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#not a quote bear with me lol

mswyrr · 9 months

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more on michelin stars

I genuinely think it's going to be an important plot point in s3 re: why exactly Sydney wants a star and why *one* specifically. I went and researched and discovered something I used in my fic, which is that one Michelin star restaurants are excellent cuisine that normal people can still afford. And that connected, for me, to what Sydney had told Marcus about how going out was so special when she was a kid and she wanted to share that kind of amazing thing with people:

We didn't really like eat out a lot growing up, so when we did, it felt special even if it wasn't.... I wanna cook for people and make them happy and give them the best bacon on Earth (1x08)

I'm so hopeful/convinced that the research they have with, like, Matty (the chef who plays Fak) right there on set, means the writers know that about what one star places can be like. And that it's meant to be part of this - more humane vision of excellence for Sydney, where their spot is AMAZING, but it's not a cruel kitchen culture, it's not only for the rich.

For her, it’s *part* of her vision, where she says:

“I think this place could be so different from all the other places we've been at. But, in order for that to be true, we need to run things different.“ (1x03)

But Carmy sees a star and all it means (all he’s ever known it to mean) as a repudiation of that kind of humanity. You say the word "star" and immediately Carmy goes "fuck stars" (2x01) as pure self-defense - because stars are just pain and suffering to him. They're NYC chef and everything that mess became.

He's so traumatized by the whole thing he doesn't think to ask the right questions: why do you want one? What is your vision for it? Why do you specifically want *one* instead of two or three? What timeline do you have in mind for getting there and how can we strategize on this together?

Instead, because he wants so desperately to please her, despite that instinctive, self-defensive "fuck stars" he relents and asks - okay, are you sure? Are you positive this is what you want? Really?? It's terrible. It's just dread and fear and throwing up every day before work. You really want me to give you this?

(I’ll give you anything you want)

He never asks the right questions. Just assuming the level of pain which is his only experience of this is what the thing IS--playing into that theme about how people only know what they're taught, only know what they are given, and if we are given pain and patterns of it it is so hard to even imagine things can be different and, when you can imagine it, still so hard to actually get there.

(It’s not a coincidence that the ASL sign is one of the few positive, healthy examples of kitchen culture Carmy witnessed - we only know what we’re taught, and it can be hard work to even figure out what “not shitty” IS let alone doing it)

So he's assuming all of that and it's like - if she's his CDC, does she want him to push her as hard as he was pushed? Push himself that hard again? He doesn't want to do either of those things. But that's all he knows. And she keeps saying this is what she wants. And he wants to give her everything she wants.

(In the same conversation she kept saying yes, this is what I want, she expressed admiration for the designer chef outfit he later buys her as a gift - he wants to give her everything she wants, even when it seems like a terrible idea he’s torn about)

I think this misunderstanding is intentional and it’s going to come out in S3. A one star restaurant fits so perfectly with what we know of Sydney’s goals and love for her work! And Carmy not able to even conceive of something better because of the patterns he’s stuck in and finding his way to her vision makes sense for him.

I think Carmy figuring out how this work can be joyful and humane is going to be a huge part of S3. Sydney not becoming lost in the high stress environment, not following in younger!Carmy's footsteps living a life of pure drive and dread, and Carmy finding that for the first time.

I do think that, given where they both end in 2x10, there’s going to be a period of conflict and a real bunch of issues for both of them - but with themes and ideas like this seeded into the story there’s so many ways to make s3 start out in a bad way and then really end in joy in a beautiful way?

#the bear #sydney adamu #carmen berzatto #sydcarmy #carmen x sydney #the bear meta #my meta #annnnd i'm back to my point that #this show would be utterly miserable and not enjoyable for me personally to watch #without sydney #because like.... she keeps having vision in ways #that this partnership needs #on his own he can't see the way to climb out of the dark hole he's lived his whole life in #and (Sorry i am quoting this verse in a strictly literary sense not preaching LOL) 'where there is no vision the people perish'#the show without sydney (as some reddit assholes seem to want...) is a short season about one guy's awful breakdown that time he tried to #bury his grief in fixing up the family restaurant #and had a breakdown after max 6 months #and then nat sold the place for them both #for both their wellbeing #to like - keep ONE brother alive #looking at it in fairy tale terms #(not my expertise but lemme try for a sec)#the restaurant is also the family #and they're under a kind of curse?#curse of the past #the awful patterns #carmy is under a curse #and sydney is the person #who is able to walk in #and break that

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peterspinkrobe · 9 months

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Temptation | Priest!Miguel O’Hara x femreader [part 4]

W/C: 7,1k+ Go read the other chapters

Warnings/Rating: 18+. Religious content. Some Spanish. [smut spoilers ahead lol] ~~~~~~~~~~~ Reader has a vagina. Oral (f receiving). Some overstimulation. That’s all, babe.

A/N: so so so sorry it took so long. Thank you for your patience. I got real wrapped up in the chapter and work has been working me. Looking up flower symbolism and shit. Also, turns out the Bible has smut too. The scripture quoted throughout is from Song of Songs 4-7. Let me know what you think. Pic is something I found on Google (shame)

The chill of the evening air reminded the two who stepped into it that August was bleeding into September. Change was in the wind that carried hues of summer - fluttering down from trees that were shedding their warm colors for leaves of yellow, red, and orange gradients. The sun set earlier day by day as autumn approached the little town hidden in the Catskills mountain belt.

As the sun buried itself deeper into the horizon, it cast an expanse of purples and blues on the clouds above the two making their way into the courtyard behind the church. The pair stole away, silently sneaking out a side door, while the others enjoyed their supper inside. They were accompanied only by the statues of winged angels frozen in time - pouring bowls of abundance into the garden.

Wildflowers burst from patches along the walkways as the tall man guides the follower to a bench situated beside a maple tree. He ducked to avoid the overhead branches as he sat down and invited the other to join him there.

Wild Asters sprouted on either side of the bench in large clusters, long stems shooting up petals of white and red. The one still standing admires the stark contrast between the backdrop of the natural world and the seated one’s black clothes and collared neck. No words have been exchanged since they stepped into the open air but the silent invitation of the large hand patting the open space made the other feel tingles, nonetheless.

The black clad man kept his hands in his lap and shot sideways glances at the one beside him. Their nerves caused them to bounce their knees rapidly. The silence and their nervousness was too much for the man to bear. He wanted to calm them down and reassure them that all was well. He placed his large hand on the other’s knee, halting the bobbing leg. The sudden touch caused them to look up at him into the stormy dark eyes that showed nothing but concern and curiosity. He spoke their name and the song brought them back to Earth.

__________________________________________

“Your confession last-” the deacon began, but was interrupted by your nervous apology.

“I’m so sorry that you had to hear all that. I am so embarrassed and I understand if you think I shouldn’t come here anymore. The last thing I want to do is get you in trouble or-.” This time you are interrupted by that large hand squeezing your leg gently. You look down and see the long-sleeved black dress shirt rolled up to his forearm, the muscle there too tight for it to roll up any further. The veins in his arms protrude and you trace one with your eyes that trails up his arm to the back on his hand. His palm envelopes your kneecap and the long fingers create a cage around the joint. You swallow your words and silently curse the clothes separating skin.

“Please… let me finish.” He brought his other hand to his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. He sounded strained, as if he had to get the words out or he would burst. Like the things he had to say were compacted in his skull and caused pressure to build between his eyes. You fell silent again and your eyes darted between the scrunched lids of his eyes.

“Ever since your confession I have been wanting to speak with you. I tried calling after you that day but I know I must have scared you.” Fear wasn’t the primary motive for hauling ass out that church as much as it was shame, but you didn’t want to interrupt him. “And then you weren’t here on Sunday… I realize after your confession that you’re only really here for your mother, but I so wished you were here that day so we could talk face to face.” He continued slightly solemnly.

“I hated that we didn’t get to speak on your struggles further and we weren’t able to close the confession as you deserved. You need to know that I hold no judgment towards you - that session was between you and Him. Everyone's path is different and faith isn’t cookie cutter.” He was so impassioned that when his eyes finally met yours again they lit up with excitement in his explanation.

“I owed a fellow man of the church a favor and I took over his confession shift that day last week. The fact that you came to confession that day… on that day of all days. To you all that may seem serendipitous or coincidental, that you felt that strange urge to release those doubts on the day that I was in the booth, but we in the business like to call that ‘God’s Timing’.” The worry and stress seem to melt away as he talks about your interaction in the booth, very different from the reaction you were expecting. His eyes brighten when you, him, and God are being mentioned in the same breath. He becomes more animated and gestures to the expanse of nature around the two of you.”You were meant to go there that day and say those words, I was meant to be there to hear them, as we are meant to be here now in this garden.”

His chest rises and falls from the excitement he feels. He was certain that this is what is felt to be overcome with the Spirit as he had seen in other churches. For the words to fall out without filters and not hold back the faith. When he lowers his eyes to yours again there is a soft smile in them that matches the one slightly stretching his lips.

“I don’t care if you don’t believe in what I preach,” He says this suddenly and his smile slowly fades into something more serious. “It doesn’t bother me that we don’t share the same faith in Christ.”

Heavy pause follows the revelation and you dare not interrupt him, giving him the time to express himself as he did for you in the booth. The setting sun shines rays into his eyes and they reflect back deep amber irises. Their brilliance bounces across your face like he is studying every inch of it - as if your countenance were a difficult passage in Numbers to interpret.

When he speaks again, you find that you aren't as drunk in the music of his voice. The notes are grounding and almost meditative.

“But what worries me is that you don’t share the same faith in yourself that I do. That you don’t see yourself as worthy of blessings when you are a blessing yourself.” The light chill in the air can’t keep the heat from creeping up your chest and neck. His tone became lighter as he went on.

“You are more than deserving of good things. I know our internal thoughts make us feel otherwise, but I need you to know that what they say to you isn't the truth. We all have personal demons that make us question ourselves.” He tilts his upper half more towards you and his large shoulders jut against the backdrop of maple branches and stirring leaves.

Slowly, so slowly, he slides his hand centimeters up your leg so it’s resting more on your thigh.

“I must also confess that I…” He inhales sharply and releases the words with his exhale, “I’m fighting against every urge in my body to maintain myself when I’m around you.” His brows furrow lightly as his other hand comes to cup your chin again, like he had that first time you’d met. The voice is now the smoky room of a jazz club reverberating lowly in the small distance between the two of you.

“Trying to uphold the principles that have nearly been beaten into me when you are in the same room,” he starts to lean in, “you don’t even have to be in the room, mí vicio, for temptation to threaten the sanctity of my profession.”

He tenses ever so slightly, you feel and hear the hesitation in his touch and voice.

“I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, or abuse my position..” he starts to pull his hands away, but you quickly grab his hand on your leg and grip his wrist to hold him there. His eyes widen at your response and his mouth hangs open slightly. A pointed canine dipping into his plump bottom lip as you move his hand to cup your cheek.

He brings his face to yours and looks into your eyes again before his stubborn raising escapes his lips, attempting to put his faith before pleasure, “Tell me to stop… tell me we can’t do this.” He presses his lips together and turns his head away a little. The anguish in the words makes you think he might crumble from the war in his mind.

You respond by closing the rest of the gap and pressing your lips onto his cheek. There is an evening shadow of hairs that poke into the soft kiss. He brings his eyes forward to lock back with yours and your noses bump together. Your breathing mixes and his shoulders rise and fall heavily and it seems as if he’s bracing himself with the grip on your leg. The temptation of just being close to you causes his lips to tremble.

“I don’t think you’ll burn in hell if we kiss,” you try to lighten his tension some and he does chuckle as you feel the shaky breathing on your cheeks.

“Funny.” He quips, but he doesn’t say aloud that he’s already burning. His insides are on fire at the feeling of you in his hands. He knows his soul is doomed if fantasy is enough to condemn. He’d burn for the images he’s pictured of you, the positions his imagination puts you in, and for the way his body is reacting to your permissive responses now. The fact that you want this as much as him makes holding back more difficult.

The anticipation that hung from your pout was too much for him and he whispered to himself before pulling your chin up and kissing you.

Just a press of lips against lips. They brushed against each other as your noses moved to accommodate for the space removed. That first kiss was brief, an innocent expression of the brewing affection between you. Yet, it was laden with complex emotions. A small jolt of electricity sparks from Miguel's chest at the kiss and his heartbeat echoed like a drum in his chest.

He was taken aback at how the simple, sweet kiss had made his head spin and when your lips parted he saw your eyes reflecting desire in their haze. Your eyes closed again and allowed your lips to guide the way.

The two of you traded little pecks and pleasure courses through his body. His hand from your knee now held your right hip and the cupped palm now snaked behind your neck and held your head to his as he deepened the kiss. It was harder to hold back as the deacon’s lust, his want, his desire, was too strong. He peaked down through slitted lids at your hands holding the chest of his shirt in fists and grunted against your closed mouths.

Unadulterated passion overwhelmed him and he poked the tip of his tongue to your lips in request. In those cold showers he had taken to try and control his thoughts, he had instead sinfully prayed to feel the inside of your mouth with his tongue, his fingers, and his currently tented dick. Your receptiveness made him nearly whine when you opened your lips in invitation. The buzz in his brain made him lose his inhibitions as he greedily licked into your mouth. He explored your slick cheeks and your tongues clashed together in their first meeting.

As your tongues danced between your mouths, you found that you were the one having to pull away for breath. Father Miguel’s face had reddened from lack of oxygen since he was prioritizing kissing you inside of breathing. His eyes would open halfway, his eyebrows would knit together in a pleading manner, and his pursed lips were swollen when you pulled away. Strands of his dark hair dangled into his forehead. The desperation on his face and in his grip on you was certainly a sight to behold. It was alluring that he was so affected just by kissing, you imagined just how sensitive he must be. It would be a lie to say you weren’t also feeling warmth pool in your belly at the exchange of kisses. You held his face in your hands and your bodies pressed against each other when he wrapped his arms around you. His voice dripped with yearning as he spoke:

“Let me show you how worthy you are…”

The words were a whisper in the wind, a secret kept by the rustling leaves, but they held a vow he intended to uphold.

_______________________________________

Getting away from your mother was surprisingly easy. She was wiped from cooking and everyone was shooing her home, telling her they would handle the clean up. The only real clean up was from the dishes they had dirtied as she had done most of the kitchen keep up as she cooked.

You should’ve been tired too but your mind still whirred from the excitement earlier. The promise of another rendezvous had you eager to volunteer in the clean up. Your mother looked at you again with pride when you told her to go on ahead and that you’d meet her home later after finishing here. If only she knew your true intentions.

Getting Father Miguel away from his parish was another story. You were washing your hands in the kitchen sink as the last of the trash was being taken out. Discretion was attempted as you stole glances at him helping others with their things and wishing them a blessed evening. At one point he catches your eye and his conviction nearly crumbles, but to you he maintains his composure. He gives you the aforementioned signal of a nod and shaky smile and you dry your hands before excusing yourself from one of the church members on your street. You make it seem as though you’re leaving for the night, but head towards the opposite end of the hall when the dining room door closes behind you.

You try to keep your nerves together as you enter the room on the far left end. You try not to think about Father Steen’s name on the door. You try not to hear the innocent farewells and blessings from the other side of the church. You try to look away from the surrounding symbols of sacrifice for sins you were actively committing. You try to calm yourself and your racing mind as you settle in the chair opposite to the one at the desk.

Curiosity temporarily overtakes your other worries when you crane your neck to see the pages that are open on the desk in front of you. It’s obvious what book it is but it’s hard to tell what chapter given it’s upside down, eleven size font, and single-spaced.

You don’t notice the noise completely dying down in the other room as you scan the office. You’ve never actually been in this office so you don’t know what belongs to Father Steen or the deacon. You do recognize the Catholic vestments that were worn by the elder but there was one you hadn’t seen that was separated from the others.

You could tell as you approached that it was much more fancy than the humble ones worn by either of the church heads. Its red satin underside was soft and silky against your inquisitive, yet careful, fingertips. The emerald green top portion was trimmed and detailed in intricate golden lacework. Embroidered red and white flowers weaved with golden stems and darker woven patterns accentuated the colors even further. It was sturdy and seemed handmade as you held the matching stole that hung from the hook beside it.

A knock on the door brought you back to reality and you murmured a ‘come in’. Funny how he was knocking to come into his own office.

He opened the door and walked through the threshold - the top of his head not even an inch away from the frame of the door. He saw you standing by the robes and smiled. He approached you and looked at the robe with you, feeling the fabric himself.

“This chasuble is a Spanish cut. It came from the priest that ran an orphanage in the city and it was a gift to me when he passed.” There’s reverence in his voice as he explains the importance of the robe, and the true weight of the words doesn’t go unnoticed to you. There’s still so much you didn’t know about him.

“Obviously it’s way too fancy for regular service but I always carry it with me. Bring it out for weddings and Easter. Best part? It’s got pockets.” You share a laugh as he wiggles his fingers in a hidden pouch along the inner lining on the front of the robe. He wiggles his eyebrows as well making you laugh more. The sound of it makes him beam at you and you can’t help but feel whiplash from the range of expression he’s given in such a short time.

From a near blubbering mess just from your lips, to this coy attitude now after congregating with his congregation. That tingle returns to your gut at his confident smile and you think of what was going through his mind when you left to come into the office. Did he watch you leave as he shook hands and embraced his newfound flock? Did he feel any impatience with the others who hung on his words? Did he have a change of heart and is attempting to let you down gently? You understood that this was a big No-No in his vocation… maybe post-kiss clarity and being surrounded by the ones trusting his judgment was making him have second thoughts.

Your doubts cause you to speak up, unfortunately spoiling the upbeat mode but you had to make your concerns known.

“I don’t want to make you do something you’ll regret.” His smile fades at the comment as you continue, “you could lose your job.”

He turns towards you from the garments you were admiring.

“Think of the consequences…” you stamper as listens to you, “you could lose the influence and respect you have amongst your fellow brothers in preisthood.” You brace yourself on the chair behind you as you slowly back up past it. He follows you closely.

“Breaking your vows would be a sacrilege.” Your back hits the desk but the deacon still approaches you. “You could be cast out.”

His hands are on your hips and face and your breathing quickens as he leans in, his voice a husky whisper, “For a nonbeliever, you’ve really done your research.”

You know his cocky demeanor is only temporary; when you start kissing again he’ll be back to incoherence. It doesn’t stop you from blushing up at his towering frame.

“Are you sure you want this? I don’t want to make you uncomfortable…” he says and starts to pull away as he had before, so careful not to overstep. Again you put your hands on his chest and it takes everything in you not to squeeze the muscular pecs stretching the front of his shirt.

“I want this. So badly. What I don’t want is you feeling guilty. I know what I want but I also know what is right. I don’t want to be the cause of any turmoil or strain in your spirituality. I’ve caused too much wrong to be the reason you break sacred vows important to you.” You both cling to each other against the desk.

“How could I regret this?” He asks so quietly it’s like he’s asking himself, or silently asking God. “Are matters of the heart to be ashamed of?” The storm in his eyes brewed at the idea of even having to explain himself and his feelings to someone above him in the church. For a man who has never been married, never seen God in the loving embrace of another, to try and tell him what love couldn’t be. How could he be expected to turn away from the act of God placed before him now? How do those in the church not see that to love Him, to truly flourish in His image, is to cherish and admire His other creatures? He scans your face and the hand there moves to gently hold your hands on his chest. How badly he wished to banish any doubt clouding your mind.

“I don’t know how else to explain it other than I have developed a deep connection and affection with you and I wish to learn more, so much more.” His breathing is slightly ragged and you feel the rise and fall under your hands. “Your confession, if you still feel the same, makes it nearly impossible for me to deny this anymore.”

“I cannot deny my feelings and continue to serve the church in a capacity that forbids me from you.” You’re speechless at the words and the abrupt honesty. “I’m making these decisions with my eyes wide open.”

“Deacon, I-“ you begin, but he cuts in to say,

“Please, call me Miguel. Not sure how much longer I’ll be a Deacon after this gets out…” He can’t hold back now that you’re alone so he kisses you because he can. Because there is nothing to hold him back from doing so, and your lips feel so good pressed to his. Hearing you say his name causes a low groan to come from his throat and he parts when you frantically protest against his lips.

“What do you mean? No, no one can know! Not yet… oh my god what would my mom think?! She’d believe I corrupted you, and I have, haven’t I?” Your nervousness and the fact that you were more afraid of the judgment from your mother than that of God Almighty made him chuckle again as he nuzzled into your neck and laid kisses up to your ear.

“Corruption and change are not the same. You have brought about a change in me. While I no longer feel I am the same man I once was before meeting you, I am happy for it.” He moves a hand slowly up your back to cradle your head and he feels like King Solomon taking his Queen to bed in Song of Songs as he kisses your neck.

Your neck is like the tower of David,

built with courses of stone;

on it hang a thousand shields,

all of them shields of warriors.

“Please,” He whispers into your ear and takes the lobe between his lips in a tease, “let me reveal my devotion to you.”

Your only response is your fingers entwining in his hair and a gasp, but it’s enough for him to capture your lips again. This time he wastes no time easing your mouth open with his tongue.

Your lips drop sweetness

as the honeycomb,

milk and honey are under your tongue.

He hasn’t had a woman in his arms like this is such a long time. Excitement overcomes him and his hands aren’t sure where to rest on your body. He wants to learn you only by touch. Allowing himself to be led blindly by faith in your embrace. He cups your breasts over your shirt and moans open mouthed into the kiss. You mewl at the abandonment of restraints you both had been holding yourselves back with. You’re not too lost to the feeling of his hands sliding back down and under your shirt. He traces your spine up and down and grabs at newfound flesh.

“You’re skin… tan suave.” He’s breathless again from the frenzy of kisses and touches he’s covering you in. He nearly loses it wondering how soft the rest of you was. The thought brings his fingers to your bra and he undoes the clasp there. He pulls away to see them fall slightly and his teeth dig into his bottom lip and he nearly growls before pulling your shirt up to reveal the loosened bra still veiling your breasts. His eyes are hungry, but he still asks, “May I?”

You’re frustrated at how long this is taking. Usually this sort of thing is a quick ordeal without all this checking in. You take a deep breath and remind yourself who you’re dealing with. You reassure him with a curt, “No more asking.”

Something snaps in his brain and he’s pulling your bra off and quickly replacing the cups with his own hands. He massages them both, lifting them lightly to feel their weight and admiring how your nipples react to the exposure to air and his fingers. The theories of intelligent, immaculate design are confirmed to him as he gazes at them and appreciates them.

At first, you’re on edge about the intensity in his eyes as he looks over you. Then you realize that you don’t know the last time he’s been with someone and that you just aren’t used to time being taken on you. You attempt to regulate your breathing and relax but when he gently tweaks the buds of your breasts between his large fingers your back arches.

He nearly drools at the sight of your body’s reaction and brings the hardened nipple into his mouth. He swirled his tongue around the tip and caught it in a suckle. You moan and the last thing he sees before your shirt drops over his head is you tossing your head back. He grins devilishly and grazes his teeth over the sensitive nub before moving to give the other some attention. He doesn’t leave it unattended for long when his fingers run his remaining spit over the delicate pucker.

You pull your shirt up and off, discard it somewhere in the room. You couldn’t go any longer without the enticing image of his face in your chest. His lips parted briefly from your right tit so he could mumble, “Dios, me encantan tus tetas…”

The praise and slightly blasphemy of the Lord’s name used in marvel of your body made your head spin. His free hand gripped your hip, then the flesh of your back, ghosting over your soft belly. His fingertips then slip into the hem of your pants and trail fire in their wake. You buck your hips involuntarily and ignore the dig of the desk in your back side.

He pulls away to see your face and the feedback your body gives him. He accepts it eagerly and continues to tease and pull at your pantyline while pinching and pulling at your nipples.

“Please, Miguel-,” The breathlessness in your voice and the flush of your face makes his already hard dick twitch in the restriction of his pants. His name in that sweet, needy tone made him moan out a ‘yeah?’

“I need you.” Your eyes are glazed from the pleasures he’s bestowing upon you. A sheen of sweat shines on your bare chest from the heat of the moment. Your body is on fire and this is only second base. The sensitivity levels of you both were turned up high, but maybe the taboo of it all was causing such an intense reaction. Or maybe you were feeling the same fervent connection he revealed to feel for you. The same string pulling you to one another.

Any resemblance of control fell away from him completely at your pleading pout. His lips crashed down onto yours again and an image of you he’d had in his mind many times flashed and he knew what you needed.

His hand swiftly unbuttons your jeans and the sound of the zipper is in slow motion as he inhales your breathy moans and pleas. His hands move to either side of you and he peels the denim off your burning skin.

He pulls away from you and looks in your eyes as he begins to lower himself. He kisses every inch of newly revealed skin. You’re suddenly feeling slightly self-conscious because you haven’t had a need to do any sort of landscaping for a while. This hadn’t exactly been planned. You look down at your nearly naked body and blush at how he is still completely clothed. You see the dance of his curls as he pulls the jeans off your feet. Then he’s on his knees.

This man of God, in his uniform of black with the white collar slightly askew, knelt before you as if you were an altar to pray to. His hands roamed from your ankles up to your thighs and then down your backside. He squeezes the flesh all over and they never truly settle in one place. He’s intent on learning each curve and dedicating every mole to memory. He catches your eyes and is emboldened by the lust in them so he leans up to press kisses along your abdomen. He murmurs against your tummy at how beautiful you are and how you can stop him at any time. Then, his fingers are hooked around the sides of your panties and he begins to slide them down.

He can’t help but take his time. There were a couple reasons. The first was this was simply too amazing to rush. He’d been in situations like this, and knowing what was coming next excited him. Pulling you out your jeans and spreading your legs brought wafts of your scent into his nose. The aroma was robust and earthy and it drew him in as your panties came down. It had been so long… the smell of your heat made him nearly light-headed but he inhaled deeply. He couldn’t get enough. He had to taste you.

Your panties were still around your knees when he buried his face into your pubic hair and took a deep breath in. You nearly buckled in embarrassment but his arms wrapped around your legs to bring you to his face even more so. He hugged your crotch for a moment and the smells went straight to his cock. It’d been so long since he’d been presented with such a pretty pussy and he had to appreciate the moment.

He pulls you out your panties the rest of the way and pushes you back against the desk. The back of his hand presses to your inner leg and you oblige him by spreading them both for him to get a better look. He sighs as he sits back on his heels and admires the image that has been in his mind for the last couple weeks. The offering of your own communion already glistening from the heavy petting and kissing is more captivating than his imagination could ever be. He paws at the hardness in his jeans and takes a mental image for later.

Motivated by the hunger in his eyes and the way his eyes move in the need to see it all, you start to lose the voice in your head that makes you worry about your body. You bring your hand down and spread your lips a little for him, a little moan escaping you. He nods as if being given instruction and wordlessly brings his mouth to you.

You cry out his name from the touch of his lips to your sensitive flesh. He’s simply kissing the parts you presented to him so graciously. You lean back and brace yourself more on the desk as his hands come up to massage your inner thighs. He moves lower and looks up at you before dragging his tongue slowly up from your seeping pussy to your clit. Your hips buck again and he grins deviously.

The grin and his lewd teasing showed a transformation in the man, as if this part of him laid dormant just beneath the surface of sacredness. His eyes seemed to shift to an alarming red in the lighting. His fingers dug into you like claws. His teeth seemed more pointed when he flashed those wicked grins up at you. He was the one on his knees, but he was the dominant force.

He brought his hands to his new heaven and spread the pearly gates with his thumbs. He blew gently on the exposed, heated skin and you whined from the lack of friction.

Blow on my garden,

that its fragrance may spread everywhere.

Let my beloved come into his garden

and taste its choice fruits.

The stretch of your legs and the wetness that shone between them looked so inviting. He massaged his thumbs up and down, rubbing your lips together and then apart again. His mouth watered at the sight and he licked his lips.

“You’re so wet for me…” he breathed the words before plunging into your waters. The tension, teasing, and time carefully taken on you had driven you crazy but the satisfaction of his tongue on your clit drove you mad. You arched your back and placed your hands on his broad shoulders, the pleasure bringing you to smile and moan in delirium. No longer were you worried about his job, the way you looked, or if he was interested in you as much as you were into him. He was definitely proving that now as he at you out like his last supper.

You surmised that he had to have had some kind of experience with this as you gawk at the expert movements of his tongue. At first, he prodded with the relaxed muscle to test the waters. Now, he was buried into you up to his nose. His tongue would flatten when he wanted a wider range of flavor and you’d feel the large pad lapping you up. Then he would tighten it and drag circles around your clit, sometimes licking into your tightness as if he were starved. He took note of how your body twitched when he pushed his tongue inside you to taste the velvety smoothness of your tight walls. He saw how you jerked with too much stimulation on your delicate bud. He groaned at the sight of your body moving above him, the way your hair hung in your face. The vibration of his convulsing tongue inside you as he groans makes you toss your head back and chant Miguel, Miguel,…

Fueled by the mantra of his name, Miguel goes back to swirling around your clit. He decided his tongue isn’t long enough to feel as deep inside you as he’d like and pushes his middle finger into you halfway. The promise of penetration causes you to grind on the finger and consequently onto his face as well.

He’s sometimes closing his eyes as if he’s in prayer while consuming communion. But the buck of your hips and your weight shifting down on him made his eyes snap open so he could watch your immodesty through lustful eyes. He pulled as you pushed, maintaining the single digit only halfway. He wanted to take his time feeling you and becoming acquainted with what you had so graciously offered to him. When he pulls away from you to speak, the sight of his puffy lips and chin shining with your wetness nearly makes you fall forward.

“Be patient, please,” his voice drips with desperation, “it’s been so long.”

You let out a low whimper but complain no further when he wraps his lips around your clit again and starts moving his finger inside you deeper, finally. You arch your back and your fingers entangle in his hair.

Your light pulling on his hair pulls another moan out of him and he can’t help but rub the underside of himself as he pleasures you. Your wet noises make him want to bathe in your scent and sleek walls. Your moans make his cock twitch in his tightening pants. He flattens his tongue on your swollen clit and languidly licks around and at it directly. He greedily adds another finger so he can gauge just how tight your opening is, but has to ease it in slowly as you cry out.

“Ooh, so tight.. so wet..” He murmurs against your slick as he wiggles the two fingers inside you. “Todo para mí?” This could easily be interpreted as coy, but the tone is earnest. He truly feels blessed with the gifts you’ve so graciously given. He flicks the tip of his cock over the pants as he sweeps his fingers to graze a particularly delicate spot inside you. As soon as his fingers touch that bumpy groove you see stars in your vision. The direct stimulation to your most sensitive space and this new sensation was nearly overwhelming.

“Miguel, ‘s too much.” You pant and attempt to push him off for some reprieve.

He lifts his head with worry in his eyes. His fingers straighten and pump inside you at a grudgingly slow pace. The slightly sweaty strands of hair stick to your thighs as he gently rests his head on it. Leaning on his devotion.

“I just want to make you feel good.” His eyes trail back to watch the way your pussy clings to his fingers when he pulls them out slowly. He seems entranced with the way you stick to his fingers even when they aren’t inside you. You look down to watch the lewd scene and see just how hard his cock is and how he’s got a grip on it through the clothes he’s still fucking wearing. “As good as you make me feel.”

You melt at the words and when his thumb comes up to press around your glistening pearl. He slid it across the top, just above the screaming bud, as if flipping through the thin pages of the Good Book. He ghosted over the area you found tried and true when you were doing this alone and your body, your voice let him know.

He slides his fingers back inside, unable to hold back any longer. His pace is shaky at first, but becomes stable again.

“Mmm, is that good for you?” He begins rubbing small circles in the spot you so beautifully inclined him towards. You nod and moan in response and then he asks you something that nearly knocks you off the table:

“Will you please cum for me?” He asks between heavy breaths that feel warm on your slit. He wondered how you looked, felt, smelled, sounded, and moved when you orgasmed. When he first placed that wafer in your mouth he wanted to be the reason that it happened. He wanted his name to be the one you called out. “Fuck, I need you to…” the curse and the words from the holy man made your insides twist and burn. The steady driving into your core and thumb on that sweet spot causes you to close your eyes and roll your hips with the rhythm.

He says your name and your eyes snap open again.

“Look at me.”

The way his large body slumps between your legs and the background of Catholicism surrounding the two of you hits a dirty switch in your brain and you’re nearing the edge. He can tell by the tightening of the muscles in your thighs and the way they nearly straighten out to give yourself more purchase.

“Just like that. You’re so close aren’t you, tell me.” You cry out a yes!! through your gaped mouth.

“Cum f’me, please. Cum for me just like this. Just for me.”

The words, the perfect pace of his fingers, the way he’s looking up at you… you reach your climax and fight to keep your eyes open as he asked.

Through your lashes you see that he’s grinning up at you. Your slick still on his mouth and stringing between his lips. The type of grin that shouldn’t be on a priest’s face. That’s two things that shouldn’t be on his face now as he licks around his pumping fingers to devour the flow of juices he’s poured out of you.

Your thighs clench around his head and your body spasms, he pulls his mouth away to look up at you between the trap of your thighs.

“Yesss, just like that you look so good. Such a good girl.” He mumbles with a mouth full of your slickness.

He moves his thumb off the hood of your pulsing nub to not overstimulate you, but his fingers remain inside you. The way you pulsed and squeezed around him mesmerized him. He matched the pulses to the grip on his length in a futile attempt to simulate the intoxicating spasms brought onto you by just his hands.

He tries to memorize the heartbeat of your warm burrow as it begins to ease on your come down. He’ll try to emulate the sensation later - on himself - but he knows and dreads the fact that it would not compare to the readied womanhood presented to him. He bites his bottom lip and groans.

You notice how he holds himself and you can’t pull your eyes away from the tent he’s holding back in his pants. Your arms, still a little shaky, move down and you grab his face. You pull a little and he obliges and stands again. He snakes his large arms around your naked body and doesn’t seem to care about any mess you might leave on him. You pull his face to yours and kiss him. His puffy lips are warm against yours and when your tongues touch you taste yourself and feel another coil form in your gut. You pull away and tell him, in a raspy voice,

“I need you. All of you. Please?” Encouraged by your orgasm, you reach your hand down to grab the erection that’s been begging for you.

He hissed your name through his teeth at the sensation and grabs your wrist. He was already embarrassingly close to his own orgasm after having watched you and toyed with himself. Your grip on him made his knees nearly buckle.

His protest made you worry and your arm seized in its place. You let go of him and stare up into his eyes to see where you went wrong with him.

“What’s wrong, Miguel?” The concern in your voice makes him bore his eyes into yours.

“Nothing, no, nothings wrong. You did nothing wrong. I do want this, oh God, you don’t know how badly…” It’s almost as if he’s gasping the words. Your touch, it set him on fire. But, he didn’t think he should, or could, have you the way he really wanted. Not now. Not here. “There’s something you should know. It’s not embarrassing for me, but it’s important you know.”

The seriousness in his tone has you scanning his face for any more information. He says your name and then reveals the truth and you’re left speechless. His tone is matter of fact, the words shocking.

“I’m a virgin.”

You are a garden locked up;

you are a spring enclosed,

a sealed fountain.

Taglist: IT WONT LET ME TAG MORE THAN 50 I’m crying I’m so sorry I’ll try commenting tagging the rest

@soniajustneedssimping @venusisajpeg @cassidysbbg @haveclayeveryday @fishtail111 @sirbird @thecrowstears @elizzybeth-2005 @tayleighuh @crispypugfs @trashcansally @cheezit-luv3rr @marsout @eliiilamar @hamuuko @jagawriterr @oharaswifexx @limenysnocket @xthejazzdalorianx @y0mill @livingmeat @stranded-dream @its-oevy @be-be-la-la @jxylxx @usagijoestar @queenofroses22 @zaunsin @ceoofmiguel @otomebois @fairycwhores @killakungfu-wolfbitch @buffalolover10177 @jaywalksalloverme @jalxnnie @deepinballs @vomitsama @aurora-burrow @wlalspj @tieonatrenchcoat @cicato @firstghostempathtaco @yallhearsm @mumbi-222 @carmenxhuuuu @dv-ocean-blog @multi-fandom-chick-blog1 @jellybeansupmyass @cheyjellyfish @elyissly @laikve @coffeejellypng @staycgoindown @variouslyalloya @redflame5975 @botchedlove @thatoneenchilada @buck-uwu @donnie-spectacular

Chapter 5? It might take some time tho…

#fanfic #miguel o'hara #across the spiderverse #priest!miguel #miguel x reader #priest au #miguel x you #atsv smut #finally!#sorry lol #chapter 4

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demigoddessqueens · 1 month

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Could you write some head canons about how Astarion would be with someone whose the complete opposite? Like they never steal, never take more than they need, and seems to have endless patience. But not stupid or a push over?

Hope this is alright! Your writing is very satisfying to read idk how else to explain it lol. Thank you for the work you put in!

Ohhhmyhgod this is perfect 🥹💕💕

Tbh this makes me think of that quote from The Last Unicorn

Masterlist 10

Astarion thinks there’s more to you than meets the eye

He thinks you have ulterior motives, given his constant running and deceit of others

Never taking his snark to heart, you try to get along with him and everyone in the party

Everyday Astarion always tries to test your patience, incessant questions and always trying to get a rise out of you

Yet you’re still patient with him, often meeting his occasionally cruel remarks with deadpan snark that everyone else laughs at

Astarion will never admit it but he watches you interact with the owl bear cub and Scratch, having to see he’s been wrong about you

After one too many run ins and attempts on all of your lives, he starts to warm up to you.

A friendly remark here and there, he sneaks around to try and find time to talk to you

Of course with a new bond forming, jealousy creeps in and he can’t help but feel a bit territorial of your time and attention

But bless your heart, you mean well. You’re too nice to tell someone to fuck off but always make time for him.

Even as you two grow closer together, the vampire spawn does note all the qualities he admires in you.

Whether or not you think he’s trying to deceive you, his praise has a sincere tone

It’s been 200 years of constantly looking over shoulders and hiding, but for once he can breathe in relief

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ceilidho · 4 months

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Can you give us a summary of Bear for those who don't watch the Six? Because I read the bear fic cause I love you're writing, but I'm kinda lost about him I'm general lol

yes of course!!!

basic synopsis [stole from wikipedia lol]: Six chronicles the operations and daily lives of operators who are part of SEAL Team Six.

(spoilers below)

the overarching plot is about the kidnapping and eventual murder of Rip Taggart, a former member of Team Six. the show also goes over the personal lives of each of the men on the team and how their military careers affect their personal lives

Barry plays Senior Chief Special Warfare Operator (E-8) Joe "Bear" Graves a.k.a. Foxtrot Delta 1/FD1

most important plot points to help you get into my fic:

Bear is married to Lena, a school teacher (they were high school sweethearts); in the first episode (which takes place i think about a year and a half or so prior to the actual start of the show), they just found out that they're going to have a baby girl

Their daughter ends up dying at just a couple months old; it's hugely tragic and has a profound impact on both characters, but Bear is outwardly struggling a lot

Bear is a very religious man (like the kind of guy that can quote scripture from memory), but throughout the show, his relationship with his faith is becoming more and more strained as he feels like he's being punished for all of the killing that he's done as part of Team Six

Since the death of their daughter, Bear and Lena have also been having a lot of trouble conceiving (hence, the fertility clinic scene with Bear jacking off) - we later learn that this is due to a fertility issue on Bear's side (another thing that he takes as a sign that he's being punished - this guy is having a rough fucking time)

All of this is obviously also having a profoundly negative impact on Bear's and Lena's marriage; through the two seasons of the show, they gradually grow apart and eventually separate. Bear is fighting this the whole way through; he's intensely jealous when he suspects her of dating someone else and also struggles with the idea of moving on himself.

(I don't think it's confirmed, but we all imagine he's like Baptist or something; again, I emphasize, deeeeeppllyyy religious.)

As mentioned earlier, his former team member and close friend, Rip, dies at the end of season 1, which is just another thing causing Bear to spiral. Earlier in season 1, Team Six also lost another comrade named Buckley.

I mentioned earlier that Bear struggles with the concept of moving on from Lena and finding someone else. At one point in season 2, he does eventually sleep with someone after a night out at the bar, and to me this is a crucial moment in his character development because it shows just how far he's drifted from the church and from his religious beliefs.

Things that happen in the show but I'm not putting in my fic:

At the end of season 2, Lena is shot and killed. I'm not super interested in putting this in my fic, so in my fic, they've just officially gotten divorced and she's moved away.

#six spoilers #joe bear graves #joe graves

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ef-1 · 6 months

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Twitter is mad at Daniel again because they caught on to that CH interview about Daniel being offered the same contract as Max, icl I'm also bitter about it. I wish he wasn't so rash in 2018

It's easy to be bitter in hindsight but the reality is more nuanced, had it not been recorded and internationally broadcast, what happened to Daniel in 2018 would be flat out unbelievable by ANY standard lol. Daniel had mechanical issues in every. single. weekend in 2018 <- this is not a hyperbole or a joke (more on this later). He ran multiple races with a b spec engine -> 20 bhp down on Max. At no point in 2018 did Max run a lower engine power than Daniel. Daniel incurred 8 dnfs, 4 back of the grid starts for mechanical issues and 6 grid drops in total where as Max had *1*[one]. This isn't even accounting for failures in quali or free practice that would have compromised his set up or race prep. Daniel's car accounted for 92% of Red Bull failures in comparison to Max's 8%.

Christian's cunty "he ran from a fight" comment stung particularly hard because it was Christian who made MULTIPLE public apologies to Daniel in 2018 on the ground that he wasn't given a chance to compete. Christian would apologise to Daniel again when Max won in Mexico, even though Daniel had an uncharacteristic outburst in the media pen during that famous "The car is cursed. I can't wait to give it to Pierre" This isn't even diving into the dubious & predatory RB contract practices. At 28 years old, to quote Christian "It's the first time he's effectively a free agent."

You look back at it now and lament it as a bad call but even by Christian's admission Red Bull were on the verge of selling the team for 4 years. Honda was coming in, I know it's easy to praise Honda now but Honda single handedly sent Alonso into early retirement. He found working with them untenable + said it cost him his love for the sport. Those were the lingering images of Honda as they re-entered the sport, the team who electrocuted Alonso then bled his love for racing dry.

If you weren't around in 2018 let me give you a run down so horrific it looks like a joke:

Australia - Race: 3 Place grid penalty

Bahrain - Race: DNF - Battery Failure

China - Free Practice 3: Gear box issue with complete engine turbo failure. Misses FP3 entirely, no quali set up prepared. He would go on to win that race from p6

Baku - Race: DNF - Collision with Max. Racing incident.

Monaco - Race: partial MGU-K failure. He would go on to win that race with drastic loss of power.

Canada - Free Practice 2 - Power unit issue, misses majority of the session.

France - Race: front wing failure. (it disintegrated)

Austria - Race: DNF - Retires from p3 with MGU-k Failure

Britain - Quali: DRS failure. No DRS activation, still qualifies p6 behind Max in p5

Germany - Race: Back of grid start + DNF - Takes new engine for the weekend, starts p19 + has lower power spec A ICE approximately 20 BHP down on B spec that Max was running. Daniel climbed upto p5 from p19 but incurs a MGU-k failure and retires.

Hungary - Race: Daniel is forced to run lower power spec A ICE again, 20 BHP down on B spec that Max was running

Spa - Free Practice 1 + DNF: Daniel misses entire session with engine injector issue + Daniel would go on to retire after being driven into on lap 1.

Monza - Race: Back of grid start + DNF. Daniel takes another new engine for weekend (spec C) and incurs another full grid penalty, starts p19. Daniel would go on to climb to p6 before having clutch failure and retiring.

Singapore - Race + Quali + Free practice: During every session in Singapore Daniel has an unresolved spec C engine clipping issue that Red Bull can't fix.

Russia - Race + Free Practice 1 - Daniel misses FP1 due to mechanical issues. Daniel takes another engine penalty, starts p18

Japan - Race + Quali: Daniel incurs throttle actuator failure, misses quali, another back of grid start.

USA - Race: DNF - Battery Failure

Mexico - Race: DNF - clutch Bearing failure + start software clutch issue. Daniel retires the race from P2

Brazil - Race: Daniel takes a 5 Place grid penalty due to new turbo charger replacement. Starts in p11.

Abu Dhabi - Free Practice 3: Misses majority of FP3 with water leak.

Daniel's insanely vulnerable "if racing was the only thing making me happy this year, I would have been miserable" during the last on the sofa with Max was a v apt summary of 2018. To suggest that Daniel fucked up based on the information he had in 2018, namely Daniel undergoing all those problems + knowing RB was flirting with selling the team + Helmut's fuckery + having an out from the RB umbrella for the first time in his career? Your problem isn't with his decision making process, you just wish he was clairvoyant which is an unfair thing to be bitter about

#I think Daniel EARNED criticism for the way he left Renault NOT Redbull even if it went biblically bad #I think he deserves shit for Renault I really do.#I need you to understand that Im glad he's back with RB now but he also had no reason to stay in 2018 #His faith in the RB project was not rewarded. he spent his whole career at RB umbrella-#and in the last year of his contract his car collapsed.#anyway #one day I'll make that Renault post #f1 #daniel ricciardo

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notedchampagne · 5 months

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Bro the 6th familial relationships fuck me up so much like the weird Juno and Pal more of a mentor than a mother vibes? And it seems like from Dr Sex that her and Pal's dad are either divorced or just straight up had nothing to do with each other until the genomics department decided they should have a child together?? Like imagine you're a ruthless academic career-woman and one day you get an email from the government like 'congrats! You're a mother!' And they hand you a fresh vat baby that is half you and half your co-worker that you talked to one time at the Christmas party like??? I don't think I would have the most healthy relationship with that child either tbh

And Cam! Earlier in Nona when Pal and Pyrrha are talking about going to the park it is only Kiki that he mentions she might want to save, no mention that apparently both her parents are there too? Her entire family is on the line here. Then she doesn't want her dads to see the Paul transformation because they "wouldn't understand"? You just know there's some long running disagreement there with how far she's yoking herself in with Pal. Do you think they secretly resent him? Did this cause a rift in their family? And what did the conversation look like before or after the transformation? Did Cam tell them she was about to die? Or did they turn away for five seconds and she finally killed herself for her obsessions behind their back? Who broke the news to them? (Who is going to break the news to Pal's dad?) The whole thing just makes me insane!!!!

Also apparently there is some incredible nepotism going on in the 6th oversight body here (or maybe everything is nepotism on the 6th lol)

YOU GET ME i love the 6th house so so much the way the house functions both as a united family w their genetics & a university with the academic quibbling is so fun to me- the sixths weakness was described as "A sprawling organization of erratic loners, the Sixth are chaotic by nature and terrible at collective action." which is 1) hilarious. palamedes is the peoples marxist princess 2) just generally fascinating as a whole. if we take that at face value and consider the 6th house as populated by genius loner nerds, it actually makes sense that they prioritize sending out attractive people to diversify the gene pool - with reference to your statement: dr sex provided a nice handful of evidence that while palamedes and juno have a formal dynamic, theyre affectionate enough that they seem close (at most, to the extent of some gay kid and their favorite english teacher) but seeing juno like a distant mentor is most likely right

taking on more quotes from dr sex, i think its most likely that the Sixth house encourages child bearing / raising through subsidies and an extended work leave of sorts:

Palamedes said, “Enjoying parenting. Enjoying the parenting buyout, I should say. He’s only doing dissertation supervision—and half a year of Immediate History, of course—but he’s got his own projects on the go.”

alexandrites and nireids might be required to go offworld to flirt and have children (i think i came across another post floating somewhere noticing kiki and cam were half-sisters, implying their parent was one of the mentioned) but for residents staying in the sixth house, they probably have about 3-7 other people they could possibly produce children with outside of consanguinity. although forcing them to have children by way of vat birth etc etc is entirely possible in Hell Empire a lot of them probably gave in just for a few years of parental & academic benefits.

one last point - sixth house children canonically live in a dormitory! so if you consider a professor going on paid leave to raise children while doing their own projects for about 7-9 years, then going back to work while their children are sent to a dorm to do nothing but study and train with other peers their age, it falls together so perfectly bro. it makes so much sense. of course pal and cam are nice to their parents but rarely ever close - they were most likely raised and taught communally! god i love worldbuilding

#as for nepotism well. who doesnt indulge in nepotism lmao #talking back #tlt meta #the locked tomb #palamedes sextus #camilla hect #the mysterious study of dr sex

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lycheedr3ams · 6 months

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Witcher!könig

an idea came to me today: witcher!könig

more below the cut

if you're not familiar with the world of the witcher, click here to learn about the game and world. but in short, it's a dark fantasy set in medieval times where monsters, sorceresses, and witchers exist. witchers are monster hunters. witchers train from childhood to fight monsters, and undergo genetic mutations once they have passed all the trials. because of this genetic mutation, they're seen as freaks. remind you of anyone? (konig is not a freak, but many people in-game think he is)

there are a few different witcher schools (think of them as factions, they're not actual schools), and each school's pupils tend to have similar characteristics that define that school. witcher!könig is definitely from the school of the bear. I decided this not only because they do their training in harsh mountain regions, but also because of this quote i found from the wiki:

Witchers of the Bear School, unlike the Wolves or Griffins, tend to be loners and do not forge strong bonds with their brethren, and so them meeting on the Path can even lead to bloodshed. This is because of the philosophy of the school's founder, who believed that witchers should focus only on the job aspect of their profession. He thought that any code or knightly virtues were just inflated nonsense to feed the ego, and thus favored autonomy above all else.

I think this suits könig so much. i can just see him being this gruff, quiet loner witcher. i think he'd prefer to camp outside or live in the countryside eventually rather than in the major cities. also, witchers cannot reproduce but tend to be very horny, so i can also see him sleeping around A LOT lmao. overall, witchers are absolute fucking badasses, but they're spurned by most of society because of their more-than-humanness from the genetic mutations, along with religious propaganda that preaches against them

would you guys be interested in possibly a witcher!königxfem!reader? I'm undecided on if the reader should be a sorceress, or a village girl that witcher!könig meets, maybe does a contract for her, and falls in love with her obviously

variations of bear school armor on Geralt

....

i was going to say that witcher!könig had been cursed with lycanthropy and had to hide this from other witchers, but then i did some research on the lore and apparently, witchers cannot become werewolves. so scratch that lol

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tsugumichikaneshiro · 12 days

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tsugumichi kaneshiro is a weak little bitch. here's why!

↑ if you don't know who tsugumichi is, that's him! he's the serial killer from kotoko's narrative, and who i will focus on. this post is 99% just overanalyzing subtext and extrapolating from (seemingly) unrelated information, so please bear with me. also its really messyyy

first thing i'd like to point towards is the nature of his crime. he is a 24 year old man who kills elementary school girls -> his victims are always inherently weaker than him. the question becomes: why the fuck did he do this. why are they his victims specifically. it seems very likely he was targeting them, after all.

it can't be because he thinks he can get away with it more easily; his father has enough power to get him out of any legal consequence. even his neighbors knew about his crimes, but he still didn't get arrested ever!! he might just like killing them, that is true. he might just like killing them specifically. but! i think it'd be more interesting if those are his victims because those are the only type of people he can kill. only elementary schoolers are weaker than him, so those are the only ones he can and will kill.

he tried to fight back against kotoko, by the way, he did try! he was just really bad at it and apparently ended up getting mutilated so so badly, meanwhile kotoko seemingly suffered zero severe injuries.

additionally, please look at this quote from YONAH:

K: How ridiculous... It's always like this... All of you weaklings always act like this... All of you enjoy seeing someone getting hurt... [...] All of you enjoy seeing a bad person falling down... [...] You keep asking for it, but as soon as it happens near you by your own choice, you all start complaining and evading your responsibility... You're always like this... Always such idiots!

of course, this could just be her talking about everything everyone ever. even herself, if you believe she's projecting. however i do think this was, in some way, referring to tsugumichi.

her generalizing weaklings, saying “it’s always like this, all of you weaklings always act like this,” as if she has personal experience with it... saying it towards someone she thinks likes when people get hurt, when it can be very easily assumed that tsugumichi also enjoyed seeing people in pain? i like to think this means she saw him as weak, at least a little bit

now whether she saw him as weak prior to or after killing him is a mystery! one that i won't really get into... both are possible options with their own merits and there's too little info to actually decide on one scenario over the other... i will say that i am more inclined towards her seeing him as weak prior to killing him, but that is mostly bias and such

there's also this one interrogation that could also be a vague at him, even if unintentional

yes i think he has a weak will (more literally a "weak heart") yes i also think it could be a vague at herself but this post is primarily about tsugumichi being weak... he is a weak little bitch and it's what led to him turning to evil, down the inferior path and such.

whether the thing that caused him to turn to evil was external influences (i really like the internet theory for kotoko so this could also be applied here, but that has less basis to it for him) or just him having some sort of power trip where he really really just wanted to feel some sense of power and does it by killing elementary schoolers... we dont know LOL. there's very little info on him and i am just extrapolating from as much as i can.

i think that's all i can cover that relates to this. some of it probably makes zero sense so feel free to ask me things if you feel so inclined and such.

#milgram #milgram theory #tsugumichi kaneshiro #long post

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lauraneedstochill · 1 year

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The Greens headcanons (modern!au)

I was inspired by @phiasaban post. the second I saw these photos I had an idea for the modern au and just wrote it all down in 10 minutes (this has nothing to do with the show! it’s just me looking at the photos, mind you):

Alicent is a single mom. loves to cook (def cooks when she’s nervous or upset), has a record collection, loves to dance when she’s tipsy. can be a strict parent when she’s pissed (or really tired) but overall is a mama bear (to the point of getting into arguments with teachers — "yeah I think I know what's best for my kids"). she's an angry driver, keeps her car super clean. dresses casually (plaid shirts and jeans), but whenever she puts on a dress she looks so smoking hot it makes every man turn around after her. tons of them flirt with her but she mostly looks uninterested. deep inside is afraid to get her heart broken again. makes friends with her neighbor Cole (he let her borrow flour a few times). he is totally in love with Alicent and everyone sees it but her. he's okay with her taking all the time she needs.

Aegon is a fuckboy but a very apologetic one. has no cruel intentions, he just “loves women so much, he can’t help himself”. either writes songs or poetry. has the weirdest captions on instagram. drinks wine 24/7 but manages to look sober when needed. ends up falling in love with one of his closest friends who’s been tolerating him for years, helping him sober up, making him breakfasts, giving cruel reviews of his sappy poems. one day she just casually picks him up in her car, they’re driving in comfortable silence, she asks him how his day went — and it suddenly strikes him that she’s the one. he’ll probably tell her right away ("I think I'm in love with you" — and she sharply presses the brakes). but it will take a couple of weeks for him to fully sober up, convince her to go on a date with him and then to give him a chance. will plant kisses all over her face whenever she’s upset. he loves movie dates, but his sense of humor is questionable.

Aemond is into sports (pick whatever you like, but he doesn’t look like a team player to me lol). very competitive, self-disciplined, doesn’t talk much. girls swoon over him and he ignores them completely. secretly is a nerd, reads a lot (and pretty much anything). falls in love with a girl who challenges him but will also stand by his side in every situation imaginable even if he’s wrong (she won’t shy away from telling him the truth when it’s just the two of them, though). he’s incredibly protective yet very gentle. it's all about forehead kisses, leaving sweet notes for her, buying flowers for no reason. not a fan of PDA's but will hold her hand every chance he gets. remembers every single anniversary. they’ll probably adopt a dog. he gives the best hugs and loves when she plays with his hair. they can talk about their favorite books for hours and she loves being the only one who gets to see that side of him.

Helaena is into astrology and tarot cards. has a cat (or three) and probably a little pet snake. talks to animals (I also think she’ll be vegan but don’t quote me on that). buys a lot of plants (and gives them names), maybe in attempt to compensate for her smoking. some may say she has a resting bitch face, but those ppl clearly never saw her smile, 'cause it lights up her face and she looks absolutely adorable. she’s the first one to steal their mother’s car (Alicent is not surprised and just texts her "no smoking in the car!"). annoyed with her brothers most of the time but god forbid someone dares to hurt them. carries a pocketknife (it looks very pretty, decorated with crystals and stuff), wears long t-shirts. adventurous but it takes time for her to trust people. will fall in love with someone who’s kind (and maybe introverted?). they’ll get matching tattoos (smth very small and simple), go on road trips and music festivals. yes, I can totally imagine her being queer.

➡ next: modern!Aemond Targaryen, college au part 1 — “All yours” part 2 — First time for everything 💌 my masterlist you can also check out the playlists I made for Aemond and Aegon 🎵

#house of the dragon #my stuff #house of the dragon modern au #modern hotd au #hotd modern au #hotd #hotd fics #hotd imagine #aemond targaryen #aegon targaryen #aegon ii targaryen #helaena targaryen #alicent hightower #house of the dragon fanfiction #alicent hightower imagine #helaena targaryen imagine #aegon targaryen imagine #aemond targaryen imagine

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feralforfrank · 2 years

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THE BEACH DISASTER.

BRADLEY "ROOSTER" BRADSHAW X FEM!READER

summary it's volleyball saturday, and you desperately need to relax and forget about rooster. but he has other plans, which end up with you sharing more than you should.

cw MORE ANGST AHAHAHA, reader being really sad, rooster almost saying the s-word to reader...ALSO, me using that one amy march quote bc i love it (idk if anyone will notice it lol). NON-DESCRIPTIVE READER. TELL ME IF I MISSED ANYTHING.

a/n WAKE UP PART TWO IS POSTED!!! i managed to write 2,1k words... be proud, i've never done this before. i dont like this part as much as the first one, but a LOT of people wanted me to do a part two, so here you go!!!

masterlist | taglist

When you returned to base, your movements were quicker than in the air. You brushed your hair and teeth, changed into a sweatshirt, and ducked under the covers. You were probably the only young person on this base, for all your fellow pilots were getting drunk on the Hard Deck or some other bar.

The tears fell as soon as your head hit the pillow. Fuck him, fuck her, fuck everyone! You couldn't believe you would ever sob over Bradley Bradshaw, but here you were, under your blanket, wiping your snot and tears with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

You knew you'd eventually have to bounce back. Rooster was never yours, to begin with. There was no reason to be crying over someone who had done nothing but absolutely hate and offend you. You shouldn't let a man affect your job or your life. Especially a Navy man. You could find a hundred more like him.

But you didn't want a hundred more Bradley Bradshaws. You wanted the original, the man who, despite making fun of your piloting abilities, was good company when he wanted to. The amusing, talented, tall man with the pornstache you'd tried to shave once while he was napping.

Is he even thinking about me right now? Probably not. He has that pretty girl hanging off his arm, laughing at his jokes, stroking his arm and looking flawless. They're likely by the pool table—Rooster's beating Hangman at a game, and she's cheering for him, handing him his bear every time he scores.

The detailed thought of him, her and your friends makes your heart clench painfully. Tomorrow's Volleyball Saturday, but you don't have the energy or desire to play. You promised Phoenix and Halo to be there so you have to go, but if Rooster brings his new girlfriend, you'll have to bail. You can't stand to see them together again.

Your skull throbs and your eyes burn with new unshed tears. You bet Maria looks striking in a bikini, skin glowing, no stretch marks, and a perfectly flat stomach. She's the perfect girl for him.

God, you need to stop. You need to stop thinking about her. And him—especially him—or you will lose your fucking mind.

You shut your eyes, waiting for a dreamless sleep to consume you. Today has been wild, and fuck Rooster Bradshaw for ruining a perfect evening.

—

You shut your car door after grabbing the cooler stuffed with beers and your bag, wiping the sweat off the top of your brow. You start to make your way down to the beach when you hear a voice call you from behind you.

Jake's walking toward you with a cocky smirk, but today, you don't find the energy to muster up a comment to mock him. You only smile and wait for him. He's holding his own cooler, probably filled to the brim with beers, just like yours.

"You look like shit," is the first thing he says.

You snort. If only you knew, Seresin. "Thanks, you too!"

"Are you ready to get your ass kicked today?" You actually laugh at that.

"In your dreams, Hangman. I'm the best player there is. Just admit your loss already."

It's his turn to laugh. "I thought you liked seeing us naked—' specially me. I've seen the heart eyes you throw my way, Swift."

Seresin wiggles his eyebrows in suggestion, and neither can stop your laughing as you descend down the beach. It felt good to laugh and forget about your current problem—who was a few feet away—for a second.

Once you put your things down, you look toward your friends. They are around the net, likely discussing who'll be on whose team. Hangman is taking his shirt off right next to you, but you pretend not to notice, even though your cheeks burn. Damn every single Navy guy for having such great bodies.

Your eyes look for Rooster subconsciously. Since they're all huddled together, it's hard to spot him at first. But once you find him, you can't look away. He ditched the Hawaiian shirt today, but he's wearing swim trunks and aviators. His skin is shining from the angle the sun hits him, and you nearly drool.

Too bad he's not yours. You sigh at the thought and look away. Your mind could be such a cruel place sometimes. Especially when thinking about Bradley.

"Okay, I'm ready. Are we going or what?" You heard Jake ask.

"Oh no, I'm not playing today, Seresin. I'll gladly sit back and enjoy the show, though."

His smile slightly faltered. "Sure, whatever you want. I'm not going to be the one getting my ass beat by Nix for missing out."

You laughed. "Don't look at my abs too long. Rooster will get jealous!"

And without further explaining, Hangman was running towards the squadron, leaving you with your mouth hung open in shock and cheeks bright red.

You sat down on a beach chair, somewhat focusing on their game. Sure, shirtless and sweaty Navy pilots were a magnificent sight, but Jake's words lingered.

Did he know you liked Rooster? Not a chance since the only person who knew was Nix. So why had he said that? Had Rooster said something to him? Or did he set this up—another cruel move, as if yesterday wasn't enough?

With your head between your tucked on your resting elbows, you let your racing thoughts run around and wreak havoc in your already exhausted brain—occasionally cheering. They consisted of Bradley and your job, the Navy in general, and your friends, Bradley. You hadn't noticed someone sitting next to you until they were speaking.

"Are you okay there, sweetheart?" God, you hated that fucking nickname. And he knew it.

You exhale and look to your left. Rooster's sitting on the chair five feet away from you, and you muster up the courage to look him in the eyes.

"Why do you care, Bradshaw?"

Your tone is harsh, but your heart warms that he cares to know what's bothering you.

"Well, the game's just not the same without your annoying screeches of joy when you score a point. Plus, Nix told me to check up on you." Oh, so he came because he had to.

"You can go. I don't need a babysitter."

"Why so rude, Swift? Someone hurt you?" The sentiment behind that sentence is hidden almost too perfectly. But you notice how his eyes soften, and his frown is deeper. You want to slap yourself for thinking that he cares.

"Maybe someone did. Will you please just leave me alone now?"

You've turned your head away from him now. Flashes of last night burn in front of your eyes, and you feel them brim with tears. Rooster can't see this. He can't see you crying.

"You know what? I came here to apologise. I know we're like-like sworn enemies, but I saw how...How pissed off you looked," yeah pissed off would be an understatement, "when I kissed Maria. I lead her on just to get on your nerves, but I shouldn't have pushed it that far—"

"Doesn't sound like a me problem, Rooster. I'm not Maria." You cut him off and get up, not wanting to hear him speak about this again. But of course, he does.

"I shouldn't have pulled that stunt, but you shouldn't have done that whole thing with Jake!" He's angry, you notice.

"What fucking stunt, Rooster? We're not a couple, for fuck's sake! As you said, we're enemies, and I can do whatever I want," you speak as you move your bears from your mini-fridge to another half-empty cooler.

You try so hard not to let your lips quiver. The words coming out of your mouth hurt because you wish they were true. You wish he'd see that there's no other man but him, that you don't want to be his rival anymore. Instead, here you are, fighting.

You place your phone in the back pocket of your shorts and grab the cooler, wanting nothing but to leave this conversation. Your destination was your car—so you could put the freezer in it. But Rooster had other plans.

"Didn't seem like it when you left the bar crying yesterday. All that because I kissed another girl. You hate me, my ass!"

You roll your eyes and continue walking, ignoring his loud footsteps behind you. This day was supposed to be relaxing, but he was annoying you with his walking, talking, and looking handsome. Handsome—what in the hell am I thinking?

"What cat got your tongue, sweetheart?" You pay him no mind, having reached your car now. This'll be over as soon as you get back to the beach.

"Leave me alone, Rooster," you mutter, your eyes never finding his.

"No, see. You always try to get on my nerves, but this shit? You and Seresin? That's going a step too far, honeybun. You know I dislike him more than I do you, yet you still flirted with him like some kind of slu—" What?

"No," your voice shakes as you finally meet his eyes. "Bradley, you're being mean. Stop it. You can't yell at me about Seresin when I've had to watch you flirt with a hundred other girls. I've liked you since the Academy—before you knew I existed. I won't have you hurt me with your words anymore, not when I've spent so much time trying to find a way for you to like me back."

There's silence. And for a second, your chest feels lighter than it has in weeks. The words tumbled out of your mouth before you could stop them, and you're glad—until you're not. Bradley's looking at you, frozen in his place, his eyes unblinking. Suddenly, you wished you hadn't spoken. The very much spoken line of hatred that connected you two is now severed, and you fear that you've lost him forever.

"You-You don't have to say you like me back or anything. But you needed to know this because the weight was getting too heavy, and I couldn't bear to hold it anymore." You inhale, blinking back tears and forcing sobs down your throat.

"The only reason I approached Jake in the first place was because of you and Maria. She made me so jealous—a kind of jealousy that was so soul-sucking and toxic. Her touching you made me so insecure about my own body because what does she have that I don't? Calling Hangman over me was a petty way of gaining your attention—something I've dreamed of for so long. So, my mind's response was to do something teenage-like to hurt your feelings—even though I knew you wouldn't care that much."

He stays there still, and you take a moment to look at him—really look at him. His eyes are looking at your face, but they're in a faraway place. Someone would say he's not listening, but you know he is. If Bradley wants to ignore someone, he walks away—he never zones out—so yeah, he's listening.

His skin glistens with sweat from the game, and his aviators are lower than they're supposed to be on the bridge of his nose. His hair is messy, and you can see the spots on his cheeks where the sun burned him most.

A few seconds pass, but he's still frozen, and you scoff. You scoff to hide the pain of the rejection you just took. You told him he didn't need to say anything back. So, he can stay as quiet as he wants. But you're leaving. You walk around him, speed-walking to the beach to get your stuff. You don't dare look back.

This is the second time you're leaving because of him. The squadron is busy cheering, so they don't notice how you slip out with a few stray tears rolling down your cheeks.

Rooster's not in front of the car when you arrive. Good, you didn't want to see him after that very embarrassing and emotional moment. He's going to be okay—he's a big boy. You, on the other hand, are on the verge of falling apart. Things changed as soon as you spilt your heart out to him.

You sigh and shut the car door, your fingers turning the key in the ignition. Training is going to be so weird on Monday. Thank fuck for Sunday because you need to gather your thoughts and emotions.

You make a mental note to do your laundry before heading to bed, so you won't have to do it when your friends return, and there's a chance of bumping onto Rooster.

You just need a break away from him to forget about the whole...beach disaster.

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