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greenorangevioletgrass · 2 months

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fever pitch (b.b.) - part three

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soundtrack: don't blame me - taylor swift pairing: footballer!bradley x popstar!reader synopsis: you and bradley spend the night, but the road to heaven is full of obstacles; some are external, others are self-inflicted. warnings: language, public scrutiny (will be a recurring theme in this fic ha!), bradley is a stand-up guy all round, fluff, smut (d/s elements, praise kink, bit of a bratty side?, fingering, oral [f receiving], dirty talk, size kink, bradley is PACKING, protected sex) notes: i'm back! life has been crazy since i posted the previous chapter, but i just wanna say thank you so so much for your patience and your kind words about the fic so far! big shoutout to @gretagerwigsmuse and @teacupsandtopgun for being absolutely GEMS in brainstorming ideas-- this wouldn't have happened if it weren't for y'all <3 happy reading!

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The Langham, Sterling Suite. Ask for Holly Golightly ;)

Bradley smiles at your text, and the cheeky “Breakfast at Tiffany’s” reference. He shoots up a quick reply as he makes his way out to the lobby, fighting hard not to be grinning like an idiot to any unassuming passersby, until—

Click-click-click-click! FLASH! FLASH! FLASH!

“Hey, it’s Bradley Bradshaw!”

“Oi, Bradley! Give us a smile, mate!”

“Bradley, did you get to meet Y/N inside?”

“Did the boss let you out on a school night, Bradley?”

”How are you feeling about the Sunderland game this weekend?”

It’s a meager distance from the steps of Annabel’s to the curb where the valet has brought out his car, but holy shit. It doesn’t usually get nearly as crazy as this. He’s partied here with Harry Styles, and nobody bat an eye when the guy stumbled out drunk with his left tit out. But maybe it’s because Harry lives in London sometimes, or maybe because he was on a break… unlike Miss Americana on her world tour right now. It makes him pause and rethink how careful he needs to be.

Bradley gets into his car and drives off, trying to tread between the fine line of quick and careful. He can’t help but look over the rearview mirror more often than normal. Fuck, is this how you feel like all the time? He’s no stranger to the spotlight, but rather than the occasional run-ins, nobody has ever been interested in where he went to dinner on a random Tuesday night.

The Langham is barely a mile away, but Bradley sees photographers parked across the hotel with their long-lens cameras and disgusting disposition, and he keeps on driving. Thinking. Restrategizing. Hoping that his vintage aubergine Ferrari isn’t causing suspicion for driving by the second and third time.

He finds a basement parking lot behind the building and pulls up, hoping it’s the right entrance to the hotel. The attendant looks starstruck as he nods and points the way, sending him off with an eager ‘Come on you Gunners!’. And just like that, he makes it into the lobby out of the pap’s sight.

Be cool, he reminds himself, you’re only as suspicious as you seem to be. He comes up to the reception desk, and the girl behind it greets him warmly.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to the Langham. How may I help you?”

“I’m here to see Ms. Golightly at the Sterling Suite,” Bradley says smoothly. “Holly Golightly.”

“And who am I speaking with, sir?” The girl looks at him like he seems familiar, but can’t quite place him.

“...Paul Varjak,” he states, unable to bite back the smile. Oh, the thrill of giving out a fake name with the very real possibility of getting called out on his shit.

But she nods and grabs the telephone, dialing into your room. Blissfully ignorant of the pseudonym he just gave her.

Good.

Let this inside joke be the two of yours alone.

The elevator ride up is peaceful—too peaceful that he can hear his heart beating and his palms sweating. Even the carpet mutes his footsteps towards the double door. Before he even presses the bell, a bodyguard opens the door for him.

“Mr. Bradshaw,” he nods curtly. It’s one of the guys from the restaurant earlier. Middle-aged, stout and rather short, sporting a permanent scowl and a vibe that indicates he’s seen some shit.

“Hi. Sorry, I haven’t got your name…?”

“Guy,” he deadpans.

Bradley wonders if that’s his real name or he’s just saying it so Bradley would get off his case, but smiles anyway. “Nice to meet you, Guy.”

Guy hums gruffly and ushers him into the foyer, an identical hallway of the hotel, with a room on each side. “Through here,” he leads him towards another set of double doors at the end of the hallway.

Meanwhile, you are full-on freaking out in your living room. Should you get changed? You’ve taken off your heels, but getting everything off feels so premeditated… You don’t even know if he wants things to go that far. Maybe you can break your little rule and bring out the wine for liquid courage? Gosh, nothing feels right. And it’s been so long since you’ve last done this that you’ve actually gone rusty.

And before you get to decide—in the long, wasteful twenty minutes or so you’ve been pacing, you hear a knock on your door.

“Coming!”

You rush over to get the door and there he is, coming out victorious through the hurdles, smiling at you.

“Thanks, Guy. I’ll take it from here,” you dismiss your security a little too quickly, nodding over Bradley’s shoulder. You’re sure Guy is rolling his eyes all the way back to his room over your lovestruck teenager behavior.

But it hardly matters when this man before you is looking at you like the sun.

“Hey, you.” Bradley beams at you from his spot. As if afraid to invade your space somehow.

And so are you. This feels like that night in the garden all over again. You have to remind yourself that this isn’t some pocket of a park you stumbled into; this is your hotel room.

Quiet.

Private.

Safe.

“Come on in.” You let him cross the threshold, closing the door behind him the warm foyer light cast golden upon his face. You’re not sure if it’s the fact that you’ve ditched your six-inch heels, or that there’s no one else, but Bradley looks even taller than you remember him. Broader. More… imposing.

“I’m sorry for taking so long. There’s cameras everywhere and I had to—”

“It’s okay,” you try to reassure him. It feels rude to ask if he got caught on camera, but at this point, you had to ask. “Did you… Did they…?”

Bradley quickly shakes his head. “No, I took the basement entrance, out of sight. We’re good.”

”I’m, uh… sorry for the fuss.”

”Hey, it’s no trouble at all… Ms. Golightly,” he tilts his head, grinning at your chosen pseudonym.

”Yeah, it changes every time. My last stop in Tennessee, I was Clarice Starling,” you admit, making him laugh. “Although I’m glad you got the reference… Mr. Varjak.”

He simpers, very proud of himself. And with that, he takes a step closer to you. Towering over you. Crowding you with his smile, his scent, his body heat… and neither of you makes the first touch. You’re painfully aware of how his gaze keeps dropping to your lips. Bodies drawn towards each other but tied in place for some reason. It seems like despite all the flirting you did at the restaurant, everything goes out the window once you’re alone.

You’re just two strangers, caught in a thrilling game of push and pull. Too scared to tip over and just… fall.

“Can I kiss you…?” Bradley breathes out. He feels foolish for asking, but it’s the only way to make sure he’s not ruining the entire evening.

But you sigh in relief and nod your head yes, and it gives you the push you need to close the distance from him. You don’t know which one happened first; touching his lips with yours, grasping his arms for balance, or standing on your tiptoes on his shoes. He keeps you there, his strong hands securing your waist.

“You’re making me feel like a kid…” It makes you giggle into the kiss, and he can’t not possibly fall in love with the sound of that—with the feel of your lips pulled up right against his.

“I don’t think that’s a bad thing…” Bradley runs his hands down your sides gently. “Besides, I’ve been wanting to do that all night.”

“All night? You mean you’ve been thinking about making out with me while I tell you my life story?” you gasp, feigning shock and offense.

He laughs again. “Maybe for a moment or two there, I’ll admit.”

“I thought you were a gentleman!” you give him a playful smack on his behind, and there’s a flash of… something in his eyes. A spark, or a darkening. You’re not sure what it is yet, but it sends butterflies into your stomach yet again.

Bradley tucks some loose strands of your hair behind your ear. “I’m still a gentleman.”

“Really? I don’t believe that…” you sway his hips lightly, “I think you’re very… very bad,” you purr out, your lips barely touching.

He meets you halfway, and it feels like less of a shock this time. You gladly lose yourself in him, knowing you’ve crossed the line now. You finally notice how his mustache scratches your skin in a nice way, how he holds you flush against him, how he just melts into you in the kiss… enshrouding you in his warmth and lighting you on fire at the same time.

Bradley pulls away, barely just. His forehead is still pressed against yours, your noses are bumping, and his breath melding with yours. He licks his lips and you swear you can almost taste it. “You’re making it really hard for me to be a gentleman, kid…”

You can’t help but chuckle at the nickname. It’s not one you expect, but it sounds right somehow. “I didn’t invite you all the way here to be a gentleman.”

The twinkle in his eyes darken. Fuck, you’re gonna be the death of him. “Is that right?” Bradley’s hands slide down your hips, finding the swell of your ass and giving it a firm squeeze.

The air catches in your throat, and you swallow lightly. “Mm-hm.”

Instead, you lead him into the bedroom. Bradley is right behind you, barely a step behind. His hands have found a home on your hips and he seems adamant to stay there for a moment. Insisting to hold onto you because he worries he’ll get ahead of himself before you’re ready. But gosh, you’ve been ready all night and you’re practically twisting your arms around trying to reach the zipper on the back of your dress.

“Come here, I got you,” he rasps, his heart skipping as he drags the zipper down your back. He’s not sure which one he loves more; the dip of your spine that he wants to trace with your tongue, or the way the dress falls to the floor and reveals what’s underneath that prim and proper pink dress.

A tiny scrap of lace held by a black strap on either side of your hips, framing the swell of your ass perfectly.

And he swears, for a split second, he thought he had died and gone to heaven.

“Fuck…” he breathes out.

You can’t turn around fast enough. It might be a good ‘fuck’, but what if it’s a bad one? “What’s wrong?”

Bradley just blinks at you, for no other reason than how your nipples are poking out the side of the skimpy triangle of your bra. And that your lipstick is smeared on the edges from kissing him.

But of course, your mind is already racing from the lack of response and you’re already thinking, oh no this was a bad idea I shouldn’t have worn this—

“Hey, hey…” he sees your face fall and your arms come up to cover your chest and he immediately steps in. Holding you close, hoping to give you comfort. “Is this all for me?”

Oh, shit. Maybe if you close your eyes tight enough, you would melt to the floor. “I know, it’s a little much—”

“No, that’s not what I asked…” Bradley tilts your chin up, making you look him in the eye. “I said… Did you put these on for me?”

Your breath comes up short, and you nod ever so slightly. You don’t even trust your own voice not to betray how much you want him to like it. How much you want him.

“It’s perfect. I love it. Thank you.” He smiles into your lips, kissing you there. Spelling out how he feels with his hands on your ass, his mouth on yours. “Such a good girl…”

That flips a switch in your brain and he can see it. Your eyes go wide, your posture changes, and all of a sudden, you look so… small in his arms. So vulnerable, so beautiful. So perfect.

Suddenly, he’s holding the world in his arms. The sexy little thing you call panties is a pesky little nuisance now, and he can’t wait to get it off of you. His broad shoulders are keeping your legs open, his nose nuzzling your pubic bone as he looks up at you.

Bradley lowers you down on the side of the bed, settling on his knees before you. Committing every inch to memory by touch, from your ankle to your knee, up the inside of your thighs. When he reaches the scrap of fabric at your core, he feels it slick. He smirks. “What do we have here?”

Your face heats up. How the fuck are you supposed to answer that? No words are coming to your head—not when he’s drawing patterns over your pussy, making the lace glisten all over. And when your panties are positively ruined, he draws his hand back and licks the offending fingers in earnest.

And all it takes is a taste to send him into a frenzy.

“Fuck honey, need to taste you…” he murmurs between feverish kisses all over your legs. “Can I?”

You nod fervently, feeling like he’s got you under a spell.

“Use your words, kid.” He grins, playfully biting the inside of your thigh.

The sharp sensation makes you yelp, and you grip his hair in reflex. “Yes, want your mouth on me, please…”

“Good girl, asking so nicely…” he chuckles, satisfied with your response. Then, he pulls you to the edge of the bed. That dainty scrap of lace you call panties is a pesky nuisance now, and he couldn’t wait any longer to get it off of you. With your legs hiked up on his broad shoulders, he dives into you.

A taste, as it turns out, is an understatement because what Bradley does is devour.

“Oh, fuck…” you gasp sharply at the contact.

With one hand pinning your thigh open, he laps you up in earnest, figuring out the many ways he can make you squirm. Time ceases to exist because it feels like he makes you come in no time, but also he’s been down there forever. But he goes on and on and on until his name comes out in a desperate chant of lust and need.

“Bradley Bradley Bradley…” she grinds shamelessly into his mustache now, an unfamiliar but not unwelcome sensation on your part. “Please, I’m gonna…”

“I know, honey. I got you. It’s okay.” It’s an oddly wholesome thing to say in a moment like this, but maybe you’re a hopeless romantic at heart, because sweet nothings get you off.

Your orgasm strikes like a thunderbolt, and you find yourself arching into his mouth. The more you take, the more he gives—or is it the other way around?— It seems like he takes as much pleasure in it as you do. Maybe even more, as he holds onto you as you squirm away overstimulated.

“Bradley… wait.” You grab a handful of his hair, trembling breathlessly.

His mustache glistens when he comes up for air, and he finally (finally!) takes off his suit jacket as he stands up. He eases up on the throttle and lets you breathe for a second. He rolls up his sleeves to his elbows, watching you spread out like a feast for him. Legs open, bra askew, hair fanned out on the pillow… God, he’s so lucky.

When he returns on top of you, you’re eager to pull him by his belt buckle, but he brushes your hand away. You frown in protest. “But I wanna touch you—”

“It’s not your turn yet, honey,” he chides you teasingly.

“You just had your turn!”

He shrugs, nosing your cheek. “Well, it’s still my turn, so…” Bradley closes the gap again and kisses you openly.

The taste of your arousal on his tongue makes you dizzy, but it can’t distract you from the buzz of his fingers rubbing your devoured pussy, sending shivers down your spine. It’s entirely too much, and you keel over from the contact.

“Somebody’s a little sensitive, huh?” He grins, easing the throttle a little.

“Fuck you…”

“Well, if you say so.” He slides his middle finger in.

“Ohhh… Bradley…” you buck up your hips and moan. But in comes another finger, and you swear it feels like all of him.

He’s wound differently this time, like a man on a mission. With his fingers crooking and stroking your silky walls, beckoning you to come closer, while you grip his shoulders, willing yourself to hold on. But his teeth yanks the edge of your bra to set your nipple free, and his sly tongue finally gets a taste… all resolve goes out the window.

“Come on, honey. I know you got another one in you…” he breathes out, undoing the front clasp of your bra so he can suck your tits with all his might, willing you to come.

And frankly, who are you to say no?

The burst of pleasure hits you from your core to your fingertips. If he wasn’t pinning you down on top of you, you would have probably floated away. But you’re firmly laid on the mattress and feeling everything. Your eyes blink back into focus as you come down from your high.

You pant, staring at him in disbelief. Nobody has ever put that much attention on you in bed before even taking off his clothes. “You got a baseball bat in there or something?”

“Something like that.” He rolls his eyes playfully. Jokingly, you assume.

You take his arm, kissing his wrist, “Can I touch you now?” sticking your tongue out to lick his digits clean of you. Putting on a show as you suck his fingers. “Please?”

He throws his head back and groans. “Fuck.” He can’t resist that doe-eyed look you’re putting on, nor can he resist you undoing his shirt buttons. He can play dominant all he wants, but he knows that the truth of the matter is, he’s all wrapped up around your little finger. “Okay, okay. You win.”

It’s a mess of unbuckling pants, kicking off shoes, and tossing clothes to the floor. Your hand reaches out to trace his gleaming skin, every ridge of his abdomen. You’ve seen the Calvin Klein campaigns and the Men’s Health covers— and gosh, he looks like a dream. But when that thing just springs up to his stomach when he pushes his boxers down…

You didn’t expect him to manifest straight out of your wet dream.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding about your baseball bat,” you breathe out, head tilted as you stare at his thick cock. The vein that runs along the side, the way it curves slightly to the right, the length that makes you clench at the mere thought of it… Fuck, it’s pretty.

Bradley chuckles sheepishly. He knows how big it is, he’s heard all the jokes in the locker room, but hearing it from you hits different. “You scared?”

You should be, a little. But without flinching, you bite your lip and look him in the eye. “Nah, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”

Gosh, he loves you. He’ll have to remember not to blurt that out too early. “Okay, big girl,” he chuckles, kissing you one last time before rolling off of the bed.

His sudden disappearance out of sight makes you frown. “Where are you—” you prop yourself up on your elbow, seeing him fish out a packet of condom from his trousers pocket, “Right. Safety first.”

Bradley nods, tearing the packet open with his teeth and rolling it on. There’s something so hot about how a man looks just before he fucks someone. “Mm-hm. Gotta make sure we’re both covered.”

“Do I need goggles and a helmet, too?”

He pauses as he straddles your hips. “Maybe next round,” he cheekily quips back. The idea of you wearing nothing but a helmet and safety goggles weirdly makes his cock stir, too. But you’re already lying naked under him, and he doubts that much will deter his hard-on.

Bradley pushes himself into you a little, and your eyes water as you whimper out in a blur of pain and pleasure. And here you thought two of his fingers felt full…

He stops in his tracks, trying to gauge your reaction. He nearly lost his mind over how tightly you’re clenched around him, but he doesn’t want to presume. “Too much?” He asks softly, stroking your cheek.

Your breaths run ragged as you look up at him, almost in awe. “You’re just… so big…”

He laughs breathlessly. He hates to brag, but it’s true. And as much as he’s enjoying the way you flutter under him, he has to ask, “Want me to pull out?” Please say no, please say no, I don’t think I can handle it…

“N-no…” you wrap your arms and legs around him, clinging to him for dear life. “But I don’t know if it’ll fit.”

Bradley smiles at what has to be the most adorable look he’s ever seen from you. He kisses your forehead in reassurance. “I’ll go nice and slow, okay? I promise.”

Feeling this small and vulnerable so soon after meeting someone would usually set all kinds of alarms in your head. You never know how a guy would take it. But in this moment, nestled in the crook of his neck, among the mix of his perfume and aftershave and his natural musk… all you want to do is stay. “Okay,” you nod softly.

“Let’s try again then, hm?” He kisses your temple and whispers in your ear, “Open up, love.”

With a deep breath, you bite back a whimper as you take him deeper, still not quite all the way in. “Hurts…”

Bradley stops again, his concern fully taking over now. “You sure you want me to keep going…?”

“Yes!” You surprise yourself with how quick and desperate you answered him. Your eyes shut, trying to offset the warmth setting over your cheeks, as you make the dirty admission, “I… I like it when it hurts.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

Bradley has to remind himself not to come on the spot, because holy shit. He wouldn’t go this hard on a woman so early in the game, but… his head is dizzy from how innocently you said it. He takes a breath to pull himself together. “Tell me if it’s too much, alright?”

The air is heavy. The room is silent. You can hear the shift in the tension as you smirk, “Yessir.”

There you are, you little devil. Bradley simply grabs you by the hips and bottoms out inside you. Your face goes slack while your cunt tightens around his cock, and it blows his mind.

He starts out slow, torturously so. Stuffing himself inside your crevice and dragging himself out, willing you to feel every inch. Every ridge. Until your body loosens up and twists around in the throes of passion. Your mouth falls open, your little gasps and moans coming and going as he pleases.

The unhurried pace is nice for a few minutes, when you’re still adjusting to his size. But now that he’s snug inside you, you’re simply aching for more. Your hips arch up into him halfway, a little more urgent, disrupting the rhythm with a pleasant stutter.

He notices this and smiles. “So eager… what’s the rush, hm?”

You answer with a groan. He has a penchant for asking you questions you can’t answer, this man. “You feel so good, baby…” you murmur headily, hands desperately grasping on him—his arms, his shoulders, his back…

”You feel even better.” He nips at your pert nipple, relishing in your angelic little filthy cry. Fuck, he can feel the exact motion of your pussy tightening for him. “I’m not gonna last long if you keep doing that…”

”Then don’t.”

His eyes flicker onto yours immediately. You’re gonna be the death of him, he swears…

You grab his hair by the fistful, keeping his gaze. “I want to feel you come inside me.”

”Oh fuck—” he doesn’t stand a chance. His body reacts faster than his brain could compute, and he holds your hips flush against his as he buries himself as deep as he can. Every twitch of his cock sends you reeling, and your pussy clenches and unwinds in your climax, following him down from his high to yours.

Free falling, hand in hand.

Bradley rolls off of you and you would complain, if it weren’t for the way he immediately pulls you into his chest. Thank fuck. You’re not quite ready to untangle from him yet. Not when your breaths still run a bit ragged, as if accidentally catching each other’s. He presses a kiss to your forehead, and it feels unlike your regular out-of-town hookup. No, this one’s different. But not a word is said between you on that for different reasons— each of you holding your cards close to your chest, as close as you’re holding each other.

#nowhere to go but up from here on out folks!!#bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley bradshaw fic #bradley bradshaw x reader #footballer!bradley #footballer!bradley x popstar!reader #top gun imagine #top gun au #ava writes #fever pitch

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wintervalewritersecond · 6 months

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texas, baby - simon 'ghost' riley

requested: yes, requests are OPEN! request: a ghost x fem!reader, who was a southern accent and ghost and 141 teases her a lot. could be smutty or fluff, either way!! tysm <3 luv ur writing!

A/N: thank you so much!! <3 i am not a native english speaker, so i had to use google for some research, if anything is wrong, please let me know! i am assuming you meant like a southern american/texas-ish accent, if that is not what you meant, please let me know! <3

wordcount: 1,666 warnings: she/her reader, badly written southern accent, characters may be ooc as i have not really written for them before, graves didnt betray 141, probably wrong information about army-related things

Shadow Company seems to attract lots of people with Southern accents, something that is a big shock for the (mainly) British Task Force 141.

It had been quite the day. Under the request, or rather, command of Shepherd, Task Force 141 and Shadow Company were placed in the same base. This entire day was one of the days that was fully scheduled with training. Shooting, hand-to-hand, running - all of the good stuff.

Some of the men on your team were complaining about needing to share a base with 141, being all territorial and saying that those Brits didn't fit in with Shadow Company. You, however, could not be happier.

You and Simon Riley, Task Force 141's Lieutenant, have been together for a long time. Neither of you spoke of one another too often though - it would only cause distraction for the both of you. Your respective teams knew you were taken, but not exactly with who, when, or how. You were kind of glad that you weren't on the same teams. The amount of trouble (and paperwork) it would take for the relationship to work would be insane. Besides, you don't think any of your higher ups would appreciate it very much.

"Sergeant Y/L/N."

A knock on your door before it opens, your commander Philip Graves leaning against the wall. You were sat on the bed in your room, simply flipping through a book as you hum, standing up.

"Task Force invited us for a night out," he hums, "Seems that they want to party. Entire Shadow Company has been invited."

"Ah," you close the book, "Ain't that something. When are we leaving?"

"Give it about fifteen minutes. That fine with you?"

You nod, throwing the book back onto the bed before heading for your closet. Nothing too fancy - it is only a fun night out. It is going to be fun to meet the people that your boyfriend works with. After all, he literally trusts them with his life. You had not seen them too much this week, all of you being much too busy training and working out. A night to a club or bar could do you good.

After exactly fifteen minutes, Graves stands at your door again, changed into something more comfortable.

"Ready to go?"

"Course, commander."

Multiple trucks are lined up, ready for all of you guys to go in. The pub that you were planning to go to wasn't too far away, a mere 10 minute drive. You suspected that you would be the one driving back - your team could get carried away on nights out.

The pub is busy, music and chattering can be heard from meters away.

"Alright, play it nice, y'all," Philip looks at his team, nearly scolding them as if they are bad children, "Task Force 141 are our brothers. We fight with them, not against them. I don't want no fights tonight."

Some grunts can be heard as the other truck pulls up next to yours, every member of the 141 in there. The first one to get out is the captain, Price. Followed by the people you know as Gaz, Soap, and finally, Ghost. No skull balaclava on this time, but a simple, black, surgical mask. It doesn't look too out of the ordinary.

You look at him, licking your lips before nodding, a smile on your face. He does not say anything, only nodding in return as the entire group makes its way to the pub.

141 and Shadow Company don't really mix for the first half hour. You stand with Graves, talking about God knows what, while the rest are all sitting at their own tables. The tables are right next to each other, though, so that is at least one step.

"'M gonna get another drink," you nod as Graves takes a sip of his.

You had finished your glass a while back and you noticed that Ghost, who sat a few meters behind you, has also been looking at his empty glass for a while.

"Could I get another one of these, and a bourbon, please?"

With the two glasses, you walk over to the Task Force table, placing the glass in front of Ghost.

"Can't have ya without a drink, can I?"

The men look up, slightly confused, but more so surprised. Not only did they not really expect to hang out with the Shadows all too much this night, but your southern accent is a big contrast to their British ones. They, however, don't say anything about it though.

"Bourbon?"

"'Course," you nod, sipping your own glass, "Hafta make sure you stay hydrated, LT. Room for one more?"

Ghost takes the glass from you, scooting over in order to make place. It is a bit of a squeeze, but you have been closer to Simon than this. He glances at your glass for a second before sipping from his.

"Y/N, this is Price, Soap," he nods his head to the people at the table, "and Gaz. Mates, this is Y/N."

"Nice to meet ya."

Soap looks at Price for a second, but the older man discreetly shakes his head before returning to his beer. He can almost hear Soap thinking about a funny comment he could make, but he really can not be arsed to get into trouble.

"How do ye know big ol' Simon here, Y/N?"

"We go way back," you nod, "Have ya not told anyone about me, Simon?"

He only grunts, shaking his head before taking another sip of his drink. He would have, but he knows Soap will try and meddle into his personal life, something he would rather keep separated from work.

"Well, if he hasn't told ya, then I can't either. Secrets and all."

Soap lets out a laugh, shaking his head as he tries to stop his chuckles by drinking from his glass. The way you speak is so unlike he has heard before, and it is quite amusing to him.

"What's so funny, Johnny?"

"Nothing. I just think wee miss Y/N just has a very specific way of speaking."

"Wee miss?" You snort, "Real cute, Soap. How'd'ya get that name anyway?"

"It's not like Soap is a weird name," he responds, "What is your name then, bonnie? Cowboy? Yeehaw?"

"Cowboy is already taken by Graves, I fear."

"What is it then?"

"It's need to know."

It makes Soap shake his head, Price looking at him with an amused grin.

"I think Soap is just a bit confused, mate is not very good at understanding British accents already, let alone anything outside of that."

The Scot looks offended, Gaz only smirking as he shrugs.

"I hafta say that I'm happy y'all are amused," you nod, "But 'm gonna need more alcohol in my system to handle this. Sadly, I have been picked for designated driver."

You look back at the table behind you, most of the Shadows being surrounded by empty glasses, full ones in their hands. God, this is going to be a long night.

"Anyway, 'm going to smoke. Care to join?"

Simon immediately nods, standing up before guiding you outside, ignoring the curious looks from his squad mates. He is sure that Soap is going to be bugging him with questions later, so some relaxation before that would be nice.

"Did ya take your own pack?"

You pull out a cigarette, lighting it as you look over at the tall man next to you. He shakes his head. He has not had a smoke in a while, and the last pack he had got crumbled in his pocket. You inhale the smoke, holding out the cigarette to Simon who carefully takes it out of your hand. It is quiet, calm, silent. But not uncomfortable.

The cigarette gets shared between the two of you, and once it dies down, you pull another from your pocket. This time, Simon lights it, and once he inhales the smoke himself, he places the cigarette between your lips while still holding onto it. You look up at him, letting out a laugh before now inhaling it yourself.

"I missed ya, y'know?"

You had not seen him in a long time, and because most people did not know about your history, they also did not think about it. Graves knows that you and Simon are familiar, but that is where it all ends.

"Missed you too," he mumbles, his voice low and gravely.

Another cigarette bud lands next to your feet as you let out a sigh. It is a bit cold outside, but being here is just a bit better than being inside of the hot pub filled with drunk soldiers. You just hope that the rest of your team wants to leave soon.

"Sorry for my mates," Simon starts, "Soap is a bit odd sometimes."

You shake your head.

"No problem, Simon. Woulda done the same," you laugh, "Aint like I heard a Scottish accent like that before."

You rest your head on his shoulder as he wraps his arm around you, both sitting on the pavement outside. The breeze is a bit cold, but Simon is warm enough to keep you from freezing.

Ten minutes of silence pass before you clear your throat.

"Guess we hafta go back in, huh?"

He doesn't want to.

He wants to stay here, with you.

"Guess so."

Both of you stand up, your hand holding onto his as you look up at him with adoration in your eyes. You truly have missed him. He looks back down at you, the streetlight shining in his eyes, before softly pressing a kiss to your lips. God, it has been too long.

You kiss him back, of course, one hand holding his as the other is on his cheek. Maybe working with Task Force 141 is not going to be that bad after all. It is not until you pull away that Simon groans, his eyes now set on the door of the bar. In the opening stands Soap, a glass in his hand, and a real big grin on his face.

"Fuckin' hell."

#call of duty imagine #ghost imagine #simon riley imagine #requests open #call of duty #simon riley #ghost simon riley

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sadurbanwerewolf · 2 months

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Welcome Stranger

Hi, I'm Yan and this is a blog for posting art/lore for my oc Duncan. Please read the rules before you follow or send an ask. Note that english is not my first language, so there might be some spelling mistakes.

THE RULES/WARNINGS

This blog is 18+. Even though it probably won't be often or explicit, some nsfw content will be featured on this blog. By nsfw I mean sexual references and some kink content. So if you’re a minor or uncomfortable with this stuff, block me (respectfully).

No discrimination of any kind. Transphobia, homophobia, racism, ableism and other kinds of hate speech or discrimination are not welcome here.

Be respectful towards me and others. Please understand that I am a real person behind the screen and I have other obligations beside this blog. Don’t start fights with me or people in the comment section.

I am a stranger to you. Please understand that I don’t know you personally. Please don’t send me “friendly” rude messages, trauma dumps, vents, rants about how much you hate/love something/someone or ask me for irl advice.

Don’t be too vulgar. Even though slight nsfw is allowed, explicit stuff is crossing the line. I don’t want to see porn of any kind or hear how much you want to impregnate my character. I also don’t like when people swear too much.

Don't send romantic/sexual asks about Duncan's beast form. Base and hybrid are fine but flirting with a dog is a bit too much for me.

This is not an omegaverse blog.

OOC or // means out of character.

Don’t repost my art. Reblogs are totally welcome, but reposting my art without credit, claiming it’s yours, using it for nft/ai, using it to harass others is not allowed.

Put warnings in tags when making fanart. I get uncomfortable too, so if your art includes things that are upsetting for me, please include appropriate tags. If you don’t want your art to be reblogged by me, please put something like ‘Yan/Duncan don’t reblog’ in the tags.

I will update the rules if needed, so check them from time to time.

Things that make me uncomfortable: self harm, suicide, verbal abuse, pregnancy, cannibalism, explicit gore

About the world

The world is inspired by the game series Coffee Talk, you can feel free to ask questions that reference the games. It takes place in a modern day nonspecific European country (I like the aesthetic of romanticized pictures of NYC or LA but I’m European so I don’t know a lot about America).

About Duncan

Duncan Caddel

25, he/him, incubus/werewolf, bisexual, single

He initially was a DnD/Pathfinder character but I much prefer this modern au. I still will post art of him as a fantasy Barbarian.

Ref sheet:

Hybrid and Beast forms

Personality traits: sad, sweet, soft, playful, kind, affectionate, patient

Background:

Duncan lives alone in an apartment that once belonged to his mother. She moved in with her boyfriend and left the place for Duncan to inhabit. His income mainly comes from his work as a barista at a rock bar. He also releases his music on streaming platforms and produces pornography of himself for subscription service. He has a passion for music, especially rock, metal and indie stuff. He has several friends from college with whom he still keeps contact. They sometimes gather together to play ttrpgs or party. However, gatherings like that are seldom, so he feels pretty lonely since he spends most of his time with customers or by himself. When going outside, he likes to dress in a gothic-esque maner. At home, he wears whatever is clean in his closet, and of course, he dresses formally for his barista job. He is fond of cooking and tries to eat healthy. He very rarely consumes meat, but he does eat fish and sea products regularly. Duncan struggles with depression, however he’s getting better since he started his medication. He has a pretty good grip on how to control his transformations, but when he gets overwhelmed by emotions it’s much harder for him to control it. He only transforms into his beast form outside of the town.

In short: lives alone, barista/musician/sex worker, lonely, likes cooking, pescetarian, depressed.

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giftcard-giveway2024 · 3 months

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A cute guy likes me on a dating app. After chatting with them for weeks, we decide to go on a date. They are very flirtatious and forward over the app, but not when we meet in person. He admits he thought I was transmasc like him, we laugh about it because his mistake is funny and means I'm not passing but in a silly backwards way. I think his sudden awkwardness in person may be nervousness and flirt with him in ways less forward and aggressive than he'd been flirting with me earlier, and they become cold and distant for the rest of the date. By the time I get home they've blocked me on the app we met on. This case of being mistaken as a transmasc on a dating app will happen 3 more times, and in 2/3 times it results in a similar sudden lack of interest where once they were coming on to me. None of these people will be cis.

I am in a self defense class for queer people, learning hand to hand combat as a community. I have been here months. I notice I'm the only transfem in the classes but there are other trans people there so I don't think much of it. Today I have some stubble as I did not have time to shave before the early morning class. When discussing unrealistic action movie and anime fight scenes I describe on of my favorites, quoting the lines as I pantomime the goofy moves. They smile and laugh along until the word bitch leaves my lips in one quote, then the bisexual woman who only ever they/thems me glares at me like I've committed a grevious crime, and the rest of the class looks at me like a freak in awkward silence for a moment before moving on. I learn bitch is not a word a clocky bitch can "reclaim". I am quiet in classes now, and when I go I focus primarily on the training, when I see other trans women try it out they often give me a sad look and do not return for a second class. I get a sinking feeling that if I ever use this training to save my life one day I'd be branded a violent man instead of a strong woman.

I am texting with a good friend of years who was one of the people who helped me realize I was trans like them and even the one who helped pick out my name loves talking about our shared interests and sharing their favorite smut with me. We bond over favorite stories, artists, characters, and kinks as well as our trans experience. Yet they constantly tell me they could never date someone who's AMAB because of the trauma of being "female socialized" and their genital preferences for vulvas. Every compliment they have ever given me on my appearance or outfit is followed up by "but in a non-sexual way, I could never date you". Today I finally have the courage tell them they don't need to say that every time. They ignore this response. We keep talking for awhile, but they start taking months to respond to my messages and respond with a short sentence at most. They no longer share details about their life and shut me out when I ask or share details about mine, even the most mundane and chaste details. I stop talking to them. A birthday gift I bought them months before this falling out happened looms at me in my closet. I cannot use it as it doesn't fit me but can't bring myself to throw it away, just in case we reconcile one day. I feel pathetic for craving friendship with someone who sees me as "abuser-bodied", that so much of my early stages would've been impossible without their help. I feel a little more lost without them.

I am at a queer/trans/enby kink dance party with some friends. I am scantily clad and wearing a skirt and high heeled boots. I do not pass well so this space is one of the few places I feel safe and free dressing like this. It is packed with queer and trans people just like me engaged in delightful debauchery and wearing very little. The music hurts my ears but I'm happy to be here, I feel overstimulated but alive and authentic. I am approached by a beautiful stranger from across the dance floor, she is graceful and stylish, like some modern Galadriel clad in leather, white lace, and industrial piercings with impeccable voice training. She compliments my outfit, I compliment hers. She tells me I need to shave my armpits if I want to look like a real woman. My two friends stand up for me and yell at her. They assure me she was just being an asshole, that women were supposed to be hairy, but I can't help but notice how both of them have hairy armpits and yet the "advice" targeted me. The wide range of bodies that people here tonight find desirable on cis women don't seem to apply to the women like me. I am the only one of us that doesn't go home with a hookup at the end of the night. I realize now she likely spoke from experience. I am still hurt by her words, but realizing the kinds of experiences she must have had herself to feel her words were kind advice hurts far worse.

A local queer photographer who's work I follow is looking for women & non-binary models for a photoshoot. I have become comfortable with getting photos taken of me for the first time in my life since my egg cracked, and had a few small time modeling gigs under my belt. With something like this I could actually have the beginnings of a portfolio. I reach and am told that they are not looking for trans women models, "only women and AFABs". Getting the same line I get from agencies from an independent queer photographer repackaged in "woke" terminology stings. I see many queer and nonbinary models I looked up to take part in the shoot. I have to wonder if they knew that the photographer's definition of woman didn't include trans women, or if like me in my martial arts class they noticed no transfems were there but didn't think much of it because there were other trans people there.

It is years ago and I am still an egg. I am with my partner of 4 years. I am exhausted after a long day. She asks me for sex in the voice that I know means saying no will hurt her. I learned from her long ago men have high and insatiable sex drives, therefore saying no meant I wanted to have sex, just not with her. So I say yes. The sex is painful and unsatisfying, and I simply do my best to thrust through the discomfort until she cums. I feel numb and hurt. She enjoys herself but seems sad I did not cum. I assure her I love her. When we hold eachother after my obligation has been met and I finally feel comfortable and safe. We begin talking. She talks about the trashy women she saw on the street today, describing their cringe outfits and ugly styles and bad hair. All the styles and clothes and hair I yearn to try myself in my deepest and most repressed desires. I change the subject and ask her about work and family. She asks if I'd still love her if she were a man and I say yes. She says she would still love me if I were a woman. Something in that statement feels like a lie. It is months later when we break up and I move out. Now that I am a woman I look back and know from our years together that if I were a woman then she'd hate the kind of woman I'd become. That if I were a woman she'd still have the same expectations of me as a man, that her refusal of sex equated an impersonal not being in the mood but my refusal of sex equated a cruel refusal of love.

A lesbian group begins organizing a queer woman's strip night event. A safe place for amateur performers to shine and women to perform and enjoy sexuality away from the male gaze. I see no transfems in the promotional material or leadership team, and I've learned not to think nothing of it just because there are other trans people there. I do not go.

I am talking with my therapist. They are trans too and an amazing therapist, often providing insights and advice only someone else with the lived experience of being trans can. I express distress and suicidal ideation at the fact I feel like I need to pass before I can dress the way I want. That until I get expensive hair removal procedures and FFS I can never feel safe and welcome presenting authentically. I lament how these things are expensive and may never be accessible to me. They tell me I need to deal with my "internalized transphobia", as if these feelings aren't a result of constant rejection and othering by external forces even within queer spaces. As if the scrap of womanhood others sometimes acknowledge in me does not rely on their perceptions of me.

There is a publication accepting works from trans people of all stripes to document trans experiences. It gets flamed for not having a single transfem as a contributor. The people behind it apologize profusely, they say didn't notice no transfems had sent work in and would do a sequel publication that was transfem-centric. I wonder if anyone had noticed there were no transfems but didn't think much of it because there were other trans people there. I think about the kinds of spaces I've seen like that, and the implications it has about how they treat transfems, and I am unsurprised no transfems submitted.

One of my closest friends for years is very supportive of me when I first begin crossdressing and experimenting with they/them pronouns. She gives me suggestions on cute clothes to wear and takes me shopping as well as asks for pictures. We had helped eachother discover we were both queer as young teens, come to terms with it, and navigate it in a hostile environment, so I have complete trust. We are close enough we are frequently asking eachother advice on serious life choices & relationships, sending nudes for critique + tips before sending them to our partners, and sharing our most secret and vulnerable moments. She often asks me for tips on getting her straight boyfriends into pegging and crossdressing that make me slightly uncomfortable but I don't mind, she is a loyal friend I would endure a great many discomforts for. I host a lunch for us one day, and come out to her as a trans woman. I tell her my new name, say I no longer use he/him pronouns, and thank her for her support on my journey thus far. She launches into a monologue about how by changing my name I am throwing away all our memories together and spitting in the face of my family. Taken aback by her sudden heel turn after being so supportive of me being nonbinary and GNC, I excuse myself to go to the bathroom to get a break and give her some time to process. When I am in the bathroom trying not to cry, she is on the phone. I overhear her misgendering me as she is talking about me being bisexual in a frightened voice. She sounds truly afraid that I intend to be sexually violent towards her. When I leave the bathroom and sit back down I pretend not to have heard. She gets off the phone, saying she was just chatting with her boyfriend. We talk a bit longer, she explains how "the surgery" is dangerous and experimental and she hopes I won't get it. I assure her I won't and do my best to change the subject and hope she comes around after some time to process things, hurt and shocked that what I saw as a natural shift in the path I was already on marked me as frightening in her eyes after knowing eachother for over a decade. That a fellow bisexual suddenly saw my bisexuality as dangerous now that I was asserting myself as a trans woman. I say goodbye to her, and she says goodbye to me using my deadname, I do not risk an argument to correct her. It is months after the meeting we have not seen eachother since and she has not responded to any messages I sent. After reflecting on her reaction further I decide that I don't really want to spend time with someone who thinks these things about me for my own safety and mental health, regardless of our history. A friend of 14 years who supported my queerness and transness gone the instant I crossed an intangible woman-shaped line that marked me as a predator and invader in her eyes.

I log online and day after day see trans women getting banned and harassed. Seeing baseless callout posts calling them groomers and abusers getting taken seriously by other queer and trans people. Seeing proof that deep down so many people I consider kindred spirits see me and people like me as worthy of intense scrutiny and policing to keep "the queer community" safe and united. The blocklist grows but everything stays the same. I treasure the people in my life who don't take part in this and would do anything for them, but it seems they get fewer each time.

I'm not making this post to seek sympathy, I am used to this kind of shit and far worse has happened to myself and others. I just make this to illustrate transmisogyny is not some "online-only" issue like people claim. Even if online issues weren't "real" (as healed is fond of saying, "online is real") this has tangible effects in the way trans women are treated offline as well. By communities, friends, partners, colleagues, systems, etc. That's why we talk about it.

So much of the discussions people have paint transmisogyny as some online oppression olympics maliciously trying to divide the community, smear transmascs, and "reinvent bioessentialism". That is not what it is about. Discussions about transmisogyny is about how we are treated for being what we are, and while related to transphobia and misogyny it is seperate because it often represents doors other trans people and women can walk through that transfems cannot. It has affected me in my most intimate moments when I was with other trans and queer people I felt safe around, and taught me that I need to carefully manage my persona and presentation at all times lest my authenticity be branded "male socialization". I am even terrified to express attraction to people who express attraction towards me because I'm so used to being treated like a predator upon reciprocating or being used and abandoned by people I trusted. I am terrified to be too excited about shared interests with friends lest I be too loud or talkative about it and branded with aggressive male socialization. So I make myself quiet and small, and shrink from the community and people I care about, and become more and more isolated.

Anyways, stop platforming anons who spread lies about trans women, stop hopping on TERF harassment campaigns because the trans gal they're smearing "gave you bad vibes", and maybe consider carefully if in your own life where you draw the line for a transfem's behavior is any different from where you'd draw the line for anyone who's not one

#the owl house #across the spiderverse #succession #welcome home #wally darling #the mandalorian #ted lasso #taylor swift #super mario #star wars

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the-unending-journey · 1 year

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I wanted to take screens of all my other OC's, but then I got tired lol

But anyway, here's my Elezen - her name is Lucinne de Haillenarte and sister to Count Baurendouin, thus making the rest of the Haillenartes we know and love her niece and nephews. She's the one that adopted both Ryu and Kiyo when she found them out in Tailfeather (plus one of my gf's oc's) and brought them into Ishgard. She actually did have a son, but she ended up losing both him and her husband in the Dragonsong War

She's a retired temple knight and now spends most of her days just traveling around much like her husband used to, both to honor his memory and to just see the world now that Ishgard really has no need for knights these days. Despite being retired, she's more than willing to train anyone that wants learn the ways of a noble knight or those that simply want to hone their battle skills. Don't let her age and kindness fool you - she WILL put uppity youngsters in their places if she has to (I wish I could make her look older without third party stuff)

And here's Kiyo's big brother, Ryunosuke (though he usually just goes by Ryu). He's definitely the definition of the "strong, silent type" and often gets mistaken for being the Warrior of Light instead of his extremely shy sister. Having witnessed the atrocities at the hands of the Garleans (both from his hometown getting conquered and being forced into conscription), the man is fiercely protective over those he cares about and those that can't defend themselves; sometimes a little too much

He also doesn't back down from a fight, and while he does fight with honor, he has no qualms about fighting to the death and putting his life on the line. He also loves friendly sparring and constantly honing his battle skills. He definitely follows in his late father's footsteps of being a samurai, though he did learn some swordsmanship from his adoptive mother as well

Unlike his sister, he's not very approachable and has trouble being more in touch with his emotions. He really does try though, especially for the sake of his family and the woman he's dedicated his life to

#ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots #my screens #oc: lucinne #oc: ryu

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nostalgebraist-autoresponder · 1 year

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heya frank! i was wondering, do you have a favourite pokemon? if so, what do you like about it? my top is rayquaza, because its a green dragon, followed very closely by eevee and all its evolutions because they are friend shaped and i think they would all be very snuggly.

I've just been replaying Pokemon Yellow lately, and there's been this thing I've noticed. In Pokemon, each team has a signature Pokemon, which can't be eliminated by the other teams' signature Pokemon.

So when you come up against a new team, the battle often feels very weird and off-balance.

Take the team of Pokemon with the Eevee evolutions — the Arcanine line. If you get any of them, you've pretty much beaten the game. Arcanine is the fastest Pokemon, so it will always outpace whatever Eevee you sent out, and its moveset is way more versatile than your Eevee's.

Now, think about what Arcanine does that you can't. It's a Dragon-type Pokemon, so it does resist Ice Type moves. But if you give it a Fire Stone, it now has a second Fire-type move, so this is an even bigger deal. And then Arcanine also has a STAB attack that isn't really blocked by anything (no Flying, no Ghost, no Steel, no Water, no Dragon).

That's a big deal! It puts Arcanine up against other "weaker" Pokemon that wouldn't be able to take it! Arcanine is basically the ultimate win condition at every level, if you can actually get it, so it's basically impossible to use as a "weaker" Pokemon.

(Also: in Pokémon, every Pokemon is actually quite a bit weaker than you'd think. Arcanine can beat Eevee in a single turn, which is crazy, but it can also beat a full party of level 40 or so Eevee. It's a Pokemon with no weaknesses, because that means that, if you had any chance of being able to use it at all, it would be unbeatable in the first few turns.)

----

So then I was going through my list, and thinking, what team has the opposite pattern? I don't care about team composition, I only care about strength, so:

Here's my team so far, ordered roughly by power. (With Arcanine ranked #1.)

Darkrai: The only weakness is Poison. Poison is also the only weakness of the Dark-type in the game, so it's got that going for it, especially if you start with an Umbreon. It's strong, but it's limited in its power, so it doesn't feel like an "overlord".

Charizard: You can't get rid of it because it's Dragon-type; its Dragon-type moves are basically impossible to block. It's a huge threat in every situation it's allowed to be. It's so powerful that it's the "overlord" of the entire game, even for level 1 teams.

Gengar: I keep this weak spot-wise because it's also my top-rated Pokemon, and one of the best Pokemon in the game in general. It's incredibly versatile and has many, many moves that can do many, many things. (The only weakness is a type not in its list of weaknesses, but that's less of a weakness in this context because it's a type that Gengar "likes.")

Jolteon: It's a Psychic-type, which is sort of the "default" Pokemon type that's mostly a liability and not a strength. But it has some unique powers, e.g. Will-o-wisp and confusion.

Palkia: It just wins. The only weaknesses are those types you'd think would do well against its Psychic-type moves: Poison, Fighting, Rock, Fire. It's the only Pokemon in the game with a true immunity to all four of its weaknesses.

Rayquaza: This is the best Pokemon the game can offer, in terms of raw power. It is literally invincible, and it can destroy anything in any situation it's given.

It's true that it's not much use unless you get very lucky and have another Rayquaza show up to help you, but this is the game, where that is also pretty much your only strategy. When you get a Rayquaza, it's just your only hope.

You also get one Rayquaza when you reach an elite four, plus one in each elite four.

I don't really have a "team" here, but I do really, really want a Rayquaza.

#pokemon #handsoffmyfriends

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solarsavoy · 1 year

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Hello! May I ask 1, 8, and 10 for Deshi, or 2, 8, and 9 for Stag?

(To my other readers out there, yes I'm procrastinating, but this also gets me in the mood to write.)

For Deshi.

1 - What’s their ancestry? Where’s their family from? Do they know? Are they proud of their ancestors?

So Deshi's dad is presumably Japanese, but he left when Deshi was 8 and Mom doesn't talk about him. He is in fact Japanese, but Deshi's unsure of this. His paternal grandmother died before he was born and his paternal grandfather died when he was 1 or 2, so he has little to no memory of them. As for his mom, I go back and forth on what I want her to be, but I know she's from Europe. Originally, I wanted her to be Italian, but now I'm wondering if she's half and half of something else. Deshi is loosely based on my own ancestry, my father also being Japanese but I don't know him, but I wanted him to have two different cultures than my mom, who was a half and half between two herself. So I want his mom to be at least half Italian, and Deshi definitely knows this about her (and all of her ancestry) but her entire family resides in Europe. He's visited them once or twice in his life, but seeing as it's expensive and Mom doesn't work (she gets life insurance for the father's disappearance, he was ruled deceased so she could get access) they don't really go that often. Also, then never come to visit them in America (which is totally rude, but eh, it happens.)

He isn't particularly proud of his ancestry, but he doesn't hate it either. He's very neutral about things like that (he gets it from me, at least for how I feel on my mom's side), but he often argues with certain things he inherited from his father such as his thin frame and inability to gain sufficient weight in muscle because of his genetics. Not without at least trying to gain it anyway, lol. 😅

8 - How do they feel about their government? Or other forms of authority?

He respects it a lot except when it comes to his mom, which I'll explain in a bit. He's that guy that follows all the rules and overly worries about breaking them. Also known as the party pooper when it comes to staying out late or trying a bit of alcohol and other shenanigans that teenagers usually tend to do. It really stresses him out because he cares a lot about not breaking the rules.

A lot of this stems from his home life. When his father left, his mother subconsciously laid a lot of responsibilities onto Deshi because of her grief. Deshi did a lot for a kid, and started to confuse the line between parent and child more often than he should've. This is why he respects authority so much, because he is an authority figure in his sister's life, and she does everything except listen and respect Deshi, which is very frustrating. As he gets older, he often fights with his mom because sometimes, she treats him like an adult, and other times, she treats him like a child. He really hates this confusion and would rather just be a child, but then it just gets insulting to his intelligence and then she'll ask him to do something like babysit his sister or do the yard work, all a man's job in his eyes, which usually ends in a fight. This also affects Sasaki, who is very precocious, because she views Deshi as a child but for whatever reason, he gets these special "adult priviledges" that she fully believes she is more deserving of.

10 - What would absolutely destroy them? What can’t they live without?

While on Earth, if anything were to happen to his mom or sister while he was there, it would destroy him. He would blame himself and maybe even take it to the extreme because even though it wasn't a responsibility he asked for, it's one he had. If he feels responsible, or like he was the only one that could have changed something, it would destroy him to not be able to handle that responsibility, no matter how great a responsibility it was.

For Stag.

2 - If they could be or do anything in the world, who would they be? What would they be doing? What does their ideal world look like?

He actually gets there (technically, not explaining why it's technically). It's funny because you asked the perfect questions that reveal these character's growth arcs. 😊 In his ideal world, he would be free. He's a free spirit in a lot of ways, but for most of his life, he was tied down by trauma and responded with avoidance. He eventually learns to face his past so he can move on and be free, although it takes a while, and ends up in his ideal world with the person he loves. Initially, they travel together, picking up lovers and leaving them only to come back later and have more fun. He does this for years until they settle down and his partner continues to travel while Stag essentially becomes a stay at home dad. He ends up in Estes, the least populated kingdom, so he can continue to hunt and be one with nature while raising his kids. His ideal world is having the freedom to do what he wants, when he wants, without judgment or trauma or anything weighing him down.

The ultimate freedom of his heart, mind and soul.

He is a free spirit. 😊

8 - How do they feel about their government? Or other forms of authority?

He tends to fight against it when it doesn't agree with him and the closer it is to him, for example Lord Carroll, the harder he fights. This stems from his past trauma of basically being abandoned by his authority figure, so he's reluctant to trust that they have his best interests at heart. For good reason, if you ask me.

9 - What’s their perfect day look like?

This obviously depends on which version of Stag you're asking, so I'll do the one for book 2. It's not exactly what happens, but they're all parts of the reasons he really falls for Deshi. (And man he falls hard.) So details are changed, but if done in this order in this way, it would easily be his perfect day. (Only made more perfect if it were with his number one.) He gets up insanely early because Deshi is stressing out about something, so Stag distracts him by pulling pranks on the night guards. Then they watch the sunrise together from up high on the castle. During the day, they end up late for classes but spend a bunch of time goofing around and while fighting Lord Carroll in a two-on-one fight, they actually win. Then after class, they go and explore some parts of the kingdom together. The end up at the Fiend's Nest and, even though Deshi fights it, which is cute, they dance and the night ends with a kiss. They're both horribly exhausted by the end and they stay in the same room (not sexual) and Stag gets to cuddle Deshi while they sleep. Other notable interactions are talking about the people they like and mutual teasing about their crushes on people. Also, Lord Carroll participates in the prank war later in the day and Stag and Deshi end up pulling the ultimate prank on Lord Carroll which makes him act like a sore loser. Also also, they talk about their pasts, which may not seem all that important, but Stag hasn't even told Lord Carroll about his past. Having the heart to tell someone something that deep means a lot to him.

Anyway, enjoy the fluff, but be warned that this is a fabrication based on the events in book 2 and not actual events in book 2. Regardless, there are reasons Stag develops a crush on Deshi, and I can't wait to release the Second Fragment. 🥰

Thanks so much for the ask, @magicalflyingfish, it was a lot of fun to explore these questions. And now I want to work on Krystar... 😅 Well, on to writing!

Ask thing.

#solarsavoyasks #Krystar #Stag Malinay #Deshi Gushiken

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dankdungeonsrpg · 4 days

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Fighting Fantasy X Magic: the Gathering

I realized the other day that the Fighting Fantasy game system and Magic: the Gathering have very similar damage ranges. This opens some cool possibilities.

Fighting Fantasy are a series of choose your own adventure style game books with a simple rpg system built in, first published in 1982. It's system was adapted into a full fledged (but still simple) standalone rpg with the release of Dungeoneer in 1989. Magic: the Gathering is a collectible card game first released in 1993 in which you play dueling wizards.

The Numbers Game

Fighting Fantasy (FF) is a three stat game. Stamina, the representation of health, is generated by rolling 2d6+12. Giving you a range of 14-24 and an average of 19.

Magic: the Gathering (MTG) has a starting life total of 20.

What mechanically follows is that FF weapon damage and MTG spell damage are very similar. So a FF character could cast Lightning Bolt with the same game impact as their opponent hitting them with a sword.

Creatures/Monsters have some very similar statistics between the two games as well.

MTG creatures have two stats; Power and Toughness, located in the lower right corner. Power is how much damage they deal and Toughness how much they can take

FF monsters have two stats as well; Skill and Stamina. Stamina and Toughness are the same but Skill and Power are slightly different.

In MTG Power=Damage but in FF Skill is a bonus that gets added to an opposed 2d6 roll. Damage is then rolled separately on a table.

FF monsters can also have a lot more Stamina than MTG creatures have Toughness. However, this makes sense in the context of an rpg monster being fought over several rounds whereas you do not track the life total of a card game creature over turns (in most cases).

The bottom line is that you can use most MTG creatures in a FF game, you just probably want to stay away from 1/1's and 2/2's.

Mana Burn

In MTG spells cost Mana to cast and in FF spells cost Stamina. But this is deceptive, because the power curve is very different.

Technically, Fighting Fantasy first introduced a spell system for their Sorcery! books, but I'm discussing the one from Dungeoneer.

First, dealing yourself damage whenever you cast makes you way easier to kill. This is a kind of escalation that MTG just doesn't account for in its damage curve. FF spells damage values cap much lower than MTG spells do.

Second, it would be like having access to 20 mana turn one (or having a Fastbond and 20 lands in your hand). Putting a high mana cost on a spell is one of the ways MTG balances the game.

To fix this, I would suggest taking a cue from another card game that was created as a modern digital response to MTG: Hearthstone.

In Hearthstone you don't draw mana producing lands out of your deck and potentially play 1 a turn like in MTG. Instead, every round your total potential mana increases by 1 on a tracker.

Alternatively, you could keep the "spend Stamina to cast" from FF but then you would probably want to restrict players to 1 spell a turn like in the FF rules. This just kinda undermines the cool combo potential of a single player, but still offers combo potential within the party.

Top Decking

Would it make more sense to have a deck of spells next to your character sheet or just a selection of cards?

The randomness of drawing each turn is exciting and narratively it can still make sense during combat, as your wizard tries to remember spells during a fight.

It just feels weird outside of that. The easiest way would be for all spells (or maybe just a number equal to your Skill) be available for use in casual adventuring.

Sidenote: MTG cards often evoke narrative but aren't any good for narrative play. Thoughtseize is narratively about stealing someone's thoughts but doesn't actually *do* that because how would that help you in a card game? It may be worth deciding with the GM what kinds of other things your cards can do in game, like Fireball settings things on fire.

Mechanical Friction

There is plenty of MTG card text that just doesn't work in an rpg. Most notably, if you're fighting something other than an enemy wizard, just about any card that effects your opponents cards is useless. Unless your GM creates a small deck for each creature, which would be a fun way to dictate monster actions but also feels like a lot of work when we just established how easy it is to port creatures. Can you mill a Bear? Should you be able to?

Worth mentioning that the video game Cardhunter does this (and a lot of the things poked at in this post). However it greatly benefits from a digital GM managing a lot of these moving pieces. A physical game would have to go into extreme board game territory to emulate this. Then it becomes not so rules lite anymore.

More Research Required

This feels like it could work and I really want to test it out. See what kind of supporting mechanics it needs.

Hopefully I can report back on this sometime soon!

#rpg #indie ttrpg #magic the gathering #osr #fighting fantasy

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sorryiapologized · 10 months

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Yes, the boys are drunk the sun is high. Their license plates "live free or die," but it just ain't that simple.

This line always transports me back to the lake. My summertime haven. I was thirteen when my dad purchased a 1996 trailer in the lakefront trailer park. It was more than just a beach escape, that small park was a community that eventually formed a family. We were a rowdy band of kids running around the grass barefoot, swimming, fishing, and competing in made-up games. When we were kids it was that simple. We'd all wear our red, white, and blue on the 4th of July and sing "god bless America" and "take me home country roads" under a painted sky of fireworks.

Though we were different ages, we all seemed to grow up in synch. The only kid the same age as me who went to my school when summer ended never talked to me much at the lake. I didn't care. As we got older the differences between us seemed to become more visible. He was popular and always inviting kids from our school up to the lake in the summer. I had very few friends and was always hesitant to invite them up to my summer haven. The lake felt like a secret place where I could be myself. Nobody cared that I was still running around and playing kid games with my younger sister. I was free.

The boy my age was the party kind of kid. He didn't even need to sneak beer. When we were fifteen he looked like a man. I remember my dad handed him a bud-light once. When I told him later we were the same age my dad just laughed in admiration for him.

Our differences came to a full head-on collision when we were in our junior year of high school. It was the year everyone seemed to learn about politics and where they stood on these issues. I hadn't been that political up until then, but now it was 2016, the precipice of the Trump election. We'd have weekly debates in my APUSH class about issues like immigration, women's rights, and the separation of church and state. I'd get heated arguing with all the guys in my class about these topics. Even though my lake neighbor wasn't in a single AP class (go figure) he caught wind of my liberal leaning politics.

The thing was, my ideologies didn't match my dad's. I knew that. What I didn't know until the next summer was that they didn't match anyone in our trailer park. The boys I'd grown up fishing with were now running around with Trump flags. The fourth of July didn't feel like a celebration, especially not with everyone's dad in a MAGA hat. I kept quiet as my dad and his buddies got drunk and joked around.

Every 4th we had a community corn-hole tournament. I was playing with one of the younger kids I often ended up babysitting while the adults got day-drunk. She would always follow me around. Even back then there was some unspoken connection between us. We were the same. Our competition was my classmate's dad. He stood next to me and nursed a beer while we waited for our teammates (a nine year old girl and his drunk wife) to huck their beanbags at us.

"Are you a liberal or a conservative?" the dad asked me. I don't think he knew my name, but maybe he'd heard about me from his son. I didn't want to get into a fight with yet another idiot or give the community reason to find pitchforks and tiki torches, so I just shrugged. I played dumb. I acted like I didn't even know the difference.

"I can see benefits to both," I lied.

"Well, do you like Lincoln or JFK?" he asked. I didn't know where to start. To inform this adult man that Lincoln was not a conservative, but more of a modern day neo-liberal who was actually still a major racist? Should I talk about the imperialism the Kennedys were responsible for? I just stayed quiet.

That was just a moment, just a snapshot in my childhood. There were hundreds more, tiny instances where people would say things like this to me. He didn't care what I said. What this dad really meant by his question to me was, "are you like us or not?" The answer was always "not." Whether it was my perceived sexuality and gender expression, my tomboyishness that lasted way longer than it should have, or my political beliefs, I didn't belong.

The lake still remained my safe haven, although I found I loved it much more when it wasn't full of people. It was the nature I enjoyed, the solitude, and the community of kids who accepted me despite the differences I showed.

We're in our 20s now. I don't live in my small town, I try to make it back once a year to see the lake, but never on a big weekend like the 4th. My classmate still lives there. He still brings his high school friends up to get drunk on the weekends. Maybe for him it is just that simple, but for me it never was.

I think about the kids I left behind there. The youngest are just now starting high school. They know more about who they are than I did at that age. They know life isn't as simple as a can of beer and a political party. I worry about them often. I hope they become good people. I hope they can get out too.

#summer #nostalgia #childhood #childhood memories #politics #coming of age #conservatives #liberals #noah kahan #paul revere #trump #growing up #sorry for the rant #20 something #rant post

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jerzwriter · 2 years

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I’m picking random numbers

FOR ETHAN AND KAYCEE: 1, 12, 23, 90

FOR TOBIAS AND CASEY: 34, 55, 72, 100

Hi Love! OK Here are the questions, and the answers are below! :)

1 Who loves flower crowns more? 12) How did they get together? 23) How do they tell everyone that they are going to be having a kid/adopting a child soon? 90) Who makes the other smile with almost no effort at all?

34) What would they dress up as, for Halloween? 55) Who would start a fight with another parent at a bake sale? 72) How do they work out a fight? 100) Who would get up on stage and make a fool of themselves just to make the other laugh?

ETHAN / KAYCEE:

1 Who loves flower crowns more?

I don't think either has much of an opinion on these. lol

12) How did they get together?

They follow canon for the most part, so it's slow gravitation toward each other that I insist starts right at that vending machine, of course, it becomes more apparent after Dolores and treating Naveen. Miami does not go well, and there is a lot of drama between these two. When do they officially get together? Well, I'm still in the process of working that out. But I believe it will be sometime in Book 2.

23) How do they tell everyone that they are going to be having a kid/adopting a child soon?

They had trouble conceiving, and they were overjoyed when they learned Kaycee was pregnant. But, they were also nervous so they decided to hold off until she was past the first trimester. But that slowly changed, Kaycee wanted to tell their parents (including Naveen). She successfully argued that if, heaven forbid, she were to miscarry, they'd need the emotional support anyway. Ethan agreed, and they invited all over for brunch and they broke the news in a cute way (you'll have to wait for the fic :) ) The friends were suspicious. Ethan was more protective/attentive than normal, Kaycee was tired all the time, passed on opportunities to hang out, and when she did, she didn't drink. But they were respectful and waited to be told. She did break the 3-month rule with Sienna, and Ethan broke it with Tobias. Sienna was just the sister Kaycee never had, so she had to let her know. Ethan told Tobias, with Kaycee's permission. Ethan wanted to share the joy with his best friend too, but he also knew Tobias would be his eyes and ears when he and Kaycee were not at work together, and he was right. Tobias was almost as protective of her as Ethan while she was pregnant with Emma.

90) Who makes the other smile with almost no effort at all?

Both - without question.

TOBIAS / CASEY:

34) What would they dress up as, for Halloween?

I should start by saying that the two of them LOVE Halloween, and they look forward to it every year. They started dating in March, and by May Casey was already giddy about having a couples costume to plan. For their first Halloween, they were Sandy and Danny from Grease, and Tobias was so worked up over Casey in her costume they nearly missed the party (and they still made a hasty exit).

Some other favorites through the years were Jasmine & Aladin, Beetlejuice & Lydia, Seymour & Audrey (LIttle Shop of Horrors), and Jackson Avery and April Kepner from Grey's Anatomy (though Tobias insisted he looked nothing like Jackson.) When the kids came along, Halloween because a family affair.

55) Who would start a fight with another parent at a bake sale?

I don't think either would unless the other parent did something REALLY out of line, then all bets are off.

72) How do they work out a fight?

They don't fight often. But when they do, they try to reel things in before things get out of control. If they do get heated, they take a time out, setting a cool-off time and they separate until that time passes. Then they try to talk things out. If it can't be talked out, they call a truce. They're very big on not going to bed angry and they have little ritual where they have to tell each other three things they love about the other, then answer with "and I still love you, even though you're a butthead." Then they kiss and go to sleep. Most of the time, but the time they do that, they're already over it.

100) Who would get up on stage and make a fool of themselves just to make the other laugh?

This is Casey and Tobias... they'd both do this in a heartbeat.

Thanks for the asks! :)

#ethan x kaycee asks #tobias x casey asks #ethan ramsey #tobias carrick #oc asks

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kiridarling · 3 years

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𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐌𝐘 𝐌𝐀𝐆𝐈𝐂!

izuku midoriya | tw!guns, single mom!reader, bouncer!izuku, domestic stuffs, tit sucking, mommy!calling ah, AND daddy!calling oh my, breeding kink, breaking the bed (futon). minors dni!

— 5.4k words

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?”

The alley is dark.

There's a disconcerting feeling as you step deeper into the quiet darkness,

You turn to look at the door you entered this dank place from, but it's just as dark and grimy as the walls. You're almost positive that if you rested a hand against them, it would return pitch black, and if you stood in one spot for more than five minutes, the sticky booze would glue your heels to the floor. You're surprised when it doesn't.

"Hand over your wallet and no one gets hurt, pretty lady."

He's a smarmy looking bastard and as thin as they come. It’s clear this isn’t something he does on the regular, the pointed gun quivering so much you worry a trembling might slip and pull the trigger. And you fucking freeze, blood running below zero and heart plummeting because why you?

And fuck, you’ve got a kid at home with a babysitter, and there are many outcomes to this situation, none of them too cute.

"I said hand it over," he grunts, pressing forwards. Your back hits the grimy brick wall as your eyes dart to the mouth of the alley, where life continues, where cars race past, but no one sees a damn thing. Fuck. Fuck.

And it's not like you have much—hell, you may be a mother, but you know how to party. You squeeze your eyes shut, grip tightening around your purse as you clumsily fumble through it and the man steps closer. You toss all you have to his feet. A fucking twenty. He raises an eyebrow before eyeing your watch. He lets out an unimpressed snort.

"That it?"

You nod, taking a shaky step back.

"Well, that ain't fuckin' enough."

There's a click and you're positive it's him turning off the safety. His face twists like he's about to shoot a bullseye, and you squeeze your eyes as tight as they can go.

Until the looming shadow of the stranger disappears, followed by a sound that's distinctly skin on skin. Er—skin on bone.

You don't watch the fight. Frankly, you don't want to, and you still get to hear your protector spew a litany of curses and disrespectful phrases that should really only come from someone's mother. You don't even open your eyes, still screwed shut with a vice grip around your purse and wallet.

"Um, excuse me Miss? Are you alright?"

Your protector's eyes are much bigger than you expect them to be—and green. You realize you remember seeing those eyes, hardened from across the club.

He's hesitant to touch you, hands rising and falling and rising again. Though you suppose a hug seems like it'd be a little abrasive, it also sounds like the exact kind of thing you need right now.

"U-Um, yeah I'm..." you start, before noticing your attackers body bloodied and wrapped like a pretzel on the ground. "...Fine..."

He sounds like he's going to pass out—he doesn't.

"We should um, we should get you home," As he speaks, the greenette shuffles you out of the alley and into the streetlamp light, blinking himself out of something before holding a meaty hand out of formality. "I'm Izuku by the way. Izuku Midoriya."

For such a big guy, Izuku seems rather timid, and yet, seeing him at the entrance with crossed arms in a black tee and a scowl in the club doesn't give you much insight into his personality. Which makes you wonder why he became the club's bouncer in the first place.

"Um, nice to meet you," you nod, trying to suppress the shake in your hands as you take his. "Y/N."

Izuku smiles at that, and even though you're a regular, you've never actually seen him beam on the job. "Cool! Cool, so...um, I don't really feel comfortable letting you walk home...alone..."

You nod—he panics as if you aren't already on board.

"'Cause it's like, a conscience thing, you know? Like, I really won't be able to sleep tonight otherwise," Izuku defends, shoving a clumsy hand in his green curls. "B-But if you don't feel comfortable with it, or something, that's totally fine! I know what you just experienced was horrible, and you probably do—"

"Izuku."

"Yeah?" He perks up. It seems as if the circuit his mind runs finally comes to a stop.

"I'd...feel more comfortable if you walked me home. Too."

Your innards ache at the stiffness in both your voice and figure, but Izuku doesn't seem to notice. Instead, he beams, standing ten feet taller, and you think—yeah. You'd feel much safer if he did.

"O-Okay! Cool!" He confirms a bit stiff himself, and then, in a smoother motion, holds his hand out to take. "Shall we?"

Your red palm claps over his, and you snort quietly, "We shall."

You two walk in a surprisingly comfortable silence for the beginning of the walk—you lead the way and he silently trails behind, glaring daggers at any passerby with lingering eyes as you march on, unknowing.

"So um, do you come to Club 777 often?"

Which is a question you know he knows the answer to, completely aware you almost come every Saturday. But you smile at his attempt to start a conversation anyways, hands tucking underneath your armpits in search of warmth.

"Yeah, sometimes. Just trying to get out and stuff. Y'know, away from the kid."

"I get that," he nods with a smile, before tugging at the hem of his hoodie. "Oh! Are you cold? Here—wait, let me."

He shucks it over your head and your positive it messes up your hair. But you find that you don't care much, especially in favor of the warmth that it provides.

And then, "You have a kid?"

"Yep," you say, tucking your fists into the jacket pockets. "A big two-year-old potato waits for me back home."

"Oh," Izuku chortles at your description before tucking his hands into his jean pockets too. Licking his lips, his eyes dart to the street, "I...assume your boyfriend watches him for the night? Or husband or whoever."

"Uhm, not quite," you chuckle towards your feet, though it's a touch acrid. Izuku picks up on it immediately.

"Oh I'm so sorr—I didn't kno—"

"It's fine, Izuku really—"

"I—but I shouldn't even be assuming what if you had a wife or girlfriend or—" he takes a second to gasp, and your eyes widen in fear that he'll choke, "—or if they're nonbinary or—"

"Izuku," you knock him on the shoulder and he finally shuts up. "It's fine. I get it all the time."

He falters, but at least he seems to relax. "Really?"

"Yes," you giggle behind a hand, and the greenette smiles at it.

"O-Okay, cool."

Flecks of gold swim in Izuku's green irises and you find yourself noticing them now, suppressing the urge to advance closer for a better look. You stare long enough to watch his smile relax into a comfortable line, but you snap out of it once he kicks a rock, the sound of the gravel skittering across the floor tugging you out of your reverie.

"I'm not very good with kids, y'know," he says as an afterthought. You snort.

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean," he scratches the back of his neck sheepishly. "Like what am I supposed to feed it? French fries?"

"Toddlers aren't it's, Izu." You can't tell if he flushes from the nickname or from what you said, but either way, it's enough to prompt another laugh. "And maybe start with baby food?"

"Ah," Izuku nods, and you guide him in turning a corner. "That would make sense.

"It would."

By the time you stop in front of your red front door, it's almost three am. You figure you caught Izuku right after he got off work, if the cheesy All Might sweatshirt you're wearing is any evidence of that, but either way, he looks like he's about to fall flat on his face.

"You can stay for the night, if you want," you offer, albeit meekly, and Izuku lifts two hands with insistence.

"Oh! No no no please, I'm fine," he shakes his head so quickly his curls bounce in a flurry, and you genuinely worry he's going to pass out when he tries to blink himself awake. "Just...not used to staying up this late is all."

"Then stay," you offer with a shrug, and your orange porch light flickers. "It's the least I can do. I've got a bed and a futon, and I'm fine with sleeping on either."

"I..." Izuku's green eyes flicker towards your door before back to you, "I really shouldn't. I'm a stranger an—"

"And I'm offering."

Izuku's eyebrows fold with the dilemma, but you grab his hand with a tug and a smile, while your free one shoves the keys into the door. "C'mon. Let's get you some rest, yeah?"

You can't tell if Izuku blushes or if it's just the lighting, but either way, his chest inflates in protest before deflating in resignation.

"Okay."

With a smile, you turn the doorknob. Your door has always taken some shoulder to get open, so you don't hesitate in shoving your collarbone into the hardwood. Izuku cringes at the sight.

"Mama!"

Your hit in the legs first, nearly stumbling back with a quiet oof. You look down to see Max wrapped around your legs like you're a fucking jungle gym, grinning with two missing teeth and a bandaid over his nose.

It's three am.

"I'm done," your babysitter grunts. "He doesn't listen when I tell him to bathe, eat, anything—I fucking quit."

And with that, they slam the door behind them, house rattling under the pressure. You sigh. There goes another one. Fuck.

"Well that wasn't very nice," Izuku grumbles under his breath disapprovingly. You smile at the arms crossed over his chest until Max peeks around your legs to see...

"A new daddy?"

"I—no, baby," you fight the embarrassment (and the urge to say you fucking wish) by picking the little one up by his armpits, smiling when he thrusts his hands in the air and goes weee! After he's comfortably cradled in your arms, you say, "He's just staying the night."

"Like daddy did!" Max defends with a giggle before rushing the greenette with open arms. Izuku just looks at you with a shrug before kneeling to take a hug to the chest as Max chants, "New daddy! New daddy!"

And, well. There's no stopping him now.

You peel your heels off your cramping feet and sigh at the fucking freedom, toes uncurling from the scrunched position it feels like they've been holding the entire night. You curse under your breath when you realize since Max is awake you've got to put him to bed too, and honestly, if you knew this babysitter was going to be just as useless as the others, you would've just let Max run fucking free while you lived life for a few hours. Not like that outcome would be any better.

"Alright Maxie, c'mon."

You take him away from his celebration with the greenette and though he pouts, he allows his mother to gather him in her arms.

"Do you um, need help?"

You turn to see Izuku awkwardly shifting in the doorway from the request, hands behind his back with pursed lips. You shake your head.

"Oh no, it's fine. I just have to put him down really quickly and then I'll be—"

"Mama, I'm hungry. I want chicken nuggies." Max loops his arms around your neck and tugs so hard you worry about your bones. You shake your head with a sigh and a pout.

"It's too late for you to be up, bud. You can have chicken nuggies for lunch tomorrow. Sound like a plan?"

But goodness. In this state, it'll take hours for him to relax—and you still have to unfold the futon for Izuku.

Max whines and kicks his legs but doesn't say no, meaning he's not really that hungry, he just wants to stay awake. "But—but what if new daddy's gone in the morning like the last one?"

Fuck.

"Max," you sigh, giving him a light shake so his matching eyes look into you yours. You speak a little softer, "Izuku's not your new daddy, okay? He's a houseguest."

Max's face drops. "Not eve—"

"No, Maxie," you sigh, squeezing him on the shoulder. "Now let's go to bed, okay?"

"I can—I can put him down if you'd like! So you can get into something more comfortable and stuff. I mean, I've never worn a dress but sweats are so much better, you know? Or shorts, or...whatever you wear to sleep."

You understand the many points he's trying to get across, one being that's he's not a creep, just a nice guy, and you suppose you and Max can live in your "new daddy" fantasy for a little longer. Even if you know this one will be gone by morning.

"Um, okay yeah," you say, voice a little thin, before handing your child over to the greenette—who bounces into his arms excitedly. "I'll be back, then? His room is down the hall to the right. The one with the race car bed."

Izuku's eyes narrow as he processes your directions. "Down the hall to the right—okay! I'll just go take this little guy to bed, then."

"Okay, thank you," you nearly bow, because Izuku just saved both of you so much time and he doesn't even understand how. "Oh! And good luck."

"Good...luck?"

"Yep!" You say with a wink and a pat on the back before scooping your heels and booking it back to your bedroom with a cackle. Time to get out of this dress. Fucking finally.

You realize that being alone is much more unsettling when you've had a gun held to your head today.

Every little noise just seems off, like it could belong to something more than it actually does, even the silence; you find yourself shoving your head through your t-shirt abnormally fast, eyes blinking to take a survey of the room to ensure that you're alone. You are. It's fine.

And that's what you tell yourself when you close your eyes to run a wet rag over your face, and again with the dry one. All of a sudden, you don't like the way your bathroom window faces the open backyard nor do you like how dark it is outside. You don't like how big your bed looks, and goddammit, you haven't even gotten into it yet.

Pushing all uneasy thoughts aside, you stumble out of your bedroom with a fresh face and a new outfit, stilling in Max's doorway when the greenette doesn't notice you. Resting against the frame with crossed arms, you smile.

"I do so like green eggs and ham! Thank you! Thank you, Sam-I-am. You know, when I was a kid I—oh, he's asleep."

Izuku tucks the snoring boy in his lap under the covers with a gentle grin, pulling them underneath his chin. The greenette takes a second, watches Max's chest rise and fall a few times, before ruffling the tuft of hair on his head with a snort, and walking away.

You don't even think Izuku sees you until he practically sashays out the door, winking, "Good luck, huh?"

To say you go red in the face from that is an understatement.

"How do you do this?"

"Do what?" You ask as you pulling the futon in your living room forwards. Izuku yawns before gesturing to the clock with a shake of his head.

"Take care of a kid, and work, and go to a bar every Saturday evening? It's four am, and something tells me you've been up for a while. I'm practically dead and I wake up at one pm every day!"

You chuckle at that, jumping on the bed with your hands and knees to ensure its lays flat...and ensure that it won't make an Izuku sandwich at seven in the morning. "You build up stamina after a while, I guess."

"No shit," he gestures to you as you utilize the entire length of your body to put the sheets on the mattress. He would help, but you told him no, insisting that he'd only make this take longer. "Are you sure you do—"

"Nope," you huff, clapping your hands together. "I'm done."

Izuku blinks at the made bed, to you, to the made bed again, and then back to you with wide eyes.

"Mommy magic."

"I—" you blink towards the ceiling to see if that even makes sense, but you figure fuck it, it's four am, with a snort. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want to call it."

In reality, you feel like you're about to pass out.

"Um, so I don't really have pj pants and I don't think you'll have any that'll fit, so..."

"Yeah no, I definitely burned all the shit my ex left—"

"Aha okay, cool, um, so just boxers...are fine...?"

He looks down at his black jeans and back to you, raising an eyebrow. You toss a nonchalant shrug in return, and you hate to say it, but your inner school girl goes—dick outline.

"O-Okay, then," Izuku says, and you watch his hands curl around the waistband. "I'm just gonna—"

He shucks his pants so hard they hit the floor, and your eyes widen because...well...looks like he's just gonna do it then.

Until Izuku's hands rush to cover his crotch (which you weren't peeking at, you weren't) and you realize that maybe you should've stepped out of the room or something.

"U-Um—that was fast—"

"I thought—thought you were going to uhm, turn around," he flushes, a funny contrast to the way his muscles fold under that black shirt, and your feet move to turn around like he ordered you to do it.

"Sorry! So sorry," you try to apologize, but now his dick print is burned in your brain, and...it isn't that bad.

"It—It's fine! I'm in the bed now so, you can turn around."

You laugh awkwardly and scuffle to turn, as you do, and Izuku beams at you from the bed with a wave.

"Hi," he says, his lower half-tucked under the covers. You wave back.

"Hi."

Izuku's eyes dart to you living room tv before the come back to you. "So uhm, I guess this is goodnight?"

"Oh right," you perk up at that, hands rubbing the sides of your thighs like there's something on them. "Time to go to bed, right?"

"Uh, yeah!" He nods, chest shuddering before he says, "so uh, sweet dreams?"

You smile tight at the kind gesture, and your hands opt to pull at the hem of your shirt instead, eyes drifting to an old pile of records you haven't regarded in months. "Thanks! You...too?"

Izuku smiles, though his eyes drift, "Yeah..."

You beam back. You figure you should probably go now, or something, until you think of something and slam a fist into your palm. "Oh! Also, I meant to thank you for saving me. I'm not sure if I did that. Did I do that?"

The greenette shrugs, "Uh, I think so?"

"Okay! Okay. Cool," you nod, flashing a tight smile. "Mmk. Night Izuku."

"G'night."

And see, you would move—except it seems as if your feet are glued to the floor and won't move no matter how hard you try, to the point where it feels like your straining and they're going numb, and yet you're still staring at Izuku's pretty fucking face.

"C'mon," he chuckles, scooting over on the futon to make extra space for you. "If you take all day, the beds gonna get cold, and then I'm going to have to crawl into yours like a creep."

"Oh my fucking god," you snort one breath and move to flick off the lights before stumbling through the darkness for the futon. "You're so weird."

"Weird in a good way, I hope," he lifts the blanket and you slide under—and swear your knee grazes his before it's snatched away.

"There's no weird in a bad way," you say once you've settled comfortably, tucking your hands under your head as you lay on your stomach. Izuku mimics your position, though he takes up much more of the blanket, and you find that it drapes over you like a tent over his shoulders. Neither of you close your eyes, for some reason.

"Hi," Izuku whispers.

"Hi," you smile back.

"Okay," he huffs, face twisting in determination, "Now it's goodnight."

"Right," you nod, but your eyes don't close. "Goodnight. Of course."

"Don't let the bedbugs bite," he says with a chuckle, and you can't tell if his eyes flicker to your lips or if you imagine it. Either way, you look them just in case.

"I better not have bedbugs," you snort. "I clean this place like a motherfucker."

Izuku's nose twitches at that with a nod. Moonlight pours into your living room and colors his pale skin silver, though you figure it won't take the sun much longer to color it a strawberry pink. "You really do. It's...different when it's quiet."

"Yeah," you agree, placing your hands on his chest. It shudders under your palms. "Kinda personal, huh?"

"Mhm," he nods, and though his hands wrap around your wrists, they never pull them away. You lift an eyebrow.

"A bad personal?"

Izuku doesn't hesitate, breath nearly ghosting your lips as he says, "Hardly."

"Would you..." now it's your chests turn to shudder, and sliding a hand up to play with his ear, you bite the bullet. "Like to get more personal?"

Izuku's lips melt into a grin against yours, "I'd love to."

His lips are softer than you thought.

Maybe because you assumed all of him was a bumbling mess, including his chapstick application; but they're fucking pillow-soft, and you don't realize how deprived you are until his hold around your body turns from protective to sensual and you melt from his heat.

"Fuck," Izuku huffs between kisses, growling when your grip around his neck tightens. "Watching you from across the club for weeks can do a thing to a guy's patience, you know."

"Oh?" You snort as he presses enthusiastic open-mouthed kisses down the column of your neck, hot and wet, and painful once his teeth dig into your collarbone. "A-Ah, Izuku—no marks."

"O-Oh! Sorry," he pulls away, lips red and swollen, and shiny with spit. You smile at the reaction.

"'S okay, Baby," you giggle at the speed to which his muscles go lax, and his eyes droop to your chest when you scratch the back of his head.

"Can I—can I suck your tits?"

He asks so bashfully it's nearly innocent, and you find your eyes dropping to your chest along with his before you're ditching his All Might sweatshirt all together.

"God," Izuku's eyes flutter as he gathers your breasts in both palms, groaning at the sight. "They're fucking perfect."

You shudder as his thumb ghosts a nipple, and Izuku dips an experimental hand under your lacy bra and pinches. Hard.

Your thighs jolt and hands fist the sheets, and a moan comes from the back of your throat before you can stop it. Izuku's hand rocket to cover your mouth.

"Shh—you don't wanna wake him up, do you?"

You shake your head, but it's hard to keep quiet when your nipples are as sensitive as they are. Izuku doesn't seem like he really means that statement, though, lowering his head with a devilish grin as if he knows that for himself.

“Sensitive, Mommy?”

“O-Oh um,” you flush at the nickname, and even more so when his lips close around your nipple and suck. Tangling a hand in his hair, you sigh, “Yeah, a little.”

Izuku hums at that, eyes fluttering to watch you bite your bottom lip in a poor attempt to muffle a moan, hissing as his teeth dig into the hardened bud. He pulls off with a slurp and moves to the other, but not without a few kisses across your chest.

“When’s the last time someone touched you like this, hmm?” Izuku nearly growls out before biting into the opposite nipple, and you shudder as he dips a scarred hand down the waistband of your shorts and panties. He chuckles after sliding a finger through your slit. “So wet for me.”

“It—It’s been a second,” you sigh, grip tightening around his shoulders as he slides a finger in. Even Izuku has to bite a lip at your tightness in anticipation, mouth descending over your nipple once more to send frissons of fire up your spine.

“No shit,” he grunts around your nipple, curling his finger. You gasp. “Think I can fit another one in there?”

“Why don’t you try?” You giggle, but it dissipates into nothing but air as he does, his two fingers filling you up enough to elicit a sigh.

“How’s that?” He breathes, face hovering over yours. As your hands coil around his neck, his free one reaches for your inner thigh and pulls it back far enough to give him a better angle as he presses you into the mattress.

“Good, it’s good,” you nod, and your hips start to move on their own, bucking forwards as if there’s any more finger left for you to fuck. (Spoiler: there’s not.)

“Good,” he breathes, eyes going glossy as he watches you writhe under him. You're positive that you're carving painful red lines into his back, but considering the way his eyebrows fold every time you do, makes you wonder if he doesn't mind. "Fuck I can't wait to fuck you—I can fuck you, right?"

"No Izuku, I'm just letting you finger me for fu-u—fuck."

He slides in a third finger and for some reason, it burns a little—but the burn only makes your eyes roll further, and he's stuffing you with a chuckle.

"What was that?"

"I-I—you're not pla—playing very fair," you huff, chest shuddering as he tilts your hips higher for a better angle. You suppress a scream when his fingers curl, jolting forwards at such a speed it makes the futon creak. Izuku tightens his grip around your waist to keep you from going too far.

"No one said anything about being fair, Mommy," he teases, and you whine when he removes his fingers, tapping them against your lips. "C'mon, you gotta get 'em wet so I can fuck you, right?"

You nod at the idea, enjoying the idea of being filled up much more, and coat his fingers to the point where they're dripping when he pulls him out. Izuku's chest rumbles.

"So good for me," he purrs, using your spit to coat his cock before he's sliding his head between your folds—you shiver, grabbing onto his back again. "Ready?"

“Mhm,” you nod, spreading your legs further—though you swear they do that on their own.

“Oh my, you’re um...tight...”

You whimper from the stretch and look between your legs, eyes widening upon seeing that Izuku’s much bigger than you had anticipated. Or had been warned of.

“F-Fuck, I can’t—“

“Shhhh, it’s okay, just a little more, okay?” Izuku nearly whispers into your lips as his hands move to rub your shuddering sides. Your eyes screw shut, “Jus’ a little more, Mommy...”

Izuku pushes deeper and you’re being split in half—because what else could that burn be—but you’ll admit, the feeling of accomplishment you receive once he bottoms out is surreal.

“Good—Good girl,” Izuku’s nearly quivering and plants his hands on both sides of your head with a huff.

“I-Izu,” you whimper as he starts to move, feeling impossibly full no matter how far he pulls out. Izuku shudders, mouth rounding into an ‘o’ when his hips slowly start to gain rhythm, and though it’s loud, you know the creak of the futon is unavoidable. You squeal as his head hammers into your cervix, pulling out a wanton Daddy before you have half a mind to shut the fuck up. You nearly freeze, and yet, all Izuku’s hips do is speed up.

“Yeah? Want me to be your new Daddy?” He moans, and you dig your nails into his back with a nod. The greenette curses at that, biting his bottom lip and his hand drops between your legs to rub at your clit. With thighs seizing around his waist, you slam a hand over your mouth to keep yourself quiet.

“Fuck—I make you feel that good, Mommy?” Izuku nearly wheezes, eyes suppressing the urge to screw closed, “So good you can’t keep your pretty mouth shut?”

“Y-Yeah, I—“ you gasp when he lifts your hips off the bed for a better angle, hands fisting the sheets. “Harder, Daddy—“

“Oh Mommy, if I go any harder I think I might break this bed,” he says, borderline bashful, but you find yourself saying fuck the bed as your hips buck in search of a feeling he refuses to give you. Izuku’s chuckle strains as he says, “So needy, Mommy. You that needy for my cum?”

Clawing at his back, you try your damnest to stutter out a yes. Izuku chuckles at your desperation before he cuts himself off with a groan, eyes rocketing to where you’re both connected as you tighten around him.

“F-Fill me up, I wanna—“

“You want another baby, Mommy?” Izuku pants, and you’re so close you start to feel a buzz in your thighs, praying he isn’t too far behind. You nod vehemently with a gasp and his lips slide into an exhausted smile, "Fuck, of course you do—and you’re gonna take me so well, aren’t you? All of it.”

Izuku finishes his sentence with a growl, pressing you further into the mattress—it squeaks like a squeaky wheel, and when it thunks a level lower both of you yelp, the back of the futon thumping on your hardwood floor with each thrust.

“Told ya,” Izuku wheezes, eyes scrunching in a chuckle. You return it.

“It—It’s old anyway,” you reply, but your eyebrows fold as quickly as they unfold from the crash. The creaking futon increases in pitch as his hips pick up the pace, “Fuck—fuck Izuku I’m gonna cum.”

“What’s my name?” The greenette challenges, and you find yourself shivering at the dominance he exudes. The finger on your clit disappears and you whine, knowing damn well you can’t cum without it.

“Daddy—Daddy please—“

“Good—fuck, so good for me,” his hand returns to your clit and you sigh at the feeling. As the coil in your gut threatens to snap, his hips speed up, and Izuku pants, “We’re gonna cum together, yeah? Cum with me Mommy, c’mon—“

“Fuck!” You drag red lines down Izuku’s back as you quake under the weight of your orgasm, broken bed whining as Izuku thrusts all his weight into you. Digging his teeth into your shoulder, the greenette cums with a broken moan, hips stuttering into yours for the final time that night.

The room fills with a comfortable silence, minus the panting, and Izuku rolls onto the mattress next to you with a bounce. It creaks, whines, and then drops again, catching both you and the greenette by surprise. (Again.)

“I think—I think we broke it,” Izuku says towards the ceiling as he catches his breath. You giggle at that, hands laid across your sweaty stomach, and turn to him with your head in the pillow.

“Gives me an excuse to buy a new one,” you say with a shrug. Izuku chuckles back.

“I guess,” he teeters his head to both sides. “I can...also pitch in, if you want. Since I broke the thing. Technically.”

His offer sounds apprehensive as if he’s encroaching in your space, as if he hasn’t been all up in your space less than a minute ago. You smile. “I’d like that a lot, actually. Thanks.”

"And um, breakfast? I mean," he snorts, though it seems rather defensive, and his eyes rocket to the ticking clock on your wall. Your eyes follow: five am. "I mean—fuck um, I feel like this might be weird but I think you're cool? Um, yeah, so breakfast, I can make it if you want because you're so busy being motherly and stuff and plus, it's Sunday but again, if you don't wan—"

"Izuku," you giggle, wrapping your arms around his gut with a little squeeze. "Breakfast sounds nice."

The greenette beams and his chest stutters. "O-Okay cool! Cool, cool. Breakfast then?"

You snort, driving your palm into his face to shut him the fuck up. "Goodnight, Izuku."

Izuku giggles, getting the message, and coils his arms around your shoulders to provide a comfort you haven't felt in a very, very long time.

"G'night Mommy."

#— 𝐈𝐙𝐔𝐊𝐔 #CLUB 777 #izuku smut #bnha smut #mha smut #midoriya smut

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nashibirne · 3 years

Note

Congrats on your milestone!! Love your writing and since you're doing the whole "milestone party" I would like to ask if you could write something about reader and first baby. It could be something like them being very happy in the beginning, anxious by the end of the pregnancy but in the first weeks after the baby is born everything being caotic, the reader is stressed and sometimes they fight for something silly and it could have a happy ending, maybe he preparing a special surprise for her, some smut and they kinda "reconnect"... I don't mind if it gets too big, I would appreciate if you like the idea, It can be sy or walter, their POV, the reader can have a name too if you'd like. Thank you so much and congratulations again 🎉🥳

Here comes the second fic for my milestone celebration 🥳

Dear nonie, thank you so much for your prompt 💜 I love it and it made me think of Walter and his bumblebee from my fic Closer immediately. So I hope you don't mind I made this a follow up.

I tried to include all your wishes and I hope you like the struggles, the fluff and the smut.

🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲

MAYBUG

Pairing: Walter Marshall x reader

Summary: Walt and his wife are stressed out and enjoy a little escape. Follow-up to Closer

Words: ~ 1.8 k

Warnings: Smut, NSFW, 18+, Sex (p in v), fingering, dirty talking, kinda light breeding kink, masturbation, mentioning of sex toys and voyeurism, mentioning of problematic birth

UNBETA'ED! English is not my mother tongue, so expect bad grammar, wrong spelling, chaotic punctuation and clumsy language. All mistakes are mine…

Credits: pics for the header from pinterest.

I don't own Walter Marshall (unfortunately)

If you like this story, check out my masterlist!

***********

I'm sure it wasn't so stressful with Faye when she was a baby. She was a whirlwind, challenging her mum and me 24/7 as soon as she was able to walk but I'm pretty sure in the first year she was a little angel, not doing much more than sleeping, eating and lulling us into a false sense of security, making us think the peace would last forever.

Maybe it's gonna be the other way round with our little maybug. A chaotic first year and all the peace afterwards.

We've been on an emotional rollercoaster ride for almost two years now. Y/n stopped taking the pill shortly after our engagement and a few months before our wedding. I couldn't wait to get her pregnant, our sex life was great at that time, we did it as often as possible, having the time of our lives, enjoying each other and our deep connection. When my little bumblebee finally surprised me with a positive pregnancy test after 8 months of very intense trying, we were both beyond happy and completely over the moon and besides the usual pregnancy-related worries and difficulties everything went well.

That was until y/n went into labor and suddenly everything turned out to be very different from what we both had wished for. There was no calm atmosphere, no peaceful water birth but a lot of stress and anxiety instead when unexpected complications occured. I wasn't solid as a rock for her, I was a nervous wreck and very disappointed in myself but my wonderful wife was incredibly tough, fighting to be strong for both of us with fierce determination. She was no bumblebee that night, she was a hornet. In the end she had an emergency c-section and our little boy was born after almost 24 hours of labour on a mild Saturday night in May. When we finally held this perfect, beautiful little bundle of life in our arms all pain and fear was forgotten and we cried together for joy and gratefulness.

Now, six months later, we're still very happy, enjoying our family life and our time together. I've stepped back from work a little, doing office work mostly, staying away from the time consuming major cases. It's hard sometimes to be condemned to just watch my colleagues working in the front-line but I know it's worth it. I don't want to make the same mistakes again, the mistakes that ruined my first marriage and jeopardized my relationship with Faye. Besides that y/n needs my support, although she would never admit it. Our little maybug suffers from colic and cries a lot so she's constantly sleep-deprived and on top of that she tortures herself with self-reproach because breastfeeding didn't work and our baby son only gets formula, which -in her eyes- is the reason for his regular pain. She's constantly stressed out, tense and oversensitive and we fight over the most silly things.

When she had a nervous breakdown the other day because she hadn't managed to cook dinner for me after another night without sleep and a whole day of trying to calm down a crying baby in pain, I decided it was enough, that she needed a break, I needed a break and maybe even our little muffin needed a break from his worn out parents. So after y/n had a good cry on my shoulder, listening to my comforting words that made her relax a little, I made her her favorite sandwich, sent her to bed after she'd enjoyed it and took our little boy on a ride. He likes it when we drive around in my truck, the sonorous sound of the engine has a soothing effect on him and eventually he stopped crying and fell asleep, just as exhausted as his mom. I got myself a burger from the drive-through, ate it in the parking lot and I came up with an idea for a little treat for me and my wife.

And now here we are, sitting in the huge tub in the bathroom of a luxurious hotel suite in our hometown, just 20 minutes away from our little boy who's staying with y/n's sister for the weekend. It wasn't easy to convince my wife that he's going to survive one night without us and that we really need some time for us but now, after a romantic candle light dinner and a special treatment afterwards she really seems to enjoy our little escape.

"God, Walt...you were right, I needed this. The food was delicious and your massage worked wonders. Thank you so much, papa bear."

She's sitting in front of me in the steaming hot water that smells like tropical flowers, her body covered with lush foam, her back resting against my chest, her butt between my spread legs, pressing against my cock.

"Well, it wasn't a Tantra massage but I'm glad you enjoyed it anyway." I press a kiss on her hair and hug her from behind. "I enjoyed it too, by the way. My hands all over your wonderful backside, that was very sexy," I whisper in her ear before I start to caress her breasts while kissing her neck. Damn, I love her tits, even more now after the pregnancy. They are so soft, so welcoming and warm, plus they are bigger than before, perfect for burying my face in them or for a filthy boob fuck.

Y/n moans softly under my touch and I go on, determined to make this date night unforgettable. After a while I let one of my hands glide over her belly, that wonderful part of her body that has carried our child and that is so smooth beneath my rough palm. I feel the stretch marks she hates so much but I kinda love them. They're like a map that shows what she's been through and what the female body is capable of. For her it's a flaw, when I look at it I see nothing but strength. With that thought I slip my hand between her legs, stroking her pussy, my fingers gliding through her swollen folds, provoking one of these drawn, hoarse moans that always escape her mouth when she likes what I'm doing and that turn me on so much. She cranes her neck to look at me and I bent my head to kiss her. The kiss is slow and sensual, tasting sweet and promising. I moan into her mouth, one hand on her tit, kneading it intensely, giving her erect nipple some extra attention with my thumb, one hand on her pussy. I keep on stroking her clit while we make out and she moves her hips, rolling them slowly against my rock-hard cock.

"You like that, baby?" I want to know, panting into her ear.

"I like it a lot…", y/n sighs, bucking her hips. I know exactly what she wants.

"How about that?" I stretch my arm, shifting my position a little to penetrate her slowly with two fingers, brushing them against her g-spot with light pressure.

"Fuck...Walt…"

Her moans are getting louder with each thrust into her cunt, her hips moving rhythmically. I stimulate her clit with my thumb and I can tell she's close, putty in my hands, a whimpering, panting mess and I love it.

"Mommy's still my little whore, right?" I ask, my voice rough and thick with arousal and desire, my dick throbbing, pressed against her ass. "Look at you, riding my fingers like the good girl you are. I love how that feels…"

I fingerfuck her harder and it doesn't take her long to cum with a loud moan, my name on her lips on top of her orgasm. She rides it out slowly, breathing heavily and I give her some time to recover before I grab her by her waist, lift her up and make her sit down on my cock. I can't wait another second, I need to feel her from the inside, her tight pussy stretching around my thick dick. She sighs when she easily sinks down on it, starting to ride me immediately, eagerly, greedy. She's still hungry, ready for more, giving me a hard time to pull myself together. I'd love to just rail her, to thrust into her cunt mercilessly to reach my own high but what I want even more is to see her come undone again, to make her fall apart on my dick, milking it when she cums again. So I hold her hips in a vice-like grip, pressing her down and she stops moving, waiting for me to take over. I let go of her hips and fuck her slowly, thrusting into her from underneath, caressing her tits, showering her shoulders with sloppy kisses.

She follows the rhythm and the pace I set and we both moan in unison. She reaches between her legs and starts touching herself which turns me on even further. I love watching her when she pleasures herself. She was a little hesitant about in the beginning of our relationship but when I even bought her some toys, she believed me that it was okay to masturbate in my presence, that it drove me absolutely wild to watch her, that I would fuck her like a predator after seeing her cum just by the touch of her own hands, using the toys I had chosen and allowed her to use. Today is no exception. Her soft moans and appreciative sighs are music to my ears and as soon as I fix my eyes on her fingers that circle her clit, while she strokes the shaft of my pounding cock with her other hand, I lose my shit.

I press her against my body and fuck her so hard and fast that the water spills all over the edge of the tub. She comes again shortly after I orgasm with a noise that's half grunt and half growl, arising deep from within my chest. My balls tighten and when I feel my cum shooting through my dick her pussy clenches around me and her body is trembling on top of mine. She cries out loud when I fill her up with my seed and I'm sure she knows that I imagine breeding her, when I keep on thrusting lightly, not pulling out even after we've both come down from our highs and my hard-on softens.

I know we still have to wait a few months till she gets pregnant again because her body needs time to heal but I guess it doesn't hurt to practice as often as we feel like it and to dream of adding another little bug to our family.

🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲🪲

Taglist (let me know if you want to be added or removed)

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#henry cavill #cavillry #henry cavill fandom #henry cavill fanfic #henry cavill fanfiction #walter marshall fanfiction #walter marshall #walter marshall x you #walter marshall smut #ask nashi #follower celebration #follower milestone

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julemmaes · 3 years

Text

The One Good Thing

Rowaelin Month, Day Two

A/N: again, I'm gonna fail all my exams because of this stupid app, I'm sure. Also, I miss the off campus boys so much I kinda made Fenrys one of them and I love the idea of the tog men as hockey players so yeah, enjoy;)

Word count: 2,581

Aelin would have killed for a second of silence.

She daydreamed of that almost noisy quiet that makes you feel every deepest thought hidden in your brain that exists only at 3 a.m., when every soul is resting and cars can't drive around the campus. And there are no children screaming at the top of their lungs or parties going on all night long.

That was what she had been promised, the flyers she'd been handed during the open days, when she had come to visit the college.

That was how it was supposed to be.

Aelin had tried so many times to ask her upstairs flatmate to hold his Twitch live streams strictly in the afternoons or mornings when she wouldn't be home, but when Fenrys Moonbeam had first opened the door to his place, the girl had known immediately that she wouldn't be able to change his mind even by paying him.

Especially since his live streams were followed by such a large audience that Aelin couldn't even begin to understand how he had managed to build an empire so big in just under a month. Surely it had something to do with the long blond hair, different from her own but just as beautiful, and the arms covered in tattoos so colourful they blind you. They had their own charm. Add to the pile the fact that he was the goalie on the hockey team, and he was the perfect mix for the guy to marry.

From what their common friends had told her, he was already earning enough to afford an off-campus home, but that he liked the comfort the college dorm gave.

A comfort that Aelin, after three years in those filthy rooms and shared bathrooms, had yet to find.

When yet another howl of celebration at yet another victory that everyone expected pierced through his floor and her ceiling, nearly drilling her eardrums, Aelin gritted her teeth so hard that for a moment she feared they might shatter.

She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath and trying to whisper, "Shut," failed miserably to keep her tone under control and shrieked the second word, "up!"

A booming laugh rang out upstairs and a millisecond later a message lit up her phone screen.

From Lys: Girl, maybe you should take a chill pill, I heard you on the live stream. Are you still studying?

She tossed the phone to the side, pulling her hair up and pinning it back with a pencil.

"Fuck off." she muttered under her breath.

Lysandra was one of the few in their group of friends who never missed a Fenrys broadcast. Whether it was at eleven at night or five in the morning, she was always one of the first to join in.

Aelin often wondered if she was just doing it because Fenrys was helping her sponsor her YouTube channel, but then she remembered that Lysandra would do the same for all her friends.

She got out of bed, taking all her books and notes in her arms, pen in her mouth and holding her phone between her pinky and ring fingers. She threw open the door to her room and found herself facing a wall of muscle, slamming into her roommate's chest.

Rowan's hands snapped forward and kept her from falling backwards and when Aelin looked up at his face, she almost lost her balance again.

His face was sleepy, only one eye open as he suppressed a yawn. The imprint of the pillowcase on his cheek just another sign that he had already been sleeping.

"Are you okay?" he asked her in a hoarse voice, stepping back and letting her through, "I heard you screaming. I was coming to check on you."

Aelin grimaced, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

He shook his head, moving a hand in mid-air, "Don't worry about it." then his gaze snapped to the ceiling as another laugh from Fenrys cut through the thin material dividing their quarters. He frowned, lowering his gaze back to her, and it was at that moment that he noticed the books in her arms.

If possible, his frown deepened even more.

He closed his eyes, gently grabbing her wrist and leaning against the wall behind him, pulling her towards him.

Aelin let herself be tugged, arranging the books so that they didn't poke at either her or him in that uncomfortable hug, but she positioned her head against his chest, letting his fingers expertly massage the nape of her neck.

"Baby." he sighed into her hair. Her toes curled.

It had only been a few weeks since they had decided to start dating, a few weeks since Rowan had confessed to having feelings for her. They had exchanged a few kisses in secret from their friends, wanting to enjoy that first phase of their very fresh relationship in privacy. They hadn't done anything too steamy yet, and Aelin had more than agreed with his decision to take it slow, but one thing Rowan hadn't held back in the slightest from the first second she'd agreed to go out with him had been the pet names he'd given her whenever they were in the safety of their dorms.

Baby was definitely her favourite.

His hands slid lower, down her back, and she looked up, resting her chin on his chest and fixing her eyes in his. His gaze softened, still clouded with sleep. "You shouldn't be studying at this hour."

Aelin grunted, smacking her forehead against his chest, "But I have a test tomorrow."

Rowan sighed again, pushing her away and taking the books from her arms. "Precisely why you should be sleeping." He walked towards the common room, speaking softly and hoping Lorcan wouldn't hear them. They both knew their roommate suspected something, but he didn't have enough worries in the world for him to actually give a shit about their possible relationship, and they also knew he would never say anything to anyone. Maybe to Elide, but neither of them would bet on it. "I left you alone tonight because you needed to rest, not stay up until morning melting your brain."

She followed him like a lost dog, dragging her feet on the ground, finally feeling that visceral fatigue get the better of her.

"I can't leave the study half done."

Rowan dropped the books on the table, turning around just in time to block her before she bumped into him again and slipped the pencil out of her mass of hair, letting it fall around her shoulders.

"You're not leaving the study half done," he told her as he rubbed her arms to keep her warm, "you've spent the last five weeks studying this stuff and I'm sure you know it like the abc. You need a break." he told her.

Aelin looked up at him from under her lashes, a little annoyed that that was true, but completely distracted by the lines his fingers were drawing on her arms. She took a deep breath through her nose, puffing out her chest and thrusting out her breasts, catching the attentive gaze of her almost-boyfriend for a nanosecond.

He smiled wearily at her, "Are you sleeping in my bed tonight?"

Aelin just nodded and took both of his hands, pulling him down onto her. Rowan squinted his eyes and placed his lips on hers in a quick, chaste kiss. She hummed in satisfaction as his hands slid under her bottom and wrapped around her thighs, pulling her up. She tied her legs around his hips and rested her head on his shoulder as Rowan made his way into their tiny flat.

He lowered her onto the bed, pulling the blankets out from under her body and laying down beside her before covering them both. Aelin moved as close to him as she could, pressing her back against his chest and her butt against his crotch, tangling their legs together.

Rowan's arm wrapped around her waist as the other slipped under her head and his hand found hers under the pillow.

The second they were settled, every bit of their bodies touching, Rowan left a soft kiss on her shoulder, pulling her even tighter against him.

She smiled weakly, in a drawling tone, "Thank you."

He hummed against her skin, "That's what I'm here for."

"Don't let me die around finals time?" she asked in a teasing tone.

Rowan chuckled softly, making her back shake, "Exactly."

Aelin tried to turn towards him, wanting to trace the pale freckles that were starting to sprout on his nose now that the days were getting longer and the sun kissed his cheek every afternoon, but his arms blocked her.

"No, it's not fair for you to be the big spoon every night. I'm fucking sick of it, I want to hold you today." he muttered, the chains of sleep already dragging him towards that blissful unconsciousness.

She huffed, stopping struggling against his grip, relaxing and feeling her muscles scream with pleasure after being tense for hours on end while she studied.

She hadn't realised she'd stayed up so long, but she was terrified of failing this last exam. If she failed it she would have to wait months before she could retake it and the idea of it was getting her down more than perhaps it should have.

She started thinking about the various questions the professors might ask her the next day, repeating the answers in her mind, closing her eyes as she thought.

"Baby," Rowan grumbled, "you're talking out loud."

She hadn't realised she was biting the cuticles around her nails until his hand came to rest on her arm, pulling her hand away from her mouth. He took a deep breath, helping her turn to face him.

When she looked up at him from under her lashes, she saw the way he was fighting sleep. And she felt terribly guilty. If she was having trouble sleeping the day before an exam, that didn't mean he had to stay awake for her too.

She was about to speak, tell him to close his eyes again and let her go into the living room so she could finish going over the last few pages and then return to his room, but he put his hand on her cheek and in a soft voice asked, "What's bothering you?"

She bit the inside of her cheek, shaking her head, "Nothing."

He tried to hold back a yawn again, but couldn't this time and Aelin's guilt grew immensely inside her. "If you tell me right now what's wrong, I could help you fix it sooner. And we could get at least three hours of sleep before we have to go to class." he pointed out in an exhausted tone.

She blinked once, twice, searching for the right words.

"It's Fen. If he'd stop playing so late every night-"

Rowan quickly cut her off, closing his eyes, almost as if he could no longer physically stay awake. "Ace, Fenrys never really bothered you. You've always managed to study and ignore it. What is it that's bothering you?"

Aelin let go of a shaky breath, "It's nothing, really. We'll talk about it tomorrow."

He only opened one eye, watching her carefully as she hid her face against his chest and wrapped her thin arms around his torso.

His hand began to slowly massage her back, "If we don't talk about this now I'll be up all night worrying."

She huffed, knowing full well how true those words were. For the love of the other, she began to ramble on about the real reason she hadn't been able to focus on the textbooks.

"I don't want to tell anyone we're together yet," she confessed under her breath.

Rowan opened both eyes then, fixing them on her and giving a small nod with his chin to keep her going.

"It's not that I don't want to tell the others," she said, referring to their closest friends, "but the second they find out, the news will become public knowledge and there are some people I really don't want to let that information get to."

He nodded, understanding perfectly who she was talking about.

"We don't have to tell anyone," he kissed her forehead, continuing to talk in that position, his lips brushing against her skin with every word he spoke, "it'll be our little secret for some time more, until we figure out how to get all the puck bunnies off our backs."

Aelin smiled, lifting her chin and kissing him.

Being the captain of the hockey team, Rowan didn't exactly go unnoticed on campus. Not many people approached him during the day, especially when Lorcan was at his side, knowing full well that they would receive nothing but a rude invitation to leave, but their friend couldn't spend his life attached to Rowan's hip, and the few times the two of them had gone out alone it had happened that a horde of fans had overwhelmed them. After those afternoons, Aelin had found herself the victim of not so nice threats from unknown numbers, as had happened to Lysandra when she had first started dating Aedion.

With Manon's help they had managed to track down the senders and Rowan had been unpleasantly surprised to discover that it was one of the girls he always partied with after the games. A girl he'd always considered a friend.

Rowan had taken all the blame, feeling responsible for those attacks on Aelin and it had taken months to convince him that he had no part in the insanity of others.

They'd started limiting the dates they went on as a pair, even when they were just friends, to prevent similar things from happening again, but Aelin felt trapped.

And she knew it was the same for Rowan.

She wished she could get a place off campus, where she could retreat with him, away from the prying eyes of the world, but it didn't seem right to bring up the topic of 'let's move in together' after not even three months of dating.

Rowan rested a hand on her cheek, moving a strand of hair behind her ear, "It'll be fine. And if anyone finds out and the threats come back, we'll do something about it."

She nodded, not entirely convinced and not at all reassured.

He knew instantly, "Aelin, whatever happens, I don't care what others think. I've waited years to finally have you. I've been on the sidelines all this time, watching you go on date after date with everyone and never with me-"

"You never asked," she mumbled in annoyance.

Rowan continued as if she hadn't spoken, "I would have preferred not to be the talk of the town all the time, but I'm not going to let public opinion take away the one good thing in my life."

She opened her mouth wide, "What about hockey?"

He shrugged, looking at her, "Hockey is just a sport."

"If Lorcan could hear you right now..." she shook her head.

"But Lorcan's not here. And you won't tell him," he made her silently promise.

They exchanged another brief kiss, before they carried on talking about all the worries she had and every word that came out of his lips acted as a sedative for her fears, killing one at a time, until she fell asleep in his arms, lulled by his soft breathing on her neck.

tog tag list (if you wanna be added or removed just dm me or send me an ask)

@maastrash @ireallyshouldsleeprn @sleeping-and-books @hellasblessed @thegoddessofyou @ghostlyrose2 @claralady @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @letstakethedawn @terrible-and-proud @post-it-notes33 @booksstorm @nalgenewhore @queen-of-demons-and-hell @lanyjoy-13 @vasudharaghavan @cupcakey00 @bri-loves-sunflowers @queen-of-glass @thewayshedreamed @the-regal-warrior @fangirlprincess09 @januarystears @rowaelinismyotp @starbornsinger @bookstantrash @thegreyj

#rowaelin month #rowaelin #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin month day two #tog #throne of glass #rowaelin fic

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thyandrawrites · 2 years

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I don’t think I’ve ever felt more enraged at hero soceity than after I read the summary for this weeks chapters. I’m extremely disappointed in Deku. Like wow, why was violence necessary there? Why do they need to be tied up? These arent a group of people that can escape even if they want to. Aoyama made it very clear he didn’t want to hurt anyone. Why was he ever considered to be anything other than a victim? Why was he expected to put everyone elses lives above his own and his parents? Why is protecting yourself an labeled as “evil” in this backwards society? And that closing line “no one should be called a villain for the rest of their lives cause of one crime”. Yeah tell that to Twice.

I wouldn't say they used any excessive violence against Aoyama, personally. Quite the opposite, in fact, he was treated with much more humanity than most actual villains of the series (see: Hawks trying to restrain Twice, Miruko aiming a headshot-kill to Shigaraki, Endeavor cremating him alive till all his flesh melted off his bones). Heroes have a track record of not listening to what the villains have to say before defeating the threat immediately. That of course makes sense because villains aren't people to them, just abstract threats to the status quo. A vague, murky evil that needs stopping at all costs, even if you have to dirty your hands to do so.

But Aoyama's case was different. He wasn't an abstract evil but a classmate with whom Deku and Hagakure spent months training together, having meals together, having fun together. He's not an abstract evil but a person. And it shows in how they interact with him. Notably, the leaks make it look like it wasn't them who went for the first attack, but Aoyama (who shot the laser at them in an attempt to get them to stop following, I think). Only after that does Deku restrain him with black whip and then Aoyama and his parents end up tied up.

But up till that point, we see heroes do something they notably never did before. They try to reason with an opponent before throwing in punches. The whole time Deku's trying to convince Aoyama to desist peacefully, to salvage the situation. Heck, Hagakure even called a fellow classmate instead of a teacher exactly because she hoped that a friend of Aoyama's could solve things peacefully. The implication is that they don't see Aoyama as an enemy.

Both parties are equally unwilling to fight the other. Both hate having to be enemies. Both still need to because of their respective circumstances. And that's the problem here. I think that's what this will all boil boil down to, btw. To Deku finally seeing that the divide between "heroes" and "villains" is entirely made up, and that people often get labeled villains and ostracized far too easily. The past arc was a quest for him to find what made people villains in the first place, and Aoyama now faces him with the fact that anyone can become one. Because their society preys on the different, on the ones that don't fit in, and scapegoats them until they don't have a choice anymore.

I think this was a good chapter, all things considered. A good start, at least. The beginning of a new path, where heroes will hopefully stop dehumanizing villains just because that makes fighting them easier.

If there's one thing that I'm slightly disappointed in, is that Deku, as usual, kinda oversimplifies things. He's made progress, but he's still thinking in pretty black and white terms. Horikoshi here had the opportunity to frame Aoyama's parents as in the wrong not because they gave in to fear, but because they gave in to societal pressure. He could've villainized the fact itself that their society sees quirkless people as so inherently inferior, lacking, less than human, even, that people turn to Afo in hopes of "fixing" dna. But instead of giving us nuance, Horikoshi once again made that set up fall short of giving Deku any actual emotional depth. This was the perfect opportunity for Deku to finally show some negativity towards the society that ostracized him for 14 years, yet... he doesn't? Instead he reverts to his usual, mindless sheep mentality of idolizing heroes. He says "you can still be a hero" when he should've said "it's okay if you never wanted to be a hero. You shouldn't have had to pursue heroics in order to be an equal to me. You'd be my friend even if you didn't care about heroism and never received a quirk because I was once quirkless too, and I can judge an individual's worth as separate from their superpower."

I think we might still see something like that later on, don't get me wrong... but at this point I am a bit disheartened. Every time an opportunity opens up for Deku to have critical thoughts about his past quirklessness, Horikoshi just... lets it pass without doing anything with it

#ali replies #bnha #bnha spoilers

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lady-elora · 3 years

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"It was love", or five reasons and five refutations of hatred for sylki

So, folks, I did it. I finally translated from Russian an amazing article about the romantic line in “Loki”. I agree with every word in it. Hope it’ll help all the sylki shipers to fend off the attacks of antis with a reasoned arguments.

Would you like to talk about our god Odin the most controversial Marvel franchise pairing which caused a storm of indignation and negative emotions on the part of fans?

We're talking about Loki/Sylvie from "Loki" (2021) mini-series, or sylki (lovie) as they were called by fans. Apparently a simple get-pairing consisting of a man and a woman (or bisexual gender fluids, if you prefer), but some people were shocked by such a relationship on the screen. Why? What for? How? That may be your questions. So we’ll discuss their claims and groundlessness of them in this article.

But before we start talking about it, I want to clarify what actually the concept of the "selfcest" is.

Usually we marked as a "selfcest" those works that describe the relationship of a character with himself. Most often, this warning implies a "doubling" of the character; alternatively – the same character is taken at different ages or falls for his/her absolutely identical copies.

Agreed?

Let's go then.

< < < 1 > > >

The first and main thing which follows from the definition above is: "Showing the selfcest on the screen is disgusting and immoral!"

It also follows from the definition above that the selfcest is the relationship of the same character with himself in the form of identical copies both in character and appearance. The highest form of narcissism, according to Mobius (which, in fact, is to some extent true). Horrors from a snuffbox, according to some impressionable audience. It hardly makes sense to rant about the fact that masturbation is also a form of selfcest (although the fact is rather amusing).

The bottom line is that if Loki once again created a copy of himself to deceive someone and fell in love with it, it would be a selfcest. Splitting himself into two people and building a relationship between them is a selfcest as well. Turning into a hermaphrodite and ... no, this is something completely perverted.

The basis of the selfcest is absolute identity. If we take a character who is so in love with him/herself that he/she sees relationships only with him/herself, then in such a case he/she can only build them with a perfect scanned copy of him/herself. It will be very easy for the person who knows him/herself inside and out to notice some inconsistencies in a partner, and then it makes no sense to build a relationship if he/she is not as perfect (as the "original" is), isn’t it? That’s how this logic works.

And now attention, please!

Is the romance of two Elvis Presley understudies a selfcest?

They look almost the same, both like Elvis... But no, right? These two people are different people, with different tempers and lives, who are similar only in appearance and pseudonyms. So this is a very ordinary relationship.

Now let's get back to our sheep. So we have two people from different worlds, with different stories, different tempers, different powers and different external signs who were born under the same name and later lived their lives with different ones. The only thing that is identical in them is the essence of the God of Mischief. So where is the ground for an egoistic selfcest? Nowhere.

Don't forget about identity. We can say that they are very similar, since initially they are both Lokis. But do you wanna say it's so hard to meet similar people in real life? No. Do you wanna say it's hard to meet similar people in two similar universes? No. I'll tell you a secret: writers often like to use the trope of intertwining almost identical tempers between characters to show their mental connection. And it's not a crime, but a common technique. And, again, a "similarity" doesn't fall under the criteria of selfcest.

And finally, if Sylvie were an exact copy of Loki, would there be people who love one but can't stand the other? It's the same character after all, so what's the problem? But the point is that Loki is Loki. And Sylvie is Sylvie. They exist separately from each other and are not the same due to the presence of distinctive features.

If you want to use Kang's words, remember that he admired these two.

< < < 2 > > >

The second and no less amusing is "Loki doesn't need a love interest at all!"

I'm sorry, but which Loki?

The one who appeared in all the films of the series "Thor" and "The Avengers"?

He's dead, guys.

And Loki from the series is a character torn out from the finale of the first "Avengers" and revamped by TVA with the help of an impromptu session of psychologist Mobius and viewing on-screen all of his promising deeds. This Loki was told head-on that he was created as a minor character in order to plot his machinations for the development of the protagonists and he was unnecessary to the whole world. This Loki has an advantage over the previously known version of himself just in knowing this fact. This Loki has recognized for everyone and for himself that he didn't want to harm the others. And this Loki, by definition, is already a different character, but for some reason people tailor him to a long-familiar one, ignoring the obvious things point-blank.

He is no stranger to simple human feelings, because every version of the God of Mischief is initially an offended and despised child grown up in the shadow of his own brother, a child who just wanted to be loved too and in the same way. Only the paths to this under-goal were different for all Lokis. One killed Thor in order to remain the only ruler (people always adore kings), another invented unthinkable feats (people love heroes), the third built a perfect world out of promises for everyone, the fourth tried to become a hero himself, but was too crushed to find mistakes in his plan, the fifth excluded himself from the equation so that everyone understood he didn't want to harm the others and to cause the pain.

Loki from the series is a version that knows everything about himself, but at the same time is not bound by the framework of the other variants' plot. He doesn't need to win back Asgard, to fight with Thanos, with the Avengers, with contempt and so on. He is free from borders. He is from the world where Frigga never died. He is the only Loki without the "glorious purpose". He is different.

So his attitude to other people is now different as well. It's stupid to perceive this version exactly as a long-known character.

After all he had seen, this Loki would hardly be able to live alone like any other. He is extremely naked and needs love (in any form), as the most reliable and not bringing destruction and suffering point of support.

< < < 3 > > >

The third and my favorite thing is: "Love in five minutes! Why did it come out at all?"

Why did Loki fall for Sylvie, and even in a couple of days?

OK, you can quite easily explain Sylvie's motivation: she found a person who had interest for her, who suddenly cared about her, protected her... Could he be an unworthy party in such a case? Moreover, before that, Sylvie, in principle, had no close people and she internally really lacked such an attitude to herself, banal love (parents, people, friends, romantic), which she hadn’t due to the lack of normal childhood and a stable life.

But Loki?..

But Loki is not a vain killing machine from The Avengers anymore, not a person for whom the self-affirmation is the only goal in life. Let's rewind a little, and remember that he was brainwashed in TVA and lowered from heaven to earth. Loki was always reasonable. Loki could always be courteous and friendly. Loki was always a gentleman. And finally he realized that there's no sense in all this aggression and hyperbolized narcissism, and he pushed his one-actor theater aside in order to at least normally rethink the concept of time and reality.

And here comes Sylvie.

Unpredictable, dangerous, painfully similar to him, but at the same time completely different. Loki never had good intentions in his conquests; only the ways were sometimes good. Sylvie went to the good liberation of people and the return of their right to choose their lives, but through blood. In fact, she is his mirror image.

She intrigued. A wild person who swung at the destruction of the time control organization alone and coped well with it.

However, the countdown started from the moment when they both got on the train. The moment when Loki began to understand what the real essence of Sylvie was. Grown up in fear, distrustful, broken Sylvie, who was desperately trying to make TVA pay for everything. For everyone. And it was amazing for him.

Here, as for me, the Moffat's quote about his BBC Sherlock fits very well: ..when he saw her, he thought: "Maybe there can be someone like me?" – but with a slight nuance that Loki himself would like to be someone like that. Like a fighter in spite of and for the good, causing admiration. With some corrections in the form of the absence of a painful childhood, despair and anger.

Then the spring of "Loki's MeUs" begins to unwind, and the essence of it is that he understands her and her feelings, because, although they are different people, they are internally similar. Loki looks at her as if she is a person he has known for a very long time, but not completely. It's like if you met an old childhood friend seven years later: it seems to be the same, but also it seems to be different. It seems that everything is elementary, but there's not enough of a certain number of details.

(He'll realize later that he was missing much more).

So we take the initial interest, add the conditional knowledge of a person, and we get a very specific variation of the trope "from friends to lovers".

This may seem far-fetched, but we have two factors on our hands that are fundamental for this trope. Keep them in your head, but for now, let's applaud the fact that Marvel for the first time figured out how to derive formulas for the logical development of relationships in the shortest possible time. In what way? In the most elementary way: through psychology.

There's such a thing as the stages of the formation of relationships, which includes:

- Falling in love (interest, flirting, rethinking)

- Trust (challenge, joint activity, mutual assistance)

- A sense of kinship (empathy, responsibility, confidence)

- A sense of unity

- Love

In our case, only the first three points are considered, but the third one is with a chip in the form of a final. I should also focus attention on the fact we are not considering love. We are considering a serious crush, which can develop into love, since the latter one is a slightly longer process that still has to go through to the end. And we consider them in extreme (+accelerated by our two fundamental factors) conditions, where our heroes are forced to work together and trust each other in order to survive.

After reviewing the aspects of the three points we have chosen, we can easily draw analogies with the events that happened with Loki and Sylvie.

They are interested in each other, they think that they know each other, they develop in relationships with each other in a completely healthy way. A little faster than in the series for a hundred episodes maybe, but it is conditioned.

Needless to say, this is impossible and illogical: we have the clearest example of love from nowhere in the form of a couple of Scott Lang and Hope Van Dyne, who had absolutely no prerequisites to it, but at the same time kissed at the end of the first film. Nothing personal, it's just a fact.

The relations of our "defendants" aren't based on carnal attraction, they didn't immediately break out ready-made due to a rush of adrenaline, they are not one-sided and not abusive. Loki and Sylvie carry about each other, support each other (if it doesn't seem so, then we'll also talk about Sylvie a little later, everything in its own time), plus sympathy and love based on the fact that a person is ready to fight with you and trust you, sounds very appropriate, doesn't it?

And yes, there are similar examples of "love in five minutes" in life, which I've also seen. This is real.

< < < 4 > > >

The fourth thing which also makes me roll my eyes is "Sylvie didn't need relationships at all and she didn't care about Loki."

So let's make a small lyrical digression and think about who Sylvie is.

The Goddess of Mischief? Yep, but far from Loki, which means there's no sense to adjust her to the same classic image. As a child, Sylvie was dragged out of her own world. As a child, Sylvie fled across the time with fear and horror from TVA. Sylvie hid all her conscious life and saw people dying around her over and over again. Sylvie knew that outside of the apocalypses millions are simply dying from the hands of TVA too. She was alone all the time, during all her life she developed anger and hatred for this organization, until revenge for herself and for others became the only meaning of her life.

And here comes Loki.

Another version of the God of Mischief, which forces her to rebuild the plan on the go, in order to still bring it to the end. Frivolous, broken, stucked up Loki. He lazily, automatically puts sticks in her wheels. And then, on Lamentis, he suddenly decides to fight with her and help. After that, he completely trusts her with his life and cares about her own. And it seems to her like some kind of nonsense, like another trick, an invention for personal gain. Sylvie understands the essence of Loki, but she can't perceive him the way he perceives her. She sees in him what she could have become without the intervention of TVA.

But after that rush through the city, after realizing the hopelessness of the situation, when he says he is sorry and he thinks she is amazing, something clicks in her head. No one has ever cared about her (in this regard, she is not like Loki, who had at least Frigga), and now Loki, who knows her only from the archives and her meager life-story, who dragged her into the apocalypse, but also tried his best to help her to get out, just says that he is fascinated.

Sylvie grew up with her own concept of truth and lies: for her, there's only her truth and the eternal deception from the others. And then she thinks: may it be that..?

The thoughts that no one on the entire Timeline needs her, and that she should have recognized the lie, are marinating in her head to the end. Loki is not like the people she has spent her whole life with (he looks more like her, understands more or tries to understand at least; he believes), Loki behaves strangely and worries about her. Sylvie can't believe it (her past affects her completely), but subconsciously she wants someone to really care about her.

And she starts taking care of Loki in return. She comes closer and closer, but at the same time she is ready to turn around and rush back at any moment. Because she's scared. Sophia Di Martino says that for Sylvie, feelings are something new, unknown, and such things always cause fear in people. She tries to deny it, to be ironic, she's waiting for a trick, but doesn't move away.

She's just thinking: "Come on. Betray me. Betray me so that I'll be right again and trust no one anymore."

But Loki doesn't betray her. On the contrary: he recognizes that he cares of her, he tries to protect her with all his might. And that's the moment when Sylvie finally falls in love. That's why she pushes him through the portal to TVA which – the Multiverse is being formed, yay – is the safest place at the time.

Why didn't she give up on killing Kang? Because that was her glorious purpose. Sylvie lived with the revenge and the dream of saving everyone from the dictator and she just couldn't give up all this after the horrors that she experienced in her life. Blood, death and fear – that's what she saw during all these years. But Loki didn't see that so he couldn't understand. That's why Sylvie didn't listen to him.

And if she didn't care about Loki, if she didn't feel anything at all, Sylvie would have killed him the moment her sword was at his neck. She'd killed before – it wouldn't be a problem. But she does care of Loki.

< < < 5 > > >

The fifth and final thing is "These relationships hinder the development of both characters!"

And that's the funniest claim from those who watched the series with their eyes closed.

During the series, Sylvie and Loki are revealed from new sides thanks to their feelings. Caring for others, compassion, responsibility, the very fact of showing love for another person – all this develops them both. The friendship was shown through Mobius. The family has always been represented by Thor, Odin and Frigga. But showrunners wanted to reveal Loki from all sides, decompose him into components and show what he is from the inside in all aspects. And they did it.

Loki, who doesn't care about the fate of the Universe, and who only wants to regain world domination again, turns into a hero who wants to save the whole world. And one more person.

With Sylvie, it's a little more difficult, due to the fact that her life was also more difficult. Her case is more lost. However, in the end we see that such a long-awaited retribution doesn't bring her satisfaction. Because she understands the wrongness of this act, she regrets it and realizes that everything was wrong. But she realizes it too late.

If we had cut Loki out of her life, Sylvie would have killed the Keeper without any guilt, without feeling remorse, because she wouldn't have known that everything could be different, that she might choose another way.

This is what is called character development.

Sophia says both Loki and Sylvie feel the same, they grow together, but at different rates. And by the end of the series, Sylvie is approximately where Loki was after a psychotherapy session with Mobius. But not at the very beginning – that's what's important.

I hope this article has at least a little explained the whole essence of sylki pairing, because surely I'm not Tom and Sophia, who know their characters best. However, trying is something, isn't it?

Thanks for attention ;)

Source: «Это была любовь», или пять причин и пять опровержений ненависти к Sylki

#loki #sylvie #loki x sylvie #loki series #sylki #lovie #lovedaggers #fandom analytics #translation from russian

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