#(I cannot draw two people together for the life of me

[midnightfictionlibrary]

Better Man - Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Better Man - Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Content : angst, fluff, friends to lovers, jealousy, sexual tension

Word Count : 2.4k

Summary : Anthony must rectify his rakish ways and wed, but he has a lot to think over if he doesn’t want to lose his dearest friend forever. 

A/N : I’ve been reading/watching Bridgerton again, so I had to write for my lovely Anthony. As always, pls like and reblog if you enjoy! 

Anthony raised his glass to his lips as he watched the rest of the “eligible young ladies” at the ball circle him, grateful for your presence at his side. 

“My, my. It is almost as if you are a vulture's prey.” You tease, fixing a delicate button on the wrist of your perfectly crisp, white glove. 

Anthony snorts at your comment. “Please, my lady. Vultures are much more interesting than the ladies circling my person.” He pauses, looking down at you fiddling with your button. He reaches out gently, “If I may,” he mutters quietly, reaching out to fix the offender. An electric jolt passes through you, and you have to keep your eyes on your glove to resist the urge to pull away quickly. You did not wish him to know how you felt about him. 

“Thank you, my lord.” You respond, nodding your head politely and giving him a small smile. He regards you for a moment before bowing and offering you his hand. 

“May I have this dance?” 

“I suppose.” You say, taking on a teasing tone again. Anthony outright smiles at this, leading you to the ballroom floor. It always came easy to dance with you, Anthony realized. It was as if you both could read each other’s next movements perfectly. After all, you had been friends since you were wee babes, crawling through the Bridgertons’ lush garden. You regard him slightly before saying “Have you found a suitable wife yet, Anthony?”

Anthony’s dark eyes settle on yours, and he has to keep from swallowing thickly. Something about the way you settled all of your attention on him had always made him nervous, always making his heart beat a bit too fast. “No.” he says quietly. “None of them are suitable. This is not to be a love match, strictly business, but I cannot imagine any of the women here as my life partner.” He looks down at you again, unable to read the look on your face for the first time in what felt like quite a while. 

“Well.” You say. “On my front I do not have any prospects. No one seems to wish to marry me.” 

“Why would that be?” Anthony questions, too quickly, he thinks. 

“It may have something to do with the fact that we seem to be attached at the hip at every ball we happen to grace with our presence.”

We. Anthony wants to shiver at that word, thinking about you being attached to him was too good to be true. You were much too good for a rake such as himself. His eyebrows knit together and he tilts his head slightly. “Should I leave you here amongst all these people on the ballroom floor?” Now he took on a teasing tone, secretly satisfied that he can pull an eyeroll or annoyed look from your otherwise prim and proper stature. 

You do roll your eyes, shaking your head at him slightly. “You leave me on this dancefloor by myself and I have no doubts even the most boring high society lady here would turn their nose up at you.” You pretend to sniff, as if your feelings were hurt. “And to think, I was under the impression you were my dearest friend.” 

Anthony dips you slightly as the song draws to a close. The vanilla perfume wafting from your exposed neck and up to him. It’s intoxicating to him and he rights the two of you quickly, clearing his throat as he steps back. “I thank you rather kindly for the dance, my lady.” You nod to him, watching as he walks away with a broad step. 

You furrow your brows, wondering why his attitude had changed suddenly, when you are approached by Lord Nikolai Andros, who asks you for a dance. You smile at him graciously, pleasantly surprised that he had approached you, and you would be able to dance with someone other than Anthony for once. 

Dancing with Anthony just made your feelings all the stronger, and you did not know how much longer you could endure being his dearest friend. You curtsy to Lord Andros, following gracefully as he spins you across the ballroom. You wondered idly why he so suddenly expressed an interest to dance with you, but it was exciting to dance with someone else. And yet, you couldn’t help but feel guilty, as if your dance card was to be filled by Anthony Bridgerton and Anthony Bridgerton alone. 

From across the ballroom, Anthony had his hands clenched at his sides, watching Andros spin you across the ballroom. You were much too good for Andros, and if he was a rake, Andros was a bigger one, known for not being particularly faithful to his late wife. 

Benedict slides up next to Anthony, following his gaze. “I say, is that Andros?” 

“Yes.” Anthony replies, voice clipped and tight. 

“Hm.” Benedict huffs, “She seems to be rather enjoying herself, wouldn’t you say, brother?” 

“It would appear so, yes, Benedict.” Anthony replies, trying to keep his voice from sounding too strained. 

Benedict smirked. “Yourself, however..” clamping his mouth shut with an innocent shrug when Anthony gives him a look suggesting he could kill. However, Benedict continues on, nudging his brother’s shoulder. “You love her.” 

Anthony opens his mouth, then closes it again, his perfect jaw set in anger, denial, or perhaps both. He shakes his head at Benedict, as if to say not here. He knows he has to be a better man for you, but the thought is too painful to bear at the moment, while you spin across the floor in another man’s arms. 

Benedict raises his hands slightly as he backs away from his brother, nodding his head in your direction again, where you were curtsying to Andros. Anthony feels heat rise in his chest as Andros maintains eye contact with you, and before he can comprehend what he’s doing, he strides back over to you. 

“My lady, would you like to promenade with some of the other young men and women in the garden? They have taken to admiring the rose bushes.” Anthony doesn’t wait for an answer before he gently grasps your elbow and steers you towards the open doors to the garden. Both of you pretend not to feel the butterflies that appear when the two of you touch. 

“Anthony, whatever are you doing?” You half whisper. “You did not even acknowledge Lord Andros.” 

Anthony leans in and whispers, almost harsh with you. “You cannot court that man.” 

You stop walking, pulling your arm out of his grasp. “I do not believe you are the authority on that matter, Lord Bridgerton.” 

“Do not use my title because you are vexed at me, little bird.” Anthony says, his childhood nickname for you slipping from his lips effortlessly. You narrow your eyes at him, and he knows that this is you demanding an explanation. He licks his lips and glances around at the other ball guests milling about. None of them seem any the wiser of the tiff the two of you were beginning to have. 

“I will stand here for as long as I possibly can. This overprotective nature is not unlike you, but you have never outright sought me out to tell me to not court a gentleman.” 

Anthony sighs, starting to become frustrated. “He..is of the rakish variety.”

You snort. 

Anthony’s perplexed eyes meet yours and you shrug. “And you are not, Anthony?” 

“He is worse. He had many a mistress while his wife was ill in their marriage bed.” 

You grimace and Anthony nods almost smugly. “See. You are much too good for a man like that.” 

“If I am much too good, why am I yet to be wed?”

“I…” Anthony starts, faltering over his words. He had no answer. 

You step closer to him, your voice low. “I will tell you the reason. It is because of you.” 

Anthony swallows, looking down at you. You are much closer to him than he usually allowed himself to be, and your intoxicating scent and god, the way the light in your eyes trapped him made him more than nervous. “Me?” he questions. 

“Yes, Anthony. You. Every person in the ton believes me to belong to you. They pity me. Oh poor girl,” You start to mock, affecting your tone “that Lord Bridgerton is just stringing her along.” Your nostrils flare. “However, here you are, deciding to marry, using me as a pawn to get these most delightful young ladies to leave you alone.” You feel tears starting to sting your eyes, the hurt of not being the object of Anthony’s affections threatening to spill over. “I am not willing to be your pawn any longer, Anthony.” 

Anthony watches your face, devastated as he realizes that you feel the same longing for him as he feels for you. “Little bird, I-”

You hold up a hand. “No. I do not wish to hear what you have to say to me any longer. It is time I retire, anyhow. Goodnight, Lord Bridgerton.” You say, turning on your heel quickly, just as hot tears begin to flow down your cheeks. Rushing out to your carriage, you ignore your mother, choosing to spend the ride home in heartbreaking silence. Your mother says nothing, just clasps your hand gently, which makes you cry all the more. 

The next morning, Anthony is pacing in his study, wondering if he should call on you. Would you even want to see him? Should he just leave you be? Would it be better to give up everything the two of you shared so he did not cause you such pain again? 

Before Anthony can make up his mind, you walk through the door to his study. His back is turned to you, and you can hear him audibly sigh. 

“Benedict, I truly do not have the mind to-” He stops as he turns around, mouth dry. There you stood, a beautiful pale purple dress accentuating the very air of loveliness that seemed to follow you wherever you went. 

“Hello, Anthony.” You say quietly, watching as he fumbles, setting his bourbon glass down shakily and coming around the front of his desk. 

“You have given up calling me Lord Bridgerton, then?” He asks, his voice sounding strangely strained. 

“Yes. I apologize for being cross with you yesterday evening. I just..” You pause, and Anthony takes this as his opportunity to come toward you. He comes close, looking down at you with his beautiful dark eyes. 

“What is it?” He asks, afraid of what your answer may be. He was expecting you to tell him that you never wished to see him again, and he would have to accept that and let go of you. He desperately prayed that you did not come to lock him out of your life forever. 

“I have fallen in love with you, Anthony. I know how you feel about love, because of your father. But I cannot sit by idly while you look for a wife that is not me. I am going to court Lord Andros, and you will have to accept that, because I cannot allow you to look over me, when all I have wanted for as long as I can remember is the reciprocation of my feelings from you.” 

Anthony stood there, shocked beyond belief. You did feel the same way about him. He was not making up the pained look you had on your face at the ball the previous night. He felt as if someone had reached inside his chest and squeezed his heart, and he could hear his ears ringing. He did not know what to say. 

“I will take my leave from you.” You say, turning and making your way back to the large oak study door. 

Suddenly, Anthony snaps out of his stupor. “No!” He almost yells, quickly moving to place his hand on the door, barring you from opening it. This is the closest the two of you have been in quite a while. Your bodice touching his chest, his nose almost touching yours. You inhale sharply, gazing up at him. “Let me explain my wretched behavior darling, but please do not take your leave of me.” Anthony pleads, his voice dripping with desperation. Taken aback, you give him a tiny nod, still mesmerized by the proximity in which the two of you stood. 

Anthony glances at the door, then to your face, and then he gently brings his hands up to cradle your face. Your eyes widen, and his brows furrow. 

“I…”He bites his bottom lip, his eyes flicking to your lips before sighing. “I long for you. I long for your attention. I cannot sleep without thinking of you. I cannot read a book or discuss politics without thinking of what you may say or how you may react. I long for your company when I awake in the morning and long after I have gone to bed. My soul desperately aches for you as if you are a piece missing from it. Seeing you with Andros solidified this feeling for me even more. Watching another man take your hand in his…I could have sobbed at the sight of it. You haunt every part of my being and I cannot deny it any longer.” 

“Anthony…” You breathe out, eyes roaming his beautiful face. 

“I love you. I love you, I love you.” He says, bringing his face closer to yours each time he says it. “I am terrified of love, my little bird, but I love you so deeply that if you will have me, I will spend the rest of my days cherishing you.” He breathes out, as if he had been holding in a breath, and he leans his forehead against yours gently. 

You reach up, using a finger to smooth the furrow in his brow. “I love you most ardently, Anthony Bridgerton.”

Anthony is so relieved, he leans in and captures your lips in his without thinking clearly. Worried he may have made a mistake kissing you before you were to be wed, he tries to pull away. 

You grab his lapel and keep him close, smiling into his lips. 

“Marry me.” He breathes out, running a finger along your bottom lip after you’ve pulled back from him. 

“The answer has always been yes.” You whisper back, gazing at him lovingly. Anthony grins, pressing a kiss to your forehead, cherishing the feeling of having you in his arms. He cannot wait for you to be by his side for the years to come. He hums contentedly, hugging you as he should have done so very long ago.

#anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #best friends to lovers #jealousy #longing #love confessions

[sixstepsaway]

so here's the thing

i've seen a bunch of people say on twitter and stuff how... ed's behavior is very abusive and his anger is dangerous and he isn't romantic lead material because of it

and i get where they're coming from

but to me the main issue isn't putting ed in the position of a romantic lead, but not crafting the narrative around his characterization so that it allows for a spicy romantic pirates-in-love narrative instead of...whatever this is.

i'm going to try and explain this. idk if i'll do well but i'll try

the way she show presents stede is as an innocent baby who isn't really equipped for pirate life. he goes into a fugue/disassociative state whenever there's any real violence, apparently, and needs protecting by other characters when things get too rough - for example when ed is telling ned lowe not to take the poker to stede.

that's fine! it's honestly adorable to see a masc character being so soft around the edges and being protected by other characters this way.

(i'm not going to touch on stede's... eh... not great characterization this season rn)

then there's izzy, who is shown as a bit violent, a bit rough around the edges. he's more likely to draw a sword or throw a punch or hit someone with a chair or take a punch like a champ. violence is just part of life for him and that's okay, it just Is, from small things like smacking stede on the ass to bigger things like being wall slammed, it's not all that big or bad for violence to happen around and with him, he tends to give as good as he gets (there's some nuance here but i'm talking the macro themes not the micro of what izzy does vs is done to him)

and finally there's ed

ed is presented as violent (stabbing knives at guys, telling fang to use the snail fork etc) and used to a life of violence, and then in season 2 he's presented as really violent, his anger coming out in dangerous and terrifying ways

and frankly, i'd be super into it if he and izzy were the main ship and that twisted dynamic from the first two episodes of s2 was explored and fleshed out into something deeper

friends to enemies to lovers who fight and fuck. angry pirates who lay hands on each other, who break the whole ship with each other in the heat of passion.

except instead, s2 gives us... abuse. it gives us izzy cringing and lowering his head and trying to protect the kids crew from ed's angry outbursts.

so when stede comes back and he's still soft around the edges and ed headbutts him and it's deliberate, it's... not a great look, and the vibes are a bit skewed

if stede fought back, if when ed struck out at him he struck back, if they fought rather than it being one-sided, if it was friends to enemies to lovers and not presented as healthy, but maybe they can work their way there, who knows, maybe even more like anne bonnie and mary read because hey, they were doing something very similar?

except they were both into it. they were both enjoying the fighting and the fucking and the burning down the house.

stede's not enjoying it.

i cannot describe how much i hate this sequence just because of the way stede flinches

anne and mary don't!! mary jumps at the unexpected bang but she doesnt flinch, she doesn't cover her face like she thinks the vase will be coming for her not the wall and anne? looks so into it

and the thing is that in real life, no, you don't want to date someone who throws shit around, or headbutts you

but in fiction when it's two fucked up people doing this shit together like anne and mary?

that can be fun.

but instead what we've been given is stede flinching and apologizing to ed and then all of ed's...what, semi-redemption???? is done away from the other collection of people he abused, and then he spends some time on a fishing boat wearing a dog collar and everything is fine because he's good now and won't be doing anything bad ever again

and it's just... poor writing. the vibes are rancid.

i spent a really big chunk of time between s1 and s2 defending ed. i kept saying how what he did to izzy by making him eat his toe wasn't abuse, it was a one-off and abuse isn't a one-off thing it's a pattern, and then s2 made it a pattern.

explicitly. explicitly a pattern.

not just one toe but three.

jim saying "you're in an unhealthy relationship with blackbeard"

and all ed offered izzy was a "sorry about your leg" which might've been fine if izzy survived and they could work on this more, but instead that's all the apology and closure izzy will ever get

ed threw a chair and a vase and made stede flinch in fear and stede was right to do that. what part of any of this implies this will never happen again? that stede won't press the wrong button at some point and be on the receiving end? none of it

and if we'd been presented with a s2 stede bonnet who could handle himself and stand up for himself and fight back, then maybe i could imagine that turning into a weird sexy fucked up anne/mary like thing and maybe that could be why they put that episode in, but instead it feels like that episode was going, "look, see, ed's violence is fine because these two are fine with it with each other"

but stede isn't

ed and izzy or ed and stede in an unhealthy battle of a relationship could be such a fun, interesting and downright sexy thing to watch unfold on tv, and could honestly end somewhere far more down the chill end of the spectrum, but that's not what we've been given here

i cannot argue that ed isn't an abuser anymore, and not just of izzy but of the whole crew. he terrified frenchie.

it's not good writing to try and lean into the idea that ed and the pirates are violent and live a life of violence, so it's okay that ed's been violent, while simultaneously presenting his violence as traumatic and abusive, and then less than three episodes later saying oh it's fine now, he's just a little meow meow who can do no wrong, see?

especially considering they had him murdering people at the end of the season. and sure, you can say the english are just cannon fodder and they dont 'count', but they did before. ed explicitly did not kill before, and that included the english, or the spanish, or anyone else. so either they count or they don't, but flipping him on a dime makes no sense.

ALSO

having ed be the son of an abusive man who threw plates at his mother and made her cringe and then having ed kill his father to protect his mother and then a season later having ed become the kind of man who throws chairs and vases and makes his love interest cringe is, again, not bloody optimal

i want to say again i dont CARE about tv always presenting healthy relationships or tv always giving us aspirational goals. i want messy fucked up dynamics and terrible people making terrible choices, and still, to this day, i fucking love ed teach. i would honestly love to have seen them continue with ed's darkness and bring stede into it and see where they went with that, to have stede kill ned lowe and not just bury his feelings in ed but get off on it, enjoy the violence, and see where that led, but no

and so instead all we end up with is a protagonist who is being set up for a lifetime of abuse from an intimate partner, and a romantic lead who abuses his love interests (and yes. izzy is a love interest, he is set up like one and positioned like one and treated like one), frightens his love interests with his violence, is erratic and most of all inconsistently written. he was so sorry about scaring fang as though he hadn't been deliberately terrifying the whole crew for fuck knows how long? what?!

the whole fandom has spent so long saying, "no no, i know stede bonnet irl was a slave owner, but ofmd is using the names and not any real piracy, it's more disney piracy, you know? so that kind of stuff doesnt exist!" and then they flipped around and went "blackbeard is blackbeard and so he is evil and does all these horrible things" and i dont know how to rationalize the two sides of that because it feels so out of place

i'm getting rambly, this isnt a particularly well constructed thought process, i just feel like we were robbed both of a toxic, violent relationship that could be fun to see explored on tv and a soft and sweet love story between two middle aged men exploring their first loves in one fell swoop and there's no way for s3 to bring either of those things back because they got utterly torpedoed by making ed a horrible person

ugh

#ofmd critical #i hate that i'm using this tag now :c #edward teach #ed teach #ofmd s2 #ofmd season 2 #our flag means death #ofmd spoilers #ofmd meta #i guess #izzy hands #stede bonnet

[seresinhangmanjake]

The One I Want: Part 3

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Plus size!reader

Summary: You're new in town and some guy named Jake is about to be your roommate. Being skeptical of new people keeps you lonely and uninterested in any entanglements, but Jake is desperate to change that.

Notes/Warnings: cursing, maybe. I don't think anything else. Sorry if there are typos.

Words: 1720

The One I Want Masterlist

---

Jake Seresin is a wizard. Or a mind-reader. Or some creature with wildly sensitive hearing. You’re sure of it. 

In the month since you moved into the apartment, your only moments alone come when you lock yourself in your bedroom. Otherwise, Jake is near you—sitting next to you, looking at you, talking to you. If your door opens, he follows not five seconds later. If you sit down at the island with your breakfast of bland cereal, he enters the kitchen within two minutes to prepare his own meal; the same meal every morning. Eggs, Canadian bacon, and a protein shake. If you dare to switch the television on, turns out he’s been meaning to watch that show for weeks. You had no idea he was into movie special effects competitions. 

It isn’t irritating, exactly—though, it wouldn’t shock you if others experiencing similar treatment would feel that way. You just can’t figure him out. He’s unfigure-outable. You’re pretty sure that’s a thing. If not, Jake Seresin just brought it into existence. And here you thought you were the mystery. 

“So I was thinking,” he says. 

You close your book without a second thought, having barely read and retained a line in the last fifteen minutes anyway. From the moment he came out of his room and plopped down on the couch—his leg bouncing and eyes trained ahead on nothing—you’ve been waiting for him to snap the tense band of silence between you.

His fingers clasp together, thumbs subtly twiddling when he finally looks over to you. “Maybe you could meet my friends. They’ve asked about you, and you’ve already met Nat so it’s really only the guys.”

That was perhaps one of the last things you imagined he would say. You’ve heard very little of his friends. They’re also pilots. His team. They all have weird nicknames. Half of those nicknames are animals. 

There are other tidbits Jake casually mentioned as well. Coyote is his closest friend. There’s a Rooster who recently found himself a chick. A Bob and a Phoenix—who you learned is Nat—are particularly attached. 

But every bit of that information you figured he was simply spilling to fill moments where you were in the same room but not speaking. Or perhaps it’s some method to draw out feelings of trust so you might participate in his little game of show and tell. In his eyes is always the hope that you’ll share something of your own, but you have yet to find the courage or need to do so. 

“Oh,” you reply, trying to gather the correct words to turn him down. “Look, don’t take this the wrong way, but I’m not really up to meeting a group of people today.”

You hate the way his face falls. Like a puppy denied a treat. But it lasts only a second as another thought brightens the green hue of his irises. 

“What if we went somewhere? You and me.”

“What?”

His body shifts on the couch, more of him now facing you. He’s wearing a shirt today. He’s been wearing shirts around you since you made the request weeks ago, but they’re weak at disguising the body underneath. Thin fabric pulled tight like a second skin. 

“You said no bars,” he continues. “How do you feel about diners?”

—

It’s an odd image—Jake framed in this setting. He’s all lean muscle and neatly styled hair with a clean-shaven jawline surrounded by greasy food and booths so old their plastic seats are cracking. As others watch him—particularly the hostess who cannot for her life keep from glancing his way every thirty seconds—he watches you. Says nothing; just watches until the waitress returns to set a few plates and mugs in front of you both. 

“There you go, kids,” she says. She’s older, and her hair is done up in a style that hasn’t followed the turning of the decades, but you like that it suits her; that she hasn’t paid attention to the change around her, or simply doesn’t care. With her hands on her hips, she says, “Now Jake, if I knew you were bringing a girlfriend I would’ve set aside some of that pie you like.”

Your eyes bug so much they could’ve fallen right onto the table, but Jake chuckles, smiling at you before directing it to the waitress. “Don’t spook her, Mags,” he teases. Then, “This is my new roommate.”

Her lips form an ‘O’ that holds for a few seconds too long before she blinks and tilts her head to the side. “Didn’t work out with the other one, honey?”

“Not so much, no.”

“Well, that’s just fine. I wasn’t a fan.” Mags takes a breath and straightens out her little apron; a costume element you’d rather die than wear, but much like her hair, Mags seems to take pride in it. You can’t fault her for that. You wish you could find a job you enjoy. Or a job at all. She shoots you a grin; nothing like the rehearsed smiles from someone in a customer service job, but a genuine curve of the lips that creates a warm little ball in your chest. “You, on the other hand, look like such a sweetheart. So be good to my Jake here.”

You don’t have the opportunity to disappoint her because she doesn’t wait for a response. Be good to her Jake. Not an ask. A demand. An unspoken ‘or else’ hanging in the air. And though she’s got at least forty years on you, you’re pretty sure she’s spry enough to follow through on her sneaky threats. 

Mags squeezes Jake’s shoulder and departs, leaving you in a confused state of mixed energies. Shock and discomfort radiate off of you like heat waves, meeting the cool calmness emanating from a beaming Jake. 

“Will you tell me more about yourself now?” he asks. 

Shaking off the questionable tone of the older woman, you reconnect yourself to the man in front of you. His words soak in; another unexpected curveball Jake has thrown you within one day. His friends want to meet you, and now your personal details are on his mind. What would come next? Does he want to know the last time you were thoroughly kissed? Your high school GPA? Height and weight? If so, he’s going to be terribly disappointed. 

Steaming, wispy tendrils invade your vision, and you finally register the blueberry hint hitting your nostrils. Jake had whispered the order to Mags with the explanation that he already knew what you wanted. And being the mind-reading wizard you’re convinced he is, on a menu of nearly one hundred items he magically happened to pick something you enjoy. 

You hold yourself back from digging in, instead meeting his eyes as you cross your arms over your chest. “You think free pancakes are a good trade for my life story?”

He slowly slides a mug closer to you. “I got you coffee as well.”

When you raise an unenthused brow, Jake sighs. 

“Fine. You’re leaving me no other choice than to guess,” he says. “But if I get it right, will you be honest?”

With a snort, you pick up your fork and take your first bite of the sweet fluffy cake. It’s undeniably delicious. Fucking wizard. “Sure,” you say, and akin to a child, Jake’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. 

He ignores his own food and drink to once again watch you. Observing. Your eyes to your lips to your neck and back again. When he comes to a conclusion, he leans back in the booth. “You are a fan of the beach and before you die you intend to live in every beach town this country has to offer for at least two months each.”

Your fork pauses halfway to your mouth. “Are you kidding?”

“Well, since it appears that I am wrong, I’m going to say yes I am kidding because I’m very funny like that.” He stares some more, eyes narrowing. “You’re searching for a long-lost family member.”

“No.”

“You are only attracted to Navy men and thought you’d travel to a hub.”

Again, as he likes to do, he leaves you lacking words for a moment. “That better be another one of your ‘I’m very funny like that’ attempts,” you eventually manage to say. “And you know I wasn’t aware this was a Navy town.”

Jake nods and then leans forward in his seat, arms overlapping on the linoleum tabletop. You can sense the sudden shift; a new energy. The glint in his eye doesn't quite go with the steady seriousness of his voice. Like mismatched puzzle pieces. “So you’re not attracted to Navy men?” he asks. 

Your head jerks back to regain the distance he lessened. “Not exclusively.”

“Damn,” he replies, full playful tone back in place. “I wanted to at least get that part right.”

There’s another bright smile from him. A wink. You look to your right to find Mags' watchful gaze; motherly and hopeful.

After another swallow of pancake, you say, “Alright, you’re done for the day.”

“Oh, come on,” he whines. 

When you shake your head, he picks up his fork and begins to poke at the eggs on his plate, and you bask in the silence of his disappointment. Peace and quiet, with the exception of the diners surrounding you. No questions. No attempted agonizing small talk. You have a moment to breathe. 

It’s not until you’re halfway through your food and the coffee is nearly drained that Jake lifts his head. 

“I’m going to figure you out,” he says with an unwelcome note of determination. 

Your eyes snap up. 

The feeling behind his statement is hard to nail down. You would’ve said delving into your history was something fun for him to do. Something to pass the time with the new person in his home. But now it comes off more like a need. A little prick in his side that he can’t shake. 

You so badly want to be wrong in your interpretation. You want him to give up; to surrender to your stubbornness. Ideally, sooner rather than later. 

“You really don’t have to,” you say.

Jake doesn’t miss a beat. Nothing about him—not his breath, not his stare—stutters at your response. Instead, he returns with, “But I want to.”

---

A/N: Sorry it's a little short. Next chapter will be labeled 3.5 and will be from Jake's POV.

tags: @wkndwlff @kmc1989 @sagittarius-flowerchild @dempy @oliviah-25 @rosiahills22 @xoxabs88xox @matisse556 @hardballoonlove @ssa-sadboi @lynnevanss @pono-pura-vida @tgmreader @amgluvsbooks @ravenhood2792 @djs8891 @shakespeareanwannabe @penguin876 @rogersbarnesxx @nani-kenobi @tgmavericklover @athenabarnes @elite4cekalyma @buckysteveloki-me @shelbycillian @kissmethric3 @fox-bee926 @hangmandruigandmav @waltermis @fandom-life-12 @a-serene-place-to-be @bruher @cehenyne @tngrace @mamaskillerqueen @benedictsvestcollection @blackwidownat2814 @himbos-on-ice @entertainmentgal8 @hookslove1592 @whoeverineedtobe @alwaysclassyeagle @chaytea06 @cherrycolas-things @turtle-in-a-tornado @have-a-nice-day-k @inkandarsenic @kidd3ath @coldmuffinbanditshoe

#jake seresin #jake seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin #top gun maverick #jake seresin fic #jake hangman seresin x reader #jake hangman seresin fic #top gun hangman #top gun #jake hangman seresin x y/n #tgm #tgm fic #jake seresin fluff #jake seresin x plus size!reader #jake seresin angst

[eggroll-sama]

Who’s My Roommate?

The Touchstarved cast are at a hotel and can’t decide who will be their roommates. Some are against certain pairings. You don’t really care, but they seem they’ve got a few colorful opinions || Touchstarved LI x reader. All of them have a crush on you, but you’re oblivious. I had this in my drafts for a while but I finally got the motivation to finish it. Just light-hearted shenanigans. Sorry if there are any typos!

__________________________________________

“I don’t want Leander,” said Vere, his arms crossed and glaring at the man across from him.

They didn’t think deciding on rooming buddies would be so hard. There were exactly three rooms, side by side, and anyone who knew basic math understood there would be two people per room. The problem was, who and who?

Vere and Ais were the first pairing that came to mind. But then Mhin complained that they didn’t want to hear them having sex at two in the morning. You and Kuras could sympathize so argued that, no, Vere and Ais cannot be together in the same room. Vere was angry, Ais was indifferent. He preferred Vere’s company over others, but as long as he didn’t get Mhin he was fine. He found the idea of Mhin aiming a knife to his neck fun, but in the end he didn’t want to deal with them pestering him like a fly.

And then there was Leander. If they went off the reason of not wanting to hear someone having sex, then Leander was tough. He had had sex with half of the members in the group: Ais, Mhin, and (maybe) Vere. You still didn’t really know if they did it or not.

“I wouldn’t mind sleeping in the same room as Leander,” you said. Everyone stiffened except for the man in question, who had a cocky smile on his face. Secretly, everyone wanted to room with you, but they didn’t want to admit it.

Kuras stepped in before Leander could make a comment, and steered the conversation to possibly drawing sticks so it would be fair for everyone and well, not everyone was happy with their partners. Vere got Leander, Mhin got Ais, and you got Kuras. You weren’t against Kuras being your roommate; he was a gentleman and minded his own business. He didn’t seem like he was against rooming with you either. The others were not so happy with their results.

“I’m not rooming with a monster,” Mhin spat, venom lacing their words, glaring holes in the back of Ais’ head.

Ais ignored them, while Vere rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah, well nobody wants to deal with an annoying midget like you. I think you forgot to pack your booster seat.”

Vere snickered as Mhin’s face turned red from anger.

“Hey hey now hold on, MC said that they were fine with rooming with me, so why not just leave the two of us out of it?” Leander said, arms snaking around your shoulder.

“No, you soft penis numbskull. You’re not rooming with MC.” Mhin stepped in. When the others looked at Mhin curiously, they coughed nervously and looked away.

You tried to lighten the mood with a joke, “Ais and Leander are best friends. We should room them together.”

The corner of Leander’s smile frayed at your joke. Ais narrowed his eyes at you. At least Vere was laughing, probably at you for your failed attempt to lighten the mood, but at least he laughed. You drew into yourself. You’ve forgotten the others were getting quite annoyed by the arguing. This was serious business that might mean life or death.

“How about we draw sticks again?” You suggested meekly, trying to move past the awkwardness.

“No, it’s just a waste of time,” intervened Vere, “we all clearly have our preferences, so how about we list anyone we don’t want to room with? I go first. I hate all four of you, fortunately, so I’m going to room with Ais or no one.”

“I don’t have a preference,” said Leander with a blush.

“We know,” Vere rolled his eyes.

“At this point let’s just room the two people that are the doormats of this group, Leander and Vere. It’s the easiest way to deal with them,” said Mhin.

“Or how about we room Leander in one room and Vere in the other one, and then we all share the last one,” you suggest. At this point you were running out of ideas and throwing them out randomly hoping you would hit a jackpot.

“I’m not invited to the foursome? That is unfortunate to hear,” Vere said.

“It’s getting too complicated. Room Vere with MC, Mhin with Leander, and me and Kuras. That should be good,” suggested Ais, getting impatient.

“I’m afraid that would be endangering MC’s safety,” said Kuras coolly, ignoring Vere’s exasperated reaction.

He quickly switched to his flirty demeanor, a coy smile on his lips, “Oh, but I don’t bite. Unless they ask me.” Mhin scoffed in the background. Kuras was expressionless. If he reacted to Vere’s tasteless innuendos, he would give the fox exactly what he wanted. So he stayed quiet and didn’t let his face give anything away.

“I agree with Kuras on this one. A bloody, mangled corpse is the last thing we want to deal with,” said Mhin. Though Mhin said this, you knew that they cared about your safety.

Ais sighed in defeat, pulling out a cigarette and a match, “I’m going out for a smoke.” You couldn’t blame him, they’ve been arguing for the past thirty minutes. Ais walked off to the entrance of the hotel.

Seeing Ais walk off, Vere waved their fingers before sauntering off in the same direction.

“The dog went to take a walk with it’s owner. Good grief,” said Mhin.

“We still need to get this rooming situation settled. I’m sure the others won’t mind if we decided without them,” said Kuras.

He sighed, “From what I’ve observed, the best rooming pairs seems like the fox and Ais, Mhin and MC, and Leander and I. We’ll take the middle room, Mhin and MC take the left, and Vere and Ais the right. That way Mhin wouldn’t be disturbed from any unnecessary sounds at night.”

“I could live with that,” said Mhin.

Leander didn’t seem too pleased with the end-result, but he wasn’t going to complain, “Alright. Guess I get to room with the good doctor tonight. Hey, maybe we can finally get some dinner, you and I.”

“Perhaps,” said Kuras, but from his indifferent expression and hollow tone it sounded more like a no.

“Ah,” was all Leander said. You could see the cogs turning behind his eyes. Then, he pulled out a deck of cards from his pocket, “I brought cards with me. Anyone wanna play Poker in an hour or two, our room?”

You smiled, “I like Poker. Bet I could beat you,” you nudged his shoulder teasingly.

“Sure.” Leander said with a laugh, but the way he said it almost sounded…condescending? You raised your brows, but before you could fully process it, Leander had already started speaking, “Would the doctor like to join as well?”

Must’ve been my imagination.

“I suppose if you are going to play in our room, I could join for a game or two.”

Kuras reply seemed to brighten Leander’s mood from the thinly-veiled rejection for dinner a few seconds ago.

“Great! How about you Mhin!”

“I’m tired.” Mhin grabbed their bags and started heading for the elevator, ignoring Leander’s invitation. You saw Leander’s smile falter.

“I’ll try convincing them,” you whispered to Leander who gave you an appreciative smile.

You had the keys to the room, so after saying goodbye to the other two, quickly followed after your small companion.

“I’m glad I get to room with you, Mhin,” you said while waiting for the elevator with them.

Mhin huffed at your words, turning away, “Right.” In the corner of your eyes you could see their pale skin get pinker just a tad. You smiled to yourself at their reaction. You weren’t really sure what the rest of the day will entail, but at least you were able to get through the hurdle of deciding who will be your roommate.

#touchstarved game #I don’t have a sequel in mind for this #I thought it was a really funny idea #touchstarved x reader #mhin x reader #ais x reader #leander x reader #kuras x reader #vere x reader #roommates #touchstarved kuras #touchstarved Leander #touchstarved Ais #touchstarved vere #touchstarved Mhin #touchstarved fic

[robobarbie]

Hello hellooooooo! We recently had a banner contest in the discord server, and I wanted to show y'all the awesome entries that didn't win. They're all really cool in their own ways, so I wanted to give them each a lil moment.

(by @/jestie)

Love the focus on xyx!! He reminds me almost of what I'd think teenage him would look like. Very chill, sporty, and out with friends on a beautiful spring day. The linework in this feels really soft as well -- especially on those hat details. AND THERE'S CAT!! CAT!!!

All other submissions under the cut!

(by @/hunddenseje)

I like the details in the flowers a lot for this one. The way people draw roses and how they choose those inner patterns is always neat. And the little plants and mushrooms on his shoulders are fun!! They go well with that striped shirt pattern!!!

(by @/stintsy)

The way this artist circled the boys with that pink rosy pattern will stick in my brain for a while. It's v pretty, and it's like they opened a bush and found us in there for some reason. "Hello! Happy Spring!" Thanks boys please close it back up!!! It's my cry hour in the bush!!!!

(by @/emmascient)

This person's artstyle is so unique and full of life. The little spots of light coming through the trees just adds to whole thing, too. And I really like seeing fanart of owl with textured hair!!! Also check out xyx's fucking biceps holy fucking sh-

(by @/.mewo.)

Just a bunch of bros on their lunch break bayBEEEEEEEEEE!!! I like the detail of toast's coat tied around their waist and the fucking anti-societyboy shirt quest is wearing LMFAO. Also cat is ADORABLE in this. God. More cat art. Always need more cat art!!

(by @/c1nnadoll)

Every time nightowl is drawn in a croptop, two months is added to my life. I just know it's true. God bless that cute ass flower crown and the perfect little peace sign. Man looks so stable and happy. I hope he had a nice day after this picture!!!

(by @/fluffydeer21)

Toast and Quest look so content and cute with their flowers. And there's another neat rose with a lil interior pattern! Held, of course, by this artist's fave LI. Xyx looks pretty good with gold jewelry, I cannot lie. I have no idea why I made them green in game. LMFAO

(by @/noneivly)

I like how this feels like a painting. Like those brush strokes and even the palette choice just look like something you'd see hung on a wall? It's really cool. Also the little detail of the chibi picnic boys in the background makes me giggle. Small!!!!! So fucking small!!!

(by @/kiki_221)

The energy in this is excellent. You can almost hear them laughing together at Toast's expense (deserved I'm sure). I'd like to imagine they're all relaxing at a park after a big lunch. I hope they got to discuss all the good things that happened to them this week.

(by @/01noxxie10)

Another excellent chillin in the grass pic! Purple actually looks really good on Quest. I don't think I've ever drawn him in that color before? So this image made me think about that a LOT. Also look at fuckin chill ass xyx. Calm beautiful motherfucker. Fuck you!!! Fuck you!!!

--------------

There's two more images, but those are the discord banner winner and the one I chose for my twitter! If you want to see those excellent drawings, check out my twitter here or join the discord server here!

Thank you everyone for all the submissions! I treasure them deeply!!

#fanart #xyx #quest #nightowl #nakedtoaster

[khristie16]

Your daddy Carlos paid for your visit to Paris as a birthday present for you and in order to make it better, he travels to you to show a side of himself not many people know

Warnings: just sweet asf

Based on this request ^^ : Meow

I’ll pick you up at seven at your place;)

You just were at your solo trip to Paris to explore the city you’ve always wanted since you were a kid. And today you were supposed to see your boyfriend. Just last week you had your birthday and Carlos made you decide on what you wanted for the gift. You liked jewelry and beautiful piece of clothes but you were really feeling to go travelling instead and that is why you’re right now in a fancy hotel at 15 place Vendôme.

Carlos wanted to spend your birthday with you and had a nice plan to visit you on your last two days to enjoy the time together.

You’ve put the last pieces to your fabulous outfit and waited for Carlos to arrive, already excited about what he planned for the two of you. You cannot wait much longer to see his beautiful big brown eyes and get lost in the warmth of them, as now when you finally meeting him in front of his car waiting for you. You kissed softly as he had a hold on you laying his hand on your waist to keep you close to him. You chuckled at his actions scratching your nails on the back of his neck. He groaned in response and closed his eyes.

“I missed you”

You smile and plant a kiss on his right cheek.

“Me too”

Smile was the first thing he saw after opening his eyes again and the light sparkled in them it warmed your heart.

“Let’s go”

Carlos opened the doors for you to hop in and be excited about what’s to come.

After few minutes the engine turned down and it made you wonder why you’re stopping. You turned your head to your handsome boyfriend to get some answers.

He was already smiling. “We’re here already”

The air outside was getting colder with each passing second as it was early spring. You hugged your arms and looked around. The moment you realised where he took you, he was already reading your mind and responding to you.

“I hope you haven’t been there yet?”

You shook your head with a smile on your lit up face.

Goosebumps on your skin disappeared the minute you went inside and walked together through the security X-ray.

“I didn’t know you liked art?”

A soft smile on his face and eyes on the floor signalled you it was not something he talks about much and your curiosity with this fact only grew. He had to chuckle to see you that way because he loved your curious nature.

“I’ve actually studied Art History back in home”

Your mouth fell open as you couldn’t put Carlos and Art together, but you closed it as soon as it opened so he doesn’t feel bad he told you. He just shook his head and shrugged.

“Let me show it to you my way”

Light beautiful decorations all around the space you two were right now standing in made you feel like you’re breathing a different type of air in here and lift you up with a different energy you immediately sensed all the possible symbolisms and meaning displayed on the canvas.

“That’s Luig Loir”

He nodded towards the painting on his right.

“Loir was a master of capturing everyday scenes with a touch of enchantment. Notice how his use of vibrant colors and soft brushstrokes brings life to the bustling streets and tranquil landscapes.”

You take a look properly on the painting and try to concentrate on those colors and contrast they give. You tilt your head slightly to see more.

“Do you like it?”

He suddenly asked you which made you frown and wonder where the urgency came from. When you looked at him you saw a slight worry on his face.

“Y-yes of course! It’s a masterpiece.”

You’ve heard a light sigh left his lips and his composure relaxed a bit.

“Whether it's a bustling Parisian street corner or a peaceful countryside vista, his attention to detail draws you into it and you can see how effortlessly he worked with lights and shadows”

You cannot hold back yourself to observe Carlos instead because you’ve never seen him like this. It made you feel intrigued?

“Does it make you feel anything ?”

Answer came to your conscious as you narrowed your eyes some more back on the painting.

“It all look so slow and simple. I feel kinda nostalgic to be honest.”

With the last words you snapped to him as if waiting to be corrected from your teacher. He smirked a little and nodded. You felt immense sense of pride filling your veins and you had to blush for yourself. Damn this guy is so much more than he let you know.

“In essence, Luig Loir's style can be described as a harmonious blend of realism and romanticism, capturing the beauty and charm of everyday life with a touch of poetic flair.”

His warm eyes landed on yours with a serious undertone.

“That’s why I like you. You’re like a piece from this old man. Real yet charming as the fairytale itself”

His broad shoulders were now facing you and closing the distance between the two of you. His hands cupped your face. Your eyes on contrary were wide open with so much admiration for this man and for the way he makes you feel. The presence of his eyes on your lips made you lick them.

“No, baby”

Frown appeared on your face, searching for answers in his warm eyes.

“If I kiss you, I won’t be able to stop.”

You bite your lower lip because you’re a brat that likes to play with your daddy Carlos. And he loves it. His low groan and amusement in his voice made you melt and wetter by the passing second as his scent filled your nostrils and let your imagination run wild as all those paintings here.

#carlos sainz fanfic #carlos sainz imagine #carlos sainz smut #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz x you

[nqmonarch]

Valentines Day w/ HSR Characters!

Doing Calc homework and am very stressed, i can feel it everywhere in my body. the math is just not mathing mentally today (i looked at trigonometric identities today so maybe thats why)

Just writing out some messy ideas to take a break

Btw if u sent in a request and I haven't answered it yet I am working on it thank you for your uh question ask thingy i appreciate it, i like to know what people like to read bcus tbh i like to write anything altho jingyuan gets like +10 points cus he fluffy

Valentines Day With Some HSR Characters (Jing Yuan, Blade, Dan Heng, Stelle)

Jing Yuan

Jing Yuan is old school romantic. You cannot tell me he wouldn't arrive home with a big bouquet of roses (does HSR even have roses?) and 20 other gifts, including but not limiting to boxes of chocolate, teddy bears, and at least one gag gift. There's gotta be at least one, he'd make a dad joke out of it too.

Then he'd reserve one of the best restaurants on the Luofu and bring you there. He'd probably have booked a private room, thank goodness because no one wants to hear the general continuously compliment you until you're a puddle on the floor. What he is best at is attacks. But if he gets a compliment in return he'll freeze up for a moment before playfully returning it.

Jing Yuan doesn't put on his normal coy facade today, instead he just embraces how much he loves you because he's happy to still have you in his life.

Blade

Blade does not know it's Valentine's Day. It's not his fault, cut him some slack. Anyway Kafka probably reminds him that it's Valentine's Day about half way through the day to which he goes into a silent panic. You can't tell he's panicking he's just staring at the wall with a blank face, he actually looks like he wants to murder someone.

The two of you end up celebrating though! He... pulls something together, it really is something. Sure he smells like blood and the waiters are scared, and taking over this restaurant for a Valentine's Day dinner was definitely not in the script but... It could be worse. He's trying his best, really.

Afterwards you and Blade share lots of cuddles! Something he's pretty good at! Holding you just tight enough, and keeping you close to his side-- you just won't be able to get up if you want to get water or anything. He doesn't say too much but you can feel the love in each caress.

Dan Heng

Dan Heng doesn't really like going out, why would he when all he needs is right by his side? So the two of you stay on the express in the archives. What matters isn't where you are but the company. He'd probably get you a few trinkets from different places he's collected over the years, a necklace, a sick looking compass, whatever fits your vibe.

Dan Heng would probably also write you a love poem, and make you read it or awkwardly recite it in front of you. If you read it out loud though he will get unbelievably embarrassed and snatch it away from you. He'd give it back but he'd take some coaxing, be nice okay? His face is already red.

Then when the night draws to a close the two of you would curl up together on that sorry excuse of what he calls a bed. The majority of your body would be on Dan Heng's using him as a pillow, and his arms would be wrapped around your body keeping you still and warm.

Dan Heng's bed is not it man. Personally, I'd get back problems.

Stelle

"You are the one who deserves the golden trash the most," Truly romantic words from Stelle as she hands you a golden trashbag. That is just the first of the gifts she gives you tonight, and the one that's most valuable to her. It's the thought that counts right? You still have no idea what she's talking about when she mentions fighting Sampo as a trashcan...

The two of you spend a romantic night together, walking down the quiet streets of Belobog, and-- did Stelle just investigate a trashcan again? You should be used to this. On the bright side, every time she gets something cool she comes up to you with the biggest smile on her face, it's beyond adorable. Sometimes the trashcans even have good stuff, like a scarf Stelle lets you wear that thankfully doesn't smell like trash.

It's just good to spend time with the person you love. She spends her time catching you up on everything new from her adventures, and when it's too cold to stay out any longer the two of you head to the Astral Express. Where you shower together and then doze off on one of the Express' couch cushions while playing games. Your head rests against Stelle's reminding you, you're never alone.

Okay I need to get back to homework, fun break thanks guys. Imagine being alone on Valentines Day couldn't be me, I have my Calc Homework. It told me I was integral to it <3 legit peak partner material.

#hsr #reader insert #hsr x reader #gn reader #jing yuan x reader #blade x reader #dan heng x reader #stelle x reader #valentines day #me x calculus homework

[ultimateshixiongfuckertournament]

Noncanonicals Tournament FINAL

This final is between Han Ying from Word of Honor (shizun/mentor: Zhou Zishu) and Fang Duobing from Mysterious Lotus Casebook (shizun/mentor: Li Xiangyi / Li Lianhua)

Propaganda under the cut! (Warning: Propaganda may include spoilers about the characters and their media)

Han Ying:

He idolized and was mentored by Zhou Zishu to the point of recruiting other young martial artists to revive ZZS’s dying sect and willing to die live happily ever after for it.

#han ying wants to fuck zhou zishu SO BAD#han ying#shizunfucker tournament

#my sweet ying'er wants to fuck zzs so bad he's gagging for it

#HAN YING HANDS DOWN#would have licked his boots if he asked

#han ying wanted nothing more than to officially become zzs's student/part of his sect#it was literally his dying wish that his brothers in arms may get to do that#he says several times in the show to zzs's very face that he's 100% down for dying for him#he swears allegiance EXCLUSIVELY to zzs and not the prince they're all serving#he comes up with bangers like 'if there is anything you need I will lay down my life with no regret'#'if you were gone one day how could I live alone'#'a loyal servant wouldn't have two masters in his life'#he sneaks into zzs's abandoned residence and homoerotically-#-strokes the painting of a flower that symbolizes a) zzs himself b) zzs's grief for being the lone survivor of his sect#and he wanted to join siji so so badly#it was his life's dream and he died IN siji but before getting to have that 😭#listen he makes me insane#anyway they should have fucked sloppy style and zzs would have had an out of body experience if hy called him shizun#my final thesis goodbye

#it's HAN YING#you could power entire nations with the power of that yearning

#han ying saw zhou zishu and IMMEDIATELY dropped to his knees are you joking#wen kexing immediately clocked him

#ying'er my sweet prince#he wants the dick so badly

Fang Duobing:

Fang Duobing has most definitely had several fantasies of being dommed by his shifu Li Xiangyi! He is also equally invested in marrying Li Lianhua - travelling the jianghu, going on rooftop moonlit dates, incorporating looking after him forever and ever into his general future plans. This is even before he knows that Li Lianhua and Li Xiangyi are the same person. Oh there are Layers to the shizunfucking. Where's that post about being so devoted to someone that it breaks the pedestal they're put on and comes full circle to loving them for the person they are? (its here: https://www.tumblr.com/difeisheng/733133489565745152/the-core-of-fanghua-is-built-around-fang-duobings) When they finally do get to know each other 10 years later, after Li Xiangyi's identity is found out, Fang Duobing insists on being equals rather than master-and-disciple! Li lianhua is Fang Duobing’s guide in the Jianghu! He leaves his house, dog and the only records of his unique martial arts to Fang Duobing before running away!! Fang Duobing’s most important agenda is to save Li Lianhua from slow death by poison!!! He doesn't care if Li Lianhua keeps leaving him behind and lying to him and is 'at peace' with dying!! They live together. They'll never be equals. They've been equals all along. They're zhiji. They're master and disciple. they're married. They're everything.

#this man wanted to fuck his shizun under two whole ass different identities#this man was given one million choices between his shizun and his entire cushy rich boi life and did not sweat the decision even once#this man was engaged to a princess - who was COOL - and went “no thanks i’d rather follow shizun around in a fantasy china airstream’

#this cannot not be fang duobing let's be serious#polls#he's been drawing hearts around his shizun's name since age 8

#Fang Duobing going through it for what he thinks is two different people but is just one guy#so he gets my vote easy

#pls he is head employee at shizunfucker.co

#han ying #fang duobing #word of honor #mysterious lotus casebook #zhou zishu #li lianhua #li xiangyi

[putellas11]

A/N: Finally! So happy I was able to get this up in time to celebrate Alexia's return!!! Similar to Just a Girl, this was a big challenge for me and I was determined to see it through. This is a story of how love can shine a light in the darkest of moments. btw this is a long one so settle in.

The Missing Piece (Alexia Putellas x Reader)

In the blink of an eye, everything changed. 

A life once lived passionately and carefree, now overwhelmed with uncertainty and trepidation. How else are you supposed to feel when faced with the possibility of losing what you hold most dear? If you lose your guiding light, will you make it on your own or will you wander aimlessly through life?

These are the questions that have invaded your mind. It’s all you can think about. They keep you up at night and leave you exhausted the following morning. You feel their weight on your shoulders dragging you down. They leave you gasping for air as you struggle to just keep your head above water. And the one person who can help you and protect you from it all, is the very person you’re at risk of losing. 

The only thing that can distract you, even if it’s for the briefest of moments, is art. It’s the only way you can convey what words simply cannot express. When you feel crippled with pain and see no hope in sight, art is your only escape. With your brush, you create a world filled with light and hope. Because unlike life, art is forgiving. When you make a mess, you can paint over it. You can try again. 

Unlike life, art gives you second chances.

"Dios mio, that storeroom is a mess!" your coworker, Carla exclaims, appearing by your side. She drops a box of coffee beans on the floor and with the back of her hand, wipes a drop of sweat from her brow. “Took me 10 minutes just to find this.”

Behind the counter, your attention is on the sketchbook in your hands. When the crowd dies down and you get a little break from taking orders, the small sketchbook comes out from under the counter. Everything from the small details of the cafe to the faces of those who visit it, are you sources of inspiration.

“You mean the one we spent all night organizing last week?”

Annoyance radiates from Carla. “That can’t be us making all that mess, right?” she says, hands on her waist and her foot tapping repeatedly against the floor. “I’m convinced someone is sneaking in at night and trashing the place.” 

The absurdity of the statement makes you laugh, and she finally gets your full attention. “So, they don’t sneak in to steal anything? All they want to do is make a mess?” 

Carla nods with confidence. “It’s the only logical explanation.” 

How she manages to keep a straight face, you do not know. But her eyes certainly give her away. Like you, Carla has no intention of being a barista forever. Put two people together who don’t take their job too seriously and what do you get? A messy storeroom. 

“You’re ridiculous.” With a smile, you shake your head and return your focus back to the sketchbook. 

Carla leans in to take a peek at what you’re drawing, and it doesn’t take long for her to pick out your subject: a young woman sitting by the window, completely immersed in a book. You picked her out because of her auburn hair and the way it shines so bright bathed by rays of sunlight.

"How's the exhibit coming along, by the way?" Carla asks.

It's a simple question that elicits a deep sigh from your lips. Just the mention of it forces you to close the sketchbook and tuck it away under the counter. "It's going...good."

Carla raises her eyebrow, catching on to your very obvious hesitation. "But…" she says, encouraging you to spill whatever it is that’s bothering you.

"I've gotten great feedback from everyone I've shown the pieces to, but I can’t shake the feeling that something is missing. It's like there's something else I need to say, but for the life of me I can’t figure out what that is."

It’s been nothing but sleepless nights staring at a blank canvas just waiting for inspiration to strike.  All the other pieces came so naturally to you. Granted, all of them are dedicated to your mother. But still, you've never experienced something quite like this and with the exhibit only a few months away, you're getting a little restless.

You hope Carla might have some words of wisdom to break you out of the funk you’re in, but the door of the cafe creaks open, and a woman walks in.

Break time is over. 

Like clockwork, Carla takes her position by your side at the brewing station, ready to prepare whatever order the customer might want.

"Hola! What can I get you?" You give the woman the same greeting and smile you give to them all.

The woman glances at Carla, and for a brief moment, it gives you the impression that there might actually be some meaning behind it. But you dismiss it — it's probably nothing.

"Just a cortado, please."

"And the name for the order?" you ask, busy staring at the screen. 

"...Alexia."

It takes the woman a second too long to say her name, but again, you pay it no mind. You've taken thousands of orders by now, and they're all a little different from the last. Some customers are chatty and some straight to the point. Either way, you take their order and send them on their way. You don’t have the energy for anything else.

Carla, an expert by now, has the order done in a second and leaves it on the counter. She shares a look again with the woman, and this time it does spark your interest. You make a note to ask Carla about it later.

The door opens and closes, and now there's one less customer inside the cafe to worry about.

"You know," Carla says, swinging her arm over your shoulder, "that thing you're missing? It might just be standing right in front of you."

You scoff in response, "if only it were that easy."

Carla's expression hints that she wants to say something else, but instead, she gives you a comfortable squeeze on the shoulder.

You’re about to ask her about those looks she was sharing with the woman, but you’re interrupted by the phone vibrating inside your apron pocket. 

It’s a simple message and it doesn’t deliver any bad news, but no matter how many times you receive it, your heart drops to your stomach.

"Todo bien?" Carla asks.

You nod, typing away your response. "Mama just finished her treatment. Tia is taking her home now." Tucking the phone back in your apron, a soft "merde" escapes from your lips. 

Only a year ago, you were living in France with the world at your fingertips. Everything was absolutely perfect. It’s where you went to art school and poured your heart and soul into every sketch and painting with the ultimate goal of perfecting your talent. And when you graduated, all your hard work paid off when Cécile Guth — a painter you deeply admired — granted you the opportunity to be her apprentice. In France, life was art, and art was your life.

But that all changed when your mom got sick.

Leukemia.

That’s when everything came to a halt. The cloud you had been living on suddenly evaporated, and you came crashing down, face first into a harsh reality. You had no choice but to leave France. At first, you didn't miss the life and dreams you left behind. You were so focused on taking care of your mom that everything else was deemed irrelevant. But as the months have gone by, you wonder if you'll ever be able to return. And if you ever do, you fear you might not be the same person. 

"How's Lídia doing?" Carla asks, bringing you back to reality.

"She's a fighter," you say with a sad smile. "She tries to be strong for my sake, but I can see she's suffering. Chemo is supposed to help but honestly, I feel like it's hurting her more than that damn cancer ever could."

Without a second to waste, Carla opens her arms and pulls you into a hug you so desperately need. You've only known each other for a year, but she's been by your side during the most difficult time of your life.

"On a happier note, the flyers for the class are done," you say, wiping away the single tear from your cheek.

Carla, sensing the need to lighten up the mood, claps her hands excitedly. "I'm telling you, you should have had them made a long time ago!"

It was Carla’s idea to have flyers made to promote your small art class, The First Brushstroke. Working at the cafe isn’t exactly making you rich — not that you need to be, but you definitely need an extra source of income with your mom obviously not able to work. 

“I’m picking them up on my way home. If I can get just three more regulars, I’ll be good.” 

Carla waves your doubts away, “trust me, I’m a genius. I bet that you’ll have to find a bigger studio in a few months.”

The door opens once again and it’s time to repeat the routine all over again. You’re not sure how much longer you can take this.

“I hope you’re right.”

__________________________

Once again, you find yourself sitting in front of a blank canvas, just staring at it intently with no hope in sight. All the colors and shapes that once flowed so naturally through your mind seem to have vanished. You’re left staring at nothing, feeling frustrated and helpless. Every time you dip your brush into the paint and make a few strokes on the canvas, it feels forced. Art isn’t supposed to feel forced. It’s meant to feel effortless and natural.

With a sigh you set down your brush and lean back on the chair. Looking around the room, you see a clutter of art supplies and splotches of paint decorating the floor. Very few traces are left of what was once your childhood bedroom. It was actually your mom’s idea to turn it into a little studio when you moved back home. Her way of helping you keep your passion alive, you suppose. 

Admitting defeat, you stand up and walk away from the canvas. The missing piece yet to be found.

You find your mom in her room, tucked under the blankets with a book in her hands. Physically, she has changed so much. A strong woman capable of running mile after mile is now barely able to walk a few feet on her own. Thick, luscious hair is now thin and falls off at the slightest touch.

And yet, in her eyes, you see the same woman who used to run all over the house with you playing hide and seek. The same woman who held you on her hip as she made pancakes with chocolate syrup smiles. Inside, she still has that raw passion and intensity as when she danced flamenco. She’s still your mom but it’s like you lose a little more of her with each passing day.

“Hi, mama,” you greet her, peeking your head inside the room.

The moment she sees you, a big smile appears. “Hola, mi vida. Come in.”

The book is placed to the side, and her arms welcome you as you lay down next to her. She doesn’t want you to ask about today’s treatment or how she’s feeling. She’s tired of only giving you bad news. Even when you’re the one that is supposed to look after her, her priority is still looking after you. 

So instead of asking, you let her gather her strength and run her fingers through your hair. She asks about your day, and you tell her everything to the smallest detail. She gets a nice chuckle out of Carla’s suspicions about who keeps messing up the storeroom.

“And that missing piece of yours?”

You shake your head. “Still missing and I’m just about ready to give it up. Honestly mama, I think it’s just me being a perfectionist.”

She hums but doesn’t say anything in response right away. “I think…” she says, “that if that heart of yours is telling you that something is missing, you should listen.”

Growing up, your mom would never allow frustration to consume you to the point of giving up. She would guide you through whatever you needed until you came out on the other side. She has always been your guiding light when you just can’t seem to find your way.

You look up at her and smile. “You’re so wise.”

A familiar mischievous glint that you rarely see nowadays appears in her eyes. “Well, one of us has to be.”

“Mama!”

But the two of you share a laugh, and it’s a sound you hope to hear forever and never forget.

__________________________

Tuesdays are slow. The early morning rush of customers has come and gone, and now the café is left with only a few scattered customers. On days like this, there’s only a need for one person behind the counter, and today that lucky person is you. 

With Carla not around to keep you company, the only goal is to keep yourself busy. Occasionally, you’ll take out the sketchbook, but nothing seems to maintain your interest for long. You’re in a proper funk, and rather than fight it, you have decided to embrace it. Even though you still can’t shake the feeling that you’re missing a piece for the exhibit, at this point, you’re only driving yourself crazy.

If the missing piece wants to be found, it will make its way to you eventually.

The door of the coffee shop swings open, and it takes you a second, but you recognize her as the woman sharing those looks with Carla.

“¡Hola, bienvenida!”

The woman gives you a soft smile, “Hi,” she says, tapping her fingers on the counter, “A cortado, please.”

With a nod, you input her order on the screen, “name for the order?” 

Once again, the woman takes just a second too long to respond. This time you glance up just in time to catch a glimpse of sadness in her eyes. 

“Alexia,” she says with a breath. 

As you prepare the order, you can see her taking a keen interest in one of the flyers for your art class. You left them up on the counter so that everyone could see, but as you expected, barely anyone has paid much attention.

Alexia, on the other hand, not only takes one from the stack, but she seems to be genuinely curious. If Carla was here, she would urge you to talk to her. But the truth is, you’ve never been good at selling yourself. You’ve always preferred to let your art speak for you, and for itself.

You place her cortado within Alexia’s reach and as casually as you can, ask, "Interested in taking an art class?" 

Alexia shifts her weight nervously and chuckles, "I'm not very good."

Out of fear that you’ll come off too eager and scare her away, you grab a towel and start wiping the counter that clearly doesn’t need much cleaning. “More reason to sign up.”

“I’ll sign up if you ask me to.” 

Your hand stills at her words. “Um…” Something about the way she said them makes you hesitant to look at her. “Yeah... you should sign up.”

But she doesn’t let you off the hook that easily. 

“Look at me and ask.”

And when you do look at her, you’re left speechless by what you see. This is the first time you look at her — really look at her, and it makes you feel vulnerable, exposed. Alexia’s not just looking at you - she’s looking through you. All of your flaws, insecurities, and imperfections seem to be on full display. 

You feel seen. 

You struggle to speak, the words seemingly stuck in your throat. “Please, sign up for my class.” 

“Finally.” Alexia says and she doesn’t say anything else for a few seconds, almost as if she’s relishing the moment. Eventually, the corners of her lips tug upwards in a smile, “I’ll think about it.”

You want to say something to convince her, but you’re left speechless. No one has looked at you like that in a very, very long time. It's a scary feeling, but at the same time, there's a sense of excitement brewing in the pit of your stomach. 

With the flyer and coffee in her hands, Alexia gives you a little nod. “Nos vemos.” 

You watch as she walks out of the cafe, leaving you to grapple with the unexpected feelings she sparked in you. 

The rest of your shift goes unbearably slow. With barely any customers to keep your mind busy, it keeps wandering back to Alexia. The exchange was confusing, unexpected, and strange. And yet, you want to talk to her again. 

It’s only when you get home that you’re distracted enough to not think about her, and it’s not for a great reason.

Your mom has good days and bad days and when you got home, your aunt’s expression told you all you needed to know. Today is a bad day. 

On the bad days, there’s very little you can do besides make sure she is comfortable. These are the days that hurt the most. You feel powerless and the questions that keep you up at night gain power over you. You try so hard to put on a brave face for her. She can handle the cancer, but not the sadness in your eyes.

After dinner, you’re lying in bed with her watching a movie. It’s a bad day ritual. It’s the perfect way to embrace a new world — a new reality in which your mom is not sick and everything is as it should be.

Halfway through the movie, your phone buzzes softly beside you.

A notification lights up the display: Alexia Putellas has registered for The First Brushstroke class.

A warm, tingling sensation spreads through your body as you read her name. You can't help but whisper it out loud, "Alexia."

Your mom's voice, curious and gentle, interrupts your thoughts. "Did you say something, mija?"

Quickly you lock the screen and shake your head. "It's nothing, mama."

There's no point in explaining how one simple look from a stranger has shaken you to your core.  How can you possibly explain something you, yourself don’t understand? 

__________________________

There’s a vibrant energy that flows through the narrow, winding streets of La Vila de Gràcia district. Before moving away, Gràcia was where you would spend most of your time. You felt understood and encouraged by all of the artists displaying their artwork on the streets. So, when you moved back and needed to find an art studio to host your class, you knew exactly where to look.

The art studio itself is small but fulfills your needs and most importantly, it’s within your budget. The walls are decorated with various pieces of artwork, from sketches and charcoal drawings to oil paintings. At the bottom right corner each one are your initials, and the only hint of the paintings being created by your hand. At the front of the room is a large wooden easel, holding a blank canvas that in a few hours will be brought to life with vibrant strokes of color.

The class is for beginners, so you don’t put too much pressure on yourself. There’s no need for everything to be perfect. In fact, you encourage mistakes. Most often than not, mistakes have the potential to become something unexpectedly beautiful. 

With the class set to begin shortly, those who signed up start trickling in. A couple takes a seat in the back of the room and right away you can tell it might be their first date. He hesitates to scoot his stool a little closer to her, and she tries to hide the blush in her cheeks when he finally does. 

A few of your regulars have the confidence to immediately go and collect their paint brushes, tubes of paint, and containers of water without being told to do so. Their confidence spreads through the room, and eventually, everyone has what they need to start the class. 

Only one easel stands alone. 

You glance at the clock on the wall and feel your heart sink a bit. It seems Alexia changed her mind and won’t be coming after all. You try to pretend it doesn’t bother you, but disappointment is an unwanted visitor tonight. Still, you gather the supplies she might need and leave them for her by the easel. Just in case. 

“Hello everyone, thank you all for being here” you offer a smile to the faces looking at you with anticipation, “tonight, we’ll be focusing on blending colors to create a gradient effect. If this is your first time —” 

The door swings open and everyone's heads snap in its direction. Alexia steps inside the studio and you forget whatever it is you were about to say. 

She stops at the entrance, her eyes locked on you. 

Alexia’s presence sparks an excited chatter amongst the class but their voices are muffled in your ears. You’re entirely captivated by her.

“Hi,” you greet her. 

“Hi,” she says with the softest of smiles.

Finally taking notice of the others in the studio, Alexia gives them all a quick nod before taking a seat.

Before, everyone’s eyes were on you. Now, you see them all taking not-so secretive glances at Alexia. You can only assume it’s because she made a late entrance, but deep down, you have a feeling there might be more to it than that. 

You clear your throat and bring everyone's attention back to you. “Um… yeah, I as I was saying,” but it takes you a second to regain your train of thought, “right —  if this is your first time, feel free to follow along to what I paint, it will be something really simple. But, if your mind or your heart calls out for something else, don’t hesitate.” 

As promised, your painting is of a simple sunset with silhouettes of pine trees. You show the students how to mix the colors together with a blending brush, starting with a light shade and gradually adding darker tones for a seamless transition. A painting of this simplicity would normally take you a few minutes, but you take your time to explain the different techniques and all the possible color combinations. 

With the painting done, it’s time for you to walk around the studio and give each student your individual attention. You encourage those who are hesitant to be bold and give praises to those that show improvement since the last time you saw them.

Eventually, you make your way to Alexia. When she notices you, she looks down somewhat embarrassed. 

“It’s so bad,” she says softly, avoiding your gaze.

You take a closer look at her painting. It's a striking red and blue background with the silhouette of a young girl holding a ball against her hip. Despite the simple composition, there's something poignant and personal about it. From your experience, most beginner students choose something generic, easy. But It's clear that Alexia’s painting is anything but.

"It's not bad," you say gently, placing a hand on her shoulder. "It's personal, no? I think that’s what makes it beautiful."

Your words seem to give Alexia a little bit of confidence because she looks up at you, “gracias.” Her eyes drift down at your hand still on her shoulder, a soft sigh through parted lips. 

Fearing you might have crossed an invisible line, you pull away swiftly and give her a little nod. “You’re welcome.” 

The rest of the class goes by in a blur but all throughout you feel overwhelmed by Alexia. You feel her eyes on you the entire time. And while you certainly hope you didn’t make it too obvious, every time she flicked her hair, you noticed. When she scrunched her eyebrows in deep focus, you noticed. 

The students stand up and get ready to leave, but before some walk out of the studio, they do something that surprises you. They walk up to Alexia with a glint in their eyes, and ask her for a picture. She complies with every request.

Clearly, Alexia is someone important and you feel embarrassed for not knowing why. 

Only the couple and Alexia remain in the studio. You start cleaning up all the supplies scattered all while pretending not to listen. With what you do manage to catch of their conversation, your best guess is that it has something to do with a football club which is something you know very little about. Sports are not really your thing and it has nothing to do with being forced to play goalie once when you were six, and then proceeding to get a ball kicked at your face. Repeatedly. 

Alexia and the couple exchange farewells and the conversation comes to an end. With your back turned, you only hear the sound of the door opening and closing and then, a brief silence. 

“Do you usually stay and clean?” 

Alexia’s voice startles you, causing you to jump and let out a shriek. You assumed she had left like everyone else. It’s not like she has a reason to stay. 

“Oh!” she says, taking a step closer with a look of concern, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.” 

Slightly embarrassed at your reaction, you take a deep to calm your beating heart. “No, uh,” you say with a light chuckle, hand on your chest. “I stay and clean up. It’s part of the gig.” 

Alexia looks around, noticing all the dirty brushes and containers that will surely keep you occupied for another hour. Without a word, she follows your lead and starts picking up as well.

“Wait, you really don’t have to.” 

She stops and looks at you with the same intensity she did at the coffee shop. “I want to.” 

Once again, you're left speechless by one simple look and unable to make any further protests. Alexia seems to have this power of you that you find both unsettling and strangely exhilarating. 

With all the brushes and containers in the sink, you notice she has no intention of leaving until the task is complete. 

“I wash, you dry?” you suggest, turning on the faucet to allow the water to remove the excess paint from the brushes. 

“You wash, I dry.” Alexia stands next to you, her arm bushing ever so slightly against yours. 

It’s a small studio, so it’s a small sink. You’re acutely aware of the warmth radiating from her and you feel it spreading through you.

"I know it's a little obvious since you're the teacher and all," Alexia says, meticulously cleaning the brushes with a level of care and precision most people wouldn't exhibit. "But you’re really talented."

Your laughter is warm and appreciative. "That's quite a compliment based on just that small painting I did."

Alexia shakes her head slightly and her gaze drifts up to the paintings and sketches adorning the walls of the studio. "These are all yours, right?"

You don't bother looking up at the paintings. You're well aware of the pieces she's referring to. Instead, you fix your eyes on her, astonishment subtly etched on your face.

"You noticed."

Alexia meets your gaze. "Hard not to."

For a brief moment, both of you remain silent, allowing the compliment to linger in the air. But you feel flustered, so you look away and try to think of something to change the subject.

"Do you mind if I ask what you do?"

Alexia straightens her posture with an unmistakable hint of pride. "I play for Barça."

And you feel like idiot for not knowing that. "No wonder everyone was so starstruck when you walked in."

Alexia's lips curve into a tight, shy smile. "Yeah, I'm sorry about that," she says, as she finishes drying the last of the brushes.

"Don't be," you say, shifting your weight against the sink. "I should apologize for being from here and not recognizing you. I feel like I'm committing some sort of crime."

Her laughter is light, and she leans in ever so slightly. "You know, I think there's a reward for turning in people like you," she teases.

Biting your bottom lip to stifle a grin, you reply, "And if I offer a better reward for keeping my secret?"

Alexia edges slightly closer, curiosity dancing in her eyes. "What do you have in mind?"

Her proximity sends butterflies fluttering in your stomach. "How about a private class next Friday? You'll have the teacher all to yourself."

Alexia pretends to ponder it for a moment, but eventually extends her hand, and you take it without hesitation.

"We have a deal."

__________________________

Over the next few days, you find yourself more attentive than ever at who enters the cafe. Every time the door swings open, your head instinctively turns in its direction. Not only that, you’re so lost in thought that you struggle to remember even the simplest of orders.

After you botch the third order of the day, Carla's curiosity gets the better of her. "Okay, I have to know," she says, her arms crossed over her chest, "what's got your head in the clouds?"

"Sorry... I just have something on my mind, that's all," you reply, trying to dismiss it. "It’s stupid."

She seems willing to let it go, but when you reach for the whole milk, she has to intervene. "He asked for oat milk," she points out, swapping the milk cartons for you. "Alright, spill it — and I don't mean the drink."

With the customer only a few feet away, you lower your voice so only Carla can hear. "I met someone…"

Carla's eyebrows rise in intrigue. "I like where this is going."

You quickly complete the order under Carla's watchful gaze and hand it to the customer with an apologetic smile.

Once he walks out of the cafe, Carla swivels back to you. "You were saying."

"She was at my class last week even stayed to help me clean up. You know I haven't exactly flirted with anyone in a while, but I'm pretty sure that's what happened. And now…" you take a deep breath, "I can't stop thinking about her,” you say rather quickly, almost embarrassed.

“It doesn't help that she's a regular here so I'm expecting her to walk through that door any second, and it has me on edge."

"Wait," Carla says, holding her hand up, "she's a regular?"

You nod. "Yeah, it’s Alexia. I think you know her actually."

You still haven't forgotten the glances her and Alexia have shared in the past. But with everything that has happened, you never had the chance to ask Carla what it all meant. 

Upon hearing Alexia's name, the broadest grin spreads across Carla's face.

"What?" you ask, puzzled.

"It's about damn time!" She exclaims, a tad too loudly. The few customers in the cafe glance her way, and she quickly apologizes.

"What do you mean, it's about time?"

After releasing her excitement with a few soft claps, Carla places a hand on your shoulder. "Querida, Alexia has been coming here for like two months just to see you and you barely paid her any attention. La pobre, she would get so sad whenever you asked for her name."

It all starts to make sense. So much has been happening around you but you’ve been oblivious to it all. 

You playfully slap Carla on her side. "Why didn't you say anything?!"

Carla shrugs, her smile beaming. "What can I say — I'm a romantic! I didn't want to force it." Her smile dims slightly. "Besides, I figured you had a lot on your mind with your mom and the exhibit. I didn't think you were all that interested in dating."

Carla's right: dating hasn't exactly been a priority. You haven’t gone on a date in a year and it’s a fact that hasn’t exactly kept you up at night. How can you seek out love when your heart is in danger of being broken in a million little pieces? If your worst fear becomes a reality, there might not be a heart left to give. But even so, you cannot deny that while it still remains in tack, it beats a little faster at the mention of Alexia. 

"You're not wrong," you concede, "but a woman like that is worth moving up the priority list."

Carla snickers and wiggles her eyebrows. "She's gorgeous, isn't she?"

"Very."

__________________________

It's Friday night and you can’t stop staring at the clock in your art studio. Its hands seem to mock you. Each tick echoes through the empty space, driving you mad with anticipation. It's your fault for arriving an hour early, but you just couldn't bear waiting at home any longer. You haven't felt like this in so long, and you just don't know what to do with yourself.

Back in France, you only dated casually. Some relationships were more serious than others sure, but you never really saw a future in any of them. Your heart and mind were too committed to your art, so it was difficult for anyone to compete.

But this time it feels different. Your art, which used to consume you, now seems to be somewhat in the background, and thoughts of Alexia have taken center stage.

The art studio is still. The easels and art supplies waiting in anticipation for Alexia. You set two easels in the corner next to the large windows that reveal the night sky, dotted with stars.

And if you're not staring at the clock, you're staring at the blank canvas, trying to envision the scene you want to create. But of course, your thoughts drift to Alexia, and all you can see is the curve of her smile and the sparkle in her eyes.

The door to the studio opens and Alexia walks in. Immediately, you feel the heat rise in your cheeks.

"Hi," she greets you, choosing to remain standing by the door.

You fight the nerves threatening to consume you and take the necessary steps to reach her. "Hi," you reply, hands intertwined nervously behind you.

Alexia looks at you for a moment, a smirk teasing her lips. There's no doubt she can sense your nerves. "You know, I ran into some officers on the way here."

"Oh yeah?"

She hums and nods her head, "They were actually looking for someone that reminded me a lot of you."

You bite your bottom lip to suppress your laughter. You've missed being teased like this. "Well, either you led them right to me, or you kept your end of the deal."

Alexia takes a moment, a mischievous look in her eye. "She's right here, officers!"

This earns Alexia a playful nudge on her shoulder. "Alright, you got me," you admit, your laughter filling the studio.

“Are you ready to get started, captain?”

Alexia nods and follows you to the easels by the window. She doesn’t try to be slick when she scoots her stool closer you. She makes it very obvious and, you of course, make no protest.

In the beginning, you focus on giving her a few pointers on how to work with charcoal. It's all very professional, which does help calm the butterflies in your stomach.

But then Alexia glances over at your canvas and asks, "How do you do that shading thing you do?"

You give her a smile and lean in closer to her canvas. With the proximity, you can smell her perfume, her breath against your hair, her knee pressed up against yours.

When you finish explaining, you turn to Alexia, only to realize that she hasn't exactly been paying much attention to what you were doing.

"Did you listen to a word I said?" You ask teasingly.

Alexia blushes, a sheepish smile on her face. "Sorry, I got distracted," she admits, her eyes flickering to your lips for a moment. "Show me again."

And you do so, not just because you want her to learn, but because you like the feeling of having her close.

After a little while of working in peaceful silence, Alexia decides to speak up. "So, in the last class, you mentioned that you moved back here from France?"

You give her a nod, "Yeah, almost a year now."

"Why did you come back?"

Your hand stills and hovers above the canvas. It doesn't matter how much time has gone by or how many times you've had to talk about it, your mom's illness is and will always be difficult to put into words.

"You don't have to answer if you don't want to," Alexia says, sensing your hesitation.

But you shake your head and smile, your eyes glistening. "No, it's okay," you say, voice soft but steady.

"My mom was diagnosed with cancer, and of course I had moved back to be with her. I used to say that it would take something really big for me to move back here, and… it turns out I was right."

Alexia listens intently to your every word. "I'm really sorry."

You finally gather the courage to look at Alexia, and you see two things: a sense of understanding and a little smudge of charcoal on her cheek.

"Thank you," you tell her with a small smile, which only grows bigger the longer you look at her.

"What?" she asks, confused.

"You have a little charcoal…" you tell her, pointing to the smudge on her cheek.

"Oh," she says and immediately tries to clean it off herself but fails to actually reach the spot.

"Let me help." You lean in closer to her, and with a soft, careful touch, you reach out and gently wipe the smudge away with your thumb.

Time seems to stand still as you both sit there, faces close in a moment of pure, unspoken emotion.

Slowly, you pull away, your cheeks flushed and your heart pounding. The moment is broken, but the feelings remain palpable. 

“Gracias,” she says, her hand on where she felt your touch.

Unlike the last class, this time there's no excuse for Alexia to stay and help you clean up. So, with the drawings done, you're both just standing a little awkwardly by the door, unsure of what to do next.

"Would you like to go for a drink? I know a bar nearby."

Your eyes widen in surprise, and then a smile lights up you face. "I'd love that."

And that’s how the two of you end up at Las Vermudas, a cozy bar tucked away in the Gràcia district. 

You follow Alexia to a booth in a far corner of the bar. Once you both have settled in, the bartender comes over to take your orders. You can’t keep your eyes off her as she orders her drink and when she catches you looking, she smiles.

It’s like the two of you are in your own little world. The conversation flows effortlessly and eventually, it leads back to your return.

“I felt so settled back in France. Everything just made sense. I was making all the right connections through Cécile, my mentor. It’s actually thanks to her that my work will be featured in an exhibit in a few months. Now, I have no idea where or who I’ll be next year.”

Almost like she can read your mind, Alexia asks, “What are you afraid of?” 

“When I go back — if I do ever go back, I m scared that I just won’t be the same. That nothing will be the same. And that maybe I lost my chance to be truly great. It’s not just talent to succeed in my world, it’s a lot introductions with right people.”

Once again, you see nothing but understanding in Alexia. Her finger trails the edge of her glass, eyebrows slightly furrowed in thought. 

"You know, there was a time when I wasn't sure I'd ever play again," she admits, her voice wavering slightly. 

Your eyes widen in concern, and you lean in, eager to hear more.

"Two years ago I suffered an ACL injury and I was out for almsot a year. No matter how many times I told myself that I would come back stronger, there was still that little bit of doubt that would keep me up at night. I was so scared that I would not be the same player and my career would just be a what if."

“And are you the same player?” 

A smirk tugs on her lips. “No,” she reaches for her glass and takes a small sip. “I’m better.” she says, and her smirk transforms into a proud smile. 

And so you raise your own glass to her in admiration. It’s one thing to overcome an injury, but it’s another thing entirely to overcome the doubt that so desperately wants to hold you back.

After a little more back and forth and occasional teasing, you feel comfortable to bring up something that’s been on your mind.

 "So, I have to admit something," you say, hesitating slightly. "You know my coworker, Carla?” 

Alexia shifts in her seat “Si, we’ve talked a little here and there.”

You have a pretty good idea of what they’ve talked about — particularly how blind and clueless you’ve been for months.

But even though Alexia is no longer a stranger and you know for a fact that she’s interested in you, it doesn’t make it any easier to take that leap forward and be vulnerable with someone.

“Well, I kept getting distracted at the cafe, like I couldn’t get an order right to save my life.” You look down at the glass in your hands, “and I’m not the best barista by any means, but Carla could tell my mind was somewhere else.” 

Alexia remains silent, but you feel her scooting a little closer to you.

“What were you thinking about?” 

Your finger taps the glass repeatedly as you prepare yourself to reply to a question Alexia probably already knows the answer to. 

“I was thinking about you.” 

She scoots again a little closer, but this time actually reaches for your hand. It gives you the confidence you need to look away from the glass, and into her eyes. 

“And when I told her I was thinking about you she got really excited, because as it turns out… you’ve been thinking about me too.”

A light blush spreads across Alexia's cheeks. "I thought you’d never notice me,” she says with a light chuckle. “I wanted you from the moment I saw you.”

Your eyes drift down to your hand and you watch how delicately Alexia trails over your knuckles.

"Every time I saw you at the cafe, I would try to find the reason to talk to you, but you wouldn’t even look me in the eye. So, I just waited and hoped that maybe, just maybe, you'd just look up."

Unlike so many times before in the cafe, this time you do look up. The intensity in her eyes no longer scares you. You welcome it and embrace it as the urge to close the distance and taste her lips becomes irresistible.  

Everything indicates that she feels it too. You don’t think about it too much. You just do it.

When your lips finally meet, it's as if a spark ignites, sending a wave of warmth and desire throughout your entire body. The kiss, tender and sweet, makes the world around you fade away, and all that exists is the sensation of her lips.

When you pull away, breathless and exhilarated, you rest your forehead against hers and whisper, “I don’t think I’ll ever notice anyone else ever again.”

__________________________

With Alexia by your side, life takes a pleasant turn. After months of nothing but stress and just expecting the worst, she has brought a little light to your darkness. Not because she showers with grand gestures of affection. No, it’s the little things she does that mean the most. Like waiting for you outside the cafe after your shift so you’re the first person she sees. And it doesn’t matter how tired you are, seeing her waiting for you is like a breath of fresh air.

Because she makes you feel like this, it’s easy for you to embrace her world and her passions even though they differ so greatly from your own. It took a little bit of convincing and a lot of kisses, but you eventually agreed to let her teach you how to play football. You stumble and fall more often than not but Alexia is patient and encouraging.  However, it’s hard for her to suppress her laughter at how many times you miss the ball and just kick the air. 

But what surprises you the most, is that other than at the First Brushstroke, you’ve had no interest in painting. No longer are you driving yourself crazy with the exhibit and the damned missing piece.

“Oye,” Carla calls out to you, “stop thinking about Alexia and help me stock up the pastry shelf.”

You roll your eyes with a smirk in response but don’t bother to defend yourself. She’s right after all. “Fine, fine.” 

“By the way, the owner just texted me that he might stop by tomorrow,” Carla informs you and her expression shows that she’s not all that pleased.

You throw your head back and groan, “of course he is.” 

Every once in a blue moon the owner of the cafe decides to show up and pretend like he actually cares about the place. Just the mention of his possible visit makes you want to take off your apron and quit.

What makes matters worse is that Alexia won’t be waiting for you outside today. She’s traveling back with the team and you expect her to go straight home and get some rest. 

The two of you are just about done restocking the shelf when the door to the cafe opens.

“Ale?” 

Her eyes immediately find you and she gives you a big, beaming smile. Your heart skips a beat as you return her smile, a tangible connection passing between you even from across the cafe.

“Hola, preciosa.”

Within a second you’re in her arms, face nestled in the crook of your neck. “You’re back,” you mumble against her skin, giving a quick peck on her cheek.

“I am,” she says with a little squeeze. 

Behind you, Carla clears her throat to get your attention. "Hey, can you bring out the rest of the apple puff ones from the back? I'll cover the counter."

You glance at the shelf and see more than enough of the apple puff-pastries and you, of course, catch the hint. “Will do,” you reply with a grateful smile.

You take Alexia’s hand and guide her towards the storeroom. As you pass Carla, you faintly hear Alexia say “thank you,” to her. 

The moment the two of you step into the room and the door closes, your hands reach up to cradle Alexia’s face and pull her in for a slow, passionate kiss.

It’s as if all the days you've spent apart melt away. "I missed you," you murmur repeatedly against each other's lips, the words barely audible. 

Alexia with her arms around your waist, draws you even closer, and you lose yourself in the warmth of her embrace. 

When you finally pull apart and catch your breath, you can't help but playfully reprimand her. "You had such a long flight. Why aren’t you at home and in bed right now?"

Alexia shakes her head as if that was the last thing in her mind. "I wanted to see my girlfriend,” she says as she trails gentle kisses down your neck.

Your eyes widen in surprise at her words. Gently, you grasp her face with your hands, "I'm your girlfriend?" This is the first time the title has been uttered, but it has certainly been swirling around in your mind. 

She nods with an undeniable confidence because to her, it's the most obvious thing in the world. "Yes, and I am yours."

There’s a saying: actions speak louder than words. So, rather than proclaim how much her words mean to you, you capture her lips once more for a kiss. Hands find their way underneath her shirt, tracing the curves and lines you've come to know so well. And as the intensity continues to build, Alexia attempts to back you against a wall, but when you take a step back you end up tripping over a box, stumbling backward.

Alexia tries to catch you, but her foot gets caught up in something and she ends up losing her balance as well. You find yourself in a tangled mess of limbs and unable to control your laughter. 

“You weren’t kidding,” she says, extending her hand to help you up. “This place is a mess.” 

You nod in agreement, hands on your hips, "Someone keeps sneaking in at night and turning the place upside down."

"Really?"

“No,” you drop the facade and smirk, "Carla and I are just incapable of cleaning up after ourselves."

Alexia chuckles and shakes her head, a fond smile playing on her lips as she takes in the chaos that surrounds the two of you.

"I've got to go back” you wrap your arms around Alexia's neck, drawing her closer for a quick peck on her cheek. “Duty calls.”

Alexia nods in understanding. "Can’t leave our girl stranded.”

Walking out of the backroom, you’re relieved to not see Carla overwhelmed by a long line at the counter. 

“We really need to get that place in order,” you tell Carla, pointing back to the stockroom.

Carla grimaces, “I know,” she says, “I hate to say it, but we might need to stay late today and clean up in case that idiot actually decides to show up.”

Alexia, who has been listening to the conversation, raises her hand. "I’m happy to help if you need an extra hand."

Carla looks at Alexia, then back at you with desperation in her eyes, “we definitely do.” 

A part of you wants to say no because you know Alexia needs the rest, but you can already feel the muscles in your back start to tighten from all the heavy lifting that awaits you. With Alexia's help, the task of cleaning the backroom would be much more manageable.

So you give in, “Ok,” you point your finger at Alexia rather sternly, “go home, get some rest and we’ll see you here at closing.”

"So bossy,” Alexia playfully blows a kiss to you and says, "I’ll see you soon.”

Again, it’s the little things that make you fall more in love with her day by day.

__________________________

Tonight, your mom is teaching you how to cook her famous Fideuà which also happens to be one of Alexia’s favorite dishes. So, it’s only fitting that she’s by your side, helping you cook and correcting your many, many mistakes.

“Now, add the stock and wine and bring it to a simmer.”

Your mom, feeling a little too weak to stand, sits nearby at the counter, offering her guidance and expertise on the dish.

The atmosphere in the kitchen is light and filled with laughter as your mom and Alexia tease you mercilessly. The two hit it off right away, so much so that sometimes you feel like the third wheel. And while you may pout and complain, you love to see your mom regain that spark in her eyes that you love so much. All she’s ever wanted is for you to be happy. Your happiness is her happiness. So, when she sees you with Alexia, laughing and smiling, she’s satisfied.

“Oh, my beautiful daughter has always been a handful, Ale. I remember the day I found a nude magazine under her bed.”

Alexia chokes on the wine, a little bit spilling from the corners of her lips.

“Mama!”

Your mom brushes you off, a smirk on her lips. “She gave me this ridiculous excuse, saying it was to study the female form for a painting she was working on.”

“It was!”

“Mi amor, you’re a woman — all you had to do was look in a mirror. You didn’t need three magazines for that.”

You cover your face with your hands in embarrassment, “dios, please make it stop.” 

Alexia shares a look with your mom, and they burst into laughter.

Thankfully, the teasing comes to end, and you can focus back on the dish that you so desperately don’t want to mess up again.

"I tried so many times to make this when I was in France, but wow, it tasted terrible," you confess, shaking your head.

Your mom speaks up, her voice gentle but firm. "You see, that’s why it's important that I teach you these things while I can."

Feeling as though someone has punched you in the stomach, you turn your back to her, and you try to suppress the tears that threaten to spill. Her words serve as a painful reminder of the possibility of losing her.

Alexia quickly notices your distress and kisses your shoulder, providing you with that little bit of comfort you need to gather your emotions. To lighten the mood, she shares a few of her own cooking horror stories, making you laugh and successfully distracting you from the sadness that had momentarily gripped you.

After dinner, you take Alexia by the hand and lead her to your childhood bedroom turned art studio. Her eyes go wide with curiosity and admiration. "So, this is where the magic happens," she says. "I love it," Alexia breathes, her gaze darting around the room, taking in every detail.

You walk over to a corner where several canvases lean against the wall, each one partially covered with a cloth. Gently, you pull them away to reveal the paintings you've been working on for the upcoming exhibit.

Alexia gasps in awe, her eyes drinking in the vibrant colors and intricate details of each piece. "Incredible, mi amor.”

You feel your cheeks flush at the compliment. "When I got the news of my mom, I felt like I didn’t have anyone to talk to. I had so much built up and I needed to just let it all out. And this is what came out.”

It only takes Alexia a few seconds to understand the meanings behind every piece. She reaches her hand out to you, and you take it seeking the comfort you can only get from her touch. She wraps her arms around your waist and rests her chin on your shoulder, "I can’t tell you that everything will be ok, but I can promise that I will be here for you, no matter what."

You believe her.

__________________________

Your favorite nights are the ones spent with Alexia. In her arms you feel safe and at peace. Somehow, she keeps your anxieties and worst fears far, far away. As your fingers gently trace the contours of her face, you feel a warmth and happiness you never want to go a day without. It turns out this isn’t just a fleeting infatuation, after all. Your love for her is real. 

"I love you," you murmur, voice warm and sincere.

Alexia eyes flutter open and she smiles, "I love you too.” 

Her words ignite something in you that has laid dormant in you for far too long. Your mind begins to race with ideas, colors, and compositions. It's as if a dam within you has burst, releasing this desire to express your love for her through your art. It's a powerful sensation that you simply cannot ignore and it demands you to act on it immediately.

With a sense of urgency, you jump out of bed and run to grab the sketchbook you carry with you everywhere in your bag.

“What are you doing?” Alexia calls out, her voice full of curiosity and a hint of amusement. 

With no attempt to explain yourself, you reach for her vanity stool and place it a few feet away from the bed. The pencil in your hand starts to glide across the paper capturing the lines and curves of her body. Carefully, you study the gentle curve of her neck and the way her hair cascades over the pillow.

Alexia, now catching on to the reason behind your outburst, remains still. A comforting silence takes over the room, broken only by the sound of the pencil dancing across the page.

But the more you look at her and take in every detail of her body, the more restless she becomes. Her hands grip the bed sheet, teeth tugging on her bottom lip. With one swift motion, the sheets that cover her body fall to the ground as she gets up from the bed and walks over to you.

Hovering above you, she takes the sketchbook from your hands and sets it aside. Looking up at her, she brushes a strand of hair from your face and tucks in behind your ear. “I love how you look at me,” she whispers.

Her touch is so tender, and her words so genuine that makes you feel like the luckiest woman in the world.

You feel compelled to drop down to your knees.

Hands run up and down the back of her thighs, nails digging in ever so slightly into her skin. You press your lips against her navel, and then trail down ever so slowly.

Alexia’s breath hitches with each kiss. She rests her hand on your head, her fingers threading through your hair as she gasps your name. The sound of her voice, breathy and filled with desire, sends a shiver down your spine.

When your tongue reaches her most sensitive spot, Alexia lifts her leg and rests it on the vanity stool, allowing you better access to her.

“Oh…”

With every gentle stroke and teasing touch, you proclaim your love. And in response, Alexia's holds you firmly in place, a clear indication she has no interest in ever letting you go.

And then her eyes lock onto yours, you see that same intensity that left you speechless when you first saw her — really saw her, but now you also see love in her gaze. Ever since that day in the coffee shop you have been at her mercy. But now as she trembles with pleasure by your hand and tongue, she’s the one begging for it.

Throughout the rest of the night, you take your time exploring and memorizing every curve and dip of Alexia's body with your lips. You're determined to commit every detail to memory to ensure that when it’s time, you’ll be able to capture her image her to perfection on the canvas.

__________________________

With a step back, you take a moment to appreciate the progress you've made on the painting. In a trance, the hours you've spent working on it have flown by. The creative block that has plagued you has lost its control over you.

And you have Alexia to thank.

The painting is inspired by the sketch you made that night. The sheet drapes over her body, revealing just enough of her silhouette to create a sense of mystery and allure. The image draws you in and entices you to want more, to see more. Although covered, you can see the toned contours of her body, from the definition in her arms to the powerful muscles in her legs.

Her knee peeks out from the bed sheets and a small yet very significant scar can be seen. The scar tells a story of overcoming obstacles and pushing through no matter. It’s a testament to her strength and her ability to rise above challenges and come out on top, stronger than before.

You continue working late into the night, each brushstroke bringing you closer to immortalizing Alexia. The painting still requires a lot of work to reach the level of perfection you desire, but you’re determined to have it done in time for the exhibit.

It’s the final, missing piece. They very piece that alluded you, and the very one you had given up on. But liked you hoped, it did make its way to you eventually. And it did so in the shape of the woman you fallen in love with.  

__________________________

Waiting for the doctor always feels like an eternity. You hate everything about the room you’re in. The sterile environment, the faint smell of disinfectant, and the uncomfortable silence that only serves as a constant reminder of the pain and suffering your mom has had to endure.

Incapable of sitting down, you remain standing, hands wringing together as your heart beats rapidly in your chest. Each visit to this room has been a roller coaster of emotions, leaving you with a sense of dread every time you step foot inside. Even the ticking sound of the clock feels like a signal of impending heartache.

"Is Ale nervous for the game?"

Every time you've been in this room, all you've heard is bad news after bad news. The crushing weight of your mother's cancer hangs over you like a dark cloud, making it nearly impossible to focus. You long for the day when you can walk into this room without feeling like the world is collapsing around you.

"Mija?"

"Hmm?"

"The game against Real Madrid is later today, right?"

You manage a small smile, appreciating her attempt to ease your tension. "Yeah, it's today."

She smiles, her eyes sparkling with pride. Unlike you, she’s made her peace with it all. "I'm sure she'll do great."

Just as you're about to respond, the door opens, and the doctor walks in, a gentle smile on his face. Your heart races as you brace yourself for the news.

"I have good news for both of you," he begins, his tone warm and reassuring. "Lídia, the treatment has been effective. The latest blood tests show that you are in remission.”

As the doctor's words sink in, disbelief, relief, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude wash over you in waves. After so long of only getting bad news, it's hard to believe that this moment has finally come. You've spent countless nights lying awake, fearing the worst. 

You glance over at your mom, searching her face for any sign that this is just another cruel dream and that you’ll wake up from. But her eyes, filled with tears of joy, tell you that this is real and for the first time in so long, you breathe a sigh of relief.

"Really? Are you sure?" Your mom asks, disbelief and hope mixed in her voice.

"Yes, Lídia, I'm certain," he confirms. "The next step is consolidation treatment help prevent a relapse, but as of now, you're in remission and that is very good news."

Unable to contain your emotions any longer, you rush to her side, enveloping her in a tight embrace. She holds you close, tears of joy and relief streaming down both of your faces.

"You’re going to be ok," you manage to choke out between sobs.

Amidst the whirlwind of emotions, you remember that Alexia had asked you to text her about the results. She wanted to know and be there for you, regardless of the outcome.

With trembling fingers, you pull out your phone and type a message to Alexia:

📲 – she’s in remission!!!!!!!!

📲 – we’re still shock but I’ll tell you everything later

📲 – good luck today!! I love you ♥️ ♥️ ♥️

The two of you make it back to the house in time to watch El Clásico. Even though you’re not there in person, you can tell the atmosphere in the stadium is electric. Every time Alexia appears on the screen, your heart swells up with pride.

The game is tense. Both teams are playing their hearts out, and while you try to pay attention to everything and every player, like Alexia has taught you, you're especially focused on her performance. Suddenly, she intercepts a pass from a Madrid player and makes a break for it.

Your heart races as you watch her weave through the defenders, getting closer and closer to the goal. Your eyes go wide when Alexia strikes the ball and sends it soaring into the net. The crowd goes wild, and you and your mom jump up from the couch, cheering and clapping.

Alexia's teammates swarm around her, congratulating her on the goal. Instead of walking away back to her position with the rest of the team, she points at the camera and then lifts up her jersey.

 To your surprise, she reveals the words "Un pasito más, Lídia!" written on her undershirt. Just one more step.

Your eyes widen in surprise, and you glance at your mom, who is just as shocked as you are. Tears fill her eyes as she covers her mouth, touched by Alexia's dedication to her.

The little things matter, yes. But sometimes, the grand gestures sure do mean a lot too.

__________________________

Some time has passed since your mom went into remission and although there have been significant improvements in her health, there are still days when she doesn't feel her best. Today is one of those days, and unfortunately, it also happens to be the opening of the art exhibit.

As you gather your things to leave, you glance at your mom sitting on the couch, wrapped in a warm blanket, looking a little pale and weary. Disappointment is evident in her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, mi niña" she says, her voice heavy with regret. "I really wanted to be there for you tonight.”

You walk over and sit next to her, taking her hand in yours. "Mama, you’re not missing anything crazy. Besides, you’ll be there for the next exhibit, the one after that, and the one after that."

Your mother smiles weakly and nods. "I'm so proud of you,” she says, “tell Carla and Ale to take lots of pictures!”

“"I will, mama,” you say with a chuckle as lean down give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Tia should be here in a few minutes. Please, get some rest.”

When you step outside and close the door, you allow yourself to feel the disappointment you hid from her. Considering that all but one of the pieces are dedicated to her, of course you wanted her there. But still, you’re determined to make the most of this night to honor her and everything she has been through.

At the exhibit, you're accompanied by Carla. The gallery is buzzing with excitement, and your art has garnered a lot of attention and praise. However, you find it hard to take in the moment because Alexia is running late. Very late. The fact that she hasn't replied to any of your messages certainly doesn’t help.

Carla noticing your concern, rests a hand on your shoulder. "Hey, I'm sure she'll be here any minute.”

You nod, attempting to stay focused on the event, but it's difficult not to let your emotions show. “I’m just worried that’s all.”

“I know, but she’s probably stuck in traffic or can’t find parking. You know-” of the sudden, her gaze drifts past you and towards the entrance and her eyes go wide.

Confused, you turn around to see what caught Carla’s attention. By the entrance, you see Alexia walk in with your mom by her side, holding on to her hand. Your mom looks tired but determined.

You rush towards them, shocked and tears threatening to stream down your face. "Mama! You're here!”

Alexia grins sheepishly. "I was on my here when she called me to pick her up and wouldn’t take no for an answer. I see where you get it from."

Still holding on to Alexia, you mom smiles and reaches out for you. "I couldn't let you down, mija. I just had to be here with you."

You embrace them both, overwhelmed by their presence. “I’m so happy you’re both here.”

With them by your side, the night becomes even that more special. Nothing feels better than being able to introduce your mom to fellow artists and attendees.

Eventually, a reporter from a local arts magazine pulls you aside for a brief interview, asking about the various pieces you have displayed at the exhibit.

He’s particularly interested in one. "The Missing Piece is truly something special," the reporter says, his eyes locked on the painting. "What’s the significance of its title?”

You take a moment to gather your thoughts, your gaze lingering on the painting. "At first, it felt like there was a piece missing for the exhibit, but it turns out that it was something I was missing from my own life."

You glance over at Alexia, who is admiring your artwork with your mom and Carla. "And when, I finally found it, everything changed. My missing piece brought me a sense of completeness and balance that I desperately needed.”

The reporter smiles. "Your feelings are evident in this piece, and it's no wonder it's drawing so much attention tonight."

"My mentor used to say that wherever the eyes go, so does the heart. And wherever the heart goes, so do the hands. The piece will live forever, and a hundred years from now someone will look at it and they’ll feel exactly what feel.”

“And what’s that?”

You glance over at Alexia once again. Almost as if she senses your gaze, she turns to meet your eyes. With a knowing smile, she winks at you, acknowledging the connection between the two you and the inspiration behind The Missing Piece.

“Love.”

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #woso x imagine #woso x reader

[bunnakit]

last twilight ep 7 thoughts, feelings, etc

ALRIGHT i ran my errands, caught up on pit babe and playboyy to relax, and now i'm doing my speedwatch. i took some notes while watching the first time and they're a fucking MESS but hopefully they help me remember everything i want to comment on because without fail i always forget something.

you'll all be glad to know this week's meta bullshit from me is far, far less romantic and wistful than last weeks. you've all been spared by my adhd brain not being able to piece together a single poetic thought.

i kind of knew from this moment the trajectory the episode would take. Day is clearly nervous but not defensive - this isn't out of the realm of something Mhok would do for him but with recent context it probably feels fairly intimate. i think this was a really good indicator of what we're in for.

there's a collection of sunflowers in Day's room, tucked away in the corner, not unlike Mhok tucking away his feelings for Day's comfort. the poor things are shrouded in shadow, away from the light. the pain is unending and forever.

Day's flashback to the kiss has me curious. his eyes are closed so he's not even thinking back to seeing what he can of Mhok up close. as he reminisces about this kiss is he simply remembering the sensation of Mhok's lips on his own? how his hands curled into Mhok's jacket? and i'm sure we've all seen the post but - was he thinking of the way Mhok tasted like cigarettes? this isn't to romanticize his disability, i'm just genuinely wondering what exactly he's drawing on here in this moment, because it's clearly something significant to him.

Porjai just keeps getting prettier every episode and it's making me insane. i just think i should be allowed to take care of her.

"I'm jealous of Day's ability to make you smile."

this makes me think Mhok's smiles have been few and far between, and maybe Porjai has been looking to bring out that smile for a long time. does she ever worry that maybe someday Mhok could end up like Rung? does she worry about finding him too?

oh i so very badly want the context for this, i want to know everything. but also, it's really not that surprising. not when we've seen the things Mhok has done for Day. Mhok lives his life in extremes; anger, kindness, protectiveness, his work, etc. everything Mhok does he puts his whole self into it and it's nice to see his love is no different, because why would it be?

i'm once again in awe of what P'Aof has done with Mhok and Porjai, though. they live together so easily and naturally. there's nothing strange or awkward about it, just two people surviving life together. it's such a breath of fresh air.

Day just cannot catch a break when it comes to August. this has to hurt so fucking badly, the pity has to feel amplified by 1000. not only was August trying to force himself to like Day back because he's blind, but also because he was thinking of leaving. Day is a stronger man than me because i would be frothing at the mouth pissed.

but once again, Mhok doesn't let Day stew in his fish tank. he encourages him to go out and resolve his feelings, even if that means screaming at August and letting out all his hurt and frustration. he's seen what happens when Day lets his hurt fester and he won't let it happen again, not while he's around.

"He's a lot stronger than I thought. It's me who's so weak that I let him down."

as much as August pisses me off, i do think this is him realizing his pity was misplaced, and he failed Day in that way, so he gets some redemption points here. (still think he's a stinky bastard man tho)

the immediate distance Mhok puts between himself and the group never fails to hurt my heart. i get it, he's there for a job, but their relationship has progressed past that - now even moreso, and i cant help but wonder if this is his attempt at keeping a distance, curbing his expectations, reminding himself that while his role is to be by Day's side it's only in a professional capacity.

i love that Gee acknowledges him with a little head nod, occasionally looks in Mhok's direction as if to include him, she's just - ugh - i love all the women in this show so fucking much. i just wish someone would invite Mhok over sometime, encourage him to join the conversation (like they did back at the party.)

sometimes Mhok really is the embodiment of a shadow - both of Day and of his former self (for good or bad.)

(he looks so fucking sexy leaning like that with his shirt tucked into his pants tho, whew.)

Gee also becomes one of my favorite people for asking Day to take the photo of all of them. she just gets it, she includes him, she doesn't act like he can't do things, she even insists he can, she's just !!! the women of all time in this show i swear!!! I LOVE WOMEN!!!!

also the "you don't drink coffee, girl spill the tea" from Gee is just so good. she knows a diversion tactic when she sees one.

i want this expression framed, she's so cute, HELP.

i wish i had the time and energy today to make gifs for this week but ugh. the journey Mhok's face went on here to end up at quiet resignation. because he did figure. someone like Day? with someone like him? because we know Mhok's opinion of himself isn't great, largely influenced by his incarceration and reintegration into society, i'm sure, along with his guilt. but there had been that little bud of hope, a little sunflower seed that had bloomed just a little too far, reached for the sun a little too much. it must feel like a weed in his chest.

the way Day says 'here' so softly, with so much vulnerability made me feel like screaming. he doesn't know what his feelings are for Mhok yet (you can't tell me he doesn't feel anything) but he knows he doesn't want to lose Mhok and the sudden idea of it is terrifying. Mhok is the only person that really understands him, one of the only people he's comfortable around anymore, and he can't lose that. he doesn't want to go back to the dirty fish tank.

i also think this was an indicator to Mhok that maybe Day doesn't know how he feels, and maybe he can get away with flirting in tiny, subtle ways because from here on his secret flirting game is in full effect and it's so fucking cute. he's careful not to completely push past Day boundaries, but to test them in gentle ways.

THE SHOES MY BELOVEDS. we all know what i feel about these shoes after last week and i'm so glad to see all of my stupid babbling confirmed here. i love that Mhok constantly mends things instead of throwing them away. the sentimentality of items means something to Mhok and we love him for that.

we also got a proper 'sweet dreams' this episode, finally!! thank you subbers!

so many shots of feet this ep tho and lemme tell you as someone that HATES feet, this was rough.

oh you are so smitten. Day realizing Mhok is warm, warm in his own way, warm in such a gentle and understated way. UGH. you would've thought he knew after everything they've been through but sometimes people need a reminder and maybe something to drive them to pay closer attention. our boy is BESOTTED. kicking his feet and giggling. i think this is the happiest we've ever seen him.

so here's where i'm probably going to wax poetic the most. Mhok is finally opening up to Day in such an incredible way. he brings Day to his home with no fear of pity or judgement. he brings him into this sanctuary created by him, his sister, and Porjai and he cooks for him and cares for him and in letting him in Day sees even more how impossibly warm Mhok is.

what's even greater is there isn't a single moment where Day is jealous or questions Porjai being there. Mhok has told him she's expecting and he's never weird about it, just kind and understanding and it's all so normalized, it's fucking beautiful. Day even takes the time to encourage Porjai, to share about his mom, and about the strength it takes to be a single mom. P'Aof i adore you.

Mhok has planted jasmine simply because he knows Day likes it, and maybe now he likes it too. and he brings Last Twilight home to practice reading (i'd always wondered how he managed to read without stumbling over himself lmao) and he's done it so much that now Porjai wants to name their child Mee, wants to create this connection to Day forever.

and once prompted, once Day knows enough to ask, Mhok opens up about Rung, talks about her more. Day comments on the warmth of the house, something started by Rung and cultivated by Mhok. it would be so easy for the house to feel cold and clinical, especially knowing what happened here, but Mhok has kept it a home - warm, inviting, comforting - all the things Mhok has been to Day.

the noises took me by fuckin' surprise tho, i genuinely looked around my house like who the fuck is making all that noise and then i was like OH THOSE ARE-- OKAY--

and I know people are like haha P'Aof has a scent kink but like. idk. maybe it's just me but scents are something i'm drawn to. i remember the way someone smelled more than i remember their face. i recently took a shirt out of my closet and immediately started crying. it smelled like face powder and perfume. it smelled like my grandma. the leather jacket pushed to the side smells like cigarettes and horses, like my dad always did.

scent is such an ingrained memory, something that is so hard for our brains to let go of. every time i get a familiar smell it knocks me on my ass, and i'm so glad to see some of this represented in these shows.

this absolutely warmed my heart. whatever is going on with Night and Day is clearly more on Day's side than anything else. Night clearly loves his brother and i'm just fucking DYING to know what is going on that is causing Day to drive a wedge between them. sure, Night hasn't been perfect, but there's love there and that counts for so much.

and what exactly are you doing here??? this is a charity run for blindness - does he know someone that is blind other than Day? did meeting Day inspire him to participate? has he spent time talking to Mhok about Day and maybe the difficulties of his blindness? i am filled with questions but i love this character so much, he's just so kind.

Day's hesitation to cross the finish line was also something i found so interesting. it felt long, possibly too drawn out, but Day needed to think, needed time to understand that if he crosses that finish line, if he accepts Mhok's request to be his boyfriend, their lives will never go back to how they were. things between them will change forever, whether the relationship is a success or otherwise. it's an incredibly mature thing of Day to do, even if it felt a little lengthy for us, the audience.

i strongly believe that in addition to Mhok Porjai is going to be a big driving force in Night and Day's reconciliation. i would love to see Porjai gain Night's side of the story, Mhok gain Day's side of the story, and the two of them working together to see how they can reunite these brothers.

also if i had a nickle for every time P'Aof paired Mark with a pregnant woman in his shows i'd have two nickles, which isn't a lot but it's interesting it has happened twice.

while i, like everyone else, hope the mock proposal is a parallel we get to see later i want to focus more on this moment.

i forget who said it, it's long gone to the depths of my dash by now, but someone commented that disabilities do not stop for love, and fuck is that so true. i love Mhok's concern, his immediate reaction to soothe, and the way he seems to feel Day's fear as his own. and poor Day, he can't even enjoy this moment of bliss with Mhok because of course, of course something like this had to happen. it's so fucking real in the way Last Twilight has been this entire time.

the constant excellent representation of disabled living has been incredible to see, i've seen so much of myself in this show (even though my disability is so very different) and it's been like a warm blanket put over very single comment: you're too young to be disabled, you aren't THAT disabled, you're being dramatic, etc.

from the bottom of my heart, thank you P'Aof and team.

tag loves: @benkaaoi @callipigio @infinitelyprecious (as always tell me if you want to be added {for LT only or all meta} or removed!)

#bunn meta #last twilight #last twilight the series #mhokday #morkday #userjamiec #im soooo fuckin sleepy after making this but i still have to work #someone come make me tea and gimme a little kith

[c-h-i-m-es]

gojo satoru

the door to your apartment bursts open, startling you. you whip your head back and see gojo come in with megumi and tsumiki on either sides of his arms, . "hello to my favorite person." he says to you with his usual grin on his face.

"don't go on banging my door boy." you get up and spread your arms, in which tsumiki runs and hugs you with a huge smile on her face, "hi baby. how was school today?"

"i got ten out of ten in my drawing todays." she says with a huge smile on your face, which did not match the frown the megumi had on his own. "that's my girl. i'm so proud of you." you ruffle her hair and look at megumi, "stop making that face megumi."

megumi extends his arms at you, his way of telling you to carry him. you chuckle and take him making gojo's lips turn to a pout, "hey give me some love too." you blow him a kiss and walk to the couch, holding tsumiki's hand in yours while gojo follows you behind.

you place megumi on your lap and cup his face, "why are you more grumpy than usual baby? did something happen?" he looks down, playing with his fingers, "my friend bragged about how he went out of the city to visit his grandparents."

"what? you wanna do the same?" gojo speaks, wrapping his arms around tsumiki, earning himself a slap on his arms from you. you pat the kid's head, "and then what happened megumi?"

"he told me that it helps improve bonding in the family." you are shocked, to say the least, at his words because what kind of elementary kids talk about family bonding and not their favorite cartoon and candies.

you shoot a look at gojo, who seems dumbfounded by what megumi just said. he tilts his head at the kid, "and you're sad because your friend is bonding with his family?"

you shake your head at his comment and mouth his some curses. "i am not sad." megumi exclaims and looks up at gojo with his brows furrowed and a pout on his lips. "i want us to bond as well. i want all four of us to spend time together."

"megumi, we do spend time together. we all four also sleep together when you cannot sleep alone." gojo teases the kid making you groan, "satoru you are such a bad parental figure."

"woah babe, careful with your words. you might hurt me." he puts his hands up, but then looks at megumi again, "megumi, do you think we are not bonding as a family?"

you look down at the baby boy in your lap who shakes his head, "no i also wanna do some bonding activates. my other friends also spend their weekend visiting places together with their family."

tsumiki's face suddenly brightens up and she clasps her palms together with a grin on her face, "how about we go for picnic this weekend?"

you smile at how adorable expression she has on her face and ruffle her hair, "i do think we do quite a lot of bonding together thing. but hey, how can i say no to my kids?"

megumi beams up at you, his eyes sparkling and a smile on his lips, "we can?" you cup his face, "of course we can baby. right satoru?" you look at your boyfriend, who has a smile on his face, looking at the two important people in his life together, "yeah of course. whatever you kids wanna do." he ruffles megumi's hair, making the kid's face break into a huge grin, and not the usual frown.

two days passed, and it's saturday. you spent the morning in your kitchen with the three's helping hands, making some sandwiches and going grocery shopping to buy snacks, drinks and chocolates.

"i don't think i've ever went for a picnic." gojo says as he spreads the cloth on the grass. and helps you with the basket, putting it in the middle, while you, tsumiki and megumi take off your shoes. megumi takes off his backpack with his favorite toys and coloring book and crayons, putting it besides him as he sits down, with a smile on his face. same with tsumiki, but with the cookies she baked with you the other day and her story books.

you and gojo sit on each side of the and unpack the foods that you bought. you see your boyfriend open up the food packages, and suddenly feel giddy. "this feels so nice."

the three look at you, tsumiki leaning onto you with a smile on her face, "can we take a lot of pictures? i want to make a scrapbook." megumi perks up, "i wanna take pictures too! i'm gonna show them off to my friends."

you just chuckle while gojo lets out a laugh, like he is proud of what he just heard come out of megumi's mouth. "don't worry kids, i'm gonna make all your wishes come true."

about an hour and half has passed and the kids are running around the park, playing among themselves, leaving you and gojo to have some alone time. you lay your head in his laps, while he is looking at the kids with a fond smile on his face and his hand stroking your hair.

"we should do this more often." gojo speaks pulling you out of your thoughts and looks down at you. you smile at him, bringing your hands up to cup his face, "yeah we should." he leans down, placing a soft kiss on your lips.

"dad!" the kids come back running to you both, making you sit up. the kids come running and crash into gojo, making the poor man groan in pain. he holds them both on either sides of his arms, pulling back just a little to look at them, "careful kiddos, you might hurt yourselves."

you look at the three of them, and think about how this all feels so normal. having to look after two kids at such young age felt weird at that time. but what's more weirdly normal now is how being with them feels so natural. they've become part of your life, that being without them seems more weirder.

being with them not only feels normal, it feels like home.

"so what do you kids want?" gojo asks and tsumiki points at the icecream truck a little away, "we want ice cream." gojo chuckles with a nod and turns to you, "i'll get us our desert, 'kay?" you nod at him and he ruffles your hair, making the kids snicker at the action, and get up, walking towards the icecream truck.

in next few minutes, they are back again with a cone in each of the kids' hand and gojo himself with two cones in his hands. he hands you your cone with your favorite flavor and the three sit down around you.

you let out a sigh and rest your head on gojo's shoulders, him holding your empty hand with his own. seeing you two, the kids also lean in close and laugh at the very familiar sight of you two being affectionate with each other.

a/n; i saw the shibuya arc trailer like half an hour ago and i cannot wait for it anymore. EVERYONE LOOKS SO GOOD even mahito😭😭 and GOJO AND CHOSO😻💋👀‼️😭🫀 KILL ME PLEASE I ALMOST DIED THEY'RE SO HOT!!! and even the op is so good like how is everything so damn good??!!!

#jujustsu kaisen x reader #gojo satoru #gojo satoru x reader #gojo x reader #jjk fluff #when is it gonna be my turn #jujutsu kaisen

[is-the-owl-video-cute]

Your ability to treat any subject with the seriousness, gravity, and decorum it deserves is completely and utterly hindered by your desire to put “also proship” beside them every single time. Mentioning “proship weirdos” beside zionists is absurd behavior. Putting racism, homophobia, and exploitation of artists alongside “drew weird stuff” is absurd. Be fucking serious for one moment of your life and realize that one of these things are actively harmful and the other is just icky and makes you feel disgust. Get it together.

Also stop fucking using “cp”. Child porn doesn’t exist. Children can’t consent, they cannot be in porn. It is child sexual abuse material (CSAM) or child sexual exploitation material (CSEM). Stop acting like theres such thing as “fictional” CSEM. Either a child was exploited, or they weren’t. These two things (underage fiction and CSEM) arent even comparable enough to treat them with the same language, its only ever disrespectful to do so.

^ Things people say when they DEFINITELY don’t have cartoon children getting fisted on their hard drive.

Anon, look at me and tell me that someone who masturbates to a drawing of a naked toddler because they are sexually attracted to what is in the picture is not a pedophile. Look me in the eye and tell me that with your chest right now, tell me you think any normal human being is sexually attracted to cartoon kids and that it isn’t just content by and for pedophiles trying to skirt around child pornography laws. Oh, and do spare me your faux-concern and pearl clutching about my saying cp in reference to what you are already simply calling “weird stuff”. As you said, children are (usually) not physically exploited in the creation of simulated child pornography, so why would I call it CSEM?

[y-rhywbeth2]

Elf Lore Dump - 1/???

I had to cut a lot of detail. Wouldn't have to do that with any of the other demihumans; they'd just fill a single fucking post. I could be talking about dwarven druids and their giant bees, or bitching about how much better Tieflings used to be, but nooo elves are fuckin' special!

Elves in brief are fey spirits in mortal flesh, spiritually connected to each other, the world and their gods. Often aloof, considered creatures of ethereal grace... They would also very much appreciate it if you never mentioned their long history of fuckups including several world wars, multiple war crimes and genocides - successful or attempted.

I just shoved a load of elven lore together in an attempt at an overview, occasionally hypothesising when gaps appeared in my knowledge; here's hoping it made sense!

Overview; Spirituality stuff/Afterlife; History rundown; The different types of elf

As always: "D&D is old as balls, there's a lot of stories and information out there that may conflict with what you hear from me because D&D is an old trainwreck pileup of lore that keeps contradicting and tripping over itself and there's stuff I might not be aware of." I personally am mostly taking the angle here that older, detailed Realmslore will take precedence over generic 5e lore.

The elven word for their own race is Tel'Quessir - translated as "The People", or "Of The People". This is due to the aforementioned spiritual link: elves are spiritually linked to each other, which gives them a low-level telepathic link…

"Elves seem to have some sort of mental link between them […] linked with [a] mysterious gland in their brains. It cloaks their brains from [enchantment magic] but it can also emit energy to allow another elf to project his mind into another's and then the two share thoughts on some level. The closeness of elven communities comes from this habitual sharing of minds, and the elves do not understand other races without this ability, for they cannot conceive of being totally alone in one's own head. Apparently, elves look forward to sharing their thoughts with others and do it directly or in "reverie."" - Cormanthyr: Empire of the Elves

"[Elves] mystically acquire [skills they don't have] by drawing them from shared elven memory..." - Mordenkainen's Monsters of the Multiverse

Reverie is the world for the elven trance in the Realms. During reverie the elf falls into a trance like state where they lie down (or recline on a chair or something) and go incredibly still, their eyes open. This can often cause panic amongst non-elves not experienced with elves, to whom they appear to have just died.

In reverie an elf relieves the past events of their life. This is how elves avoid forgetting past events of their lives, despite living for 700+ years.

Pregnant elves eventually fall into a semi-reverie as they commune with the developing infant. The child "learns" of their family, home and is born knowing them and starts off already knowing some basic knowledge of the elven language.

Non-elves are N'Tel'Quessir or N'Quess - "Not of the People." They are not part of this link and not part of the whole that is The People.

I don't think it's ever been specified whether the mind linking applies to half-elves. Half-elves may chose to either reverie as an elf or sleep as a human and possess the elven resistance to enchantment magic, implying that gland exists to some degree. They might be capable of some degree of this connection, at least, but possibly not the full version. Half-elves are sometimes insultingly referred to their more racist cousins as A'Tel'Quessir - "Almost of the People"

Dark elves theoretically should be able to do this, but 99% of them wouldn't, due to Lolthite cult brainwashing.

Considering that vampires are immune to enchantment and psionics due to being corpses with no brain activity, presumably that gland is dead and an elf who becomes a vampire cannot access this communion. They do appear to be capable reverie in some depictions, however - though they probably can't share it. (Even if they can, I highly doubt elves are going to trust a spiritually defiled undead monster that's also an abomination in the eyes of one of the major deities in the elven pantheon.)

Elves are inherently connected to magic and the Weave. This is apparently what gives them their extremely long lifespans and what is behind their cultural adoration of magic.

Random things about elven culture include that they have champagne and they've invented the prog rock genre, according to Ed Greenwood, who created the setting.

Elves live 700+ years and physically and psychologically mature at the same rate as humans. While they are still in their first century of life, and within a human lifespan, they tend to experience the world much the same as a human of equivalent age rather than an ancient fey being to whom next century is the equivalent of next year. Elves in this stage of development usually go through a cultural rebellion stage. They ignore their own communities in favour of humans, if possible; involve themselves in human "fads"; and have flings and relationships with non-elves. Young elves sometimes dabble with evil alignments, something older elves generally consider a phase that they'll grow out of and look back on with embarrassment when they're old enough to know better.

Elves are not considered fully mature adults by their own people's standards until they're into their second century of life. Age 20-120 is basically like being 18 to early 20-something for a century from the elven perspective. Fully mature elves are slow to respond to events (major human events pass in the blink of an eye to elves) and have a rather laissez-faire attitude to the world. That might explain why elven culture values personal freedom and individuality.

--- Afterlife: Elves are kind of fey spirits in mortal flesh - which was backed up in 2e, when the fact that they have spirits and don't have souls meant that resurrecting them could be annoying and expensive sometimes, because Raise Dead wouldn't work on them, only Resurrection and True Resurrection.

According to Ed, the elven spirit is inherently tied to the plane of Arvandor. While they can dedicate themselves to non-elven gods, outside of exceptional cases those elves will still be going to Arvandor when they die.

Dying, in elven terms, is called "Passing West." In their reverie they begin to receive signs from Sehanine Moonbow, elven goddess of dreams and death, who prepares them for the end of this life. A ring of colour like the titular moonbow forms in their iris, marking to other elves that they're in their final days. Then they travel to elven lands where they die amongst their people or pass directly to Arvandor, I'm not sure. Elves that die of unnatural causes are given funerals according to their cultural norms (usually either in tombs or private burials.) It is believed by the very religious that in Arvandor elves will join in a reverie-like communion with the gods - the Seldarine (Tel'Seldarine; "the siblings of the wood") Reincarnation is a part of elven religion, it's believed that Sehanine works with Corellon on preparing elven spirits in Arvandor for the transition to their next life when/if the time comes. In exceptional cases they can also petition the gods to be reincarnated as nymphs, dryads and treants (ents, basically). Or be turned into guardian spirits who will manifest to defend their homes in times of war. There's also a special type of lich (a baelnorn) that can be formed if there's a dire need for it, very begrudgingly tolerated by Sehanine despite her dislike of the undead.

Drow rarely die of old age, and most being Lolthite their souls go to her and I believe she transforms their souls into one of the millions of soul spiders that accompany her (sometimes she makes them into other things, sometimes she eats them) Eilistraeean drow have a similar ending to surface elves, where Eilistraee will call to them at the end of their lives and take them with her to the afterlife (Eilistraee's realm in Arvandor) Most of the Seldarine (with one or two exceptions) actually have no issue accepting dark elven worshippers, so I assume this particular minority of dark elves is also guided to Arvandor by Sehanine. Otherwise they take the half-elven route:

Half-elves have souls like humans, and are not tied to Arvandor in the same way. Worshippers of the Seldarine will be collected by them at the Fugue plane as an elf, and those that worship human gods will be collected by one of them.

-

A brief, clumsy overview of elven history: Elven myths about their origin vary. All claim Corellon Larethian as the creator of their people. The most popular story states they're descended from their chief deity, Corellon Larethian and his/her future-consort Sehanine (and by all accounts, they appear to be correct). The first elves were born from Corellon's shed blood mingled with Sehanine's tears, shed when s/he was wounded fighting the orc god Gruumsh back at the dawn of time.

Of course before Sehanine was consort, Corellon was involved with Araushnee the elven godess of fate. This led to an epic divorce when she allied with Gruumsh and Corellon's other enemies in an attempt to overthrow him and once the dust cleared (following several attempted coups) he turned her into a demon and exiled her to the Abyss (the lower plane of Chaotic Evil), where she renamed herself Lolth and decided that spiders were actually really cool and she was going to start a cult and society based on spiders - a conclusion she almost certainly didn't reach because because spiders eat their mates and she's bitter about her ex, imo. Also, Lolth's banishment would surely not come back to bite everybody on the ass At All.

Elves first leave the Feywild for Toril in -27,000 DR - the Dawn Age, when Dragons rule the world. The Torilian Fey open a portal connecting Abeir-Toril to the Feywild, bringing the dark elves through to come disrupt the dragons. A tribe named the Ilythiiri establish a kingdom in the South of Faerun [Ilythiir] that will be a beacon of elven culture for millennia. Other waves of immigration follow at different times. Elves eventually defeat the dragons at war; elven nations dominate the planet. Five world wars ensue, involving the numerous war crimes nobody wants to talk about because it makes all of them look bad, and ending in the dark elves getting exiled. Humanity rises to power, moving faster than elves can currently comprehend, driving elves out in their expansionism. Most of the elves' bad history with humans involves the Netherese. Various methods are used to try and stop this ranging on a scale from friendship and cultural outreach to founding genocidal terrorist groups because humans are less than animals and must all be exterminated. Elves decide to make Only-Elves-Allowed-Island by dragging a piece of Arvandor into Toril. The Seldarine say; no, please just make friends with the non-elves. The Elves ignore this and end up blowing up a continent, causing mass death. The result is Evermeet (only reachable with permission, and guarded by the avatars of the Seldarine). The elves plan to totally abandon Faerûn and live there alone with no N'Quess. In 1344 DR there's a magical summons that calls all elves to either Evermeet of the elven city of Evereska. It is followed by pretty much everybody except some moon elves and all the copper elves. Everybody except the elves think this disappearance is really sudden, but the elves have been planning this for centuries, actually.

4e had the Spellplague cause the Feywild to realign with Toril, as it did when the elves first moved over. This caused Evermeet to vanish into the Feywild somewhere and allowed "high elves" to step between worlds with ease and then the elves started rebuilding their lost homelands in the Feywild (on the locations where they used to be, but not in the "human" world). I have no idea whether any of that is still canon.

---

A somewhat tongue-in-cheek, overly simplistic guide to elves:

Half-elves - Cha'Tel'Quessir - are the offspring of humans and elves or two half-elves. Very, very rarely they occur in a human lineage that has an elven ancestor a few centuries back in the family tree. Half-elves sport a mixture of human and elven features, sometimes fully passing as one or the other. They generally follow the culture norms of whatever society they were born in, either human or elven. The only places that half-elves make up a significant enough numbers where they can make a significant society are in the Yuirwood in Aglarond of Easter Faerun, and (formerly, I think) the Loviataran half-drow of Dambarath. They live between 100-200 years.

It'd be best to give them their own post, honestly.

The child of a half-elf and a human is, mechanically, a human. The child of a half-elf and an elf is, mechanically, an elf. But these children may inherit traits from their heritage (so a human with pointy ears or a moon elf with brown eyes and skin, for example).

When elves mix (for example, a green elf and a silver elf) the result is a child that, again, mechanically speaking, is the same "subrace" as one of their two parents. They still inherit genes from the other parent. Dark elven genes are almost always dominant, and an elf with one dark elf parent will be a dark elf themselves nine times out of ten.

WOOD ELVES: Copper elf | Sylvan elf | Wood elf | Or'Tel'Quessir - Chill, patient, friendly. The only elven group that's native to Toril, the result of a mixture of the other elven ethnicities after the five world wars (Crown Wars) becoming populous and focused enough to become their own independent culture. As a weird side effect they actually like the world and the non-elven people in it and don't want to lock themselves away from it. They like living in nature in quiet little villages and towns in the wilderness, and are the only elves that don't like arcane magic - locking yourself away studying magic and never seeing the world or other people is unhealthy for you. Druidry is way better. Most half-elves of "wood elven" variety have copper elven ancestry. - Skin is coppery brown, occasionally with a green tinge; eyes are brown, hazel, green; hair is usually brown or black, but occasionally blonde and copper-red turns up.

Green elf | Wild elf (slur) | Sy'Tel'Quessir - Closely related to the dark elves, who they branched off from. Watched as through five world wars one of their dark elven cousins' nations (which they also lived in) was genocided off the map by gold elves for resisting colonisation; and the other dark elven nation started getting involved with Lolth and demons and war crimes; and by the end of it all the other elves had annihilated every single green elven civilisation. They came to the conclusion that permanency and city building is bullshit and they're going to vanish into the wilds, embrace a nomadic lifestyle in touch with the earth and everybody else in the world can fuck off. Bye, don't call (or we'll stab you). They like nature, prefer sorcery to wizardry and have an animistic approach to religion. Often have to deal with other elves either trying to "civilise" them or else going for the "noble savage" angle and appropriating their culture. Very nice bead work. - Dark brown skin; hair is brown or black with the rare blonde; eyes brown, green, hazel with the rare blue.

HIGH ELVES: Silver elf | Moon elf | Grey elf (slur) | Teu'Tel'Quessir - "Flighty, chaotic and irreverent." The party elves who enjoy fun, adventure, hedonism and gambling. Revelry is an important part of their culture. Basically the only type of elf you'll ever meet because the copper elves stay in the forests and the other elves, on average, would rather kill themselves than live with non-elves. Responsible for the vast majority of half-elves in existence. Curiously they make up more than 50% of the demographic of the church of the elven god of moonlight, mystery, dreams, death, and hating the undead. - Silver elven genes include white/silver or black hair; Pale skin, often tinged with blue; Blue, green or grey eyes.

Gold elf | Sun elf | Ar'Tel'Quessir - No actual affinity for the sun, just a reference to their golden colouration. "Dour and serious." "Methodical, careful." Conservative religious types who are raised to believe that they are the purest example of elvendom and that Corellon appointed them defenders of elvendom against the hoards of humans who have driven the elves off their lands and despoil the natural world in their inherent greed and short-sightedness. Would respond to the idea of leaving elven lands much like His Majesty responding to the idea of joining your camp: "I'd rather die." - Gold, bronze, amber skin. Bright golden blonde hair, copper or black. Gold, black, silver and rarely; bright copper or golden-hazel eyes.

Star elf | Mithral elf | Ruar'Tel'Quessir - Human expansion led to the humans trying to conquer them (they lost), so they created an entire plane of existence (Sildëyuir) and all moved there in -699 DR. Recently forced to move back sometime between 1300-1400 DR due to strange monsters invading. They're not very religious, have a strong bardic tradition and wear these weird glowing gems on their foreheads for some reason, they don't know shit about the modern world and they're terrified of non-elves. - Pale skin, like moon elves but with a violet tinge; Gold, red or silver hair; Grey or violet eyes.

DROW - (Who, frankly, take up a post of their own.) Dark elves | Night elves | Ssri'Tel'Quessir | Dhaerow | Drow | Ilythiiri Originally part of the High Elf category, before exile.

Basic overview of the fallout with the dark elves and everyone else: An empire of gold elves (Aryvandaar) decides they're going to conquer the world and starts by colonising the nearby dark elven empire of Miyeritar. Down south, Ilyithiir responds with hostility. Miyeritar resists, Aryvandaar responds with genocide and wipes them off the map with magic that leaves the entire Miyeritaran region permanently wrecked (even into the modern day) and wipes out the worshipers and power base of Eilistraee, leaving no barriers to prevent Lolth from taking over the dark elves as their only god (In the future surface elves will point blank refuse to ever discuss this event). Ilyithiir responds by going apeshit and starts committing imperialistic war crimes claiming to be avenging their Northern kin. The Ilythiiri were also ruled by demon worshipping imperialists who'd fallen under sway of Lolth and the surface elves insist that avenging Miyeritar was just an excuse.

The surface elves say that the dark elves are N'Quess and start calling them dhaerow, which means traitor. The dark elves say that the surface elves are N'Quess and start calling them darthiir, which means traitor.

Lolth dominates 99% of dark elven society with her cult, and basically their entire society is a cycle of abuse married to their bitter divorcee goddess' spider fetish. Yay, toxic matriarchy; Those with power can do whatever they want to those who have less, so you should do everything to make sure you're the one with the power; Love is a lie, kill your mate when you're done with him; If your children aren't trying to kill you, you've failed as a parent; You only have worth because of what worth Mother Lolth gives you. You only live because of Her. etc.

There are also the merchant clans who live outside of city. They're a little more egalitarian, because dealing with outsiders is demeaning, so it's a man's job. They favour plutocratic governance (they're ruled by an inner council formed by the most wealthy members, often male wizards). They're the most "friendly" to outsiders and basically the trade they bring is the only thing that stops the noble house run cities from collapsing.

Minorities include the Eilistraeeans; Eilistraee voluntarily went into exile so that somebody would be there to encourage the dark elves to put down the knives, get away from Lolth, move out of the Underdark and go to fucking therapy.

Her twin brother, Vhaeraun, also encourages the dark elves to put down the knives, get away from Lolth, move out of the Underdark and go to fucking therapy - stab other people instead of each other! This is totally unproductive villainy! You're better than this! How are the drow supposed to conquer the world and rule over the lesser beings if we're still in this glorified cave after a millennia?? - Noticable sexual dimorphism, females are larger and more robust than males. Very dark skin. Hair is usually pale with black being an extremely rare recessive gene (white, platinum blonde, pale copper). Eyes are also typically in pale colours, with red being common because Lolth decided to have the Ilythiiri nobles breed with a demon lord and that got into the gene pool. Other eye colours: white-grey, lavender, pink, amber, black, green is sometimes seen but it's thought to be a sign of surface-elven ancestry.

OTHER: Avariel | Winged Elves | Aril'Tel'Quessir - Flying elves with bird wings who live on mountaintops. Almost extinct. Sea elves | Aquatic Elves | Alu'Tel'Quessir - Elves with gills and webbed hands and feet that live under the sea. Blue with green stripes or green with brown stripes, depending on what sea they're from. Lythari | Ly'Tel'Quessir - An exclusive elf club where you join by getting infected with elf lycanthropy and then you turn into a silver wolf. They're sterile, so they can only make more lythari through recruiting.

#elf tav #half elf tav #drow tav #dark elf tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #halsin #minthara #long post

[rnelodyy]

I cannot get over how Obsessed Belos is with Caleb. It’s SO wild, and the deeper you dig the sadder and more disturbing it becomes.

Like,,, Caleb was literally all he had growing up. Their parents were gone, they were (presumably) homeless, they were two street rats trying their best to make it on their own. Caleb was the older sibling, so the weight of caring for Philip fell on his shoulders, even though he was just a kid himself.

And considering the motif of coping through stories (Luz finding comfort in Azura after her dad’s death, Hunter finding comfort in Cosmic Frontier while trying to cope with the fact that he’s a clone), I wouldn’t be surprised if Caleb tried to do something similar for Philip. From Belos’s memories, we can see they used to play pretend a LOT. It’s a lot less scary for a young child if they believe they’re going on wild and wacky adventures than to know the truth – that they’re homeless orphans, moving into a community that regularly hangs people for witchcraft, with Caleb having to do hard labor to afford food and housing and sending his brother to school, while having to sacrifice his own education and skip meals so Philip doesn’t need to go hungry.

Caleb used stories to shield Philip from the worst of their life, which blinded Philip to just how bad his brother was suffering. To Philip, life in Gravesfield was good, but it was only good because of how much Caleb was sacrificing for him.

So when Caleb met Evelyn, of course he took the chance to escape his shitty life. It may have even been a situation like Luz, where he only expected to be gone for a short time, and either returned to find Philip gone, or ended up being trapped on the Isles for longer than he’d anticipated.

Philip, meanwhile, is fucking Losing It. Caleb was his whole world, and now he's just gone, spirited away by an evil witch just like those stories they’d been playing out their whole lives. It may even be a situation like King, where Caleb knew he wasn’t being truthful with the witch hunter stories, but Philip genuinely believed them all.

So Philip goes into the Demon Realm, determined to rescue his brother. He’s practiced this, he’s trained for this, he just needs to find Caleb, save him from whatever tortures that witch has been inflicting on him, open up a portal back to Gravesfield, and everything will go back to normal. So he travels, he meets witches, he kills them, he either gets cursed or discovers that eating Palismen gives him funny powers, so he keeps doing that.

And then, after years of searching, he finds Caleb. Not chained up in a dungeon, or turned into a frog, or a shambling husk of his former self, but free. Happier and healthier than Philip has ever seen him. 

Philip tries to grab Caleb and leave with him, but Caleb refuses. The witch who lured him away is his wife now. He’s got a house and a job and a kid on the way. He’s got a Palisman, this stupid fucking red bird that follows him everywhere. Caleb’s good here. He’s not leaving.

And I think Philip just fucking loses it at that point. What do you MEAN you’re not leaving?! We were adventurers! We were gonna be witch hunters together! We were going to do everything together! Did she do something to you? Did you just hate me that much? 

Caleb tries to de-escalate, but eventually loses his temper himself. We weren’t adventurers, we were street rats! I was working so YOU could go to school, I was starving myself so YOU wouldn’t have to, I sacrificed EVERYTHING so you’d have a chance at life! You’re old enough to handle yourself now, it’s time to grow up and let me live my own life!

Phil’s not having it. There’s a fight, someone draws a knife, and… we all know how that one ends.

Fast-forward a bit. Philip, now alone and stranded on the Isles, has latched onto the stories he and Caleb used to play pretend with. He’s going to make them come true. He’s going to kill every witch in one fell swoop, become Witch Hunter General, and he’s going to do all of it with his brother by his side.

So he asks for the Collector’s help, and together, they make a Grimwalker.

Philip decides that this is his chance. He can raise this new Caleb properly, make sure that his brother isn’t swayed by the evils of witchcraft again. The new Caleb doesn’t look exactly the same but it’s fine. Having him back is good enough.

And then the new Caleb betrays him too.

Maybe he befriended some witches, maybe he tried to learn magic, maybe he had some reservations about the whole genocide plan. Either way, this Caleb has gone the same way as the first. 

So Philip kills him, and starts over with a new Grimwalker. This time he’s gonna get it right. This Caleb is gonna be the one.

But he’s not. He betrays Philip again. So Philip starts over again, tightening the leash this time. New-new-new Caleb can’t leave his sight, isn’t allowed to talk to people without Philip there, because it’s dangerous. But strict parents make sneaky children, and Philip catches new-new-new Caleb making out with a secret witch partner behind his back.

Philip realizes he needs to change his approach. Caleb isn’t listening to him? Well, he’ll make him listen. He makes the next one younger, establishes himself as an authority figure (dad feels too personal, so uncle it is), and makes himself the focal point of this new Caleb’s life. Continuing to call him Caleb feels weird, especially since there’s such a significant age difference between them now, so he gives this one a new name.

They’re going to be witch hunters, so he names the new one Hunter. It’s hilarious when you think about it.

And so the cycle continues. Hunter is born, grows up, rebels, and is killed. Over and over and over again. Philip grows numb to it at this point – he’s already killed dozens of them, and he doesn’t see them as individuals anyway. To him, it’s like a game, resetting and starting over from the last checkpoint to really, really get everything right this time.

He adopts his new identity as Belos, and lets Hunter believe it too. He preaches to towns, pulls more and more power towards himself, with Hunter by his side, his Golden Guard, the most perfect version of Caleb he can make.

They keep betraying him though, so with each iteration, the leash gets tighter. The Hunters become more and more isolated, Belos’s power over them greater and greater. Step out of line and be beaten, show disrespect and be verbally abused, betray him (which can be anything from actively trying to stop his plans to making a friend he didn’t approve of) and be killed, replaced with another Grimwalker.

Belos becomes Emperor of the Isles, and his Grimwalkers become his right hand men, answering only to him. Caleb by his side, just like he’d always wanted. Never mind that the Grimwalkers are nothing like Caleb now – they’re submissive, desperate for affection and attention. They’re afraid of Belos, but cling to him all the same, because he’s all they have. He’s made sure of that.

A few years before the Day of Unity, the culmination of his life's work, Hunter betrays him again. Belos got too lenient, allowed him to take on a student, and now he’s got all sorts of weird ideas in his head again. So he starts over, and this time, he makes sure that Hunter will stay pure and obedient until the Day of Unity.

No contact with the other scouts. No scroll, no crystal ball, no leaving the castle unless it’s for a mission. Keep the number of missions to a minimum, make him associate getting missions with good behavior. Monitor his training, monitor what he studies, keep him safe under lock and key. Make him desperate to please, never quite give him what he needs so he keeps clinging to you for more.

And it works. For a while. At least, until literally a week before the Day of Unity, Hunter shows up in Philip’s mind. And I mean, Philip doesn’t necessarily want to ruin this one, but he’s always liked testing loyalty. He can make another Grimwalker after the Day of Unity if this one fails.

And fail Hunter does, except… he doesn’t die. He escapes. Goes on the run.

Philip tries to get him back, sends out search parties and everything, but Hunter doesn’t turn up, and he’s got other priorities now. It’s fine, Hunter’s got a sigil. He’ll die during the Day of Unity anyway.

And then he fucking shows up to stop him! Him, a gaggle of witch kids, and Luz the Human, and they nearly fight Philip to a standstill! They nearly get the better of him! Philip tries to guilt trip Hunter back to his side – surely he doesn’t want to hurt his beloved uncle – but then what does he see? That Fucking Bird. Caleb’s bird. This one’s DEFINITELY gone too far now, murder mode it is.

But then oops, the Collector gets freed, Philip gets splattered against a wall, and the Draining Spell ends. 

However, Phil’s not dead, somehow. He manages to shift his consciousness to one glob of goop that lands on Hunter, and rides along to the human realm, determined to salvage the dumpster fire this whole thing has become.

He gains back strength, spies on the kids, watches as Hunter does boring child stuff that’s absolutely nothing like how Caleb acted, until… Hunter finds a bit of his goop, and like a dumbass, sticks his finger into it. And Philip, who by now has gotten the hang of this whole Venom-stuff, crawls inside a wound, and into Hunter’s bloodstream.

And as he grows in strength, he realizes. This is it. This is the culmination of everything. Hunter isn’t Caleb, but dammit, he’s close enough. Philip can save him now, save him from these witches who have been a terrible influence on him, he can finally, finally complete his great work, with his brother by his side.

So when he gets strong enough, he takes over. Consumes whatever energy Hunter had stored in fat cells and his magic heart and uses it to power himself, growing himself throughout the kid’s whole body. Taking him over. 

He’s finally united with Caleb again, he can finally finish what he started. Never mind that Hunter doesn’t want this. Never mind that Hunter fucking hates him for what he did. Never mind that Hunter isn’t Caleb, never mind that Caleb would never, ever have wanted this, never mind that Philip is now the corrupting force, it does. Not. Matter. 

And then “Caleb” betrays him again. Because of fucking course he does. Philip literally fucking invaded his body like a parasite and made him kill his own Palisman with his bare hands, and he expected Hunter to just fucking lie down and take it? To let him do whatever? He robbed Hunter of his childhood, of his autonomy, of his personhood, and he expected the kid to not just accept it, but be grateful for it?

Well... Yeah. That’s how far gone he is. That’s how far removed from reality Philip has become. “Caleb” isn’t even a person to him anymore, “Caleb” is some kind of personification of his childhood nostalgia that he keeps trying to bring back into the flesh. And it’s not gonna work, because nobody could ever fill that role. Even the original Caleb wouldn’t be able to fill that role – in fact, that’s why Philip stuck a knife in his chest in the first place!

He’s lost EVERYTHING. He’s killed his own brother, he’s reduced himself to a parasitic goop monster that’s no longer living yet unable to die, the plan he’s spent 400 years working on blew up in his face, the realm he spent so long fighting for has moved on without him, and his latest attempt to create a new Caleb to comfort him not only rejected him, but actively despises him now. No fucking wonder he’s gone even more batshit insane.

I don’t know where the story is gonna go from here. Philip is still obviously trying to carry out his genocide, and Hunter is on the fucking war path now, so I have zero doubt that there’s going to be some sort of clash between those two. Hunter now also presumably has access to Flapjack’s memories, so him gaining memories of Caleb is also not out of the question. 

Either way, Philip’s just gonna become Even More Not Normal about his brother, and I for one cannot wait.

#the owl house #toh belos #toh philip #toh caleb #caleb wittebane #philip wittebane #the google doc for this was called 'wittebrainrot' #it also took me multiple days to type up for some reason so if it feels like the tone is weird thats probably why #anyway i wanna study belos under a microscope

[anamizuiro]

When They Are Self Aware [IkeVamp Edition]

(After reading many tumblr posts about sagau and sahsrau, I pondered...)

Warnings: Long, somewhat ooc (some of these are based of my own impression towards them after looking through posts related to them), 4th-wall destroyed, grammars

What happens when the suitors of Ikemen Vampire become self aware that they are game characters?

That question can lead to two possible answers: it's either chaos or wonder.

For now, it's wonder.

Think about it. They are characters based off of existing historical figures from different eras, right? Obviously, this kind of "technology" will baffle them slightly. Because this kind of thing wasn't even really a thing in their prime. The Protagonist serves as your eyes to see everyone. The residents also take notice of this. You can't really share your message across through MC's mouth. But your words did come across through the wind.

Jean may be wary about this, pondering "is this some sort of witchcraft? Or have God decided to come and punish me by filling my mind with madness and uncertainty?". Because, there's someone out there?? Outside this world observing him?? Some being he didn't know?? And they care for him too (judging from how he sometimes heard your quiet sobbing and desperate pleas, telling him to be aware that despite everything, there are people who care for him) ???? But why? He wondered, why? He don't know who or what is this being that is watching him. Certainly, it wasn't God.

But soon, everyone followed. Jean is no longer the only one who become aware of the presence of this being. One by one, the residents of the mansion followed suit.

×××

Sometimes, whenever Vincent paint sunflowers, everything feels much brighter. He felt some sort of giddiness whenever he draw beautiful scenes. He felt like someone is watching him painting. But this feeling... it didn't frighten him. Rather, he was content. It almost felt like he's a child drawing something while a relative or a parent watching with fond eyes. Sometimes, he swore he heard "I wonder what kind of painting he's making" or "I'm sure his painting is beautiful like the real deal. Too bad they don't show a picture of his paintings".

It's nice that whoever or whatever says this compliments his painting. But real deal? Does this mean someone has painted what he painted before? If so, who? Vincent cannot help but wanting to meet whoever this person is and told them that he wanted to give them credit for the original (poor guy doesn't even know the person you're talking about is the real life counter part of himself).

×××

Theo often hears soothing whispers in his dreams. Though he sometimes had a nightmare about how his brother died in his arms, these days they are followed by someone (or something) comforting him. Telling him that he's already good enough of a brother. And Vincent will still and always love him. But of course he prefer not to tell anyone about this, including Vincent. He didn't think it was necessary.

But, Theo often felt the same presence around Vincent. Whenever he accompanied him to buy art supplies or helping him with the next exhibition, he felt someone or something watching both of them with benevolence. Like a guardian angel, perhaps. Pair of eyes looking at them with fondness whenever they are together in any occasion. Perhaps there is indeed someone out there that care for them both.

×××

Let's face it, Arthur may or may not put up some theories on the wall of his room at first.

He began to note down these weird feeling of being watched. He will be intrigued. No matter where he looked at, this presence were nowhere near him. Or at least, not physically. But how come their presence lingers despite having no physical appearance? Did they use some sort of invisibility cloak? Or maybe this being is like a fairy, like the ones he believes in?

He may or may not use this as an inspiration for his next story

Though whenever he writes his next manuscript, the presence comes off even stronger. A pair of eyes ogling on him. Arthur felt like he was back in those days where he's working on his assignment as a student while being supervised by one of his professors. But it's different. There's a bit of pity in these invisible pair of eyes. But why did this being pity him for writing? What part of him is pitiable?

×××

Comte knew.

Nobody need to tell him about it. He already sensed this presence–your presence–that watches him and the residents. He have seen many unusual things, especially for someone who have lived for centuries.

Those nights he spent by looking at the sky, his golden lances glances specifically at the moon. Thinking that perhaps the celestial object in the sky could serve as your other pair of eyes aside from the woman who came through the door that was supposed to serve as your "vessel".

He longed for this presence. He longed for you. He felt all of your emotions whenever and wherever he is. Sometimes he felt happiness, bashfulness and sorrow. Like Arthur, he wondered what part of him that you pity. But he's content nonetheless. After all, he knows that there is someone out there who think of him.

×××

Isaac will be curious.

He never stops being curious, despite being awkward and socially shy. He's a scientist, a physician. Scientists ought to be curious of their surroundings.

While your (invisible) presence slightly scares him at first, he wondered where you are. If you're not here, then how are you watching him? From where are you watching him? Could it be that there's another world out there beyond his reach? Beyond the boundaries of this world he currently settles in? Was the theory of the existence of parallel universe gain its fame from now on?

He'll never know unless he finally got to meet you. Science has no boundaries, right?

×××

When Sebastian realized this for the first time, he is... unsure how to feel. Considering that he came from the year where advanced technology is still in research and work in progress overall. Could this be the so called simulated world? Like the ones in those fictional stories? But that's too advanced! No way a human can replicate this kind of experience on such a device! Even if they did, what kind of device is it?

Sometimes he heard your adoring whispers of how he is such a big history geek. It kind of caught him off guard. Getting praised by the residents is more than enough to give him a heart attack but when you did it? He might as well lay down on a sofa for a while to process this newfound sense of content.

×××

Like Comte, Vlad is also aware of this.

To think that there is a world out there, and you living on it. Vlad would definitely be content whenever you log in to the game. To the point he will frequently appear in your check-in screen. Saying things of how he is so happy to see you and your presence always made his day.

He also felt your eyes looking at him whenever he goes on to his usual routine. And you wouldn't believe how giddy it made him feel. He felt like a kid again.

Vlad will also look at the moon whenever he think of you. Once again, like Comte, he believed that the moon in the world he lives in serves as your other pair of eyes to see what's going on in this world. If you were out there watching him, the world you lived in must be a peaceful one. Since he sometimes heard your soft giggles in his dream.

This time, he will find a way to see you. Maybe he could borrow Comte's door for a while.

Or maybe he can... find a way to tinker with the game's mechanics to communicate with you.

×××

Napoleon doesn't really think much about the existence of other worlds. Until now.

He once said that he didn't really care of what people think of him. Or how the books described him. He's just a man right in front of you. In front of your screen, that is. Because that's what he told you. But when he came to realized that the world he's living in is a game, a dimension among the binaries simply with a purpose to satisfy those who seek the thrill and adventures of romance, he is shocked.

What do you mean that there are other people out there who played his route? The only presence he felt was yours. He didn't feel anyone else. Is this some sort of fate? Another destiny given to him?

Sometimes, Napoleon heard your whispers in the wind. One time, when he was teaching the children, he heard your faint whisper of praise. Telling him that he's a good teacher. It made him blanked out for a moment until a child have to tug his hand to get him back on track. Despite contemplating whether to tell Isaac about this or not, he did it anyways. And surprisingly, Isaac told him that sometimes he experiences the same thing.

The former Emperor may look calm on the outside. Meanwhile, he began to bury his face on the pillow as he recalled that day.

×××

When Dazai blanked out in the rain, he swore he heard an echo of you calling his name. His eyes blinked as more raindrops falling to his skin. Soaking every inch of his clothing wet. His eyes looked around, wondering where your voice came from before looking back to the cloudy sky once again.

When the sound of rain masked any other noises in his surroundings, your voice went through to him. Your voice sound so sad. He thought, Why do you sound so sad? Who are you feeling sad for?

Yet he yearned for your voice. He sometimes wished it will be raining the next day. Or the next month. All because he felt like your voice is much clearer when it's raining. Sometimes he sits so close to the window when it's raining, eyes looking into the distance, and face looking solemn.

×××

The thought of lovers limited by otherworldly boundaries is such an interesting concept for Shakespeare. It's like Romeo and Juliet but... much better? And with a bit of magic?? No one is dying except that they are now pining for eternity without resolution??

Better be prepared of extra letters you will receive. Sometimes it came from your in-game mailbox. You might want to read it, because it's mostly collection of poem dedicated for you, his so-called otherworldly muse. So many metaphors and shakespearean terms, you might need an expert to help you translate them. Unless you have an experience in arts of theatrics.

Shakespeare will not hesitate to write this down as his new play. About a man who fell in love with a woman who lives far away. And the only thing that could keep them connected was the whispers in the wind. As for how the tale will end, he might need to think about it later. He knew that many of his fans will be a little surprised in this sudden turn of his style. But, hey, he's eager to see you beyond the screen as you watch him directing his play.

×××

Giddy is an understatement. Charles is truly ecstatic. It doesn't matter if he's just a game character. There's someone out there who care for him and loves him? Well, mark him down as happy. He's ready to smother all of his love for you. All he needs to do left is to find a way to get the message across.

What should he send you? An extra diamond? extra drop rate for his card gacha? A bonus secret letter that only you can access? And where should he send his presents? The mailbox? Or just outright on the check-in screen? Charles have so many options yet so indecisive. Because he wants do all of it.

Charles would do anything for you. ANYTHING. He will go through the seven seas and seven land even if it meant that he could finally see you. He's ready to break the game as long as he can talk to you. He's quite lonely, you know?

×××

Faust chuckled in amusement. The scientist have become the observed guinea pig, huh? What an interesting turn of events.

He wondered if you enjoyed watching him. Now that you see him through the eyes of the female protagonist that became your eyes. He wondered if he looked deeper into her eyes, he will saw you. Right there, beyond the screen. Perhaps giggling or just smiling. Or just having neutral expression.

×××

Overall, once they have realized that they are just game characters and they can "see" you, expect for sudden extra diamonds sitting in your mailbox or their greeting become much much livelier than usual.

#ikevamp #ikemen vampire #ikevamp napoleon #ikevamp isaac #ikevamp theodorus #ikevamp arthur #ikevamp comte #ikevamp charles #ikevamp faust #ikevamp vlad #ikevamp vincent #ikevamp sebastian #ikevamp shakespeare #ikevamp dazai

[fayes-fics]

Kinktober Drabble #12: Hate Sex/ Squirting

Kinktober Masterlist

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x fem!reader

Warnings: 18+ smut, minors dni, fingering, squirting, smidge of vaginal sex, arguing as foreplay.

Authors Note: Unbetaed. This is also an anon suggestion fill from a while back here (idea: ‘lovers in public, rivals in secret’). Nonny I hope you enjoy this, same for everyone else. <3

In public, you are his intended. You appear on his arm and dance together, the picture of a chaste romantic match. In private, you argue, bicker, and then fuck mercilessly. Your antagonistic dynamic makes for quite the most explosive secret sex.

The night of the Bridgerton Ball, you goad him more than ever before, perhaps crossing a line by flirting with his brother. Touching the man’s arm, you see the look of confusion flit over his face and, across the room, the look of thunder upon Anthony’s.

“Miss y/l/n,” suddenly Anthony is next to you, “I shall give you a tour of my London home.” It sounds like an offer, but it’s not; it’s a command to follow him. You’ve seen almost every corner of Bridgerton House by now, especially the quiet ones he can fuck you in. But you acquiesce, looping your arm in his and smiling, people giving you polite nods as you move through the crowd, looking like a happy courting couple. 

Tonight he leads you to his private study. 

“How could you?!” he barks the minute the door is shut and locked.

“What?” you smirk, knowing full well what he is so riled up about.

“My brother? Really?” his tone dripping with disdain.

“Don't pretend you don't love it when we goad each other. Just last week, you flirted with that young widow; just to make me so angry, I took you out into the grounds and into my throat.” you volley at him.

His eyes flash heatedly, but his nostrils flare in annoyance. “There's a line, and it’s my family,” he insists.

“Well, what's done is done. Are you going to fuck me or not, my darling intended?” you challenge, hands on hips, the last three words a snarky retort.

“Maybe I won't,” he opines haughty, crossing his arms.

“Fine,” you throw your hands up, moving towards the door. “I'm sure that bohemian artist brother of yours will be up for some fun….” You cannot resist the low blow, knowing it's like picking at a proverbial scab that will scar if you keep messing with it.

“Don't you dare,” Anthony growls, grabbing your arm and manhandling you against a bookcase, breathing heavy.

“Then give me a reason to stay,” you draw your lips into a thin line and raise an eyebrow, your grip on his shoulders harsh, digging your nails into his jacket.

“I’ll do more than that,” he tugs up your dress and chemise, his cool hand questing hard against your mound.

You inhale sharply and groan at the sensation. 

“No undergarments, why am I not surprised,” he chides, “you act such a wanton hussy.”

“Fuck you!” You spit out the harshest language you can think of, base words you seldom utter even under your breath, but still push against his fingers, now sodden as they slide against your clit.

“You’d better,” he snarls, “but first, let's get you to ruin your dress shall we?” two fingers plunging into your pussy without warning.

You cry out and huff breaths through your nose as his fingers curl and start to rock almost violently forward, swinging hard against a spot a few inches inside. Instead of it being painful, you pant wide-eyed, feeling something entirely new, like nothing you've ever experienced.

“So there are still some things I can teach you, it appears?” he growls, panting with the exertion, using the strength of his whole arm to push in and out at a blistering speed.

“What the fuck Anthony?” each word a harsh staccato as your whole body tenses.

“You've never had anyone do this before, have you?” his face just a touch conceited.

“No,” you exhale hard, holding onto him for dear life, keening with each fast stab of his fingers.

“Good. I'm the only one who can bring you this intense pleasure, only me.” The possessive, arrogant litany rockets you towards something hot and intense. 

He is forcing filthy sodden, squelching noises from your body, and all you can do is hunch over him, the need to curl up against the overwhelming sensation so strong, wordlessly panting needy noises. 

“Now let’s make a real mess,” he rumbles and his thumb rounds on your swollen clit, pushing it up against your body harshly. You scream, uncaring who can hear, your whole world pinpoint focussed on a pressure that suddenly releases as a strong gush, your knees giving out, and you feel nothing but a blinding wave of pleasure.

You hear him proudly saying, “Oh fuck yesss,” but it’s distant and fuzzy.

He is holding you up against the bookcase as you come around to realise you have soaked his arm, your dress, stockings, shoes even the rug beneath your feet.

“Look what a pretty mess you made of yourself and me.” He comments as he removes his fingers gently from inside you. 

“Anthony,” you can barely form words, “what the fuck was that?” You are disconcerted by what you see but also so sated you can't bring yourself to do anything but cling to him.

“That, darling, is what you get if you challenge me,” he chuckles, nuzzling your face as you hear trouser buttons opening. “I can't wait to find out how you feel now,” he adds, pulling one of your legs over his hip. He surges his cock deep into you before you can do anything but cry out.

“Oh god, yes, you feel amazing,” his voice thready and debauched. 

You wrap your arms tight around his neck and bite his earlobe.

“So do you,” you murmur, “now let’s do this.”

You proceed to fuck so hard against the bookcase that three books fall out and narrowly miss your heads. You wouldn’t want it any other way.

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