”
“HR? Really? Don’t you think they’re tired of seeing your name come up in the complaint log weekly.”
“You’re right, it might just be better to let you go.”
“Ooo, you’re gonna threaten to fire me again? Cool. Awesome. Go ahead, if that’s what gets your wormy little dick stiff.”
“It does actually, yeah.”
“Well, I hope you actually get to fuck something once you’ve fucked me over.”
“Sure will, gonna hire a bouncy new little fuck bunny assistant. One that doesn’t use her dick lips to talk back.”
“I fucking hate you.” You pull on his hair, hard. Part of you doesn’t want to be this harsh with him after what his father did tonight but part of you knows that this doesn’t really hurt. Not as much as it should. Your eyes widen a bit in surprise, enjoying the sweet, wimpy cry that falls out of him; it makes you want to sit on his face. He’s finding it hard to breathe, the tip of his prick is dripping no doubt. His eyes are half lidded but they glimmer under the dim light of your living room as he blatantly stares at your lips. Roman’s transfixed by how soft they look, your grip on him feels good and he doesn’t care enough to pull away. You rest your thumb on his lower lip again and his lips part but not wide enough.
“Open up.”
He nods a little and opens wide. His brain short circuits when you spit into his mouth. He thinks your spit tastes sweet like you— he ignores the idea that there might be something wrong with him. You feel that familiar wanting flutter down below when you watch him swallow your own spit. He whines again when your hand loosens its grip, he needs more. His hands, that were gripping the couch beneath him this entire time, find their way to the small of your back. He pulls you into his lap and buries his face into the crook of your neck, kissing any skin he can find. A nagging voice in your head knows that this is probably a horrible idea but then he nips the skin on your shoulder and you feel yourself turning into putty. Your grip on his hair tightens again as you look for something to cling onto, he groans and his breath is hot and wet against your skin. You say his name in a soft, pleased sigh and it makes something in him crack. Fuck . He needs to hear that again, the glowing pride he gets from making you sound like that feels addictive. He needs you, he doesn't really know how he’s held out this long around you. His kisses are feverish and his grip tightens around your hips. He can’t help but grind up into you looking for some relief. You tense when you feel how hard he is under you.
“Rome... wait.” His entire body stiffens under you, stopping immediately. He makes a cute little groan when he lifts his head away. His cheeks are flushed and you almost regret pulling away when you see how pretty he looks. You feel yourself clench around nothing.
“What is it?” He tries to sound casual, but he’s terrified that he might have fucked things up.
“I still need to fix your lip.” He groans again, this time in disappointment.
“We can do that later.” He sounds impatient but his thumbs rub light circles over your hips and it feels so gentle.
“No, we can do it now.” He looks upset but it doesn’t sting you this time. You know you’re in the right. This serves as further proof to him that you’re an annoyingly nice person.
“Can’t you just. . . I dunno, kiss it better ?”
“Rome. . . “ You’re smiling at him and it doesn’t feel like pity, it feels like love. He wants that to be the case but he doesn’t know what he’d do with himself if it weren’t true.
“Please?” He sounds so good like that, a little desperate and pleading. You wonder if he said it like that on purpose, his big eyes and that small little pout feel unfair. You take in a sharp breath and bite your lip in contemplation; your cunt feels painfully empty. Ever the self-denier, you shake your head.
“I think it’s more important to make sure you’re ok.”
“I’m fine!” His tone is defensive, face annoyed.
“Stop saying that, no you’re not. You don’t see me when you’re doing fine!” Your voice is firm, a little angry even, and he knows you’re right.
“Shut up, I see you all the time.”
“You wouldn’t have come tonight if you were ok.” That part seems to stick with him. He doesn’t have anything to throw back at you. “You can ghost me or fire me or do whatever you want after tonight but I at least want to try to help.”
You make it sound like it’d be a little too easy for him to just leave, and it is. He’s made a big point of it since he first met you, but that’s not what he wants. He’d like a cage big enough for the two of you, he’d never worry about who would help him lick the wounds.
“Why bother, just gonna get hit again.” He avoids your gaze, this is starting to make him feel small again. You grit your teeth and fight back the twisting in your gut at the thought of seeing him get hurt. Again.
“Then you can visit me again.” You make it sound like a small thing, like you’re not eager for the company. Truth be told, you’re going crazy wondering what he’s up to when you aren’t around.
“You’d get sick of it. Sick of me.”
“I won’t.” Those two words slip out of you so fast, it surprises the both of you. His eyes meet yours again and it helps you keep going.
“I care about you, Roman.” He didn’t expect to hear those words from you, not after you said you hated him just a minute ago. You don’t sound like you’re lying to him, but he still feels an urge to look around for a trap. “I wouldn’t be doing this for anyone else.” His pulse goes haywire.
“If you cared about me so much you wouldn’t just ignore me when I say my dick’s about to explode.”
“I’ll kiss it better later.”
“You really are a bitch.”
“Sure am.”
You lift yourself off of him to grab a few things from your aid kit and he instantly misses your weight on him. His heart gets into a funky little panic till you come back and lean into him again, easing the ache. You feel a bit more confident touching his face this time round. Your hands don’t shake but they hold his chin gently. Roman loves any touch you give him but he can’t help but be a little amused that your hands feel so shy. You feel a little embarrassed that he distracted you so easily, that he could have had you so quickly. You were whipped, plain and simple. You try to drown those thoughts by focusing on cleaning him again. You don’t think you could live it down if his cut got infected from his vacuum-seal sucking on your neck, and you’d rather die in a hole than learn if it was your spit that did him in. You refuse to let either be an option and so you dress his wound diligently, you try to ignore the heat building in your stomach as Roman distracts himself by tracing circles along the sides of your thighs. Your knee is back to being stuck between his thighs and he prays that you shift your weight, bring your knee a bit higher so he can get some friction. His grip on you tightens when you apply liquid bandage over the cut, it burns a bit. You know it's an uncomfortable feeling so you scoot in closer, you run your fingers through his hair and he moans a little. The strands are stringy with gel but his roots are soft, he closes his eyes when you scratch his scalp. You blow air gently over his bottom lip, like you were drying a new set of nails, trying to soothe the sting. He leans up, trying to catch you in a kiss but your hand rests against his chest and he stills again. His eyes look so hopeful when he peers up at you, he’s oddly obedient. You lean in and press a kiss to his cheek instead, your voice is quiet as you speak close to his ear.
“It takes a few minutes to fully dry. . .”
The full on pout on his face would have made you laugh if the whine he made didn’t sound so needy . He’s been so cute, you’d feel guilty if you made him wait any longer. it’s not like you could wait for it either. You’re grateful that he can't see how drenched he’s made you, it feels a little shameful and a little good. You test the waters and move your knee in closer, he presses his erection to it and grinds softly against you. Your fingers run through and grip his hair again, you pull his head back and trail kisses down his neck. You nip at a spot beneath his jaw and his moan rattles around in your brain, your skin feels hot and you can feel yourself aching. You kiss his collarbone and blindly fumble while undoing the buttons of his shirt. He lets out a small giggle, something grating and high pitched that his father would beat him for; it’s one of your favorite sounds.
“Someone’s a lil desperate, aren’t they?” His voice is quiet, a little raspy, but smug.
“You feel hot, I don't want you to die from a fever.” You sound a little breathless when you respond, your lips latched on to him so quickly you hadn’t really taken a proper breath.
“Mmm, lucky I’m around someone so thoughtful.”
“Yep, no ulterior motives.” He can hear you smile as you talk back against his throat. You undo the last button of his shirt and your hands find their way to his sides. Your mouth moves lower to his sternum, he notices that you like leaving a little trail of bites wherever you kiss. He makes a note in his head to return the favor.
“None whatsoever, just wanna motorboat my flat tits.” He talks a lot. You don’t mind.
“Yeah. Consider it your breast cancer screening.” You realize your cheeks hurt a little bit from smiling as your mouth and hands move to his chest. You hear a soft groan get trapped in his throat when your teeth graze against his nipple. You feel his hand shift and cup your ass firmly while his hips rut against your leg again.
“You’d make a terrible excuse for a nurse. Absolute shit bedside manners.” That earns a laugh from you, something bubbly and cute. You look up at him with what he thinks looks like a loving smile and he feels a sharp pain in his chest. He’s not sure why he feels this, it should be easy for him to touch you, he wants to touch you but he still feels wrong. Is this gross? Is it good? He gulps and it feels like swallowing needles; his face manages to keep a soft smile. You give him a small playful pout and you cup his face, your other hand slides down to take hold of his.
“You think so? I thought I was being nice.” You guide his hand under your shirt, sliding up your stomach to your breasts. You dig your leg closer into his groin and he whines again, his hand grips mindlessly onto one of your breasts. You smile and kiss his forehead. “Do I feel nice?”
“.. yeah….” He nods slightly, not wanting to move away from your kiss. Your lips feel so soft, you feel softer to him than anything. There’s an anxious bubbling in his stomach at feeling so warm. Nothing he’s wanted has ever been his to keep, he shouldn’t think this is any different.
He rests his head against your shoulder and sighs as your hands slide down his chest. He can feel his stomach lurch, here comes the drop, the point where you leave. You’ll see him and find something you hate and then he’ll learn to hate it too. Your fingers thread through his happy trail downwards till you feel his soft stomach tense. You lift your hand off slowly, not wanting to scare him with sudden movements, and bring it up to hold his face once more.
“Rome? You ok?” Your voice is hushed and quiet.
“Y-yeah I’m fine. Peachy keen.” It sounds forced, the words rush out too fast. You worry you might have pushed him into something upsetting. Your thumb rubs his cheek gently.
You were one of few people in his life whose touch didn’t make his skin crawl. It feels like a good thing but it also leaves him paralyzed. For Roman, sex was followed by a bitter aftertaste, a heaviness in the chest. He worries that it’s a balancing act. If he’s not the one feeling repulsive and shameful then that must mean you are, he doesn’t want that for you. He’d die if he ever made you feel that way.
“You don’t have to go through with this, you know. You’re allowed to back out.”
“I know that. I’m not dumb.” He rolls his eyes as if in annoyance but his voice sounds cagey. He doesn’t want to back out, he’s wanted you for so long. He’d rather lose another tooth than admit he’s nervous and he doesn’t know what to do.
“I never said you were. I just— I want you to know that I’ll still like you after this, even if nothing happens.” There you were, saying just the right thing to cut into him.
“You said you fucking hate me. Won’t even kiss me.” His voice cracks a little and you feel your stomach flip.
“I did, yeah. I was mad at you and I said that and I’m sorry. But I don’t really hate you, Rome, I like you too much to ever hate you.” You cut him again and a happy warm feeling bleeds out.
It’s getting easier to swallow but he hates how much this matters to him, he wants you to like him. Your hand cupping his face slides down a bit and your thumb ghosts over his bottom lip, checking the wound. You smile when you feel the liquid bandage has fully dried, you lean in close.
“I can kiss you now. . .if you still want me to. . .”
Roman blinks for a moment, trying to breathe and take everything in. He stares at your lips for a moment, full, pink and soft, and there’s a flicker of something on his face that makes you scared he’s gonna leave. But he nods and you feel his arms wrap around your waist, his hand holds the back of your neck gently and he pulls you in for a kiss. It’s slow and delicate, different from the frenzy he had when he attacked your neck earlier. As if he’s no longer worried that you’ll vanish into a speck of light the moment he admits he wants you. He buries his hand in your hair, enjoying how soft it is. He can feel you smile into the kiss and a sappy sweet feeling fills him up, overflowing. He bites your bottom lip and swallows the moan that leaves your mouth, he tastes your saliva again and the tenderness he has for you mixes with something volatile. He lets himself be needy, his hands grip at your hips and hair and his teeth clash against yours as he tries to taste more of you. You reach a point where you need to catch your breath and you pull away. He gives you that same dimpled smile he gave you that one night and when he tucks your hair behind your ear you feel like you might say you love him.
“I’m glad you came here tonight, Rome.” That's the closest to saying it that you can manage for now.
“Ew.” He says it softly, teasing.
“I need you to be serious with me.” You chuckle as you speak. Ah yes, very serious.
“I am being serious.
“Are you?
“Yeah, I am and my dick is seriously about to fall off.”
“Well, what do you want me to do about it?” There's genuine curiosity in your voice. A part of you is actually surprised that he wants to escalate things.
“I don’t fucking know, suck me off or something?” Once again, Roman holds the same levels of charm and power of seduction as a cum-filled sock.
“Incredibly tempting offer. Buuut, I didn’t really hear a “please” in there so I think I’ll pass.”
“Oh god, it’s falling off and it’s all your fault because you won’t be a good little assistant and fuck your boss.” He tilts his head back, reveling in melodramatics to avoid telling you exactly what he wants. If this were a different night and he acted like a different man then the scenario he painted might have appealed more to you. You enjoyed whenever past partners wielded power over you but something about Roman's choice of words tells you that you shouldn't let it be so easy. Isn't it typically the boss who fucks the assistant?
"Would I get a raise?" Roman thinks he sees something wicked flash in your eyes as you keep an innocent smile on your lips.
"You would get to keep your job." The haughty grin on his face leaves your knees feeling a little weak. Where's the fun without a threat to your livelihood?
“Yeah, nope. Not gonna touch you until you tell me what you want so you might as well start figuring out how to fuck yourself on your own.”
Whatever frustration there was on his face disappears, a satisfied smile takes it place like he just had an idea.
“Fine.” He sounds a little too content. He lowers his hands to his lap and unbuttons his pants. He keeps his eyes on you while he shoves his hand down his pants reaching towards the thick bulge straining against his slacks. Your gaze hovers between his crotch and the wry glint in his eyes.
“What are you. . ? Is this supposed to make me jealous?” An incredulous tone is heavy in your voice.
“Yep.” He sounds a little breathless, he lets out a little moan before he speaks again. His hand slowly strokes himself in his pants. “I know it will, you’re probably gonna soak my thigh through your shorts.”
“Take them off then.” You say it in such a calm tone it catches Roman a little off guard. With a puzzled look he glances down between your crotch and then his own. You smile and nod at his pants. “Blocks my view.”
He smiles, a little giddy that you’re playing along. You lift yourself off of his lap for a moment so he can shimmy out of his pants. You settle back onto him, straddling one of his thighs, and try to ignore the ache between your legs. His eyes fall back on yours and you raise your brows expectantly, Go on. He’s not sure where to look, not sure if you’d appreciate him staring. He tilts his head back a bit, opting for the tried and true, and looks up at your shitty popcorn ceiling. His forehead creases with a nervous look as he adjusts himself a little and pulls out his cock, the length curves upward towards his soft stomach. It’s cute. Roman would probably die of embarrassment if he heard you say that aloud, but it’s the first word that comes to mind when you see it. A light pink, twitchy little thing that you know would hit that gushy spot deep in you just right. You want him to fill you till you hurt. It’s impossible for you to push that thought down when you hear him curse under his breath and feel his legs shake slightly. His thigh grinds slightly against your clit, it’s puffy and sensitive, desperate for touch like the rest of you. You whine softly at the friction but the moment it passes through your lips his eyes are back on you and you know what you're in for.
“Having fun?” You feel your face get hot. Roman grins widely, way too happy to hear that little sound you made.
“I guess…” You don’t bother denying it but there’s an urge to talk back. “Out of curiosity how long does it usually take you to cum?— Not that I’m bored or anything but it’s getting pretty late. . .” You hear him snort, he’s stopped stroking himself.
“It’s usually faster when I’m watching something. But if you’re feeling antsy to rub one out in your room you don’t have to wait, you could do that here.” He bounces his leg under you a bit, he’s found another way to annoy you. You keep your hips still, your pussy screams at you to grind down on him and chase your release.
“Are you asking for something to look at?”
“Yeah, gimme a show.” He hooks his fingers into the waistband of your shorts and you feel your mind go into a fritz when he pulls at them a bit. “It’s the least you could do.”
He lets go and the elastic snaps back into your hip. Your thighs squeeze around him at the sudden feeling and you can feel blood rush behind your ears when he gives you a knowing smile. It doesn’t surprise you that one of the richest men you’ve ever met was a shitty little brat, but you’ve never wanted to fuck someone’s brains out more.
“The least I could do, huh?” He looks comfortable. That mean urge creeps into you. “Fuck it, why not?” Your voice is light and playful.
Roman looks a little surprised, a small eager gleam grows in his eyes when your hands move to the hem of your shirt. His full attention is on you. You take a breath, ignoring the small tinge of shyness and take off your shirt, tossing it aside. The cold air of the living room doesn’t affect you when you hear Roman let out a low whistle of appreciation. That fluttery feeling comes back for a moment and you let out a small laugh. You lift yourself off of him once again and slip off your shorts, leaving them where they fall. You stand in front of him clad in nothing but your panties and you struggle to push down the urge to wrap your arms around yourself, make yourself smaller. When you lock eyes again he smiles at you, just a sweet happy smile on a battered face, and you feel something in you thaw out. Your knees sink into the couch, interlocking with Roman’s legs but you don’t sit fully onto his lap. His hands hover over your hips, unsure where to touch you and his awkwardness melts you enough to bring him in for another kiss. He feels his heart skip a beat the moment your mouth lands on his. His lips feel sore and there’s an ache when he presses his mouth against you but it doesn’t stop him from trying to deepen the kiss. His soft, uncalloused hands grip at your sides and he can’t help himself from kneading at the extra flesh; fully enjoying how soft and warm your skin feels. There’s a pleasant buzz in his head when he feels you bury your hands in his hair and he moans your name against your lips. You forget to breathe for second when you hear it. The urge to dote on him will always be second nature to you but you won’t let it distract you from putting him in his place tonight. A twinge of excitement shoots up your spine at the idea of denying him. You feel his arms try to pull you closer to him and you don’t comply, you yank his head back roughly by his hair. He groans, disappointment overshadows any pain, but there’s nothing but lust in his eyes when he looks up at you.
“The least I could do is let a twitchy freak like you get off next me.” There’s a venomous tint to your voice. Roman takes in a sharp breath when you peer down at his lap and see his pretty cock twitch up at you. He’s never felt this strained, reeling with a need to feel your walls clench around him. You grin. “Those hands of yours have never done anything useful before. I don't think you deserve to use them tonight. You were doing just fine on my knee earlier.”
“You’re fucking with me.”
“ I’m not fucking you at all, actually.” Y ou smile as you let go of his hair and take his hand into yours. You lift it to your face and kiss his inner wrist. Your eyes gleam warmly at him before placing his hand on your thigh for him to hold on to. Your walls clench around nothing when his fingers graze your inner thigh and part of you hopes that all of this goads him into fingerfucking you till you squirm. His expression is muddled with confusion and annoyance but there’s no trace left of that nervous tension he had. He follows your lead and brings his other hand to rest on your thigh. He scoots a little closer to you and there's a glint of something, maybe gratefulness, in his eyes when he looks up at you. Some starved part of you found it sweet, oddly romantic. His hips stay still but his cock twitches against your thigh and the sight makes your mouth water, you want him badly and it’s all his fault.
“Here, I’ll make it easier for you.” You use the saliva that’s pooled in your mouth to spit onto your thigh, you grin when some of it dribbles onto his shiny, pink tip. It’s warm when it touches him and Roman’s hands dig into your thigh as he groans, picturing your pretty mouth wrapped around him, drool peeking out the corners of your lips and over his shaft. It was something he had pictured a few times, but tonight was the first time that the visual wasn’t accompanied by a guilty churning in his stomach. He can’t stop himself from taking up your generous offer, he’ll happily take your scraps, and his hips begin rocking back and forth. You chuckle softly and tilt his face up at you, he can feel his heartbeat quicken. The skin of the back of his neck bursts with goosebumps when he sees the smug look on your face.
“This is really what you want??” He does the best he can to sound irritated. To be fair, he was a little upset at not being able to touch you more, but your coldness has gotten him harder than he could’ve imagined.
“It is, I wanna see you get what you deserve.”
"I always knew you were dirty.” A toothy bastard grin grows when he speaks. He’s enjoying this, a runt acting out.
“I’m easy, too. I’d let practically anyone fuck me. Just not you.” You smile lovingly despite the vulgar joke, playing with his hair. You laugh when you see his face shrivel in disgust. It was a bold faced lie, one you knew he wouldn’t fully believe. Either way you knew it was prickly enough to stroke that mean streak in him, the one that leaves you feeling a little cheap and a little wet.
“Gross fucking slut.” He mutters it under his breath like a toothless quip but it bites you just the same. You yank his head back harshly and a bitchy whine slips out of him.
“You don’t get to say that to me. Not when you’re humping my leg like a fucking dog .” Roman teases a talent for cruelness out of you that you’ve never really considered before, never really explored.
There’s a dissonance in you that winds up tight in your stomach as you consider your next steps. You could get up and lock yourself in your room till he leaves to avoid saying any more hurtful things. Or you could cry a little in front of him and ask him to forgive you for being so mean; let the guilt take hold and be ashamed of enjoying ripping into each other in this way. Either one ends with Roman potentially never speaking to you again, and that’s what scares you more than anything else.
Unknown to you, the ire in your eyes would’ve been enough to make his dick rock hard had he not been already. There’s no doubt that he’s always liked the kind and bright person you normally are but seeing you mad made him go beet red, he could feel his blood run hot .
“It’s not my fault that you want it like a bitch in heat. ” There he goes again, the little shit loves talking back. Your doubts fall away. There’s a glint in his eyes and his little fangs peek out when he gives you a lovesick grin. It makes you drip. He wants you to sink your teeth into him. You grin back, your hands still grip tightly at his hair, you move your knee to press to his groin. He whimpers and it feels like someone’s set you ablaze; the sound shoots around your skull and lights up every nerve in you.
“I’m sorry. Does it hurt?” An overly saccharine tone coats your voice as you speak down to him. A long heady whine comes out of him so freely, he’s always been willing to fill up a room with noise so it shouldn’t really surprise you but it does. Roman’s expressions were enthusiastic, even the pained ones. He nods his head fervently, his brows strung together in discomfort but eyes cloudy with arousal. His lips pout and part as if to speak but a pitiful croak is all that leaves his throat when you nudge your knee, gliding it gently along the underside of his cock.
“Do you want to cum?” You speak quietly next to his ear and a rush of heat rolls over him. The sweet tone you had is gone, all that’s left is the cold firmness that was underneath. He squirms under you, scared he’s gonna burst and a little curious about what you’d treat him like if he did. How badly would you grill him if you knew how starved you made him.
“Y-yes….” He sounds breathless. You move away from his ear to look at him again. one of your hands still grips at his hair tightly while the other slides forward to gently grip his chin.
“Then I need you to play nice .” You dig your knee in harder, crushing his balls in the most careful way you could. Rather than move away from the source of the pain, he leans forward closer to you. His hands still grip at your thigh, practically pulling you in as if determined to feel whatever touch you give him. A long pitchy cry comes from his chest. He makes such pretty sounds and you’re filled with a deep need to hear each one he can make. “Can you do that for me, Romey?”
“Yeah…. Yes. . . I’m sorry, I’ll be nice.” He sounds so gentle, so weak for you, this can’t possibly be the same man who’s made your life a living hell 14 hours a day for the last year. Your memory might be stunted while in your aroused haze, but you think this might be the first time you’ve ever heard him say sorry. His wide eyes blink slowly at you, his long lashes fanning whatever flame he lit in you. Another small twitch of his cock against your leg reminds you of your own needs and you decide to give in a little.
“Good. I’ll be nice too. . .” You pull your leg away slightly to grant him some relief, but his hips press back into you reflexively. There’s a glimpse of hunger in Roman’s eyes and he feels a deep need to do anything for you, anything to keep you looking at him. Your voice softens again, slightly smug around the edges. “Did you still want that show?”
He nods shyly, his eyes widen further in curiosity when your hand slides off his face and moves to touch your own body. He holds his breath when he sees you lightly touch yourself over your panties. Your pointer and middle fingers slowly drag across your outer lips and then dip slightly between your folds. You sigh when you brush against the hood of your clit, you’ve staved off touching yourself for this long and each touch feels like sweet relief. Roman’s eyes are fixed onto you when you tilt your head back, you bite your lower lip in concentration as you rub circles over your sensitive bud. Your pooled arousal comes much more apparent as you keep touching yourself, your wetness leaves a stain in the middle of your blue panties and Roman thinks to himself that that dark blue might now be his favorite color. He groans when he watches your hand slip under your panties, wondering how warm you must feel. You shiver when you tentatively dip your fingers in your wet center. A soft moan slips out when you feel yourself slide in so easily, grateful that he can’t feel how slick he’s made you already. You groan Roman’s name softly as you work at yourself and a whirl of lust and jealousy slices through him. He didn’t think he’d ever get to hear you say his name like that before and it kills him that it’s nothing of his that’s buried in you now, helping your mouth form the letters so smoothly. He keeps his hands on your thigh, minding your instruction, but he can’t really help himself from touching you in some way, not now when you sound so good that it makes him wish he had shut up. He leans into you, testing the waters by peppering kisses across your shoulder. His stomach lurches when he feels you tense under him and he thinks he’s ruined something for a moment till your free hand drags its nails gently across his scalp and he feels his brain liquefy just a bit.
It’s all the encouragement he needs to latch back onto you; his hips press down, humping your leg shamelessly. You breathe in deep when you feel his teeth nip at the end of your throat. He smells so good to you, a mix of cigarettes and sweat and a cologne that’s just as obnoxious and overwhelming as him. You can’t help but moan his name again, spreading your cunt with your fingers, desperately mimicking the way he might stretch you. He mumbles a barely recognizable “ Yeah ?” against your skin in response, his thumb stroking softly along your inner thigh all the while. You roll over for him so easily. You don't say anything as you slip your hand out of your panties to hold his and guide it to where you want it most. He holds his breath when his hand digs under the soft cotton hiding your wet center. His soft, manicured hand trembles slightly against you, unsure where to go till your hand leads him. A thrill runs up his spine when he glides his fingers between your slick folds and feels just how soaked you are. He teases you, not necessarily intending to do so but so invested in knowing how all of you feels that he ignores the crucial bundle of nerves aching for him. It makes you want to scream. His fingers stroke up and down along your opening, and you try to choke down a whine when he finally presses into you. Heat rushes to your face as you both hear the wet squelch of your tight walls, he groans at the way your hungry cunt swallows his fingers whole. He finds himself wishing he’ll have another chance to have you, not ready to accept a possibility of him never feeling you around him. Both the physical and emotional grip you have on him feels insane as you clench over him, your free hand digs its nails into the skin of his back. Your leg moves in tandem with his hips, helping his heavy cock garner friction and it leaves him feeling worse. Needy for more and muttering soft nonsensical nothings under his breath, he feels a flicker of shame and wishes he could do more for you. You nip at a spot below his ear and he doesn’t bother biting down the moan of your name that surfaces. He’s begging any thing that will listen to let him keep you, he needs to know he’ll feel the creaminess of your thighs and tight cunt again. You pull him off of your collarbone to look at him again, he thinks he feels himself throb when he sees the flush on your cheeks and nose, the swell of your pouty reddened lips. You cup his face softly and he slows his mindless rutting against your leg. Your thumb brushes his cheek lightly as you smile at him, no hint of cruelty to be found.
“Look at you being so quiet.” There’s a teasing slant to your voice but it’s overshadowed by a warm love-drunk drawl. A giggle slips out of you as you continue and it rings on inside Roman’s head. “Are you feeling good?”
“Yeah…” He leans his face into your hand and nods softly, fully melted into your touch. The light brown of his eyes shimmer while he looks at you, a shy smile on his face makes him look a little angelic. Maybe it was a mix of that and his soft voice that had you fooled into thinking he was so sweet. He looks ready to burst, he practically confirms that thought of yours as he mumbles. “ ’m getting close…”
You bring him in for a gentle kiss, thinking he’s had enough cruelty for tonight. His lips land against yours softly, the hunger for you is still there but he tries to reel it in. He wants everything from you but he doesn’t want to risk being greedy. He needs to give you a reason to let him be with you again, the concept of someone liking and caring for him feels so foreign that he’s still thinking of it transactionally. He needs to feel you cum or he might not ever be able to face you ever again. His fingers curl up towards that sweet spot of yours and slowly pump in and out of you, pulling a moan out of you that he uses as a chance to snake his tongue into your mouth, desire burning hot to taste more of you. A strand of saliva connects you both as you pull away to catch your breath, his face follows yours slightly as if unwilling to part. His thumb presses down and swirls circles around your swollen little clit, it’s sloppy but it manages to rile you up just the same. Your soft sighs help boost his ego which took quite a bruising tonight and he smiles against your lips when he feels you snake your hands into his hair. The glowing sense of pride returns when he hears your breathing grow staggered. Your walls clamp down around his fingers in an almost sinful way and he feels his cock twitch against your skin, hoping for the chance to have you milk him dry. He groans your name against your neck, strumming at you with a vigor that leaves the corners of your vision a little blurry. Being touched by Roman is different than you had thought it’d be, you always thought he’d be lazy– selfish maybe, but he feels like the opposite. He grips you like he wants you, really wants you, his fingers pushing and spreading in you eagerly. He’s a little clumsy, so eager to touch you that the broad strokes of his thumb over your clit feel like an effective little tease. He’s not clueless though, it's clear that he’s listening intently to your breathing and the way your folds squelch around him. The once dead air of your living room now filled with steady moans and sloppy wet touches. You feel that the coil of heat near your center winds up tightly, set to release at any moment. Roman’s own moans sound distant to you and you barely register his hips rocking against your bare thigh. You can feel yourself getting fucked stupid, unable to form any meaningful words. Any brain cells you had left at this time of night are now just honey-thick liquid arousal smeared between your thighs and down Roman’s palm. You feel him sink his teeth into your shoulder, hard enough to leave a mark and at the same time he twists his fingers into you so sweetly, pressing deep into that spot that leaves you drooling and the last thread in you snaps. Your legs start to shake and that white hot feeling rolls over you, leaving you struggling not to crush his hand. Roman pumps his fingers in and out slowly, helping you ride out the wave of pleasure as your walls clench and spasm around him. You tilt your head back and catch your breath, you can’t do much but watch as he licks your creamy slick off his hand. You curse quietly under your breath as you see him moan and suck noisily at his fingers, his softened eyes lock back onto yours and you feel like your cunt might have you start begging for more. There’s no space for that as his mouth crashes back on yours again.
“ You taste good .” He mutters the compliment against your neck, back to his frenzy of kisses which earn a fit of giggles from you.
“. . . yeah?” You sound amused. A blush is clear on your face.
“Yeah. Shoulda told me sooner.” He mumbles more along the edge of your jaw, he pulls away a bit to look at your face as he continues. “Might’ve given you your own office if I knew you tasted like a pink starburst.”
You snort. You know it’s a joke with the way Roman says it so confidently but part of you wonders whether he’s ever actually had a starburst before. Or even eaten pussy before.
“You’re gross .” You say it as a joke. You hope it lands, serving as another way to tell him just how much you like him. He smiles wide enough for the corners of his eyes to crinkle.
Holding his face in both hands you bring him in for another kiss, each one feels like he’s trying to make up for lost time. You lean into him, your body weak in the post orgasmic rush. His shoulders press back into the soft cushion of your couch and he pulls you down, fully into his lap, your arm brushes past his hard length and he lets out a soft pained moan. You freeze and look at his groin. Poor, sweet Roman had kept to his word and not touched himself this entire time, and now here you were facing the sensitive flushed thing that a small part of you actually believed might fall off. He looked almost sheepish when he met your gaze, it was like he froze once the spotlight was back on him.
“Oh, Rome. . .” You lean in and pepper kisses across his face, it makes him laugh. The air in his lungs doesn’t feel so heavy. You kiss the tip of his nose and his face scrunches in mock distaste.
“I can help you if you want.” You murmur it close to his face, forehead resting against his. Your thigh feels the air grow chill against the large sticky wet spot on your skin, a mix of your spit and Roman’s precum.
“ Please .” The way Roman wraps around that word, it was meant for him.
You press a kiss to his forehead and slip off his lap to adjust yourself on the couch. You give him a soft smile and pat the space between your legs to have him saddle up into you like a little spoon. He raises an eyebrow quizzically for a moment but doesn’t hesitate to settle in, eager to be in your arms. You lean against the arm of the couch for support as his back presses against your bare chest, your legs on either side of him. You rest your hands on his thighs and brush your lips against his shoulder, that fondness you have for him comes back when you feel his back arch slightly in reaction to you.
“This ok?” You keep your voice soft, nonjudgmental. You take hold of one of his hands and he’s suddenly grateful his back is to you, his eyes feeling watery.
“Yeah.” He gives your hand a squeeze, a silent request to keep it there. “Thanks.”
You smile and lift your free hand up your mouth to spit into it then hold it below his mouth, he spits as well. A cute little whimper comes out of him when you wrap your hand around his shaft and you hum approvingly in response. Roman does his best to keep his hips still, trying not to buck roughly into your palm. He’s still a little embarrassed by the idea of you seeing him undone even if he also finds it exciting. But regardless of how he feels about it, he fails to hold back a long string of moans the moment your teeth graze the back of his neck. Whatever cold, macho ideals were drilled into his mind at early development, it all falls apart when he’s around you and he’s so happy that you don’t seem to mind in the slightest, you don’t see what he believes to be shortcomings. He lifts the hand of yours that he’s still holding on to and kisses the back of it. He staggers out a groan of your name into it too when he watches your thumb circle around the shiny wet tip of his cock. He knows this isn’t going to last, he’s too sensitive, but he tries to focus whatever parts of his brain that can into fully enjoying this. You make it an easy task. Your hand on him feels good: it’s soft and warm and you squeeze him nicely while you tug him off. He feels that familiar pressure build up faster than he expected, his blood runs hot behind his ears and he can’t quite fully hear the lewd wet slaps that come as his hips jerk up to meet your hand. He feels your thighs squeeze around his torso and your hand grips tight on him and when he feels your hot breath on his back it’s enough to fully pull him into something that feels safe and warm. The sight before you makes you want to devour him whole. You try to commit all of this to memory. The way his weight presses into you as his body melts under you. The soft whisper of your name as you lightly drag a nail across his balls. You admire the veins along his length and take in a sharp breath when you feel him throb against your palm. His sticky head twitches desperately as you pull back his foreskin and his hips writhe beneath you. One last, long, crying moan ripples out as his hips rut into your hand and he feels that hot flash of pleasure take him. You run your hand along his length slowly, coaxing him down from the high, his release spills over your hand and his lower stomach, which rises and falls with heavy breaths. You wish you could see what he looked like right now: pupils blown and tear dotted lashes, hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. But more than anything you want him to feel comfortable around you, if you only get to hold him while he makes such pretty sounds then that’s enough for you. He mewls a little at your touch, now overly sensitive and reaches for your hand to lick up his release. You groan his name softly at the feeling of his wet tongue wrapping between your fingers, sucking them clean. He pulls them out with an unceremonious pop! of his lips and he smiles softly when he feels your teeth pull into a grin against the back of his neck. You lower your hand to his stomach and wipe up the last few drops of his cum. He holds your wrist gently as you raise it, thinking you’ll bring it to his mouth.
“Wait.” You speak softly, your breath tickling him just behind the ear. He twists a little to face you better, slightly confused. Did you want a better view of him eating his own spunk? You chuckle a little at the way his face morphs in bewilderment and press a small kiss to his temple, a little salty with sweat, and mumble against it. “I wanna taste you.”
His grip on your wrist goes slack, a slightly anxious drumming starts in his chest. He stares at you as he watches you lick up the rest of his mess off of your fingers, waiting for the warm bubble he’s found himself in to burst. He tasted mild and inoffensive but it was Roman’s and that fact alone made it slide down your throat like honey. You swallow and lick your lips in silent appreciation, his brows raise at you in a weird form of anticipation.
“Like a cream soda.” You can’t bring yourself to say that with a straight face, cracking into a grin as you look at him. His skill for being disgusting has not yet fully rubbed off on you. He giggles.
“You’re sick .” He replies, twisting his body fully to better face you and bring you into a deep kiss. One that leaves you with that old fuzzy feeling from your chest to your tummy. You find yourself wrapping around him like a plant, he folds into your embrace easily. His eyes shimmer when he pulls away and looks at you.
“I like you.” You blink, thinking you misheard him for a moment till his eyes narrow impatiently, like he expects you to say it back. It feels silly, the first time you said it you never expected him to say it back and here he was now, prompting it from you like a conductor’s cue.
“I like you too.” You share a smile, and he rests his head over your chest, exhausted from the swirl of emotions you’ve put him through tonight. Your hand finds its way back to his hair, and he quietly hopes you never get tired of playing with it.
He feels you wriggling around a bit beneath him, reaching for something but he doesn’t bother lifting his head off your chest. His ears are met with the sound of sloshing and plastic and his brows dips with confusion but he stays still. He’s made you his bed to lie in and his arms wrap around your waist snugly. Suddenly, he feels something smooth and cold press to his cheek over his bandaged wound. He opens his eyes and tilts his head to see that you had brought him an ice pack. He thinks that one day you’ll be the reason his blood sugar will spike and kill him.
“Thanks.” He mumbles it quietly but you’re pressed close enough to hear it clearly.
“Anytime.” You ruffle his hair as you speak. “Hopefully, your face isn’t so fucked the next time you come and see me.”
He hears you say the words “next time” and he immediately feels a hopeful buzzing in his ears.
“Yeah. . . you should try waterboarding me with that wet cunt of yours. . . next time, I mean.” He tacks on the last bit in hopes that you’re on the same page. That this isn’t his last chance to be intimate with you. He wants to try being with you in general.
“I’d like that….” You start giggling, you hate to admit that you think he’s funny. He hears the smile in your voice as you rest your head back against the cushions. Exhaustion creeps in on you both.
A sun ray somehow manages to find you both in the dark of the night, you both feel warm and tired in its light.
---
Translations (These are not all direct word for word translations. Just what I think sounds better):
1. Come on, cuz….. please?? He’s my friend.
2. You know you can tell me anything, right?
3. Is he your boyfriend?
4. I don’t think he knows that. He keeps looking at you.
5. I’m the only thing in this damn room that he recognizes. No shit, he’s staring. I’m not an idiot.
6. I don’t give a shit, then. Tell him it’s gonna be $60. Family discount.
#roman roy#succession#roman roy x reader#roman roy succession#roman roy smut#succession hbo#succession x reader#succession fanfic#succession smut#dogmotif! roman my beloved
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Hiii Glance is something I hadn't considered before at all, wanna share some of the appeal?
I am very confused but intrigued
I’m gonna let you in on a little secret nonny, follow me. *takes you by the hand and leads you through many well lit corridors, ending with a final door. It is simple, but welcoming, already propped open for you.*
This is where the magic happens. *you step into a room. It is brightly lit, and filled with animate conversation. However, neither George nor Lance is anywhere to be found*
What’s this, you say. I thought you were gonna show me the appeal of glance. *I nod, cryptically*
I am. *as we walk around the room you begin to notice a large group forming around one corner. As we walk by, a massive cheer goes up, turning everybody’s heads*
What was that, you ask.
They did a thing, I say, grinning. We’ll come back once you’ve finished your tour. *we walk around the room in companionable silence, a few eyes on us, watching me, watching you.*
Do you get it now?
It’s just a bunch of people in a room, you say, confused. I wanted the appeal. Tell me about their history, their canon events. Do they even interact at all?
Oh that doesn’t matter, I say with a smile. It’s all about the people. The community. We built this place for ourselves, for our stories. So that we could share them with each other, and you. That’s the appeal. Glance is whatever you want to make of it.
***
Ok but listen up. They do have history. The raced together all the time as kids. They have a rivalry. They were somehow always around each other. They share a birth year. They never talk to each other anymore. Doesn’t it make you curious? Don’t you wonder what happened? What’s going on?
That’s the beauty of glance, how little we know about them. We don’t know their full history, but we know enough to be compelled. The rest is all guesswork babeyy, and it’s FUN. (I’m sure there are people out there who could give you a better idea of their history, but that’s not me. I’m not the historian, I’m the propaganda department).
Their capacity for rivals to lovers is unMATCHED. One sided hatred, one sided rivalries. They are opposites. They are the same. Uptight vs laidback. Cares sooooooo much vs doesn’t give a shit. It shouldn’t work but it DOES.
They are both insane, but in different ways. Insane4Insane. It’s about balance.
***
Shall we peruse the bookshelf? When I got here we only had one (maybe two) pages on ao3. Now we’re at five and counting (let’s go squad!). List is obviously abridged and also woefully incomplete. (I’m not saying this is y’all’s BEST fic (i mean it might be), I’m saying I’m just a girl. Also don’t ask what the categories mean. They are based vaguely on publishing dates but also vibes.
Early works
1. Parallel Players by crimandclove (@parallelplayers). This TOME was my first intro to glance and let me just say… it was convincing. Compelling. Some would say life changing (I would). This is THE glance bible. Pretty sure all of us have drawn at least a little bit of inspo from it for our own fics (I know I have).
2. cheque please by weegreenbean (@weegreenbean)
I would be remiss in talking about glance without mentioning my beloved. Doing god’s work over in strollonso but also over here in glance nation. Shoutout to this one because I read it last night, and it is textbook Early Glance™️. And because you couldn’t pay me to pick a favourite, there are too many to choose from.
3. Kamikaze by pitconfirm (@pitconfirm). Now with sequel. And both make me want to scream. One of the first fics I read when I got here.
4. The Worst Way to Love Somebody is Quietly by LilShiro (@lil-shiro). Ok I also read this one last night. But it’s soooooooooo them.
Post-modern Reformation (or whatever)
1. off-schedule by Anonymous. Always worth a reread. Always making me insane
2. good luck, babe! by Anonymous. Another fic I read last night. This might just be a list of fics I read last night, now that I think of it.
3. Superposition by girlcowboy3 (@girlcowboy3)
4. I tried so hard to remember where, when, why, how- by abovecalamity (@abovecalamity)
Special Notes
- There is an abundance of girl!george and/or girl!lance fics around. I mean… it is rule 63. Only fair. They are ALL amazing, go check them out
- glance is where I first found out about the soulmate goose trope. That was an… odd but fun period in my life.
- some of you guys have a lot to say (which I love), but you only get ONE mention. HOWEVER I would highly recommend clicking on the little author name button and seeing where that gets you.
Thank you for the ask nonny, hope to see you around (whoever you may be). My inbox is open if you ever wanna chat <3
#glance#glance nation#maple scone#1863#i am a glance propagandist that’s my job#so here you go nonny <3#hope this helps :)
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dear toe collector,
PLEASE show the pigshifter that'd be so fucking cool
also hypothetically if i had some screenshot edits from an old idea for a toh au would you be curious
thanks, ♠️
ya i think i still have the file on me hold on rq
boom
#alan becker#avm red#ava red#hahahaahaha i need to post more of my art from the discord servers on here#just havent because i don't feel like really doing so? also maybe just dumb anxiety saying that idk#also about the second question.... ***yes***.#i may not explode in text#but i might explode irl#seeing others combine my fav medias together makes me explode with happiness but also really shy for some reason idk. maybe just a me thing#perhaps i'm just insane#i was crazy once#also i did have an idea for yellow's palisman but i never got to drawing that#basically just their command block on their staff#like a little command block golem#a little command block golem who can fold back into their block form#did i explain that right?#i have a language disability so idk how to explain concepts in my head with words accurately so like#hang with me here#silly :)#animation vs minecraft#animator vs animation
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realizing im kind of a weirdo about laios and marcille
#possramble#ignore this im just babbling but#the thing is that like. i don't ship laios and marcille together. their relationship is so so important to me in that laios comphets himsel#and THINKS that he might be in love with her but he isn't and that's my insane obsession#platonic soulmates for real but they're so sweet together that i fully expect them to be shipped together#like i get it. that's almost the appeal for me. if dungeon meshi were any other series there'd be an epilogue where they get married#convention dictates that they're meant to be together as the male protagonist and his beloved female deuteragonist#but dungeon meshi DOESNT do that and i love it so fucking much they're the comphet besties ever for my strange little brain#like if i ever did an arranged marriage au it would absolutely be laios and marcille having a platonic political marriage and then just#the most insane mutual pining with marcille and falin while laios and marcille struggle their way into becoming best friends#the imagery of the king and his beautiful court mage being tender to each other and everyone thinking they're in love is like catnip to me#like yeah they'd be like that and have no idea people think they should be together and the subversion makes me so obsessed#the more people ship them romantically. the more i enjoy their platonic dynamic it's like some sort of weird comphet fetishism idk#people think they're in love and im outside the window like YES... YES!!!#but also the second i see stuff of them kissing on the mouth or fucking im like oh god no i went too deep in here i gotta get out#don't wanna see that. i'll go feral over the idea of laios and marcille being arm-in-arm like king and queen but they would not fuck.#i want marcille to be his default comphet beard and dance partner/plus one at official royal events but they're not kissing.#she's there on his arm because he's scared of the other noble women tryna get him and being a baby about it#and people see them muttering to each other and laughing and generally being very sweet and think that they're dating but they're not.#she's actually covered in hickies from falin underneath her dress and is gonna get dragon dicked right after the party is over#like she's in her bedroom and falin's helping her take her ridiculous dress off while listening to her complain about politics#and falin is the person she goes home to the person she falls asleep to and wakes up with#they're a triad of utter devotion to each other but only farcille's side of the triangle is romantic#it's almost like an open secret because they're not trying to hide it at all but people assume and are surprised to find out#like people are so right about her relationship with the toudens but with the siblings' roles switched#love of her life & irreplaceable life companion. does anyone get it#anyway. i don't know what's wrong with me#it bothers me that they're not the undisputed most popular het ship for marcille on ao3#it's unnatural. marcille being paired with any other man should be a fringe case.
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The amount of copium T'Pring is ingesting in this scene is unprecedented and deeply sad especially paired with Spock immediately going "Yeah of course, you know me so well babe." Someone SAVE her.
You HAVE to understand. He made out with Chapel IN FRONT OF HER and her response is to immediately rationalize both that action and the clear 'passion' she saw in it - then to have sex with him. HELP HER!!!!
#SNW#needed to make sure I was right about this conversation and I was#WOOF#star trek SNW#T'Pring#SNW Spock#<- different beast from TOS Spock like they're NOT the same person they're not even different versions of the same person#same with any TOS character vs any SNW counterpart - those are just ocs with the same names#which is WHY.......they should have just made NEW CHARACTERS!!!#T'Pring: -seeing Spock & Chapel making out- This iis part of some la r ger plan. It is. It's a plan. He's so good!! At planning. And ACTING#Stonn: -standing right next to her-..................#T'Pring: He LOOKS like he's cheating on me because of his passion. His half human passion. We love each other. He loves me.#Stonn: ............................................................#Spock in this scene and Spock in that scene playing chess with Chapel like 'We need to do the right thing and tell Starfleet about our#relationship' oh you need to tell STARFLEET???????#Hey Spock#Hey#You think you might need to tell your FIANCEE??????? About your RELATIONSHIP with Chapel??????????????????#You think T'Pring might need to know about that???? No??? Ok#INSANE writing that they didn't even have him HINT at her presence. It's as if T'Pring doesn't exist if she isn't literally right in front#of him#how much T'Pring trusts and tries to connect with SNW Spock vs how he gen-u-inely doesn't seem to care about her literally at ALL#<- I'm screaming#Guy who only treats you like an adversary or inconvenience except when you might break up with him
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