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fayes-fics · 11 months

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Second Son

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: The second son is, for once, the first choice...

Warnings: none really... mild angst, family dynamics, love at first sight.

Word Count: 2.9k

Authors Note: Request fill for anon here, about Benedict being the second choice for everything.... until his love turns up. Thanks for this request; I hope this is angsty enough for you anon. Im not sure about it tbh. Sorry that it's taken more than three months to get to it on my WIP list. Unbetaed. Enjoy <3

Benedict Bridgerton was born into privilege and can have few complaints. Except perhaps that he is always second. The spare. The just-in-case option. Being a familial insurance policy lends one more freedom than the burden of being the titled first son, perhaps, but it also feels like your whole existence, in some respects, can seem like a contingency plan.

____

His stomach swoops with excitement as the arrow pierces the target dead on the bullseye. And on his first ever archery lesson, just after his twelfth birthday.

He turns around to see if anyone is there to witness his triumph, but it goes unmarked. All his young siblings gathered around Anthony, patting him on the back for his achievements in doing the same moments before. Being a good shot is an essential skill for the next Viscount indeed. The fact that he has been receiving instruction for months already and this is Benedict’s first lesson hurts a little.

But he doesn't bother to bring attention to his arguably more impressive feat. It seems pointless now. Wordlessly he shrugs and walks towards the target, plucking out his arrow and starting again. Perhaps next time, they will notice.

____

“Is that the new Viscount Bridgerton?” Benedict hears a young girl murmur as he sweeps into the first societal event of the season, the spring following his father's death.

“Oh no, my dear, sadly not; I believe that is one of the brothers,” her mother replies, acting as if he has no sense of hearing, even trying to ignore it as he is, surveying the crowd.

“Such a shame,” the young girl huffs, “he is so very handsome.”

“Yes, dear, but sadly not titled. We can do better,” her mother chides, moving them along out of earshot.

He will never get over how cutthroat the Ton can be, a part of his tender seventeen-year-old heart sinking. Not that he had a potential interest in that girl, more the principle that he will somehow be rendered as an also-ran, at best a consolation prize, for the rest of his life.

What is most galling, perhaps, is that, when his mother needs their presence the most on a night like tonight, the new VIscount is nowhere to be seen. Has not even bothered to show his face, running off to some spurious gambling den and brothel, spending the night indulging himself rather than facing society.

So here Benedict is, stepping up to play the dutiful son that his elder brother should be. Being the support their mother so desperately needs at her first event as a widow, her arm looped heavily through his, her whole bodyweight seeming to use him as her literal pillar of support. As he escorts her around the room, he is filled with admiration at her brave face. He can see the overwhelming sadness in her eyes every time the word dowager is invoked, and his heart cracks a little at the loneliness he can feel emanating from his mother’s very soul.

“Tis a shame the Viscount did not deign the first event of the season worthy of his patronage,” she states pointedly as she sips champagne.

“I am sure he has very good reasons for his absence,” Benedict replies soothingly, covering for his errant brother, attempting to shield their mother from the truth of his philandering ways. Benedict knows it is Anthony’s way of dealing with the responsibility of the title of Viscount being thrust upon him so young. But sometimes, just sometimes, Benedict wishes he could escape his grief in such a manner, Anthony taking his turn attending a stuffy ball and playing guardian to a grieving woman. Their burdens may be different, but the wish to escape them is often not, Benedict realises.

____

She catches his eye at a garden party at Aubrey Hall. She is a pretty young lady, maybe eighteen to his twenty-three, with bright eyes and a sweet, happy face. She makes his palms slightly sweaty. He watches her from a distance, uncertain how to approach or what to say, feeling a little tongue-tied, even.

Just then, Anthony materialises at his shoulder.

“Who is that pretty young thing?” Anthony asks, tracing Benedict’s line of sight.

“Miss Bradstreet,” he replies, watching as she turns to face the sun, closing her eyes, basking in its warmth. The light captures her cheekbones perfectly, and he itches to have his sketchbook and capture her likeness. He would very much like to get to know her better.

“Let's go provide a warm welcome,” Anthony smirks, clapping a hand on Benedict’s shoulder and practically dragging him across the lawn.

Benedict reluctantly follows, a flutter of excitement as her eyes land upon them as they approach.

“Miss Bradstreet,” Anthony swaggers. “Viscount Bridgerton at your service; I am so very pleased to be your host today,” he bows.

Benedict's stomach plunges as he watches her practically melt into the lawn right there, virtually swooning at Anthony’s feet.

“Oh, and this is my brother, Benedict,” Anthony adds, almost as an afterthought.

She flicks her head to the side briefly to politely acknowledge Benedict before returning to Anthony. All of her undivided adoring attention on him as he regales the story of his latest hunting triumphs upon her insistence. Benedict heaves a sigh and watches as yet another young lady he likes chooses his brother over him. He is almost used to it now, but it doesn't stop the sting every time.

____

Your world grinds to a halt as you see him. He is descending the stairs with what you assume is the rest of his family. He is very much in the middle of a tight circle, walking behind what appears to be his mother and perhaps older brother. Quite the most beautiful man you have ever seen, your heart pounding in your ears, your throat suddenly dry despite the lemonade in your hand. You assume they must be the hosts, seeing as they are the very last to enter the ballroom here at Bridgerton House, and there is no announcement of their name.

“Who is that?” you whisper, leaning towards your elder sister. She has been out among society for a year and knows the Ton better than you.

“That is the Bridgerton family, of course,” she replies. “Illustrious in the extreme. Our hosts for this evening. The Viscount there is the most eligible bachelor of every season… and every season, he has resisted a match. So I wouldn't bother if I were you,” she sniffs.

“Which is the Viscount?” you check, your eyes unable to leave the beautiful man with a cravat tied in the most unconventional fashion.

“The one with his arm looped with their mother, the dowager Viscountess, naturally,” your sister rolls her eyes as if patently obvious.

“And what of the others?” you inquire keenly, realising the man you admire cannot be the one your sister is referring to. “Do you know their names?”

“I do not,” she admits, “such things are not really important when one is looking for a titled husband,” she points out airily.

You nod, knowing the responsibility your sister must carry as firstborn to find a suitable match that can provide for your widowed mother and, indeed, perhaps yourself and your younger sister should neither of you be able to find a husband. You don’t envy her position one little bit.

You are, however, desperate to get closer to the most beautiful man you have ever seen. And so you spend your evening working towards them, in as polite of a fashion as you can, your stomach in knots of excitement to know him.

“Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton, it is an honour and a pleasure to meet you,” you curtsy, heart pounding as he now stands a few feet away, unable to look at him so close by.

“Hello, my dear and you are?” she asks politely.

“Miss y/n y/l/n, it is my very first season; I am so honoured to be here,” you explain. “I must provide the apologies of my mother, Mrs y/l/n, who could not attend tonight due to a cold, but she is so very thankful for the invitation.”

“Oh, of course,” the viscountess smiles. “I am so sorry to hear of her illness; please pass on my best regards… Anthony!” she turns to her side to grab the attention of a man. The viscount’s head whips around from where he is in discussion with another. “Come meet Miss y/l/n,” she needles pointedly. “Miss y/l/n, this is the Viscount Anthony Brdgerton, and he is so pleased not only to make your acquaintance but also for your presence here tonight,” she welcomes on his behalf, and you do not miss the subtle nudge in the ribs she gives him.

Then his regard is drawn to you. He is handsome certainly, and you appreciate his polite but absent-minded greeting. His attentions are obviously elsewhere, but then you cannot fault him as yours are the same. Your gaze strays over his shoulder to the man who first captures your attention. And your breath is stolen by how his hazy blue eyes stare intently at you.

____

Benedict is twenty-six years old when he is struck by lightning. Not literally. But that is the sensation that runs through his body when he first lays eyes on you—politely introducing yourself to his mother and thanking her for your invitation to this ball.

He thought he knew what attraction was until this point. He thought he knew the depths to which one could fall in love in an instant. He was an utter fool. He looks at you, and at once, everything is so quiet and loud all at once. He is desperate to know you in a way he has never felt. To grab your hand, take you somewhere, and ask you a million questions to get to know your soul. He also wants to kiss you so much that his lips tingle. And inside, his lungs want to scream as his mother does the natural thing and introduces the beautiful, polite young lady to her most eligible son… Anthony.

Then his heart jolts as your eyes stray from Anthony and meets his, your pupils dilating in a way that makes his lungs too small to inhale air. It is the first and only time a young woman has had Anthony’s full attention and has looked away from it. And to him, no less. The tidal flood of chemicals in his system makes it feel like he is vibrating in his very shoes.

____

You try your best to be polite and look at Anthony as he speaks, but your sight is drawn to this other man like a moth to a flame. From appearance, the second son, as you are the second daughter. A flare of understanding and sympathy in your chest as to how that is. You want to grab his hand and run away with him.

“My lord,” you find your voice and snap your eyes back to the Viscount, “would you do me the honour of introducing me to the rest of your wonderful family?” your ask, almost timid.

He looks temporarily taken aback, as if mystified why anyone in the Ton would care about the status of anyone beyond his mother and himself. You smile at him expectantly and do not miss, from the corner of your eye, how the beautiful man’s face is awash with surprise at your request.

“Oh, most certainly,” Anthony seems to snap out of his temporary stupor and turns to introduce his siblings in attendance. A tall, baby-faced young man stands to attention as Anthony moves from left to right. “This is Colin; he has just returned from his travels in Greece,” you nod and smile politely, knowing nothing of the subject. “And this is my sister, Eloise; it is her first season, and she is not in the slightest bit happy about that,” he adds dryly, and you can't help but giggle and feel a kinship with the spirited young lady who returns your wry smile. “My eldest sister, the Duchess of Hastings, who is visiting us,”

You curtsy and bow your head. “It is an honour, your Grace,” you add, and she smiles sweetly at you, her arm looped in her mother's.

“Obviously, you have met my mother,” he continues, and suddenly he is the last in the line. You feel your palms clench, sweaty in anticipation of learning his name “... and this is my brother, Benedict; he hopes to be an artist.”

You are finally brave enough to meet his eyes again. He is so achingly beautiful that the rest of his family, indeed the whole ballroom, melt away from your view—he is all you can see.

“Oh, I adore art,” you stutter, mesmerised, offering your hand to him, the first and only person in the family you do so to. Unseen by you, your gaze only on one man, Anthony’s mouth drops open in surprise.

Nothing can prepare you for when Benedict’s gloved hand gently touches yours, him bowing to kiss the back of your hand. You catch a woody citrus scent that makes your mouth water as he does so. And then you feel the warmth of his lips through your glove, and you are utterly undone.

“Miss y/l/n,” he rumbles quietly, the sound making your insides melt even more; it's deep and resonant and makes every inch of your body tingle.

“Please call me y/n,” you murmur, moving closer, knowing how scandalous that might be, but seemingly unable to stop yourself. He has a hypnotic hold over you that you don't want to fight.

“Only if you shall call me Benedict,” he breathes, and it takes Anthony clearing his throat to make you spring apart, suddenly remembering where you are.

____

His lips touch the silk of your glove, and he is gone.

Already planning a future, his mind supplying images of you at his cottage out in the country, the lady of the house. Tending to the herb garden, reading happily curled up in front of the fire in the drawing room, fearlessly plucking a bow as you stand in front of joint archery targets gently teasing him for losing to a girl, and finally, the image that truly knocks the wind out of him, you naked under him, desperately moaning his name as you move together, entwined in ecstasy.

He hears your sharp inhale, and his heart skips at the idea you feel it too. That you are the first woman ever that sees him and not Anthony. Really sees him. Not as the second son. Not as a consolation prize.

And when your body seems to sway towards him, he is already mentally asking his mother for a betrothal ring from her grandmother, which she said she is keeping just for him.

____

“Benedict,” his name feels wonderful in your mouth, like a gift from the heavens. “Please, may we take a turn around the gardens?” you implore, the boldest you have ever been in your whole life.

“It would be my very greatest pleasure,” he responds.

And you know with absolute certainty you have met your husband, the father of your children, your very future.

____

“It is not as if this is my show….” he sighs.

“You should not do that, darling,” you say affectionately, ruffling his hair as you move to fix his cravat; it definitely needs to be more jaunty, in your opinion.

“Do what?” he breathes, his wedding ring catching the light as he places his hands gently over yours and stills your motions.

“Think of yourself as second,” you argue, running your hand over his cheek. “This gallery opening may feature others' work too, but you are the star of the exhibit,” you reassure, tilting his forehead down so it rests upon yours.

There it is again. That look that always floors you. Even now, a year later. Like you are the most wondrous creature, and he can scarcely believe you are his.

“Never forget, you will always be first to me,” you utter fiercely, watching his eyes soften with devotion. “And not just me….” you guide his sizeable warm hand onto the swell of your belly, “to us. We love you so much, Benedict,” your tone is ardent, wanting him to believe he deserves this recognition, that he should believe in himself the way that you do.

“I love you, too,” he responds quietly, reverentially. “So very much. Both of you are my whole world,” his voice choked with emotion, and you throw your arms around him and squeeze hard, wanting to telegraph just how much he is the very centre of your universe.

An hour later, you clutch your hands over your chest as you watch him being brought onto the raised stage and introduced to the crowd as they applaud him and his work rapturously, awaiting to hear him talk of his art. As he does so, you stroke your belly unseen under your cloak, beaming with pride for your wonderful husband.

____

He sees your face in the crowd, and as ever, it calms him, especially at this landmark moment. So as he finishes the speech that he has rehearsed for days now, he decides to do something perhaps unconventional but something he seems unable to resist.

“Lastly, before I allow you back to your champagne,” he jests, finally at ease with the attention and recognition. “I want to thank my life’s inspiration, the very reason I stand before you today. My wonderful wife. Thank you, my love, for being the light of my life; for always making this second son your first choice. You will always, always be my first choice. I love you.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @iboopedyournose @colettebronte @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @margofiore @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @bridgertontess @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @benedictspaintbrush @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @lilithseve @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @truly-dionysus @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @mlovesbridgerton @m-rae23 @last-sheep

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ladybirdswritings · 4 months

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Pride & Prejudice - Coriolanus {Young} Snow x Reader

Summary: You’re birthed into a lively family in dire need of financial stability. As the eldest, you’re paraded around to be married and much to the dismay of your mother, you deny every hand offered. Yet unbeknownst to you, a man of great power and influence, Mr. Snow, is lurking in the shadows, waiting for his chance to have you. Steamy Pride & Prejudice retelling with young snow and you! Alternate universe, au!snow <3

Notes: I hope u girlies eat this up, getting scrapped otherwise </3 — as always, thank u for leaving comments and loves as it keeps me motivated!

next chapter

one

You’d much rather be at any other breathing, standing tower of gold trimmings and cracked pillars in existence.

At any building filled to the brim, simply overflowing with tiered skirts and lively grins… offered hands and gentlemen donned in fine suits, pockets suffocated by their own riches.

Yet you cannot be; for mama has ordered your presence to be most dire and mandatory. Although you did consider fleeing for the highest hilltop or feigning ill, you knew well that mama would find you or see straight through your falsehoods.

“My my, you look as though you’ve got something unsweet taped to your vicious tongue.”

You scowl at the blonde goddess most confusingly known to be your sister, and she only flips a ringlet of gold behind her poised shoulder.

“I think it to be quite clear how dreadful I find this. No need to observe aloud, sister.”

Her mischievous sapphire orbs glow with enjoyment, face pink and flushed — skin glistening under the gold lanterns flickering above.

You’ve watched happily from your seat, she’s sure to have danced with at least twenty men now.

No wonder mama has no fears or worries about Jane. She is just guaranteed to run off and be married within the upcoming season, it only makes for less of a distraction for mama— she’ll be glued to you like quill to paper.

It is not as though men do not want you. Oh, they do. Most ardently.

The trouble is only that you do not want them.

How horrible it is to be confined to four lonesome, frayed walls with nothing more than your books and your wit to keep you company. Married to a man who will most certainly be your senior, who busies himself with trivial matters and leaves you to be cold at home.

You would much rather drown yourself in the river stix than face a fate so melancholic.

You wish to be an odd thing, to run away into a cottage and spend your days parted from the people who surround you. You will read books of men made from dreams and you will find comfort in knowing that you will not be wed to a man who will only discontent you.

Of course, that would bring great shame upon your family, ruin them. So it seems you will end up a spinster or a governess. Both fates, although not as you may hope in your dreams, still offer more joy.

“Forgive me for having fun. It is not why I displease you however, perhaps if you picked your pretty head up from that book and stopped waving the hands that greet you away— you would know this. Mama has sent me. The duke, his sister and a dear friend of his have arrived here. Here! At our party, can you believe it?”

You huff out a sigh laced with annoyance, flipping to the next chapter of the dilapidated thing in your hands.

“No, I truly cannot.” You mutter, yet you cannot spare the fresh page even a glance before it is snatched from your clutched fingers.

A first edition, it shreds from its spine and erupts a gasp from both you and Jane. Mama’s cyan gaze is cold and anxious, feigning a tight smile.

That one was your favorite.

You do not lift your head, you do not notice the three towering men who look down upon your reserved oak wood bench in interest. Mama clutches the duke’s palm in an embrace of suffocation, yet you do not pay it even a little mind as you drop to your knees in your pretty dress to find the strayed page.

“My god, where are your manners — girl! Please do not pay her rudeness any attention, she gets sickly over these things. Sweetheart, up now— we can buy you another.”

Her voice is cold, devoid of any admiration. It is a lie, too. Your family cannot afford even a singular chapter of a new novel, let alone a first edition. You should be the one plagued by frustration, yet you feel as though it is you who is doing something wrong.

Even so, your eyes search the floor with great fervor, landing on a polished leather shoe which suffocates chapter twelve.

You wince, preparing all the words you can to kindly request the stranger lifts his big foot off of your paper. Yet they dissipate in the back of your throat.

The man, he bends at his knee as he frees the old thing from his sole. Your eyes lift to greet him, then.

He is a mess of blonde locks, unruly compared to that of the others with hair long enough. Theirs are tamed with ribbons, his only sits atop his head. His eyes are a cold color, one you cannot explain. They are commanding, fueled with great intensity.

Beyond all of this?

He looks most certainly miserable.

He does not wish to attend tonight, one glance proves this.

He spares you no words as he passes you the paper, eyes locked upon the contents of it. He offers you a hand of assistance, too.

You ignore it, wincing at the disgust your mother expresses.

You need no aid as you lift to your feet and dust the old thing off, he follows you — becoming a tower taller once he stands.

Jane, you are grateful now that she is still here. She laughs most uncomfortably, placing a polite hand upon your shoulder as she snatches the page away. Far more gently.

“My dear sister, may I introduce you to your grace — sir Sejanus Plinth of Newbury. Alongside him, his sister — Grace Plinth and their dearest friend, Coriolanus Snow, also of Newbury.”

You know well that you’ve just about boiled a vicious pot of scorching water, one you’ll have to face the many consequences of. A quick glance stolen toward mama proves it.

With a soft sigh, you curtsy to the men before you. A show of respect which you most certainly do not have for them. They are just as unimportant as the others, grand status or not. Including the miserable looking blonde with cold eyes.

“Lovely to meet you. This is truly a grand gathering you’ve all put together…” Sejanus offers with a smile of pearl. You peer up at him, his eyes stealing quick glances at goddess Jane.

Mama goes off on a tangent about how much she adores hosting gatherings as much as attending them — and it’s all a mere buzz in your ears.

Your eyes shift toward the sister, Grace. She’s scowling at you… how peculiar.

“Jane, forgive me if this is far too forward but — I would be most honored to be the last dance you partake in this evening.” Sejanus swallows back his nerves, wincing at the sound of his own voice. Sweet Jane doesn’t bother torturing him, she only nods a shy head.

“Oh, come Grace! I must show you how my youngest daughter performs on the grand piano!”

You feel poorly for the scowling girl who is whisked away by mama. Jane and Sejanus follow alongside them, but part as soon as the music begins.

Both of your palms come to a clasp— shifting weight on your heels as you watch Jane twirl and giggle a golden sound, so beautiful you are certain it could bring each and every single gentleman in attendance to their knees.

Well, except the miserable Mr. Snow.

Your eyes drift to him then — and you catch his gaze already locked upon your stature. He averts it hastily, staring at what looks to be the far wall after he is caught.

Does he plan to lurk here like a shadow’s phantom for the entirety of the evening?

“Do you dance, Mr. Snow?”

His jaw is a sharp — tense thing. It clenches in surprise at your voice. He doesn’t spare you a glance as he answers.

“Not if I can help it.” Is but all he offers before returning to a miserable state of silence again.

By god, to garner more than a mere word is equivalent to the act of tugging teeth loose. You purse your lips, turning your head away to find another question you could offer.

You do not bother, however.

For the first time in all your life, in all the seasons you’ve suffered — you wish to dance. Not because you find it to be fun or any more stimulating than a novel but; rather because you would be far more joyous away from him.

Beyond this, it would make mama less angered when the gathering reaches its end.

You do not offer him a word of parting before you plunge into the lively crowd. A man with blonde locks, not quite as icy as Mr. Snow’s own tousles, offers his hand.

You lose yourself in the rhythm, pretending to be that of a girl in one of your novels. Whisked away by a mysterious, dancing stranger who offers more than just a meaningless hand.

You pretend the blonde is to be a grand lover, one who will care for you beyond material needs. Beyond what is expected and a bore.

You pretend, and when the song ends — so does each and every one of your mindless fantasies.

To normality once again…

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draculancer-flow · 3 months

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My very existence violates all three of the Utopian Pillars, as well as a secret fourth and fifth

#lancer ttrpg #lancer rpg #lancer meme #lancer #dracula flow #dracula #mecha #memes

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leo-muscle · 2 months

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I’ve heard a little bit about this King Leon guy. Who does he think he is to call himself a king? Seems far to pretentious if you ask me. I wouldn’t be caught dead bowing to someone like that. Not in a million years.

Sure I’m the most basic looking white dude on the planet. My face gets lost in the crowd and my body is light enough to be blown by a breeze. But a king can’t change that, and I would like to see him or any of his subjects try to.

"Are you sure about that?" The bartender told you. You had just arrived on your vacation in Haiti, and the resort's bartender had decided to strike up a conversation with you over drinks. He was enormous, seven feet of pure surfer boy muscle, with a thick gut that was the very picture of strength. He would have been the most beautiful man you had ever seen, if you weren't in the middle of a massive rant.

"Oh, absolutely." You continued. "Whoever these 'kings' are, I don't want anything to do with 'em. Who are they to declare rule over the entire world, and who are we to listen to them?"

It was true, of course. Much of Africa, the British Isles, Central America, and even the islands you were now in had been united under the rule of these Kings. While many praised them for their novel social reforms and exponential increase to quality of life in their domains, many others, yourself included, remained attached to the old ways. Even this vacation was a scouting trip, to see if whatever propaganda these Kings were putting out was true.

"On the contrary, my friend, I am perfectly happy to listen to the rule of my King. You should have seen this island before King Kai came here. Homelessness, poverty... it's all been amended since he arrived."

"Really?" You asked, taking a big swig of your drink, savoring its tingle on your lips. "And NO one's uncomfortable being ruled by just one person?"

"People love King Kai. He is kind and just, like any good king should be. You'll see that soon enough." The bartender said.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked, your heart racing.

"Oh, nothing much. Just give it a few seconds."

"What are you-- UGH!" You doubled over, your skin on fire with a sensation entirely alien to you.

The bartender walked out from behind the bar, and soon, his magical hands went to work. With his kingly essence in your system, you could be molded into a respectable citizen of the world.

He started with your pecs, cupping them from behind as they burst through your tropical shirt with new strength. They were enormous, voluptuous pillows, jiggling with muscle and a thin layer of fat.

He then moved his hands along your shoulders, pumping them into cannonballs of strength. The moment his hands reached your arms, they pulled and pushed, leaving your twiggy biceps and forearms as but a fleeting memory, replacing them with pulsing, powerful cannons of strength. In awe, you flexed your right arm, forming a mound easily as big as a baseball if not more.

You moaned softly as King Kai's beautiful hands lightly traced a six-pack onto your stomach, each ab popping into existence, forming an impenetrable wall of strength.

Soon, his hands navigated south, one massive hand palming your flat ass, while the other grabbed your tiny three-inch cock. You moaned, long, low, and hard as both of his hands began to move out from your body, pulling your cock and ass with them. Your cheeks rounded out into a big, bouncy bubble butt, bigger than most women's. It shook with strength and sexuality with every slight movement you made, much like your cock, which had grown so big with the King's touch that no pair of pants could conceal your enormous bulge. His touch was electric on your shaft, causing you to pre almost endlessly.

Your mind was in heaven as he continued to your legs. Your cock was at full mast at its enormous eleven inches as he took his hands to your legs, and blew them up into corded steel pillars as big as any christmas ham. You moaned, your cock firing blanks as he looked you deep into your eyes, placing one hand to completely cover your currently-unchanged face.

"As much as I love my people, we cannot be a global community if all my citizens are homogenous." King Kai said. "Hmm, where should I send you..."

Your skin flickered through thousands of shades in a single moment, before settling on a tone a few shades darker than your original. Your hair darkened to black, and you instantly sprouted a thick dark mustache, and a chinstrap beard to match. Your eyes became narrower and monolid, your stare intensifying into a sexy smolder. As King Kai leaned in and kissed you, your bulk increased, and your muscle became padded with a thin sexy layer of fat.

"Cum." King Kai commanded you, his voice sexy enough to send you over the edge.

You had been reborn, a Vietnamese stud in the Carribean. Your brain was aflame with new neurons, making connections faster and better than ever before. You knew you had been improved, in every conceivable way. You were stronger, smarter, wiser, and you had no one but your new king to thank.

#male tf #male transformation #race change #muscle bear #bear tf #jock tf #pec growth #butt growth #asian tf #mental change #kings of the world

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shuunnico · 5 months

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You like rpgs. Do you recommend any games like baldurs gate 3?

Absolutely. I'll assume you mean CRPGs and not RPGs in general.

Computer Roleplaying Games (CRPGs) refers to a style and genre of game that BG3 follows. Some have started calling CRPGs "Classic RPGs" instead. CRPGs are typically identified by an isometric, top down view style, a heavy focus on story and exploration.

I'm going to split my list it three main categories based on accessibility factors. These factors include the amount of reading involved, the depth of mechanics and the level of abstraction/math required.

Easy Entry Level

Baldur's Gate 3 - 2023 - Larian Studios. The current gold star for easy entry CRPGs. Exceptional graphics, every character voice acted, very little reading and fairly straightforward mechanics and concepts.

Divinity: Original Sin 2 DE- 2017 - Larian Studios. This is basically a less polished, more complex version of BG3 and made by the same studio.

Disco Elysium, Final Cut - 2019 - ZA/UM. Disco Elysium is a detective/social focus game that dives into heavy narrative concepts. Failing rolls is just as viable for the story as succeeding them, making the game's mechanics take a backseat to story. However, there is a lot of reading and that may be a barrier to entry.

Tyranny - 2016 - Obsidian Entertainment. A game about being evil, it's mechanically pretty simple, but there's a fair bit of jank due to it's low budget, and the game ends on a cliffhanger, but it's story is very solid.

Mid Entry Level

Wasteland 3 - 2020 - inExile Entertainment. The long awaited third installment of the Wasteland franchise and significantly less complex than its predecessors. Post apocalyptic, frozen Colorado, grim reality and goofy ideas. This is the franchise that originally inspired Fallout.

Shadowrun: Dragonfall DC/ Shadowrun: Hong Kong EE - 2014/2015 - Harebrained Schemes. Set in the Fantasy/Cyberpunk hybrid setting of Shadowrun. Fair bit of reading, but the game's mechanics are relatively easy to grasp and don't require a lot of math. Always play Dragonfall before Hong Kong.

Pillars of Eternity 2: Deadfire - 2018 - Obsidian Entertainment. A unique setting, exploring a fictional parallel to the age of piracy. Very wordy (but a lot is voice acted), with a lot of world building, but well worth engaging with. The first game, Pillars of Eternity, is less accessible, but still good.

Kingmaker/Wrath of the Righteous/Rogue Trader - 2020/2022/2023 - Owlcat Games. Owlcat adapts existing systems into CRPGs, like how BG3 is an adaption of DnD 5e. Do not be fooled, these games are where you start hitting a lot of complexity, a lot of math and a lot potential to damage your playthroughs by accident. This is where things start to get difficult.

Difficult Entry Level

Baldur's Gate 1/2 - Bioware - 1998/2000. The prequels to BG3, these games use an older, much more complex version of DnD's rules. Be prepared for a lot of reading and complex mechanics, but you'll be rewarded with some amazing storytelling.

Planescape Torment - Interplay - 1999. Another game using DnD's older mechanics, Planescape is a completely different beast from BG3. Many consider this series mechanically inferior to the Baldur's Gate franchise, but with better storytelling and world building to compensate.

Fallout 1/2 - 1997/1998 - Interplay/Black Isle. One of the most widely known game franchises started as an isometric CRPG. Universally considered more complex, rewarding and deeper than the Bethesda portion of the franchise, you'll need some experience to get into them, but you'll be happy you did.

Games I haven't played but I've heard good things of:

Wasteland 2, DC - 2015 - inExile

Torment: Tides Of Numenera - 2017 - inExile

Neverwinter Nights - 2002 - Bioware

Arcanum - 2001 - Troika Games

Ultima 7 Part 1/Part 2 - 1992/1993 - Origin Systems

Icewind Dale - 2000 - Black Isle Studio

#Baldur's Gate 3 #Disco Elysium #DnD #Fallout #Rogue Trader #Warhammer 40k #Pathfinder #Baldur's Gate #Planescape #Bioware #pillars of eternity

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teecupangel · 2 months

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Hi Teacup! Sorry for the long post in advance. This idea has been plaguing me for ages, so now everyone else gets to suffer too.

I would like to add to the Desmond menagerie with the biggest badass of the avails to ever live: The Hasst Eagle. The Hasst Eagle was around 15kgs with a 3m wingspan and hunted prey 13 times its own size. No one in any time period could think Desmond is an ordinary eagle.

Ratonhnhaké:ton's village would take one look at Desmond the toddler sized bird and go definitely a spirit.

I also have the wonderful image of Desmond saving Petruccio by just picking him up and flying off in my head (I might be overestimating Desmonds strength and underestimating Petruccio's size, but I found funny imagining the guards faces). And then I remembered the story of Zeus and Ganymede; which made me imagine Ezio chasing down Desmond and threatening to pluck him if he even thinks about taking Petruccio's purity.

It’s really huge, that’s for sure.

Giovanni knew of the Desmond.

The large eagle of legends, the guardian of the Brotherhood.

He had grown up listening to his father tell stories of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad and his great eagle. How the large bird’s shadow brought fear to the Templars who see it. How fast it was even when it was bigger than any other birds.

How intelligent it was, using gestures to communicate with his chosen one.

How it had served as the guardian and godfather of Altaïr Ibn-La'Ahad’s children.

It had seemed like a tall tale but Giovanni never doubted it.

How could he?

When the great eagle was painted over the ceiling of the Sanctuary below Monteriggioni.

He had no reasons to doubt its existence.

But he never talked about the eagle of legends to his children. The Templars would know about the Desmond.

It was too much of a risk, telling the stories to children who could just as easily talk about it to others.

Unintentionally catch the ears of the wrong people.

But now he deeply regretted it.

“Ezio, stop!” Giovanni shouted, unable to keep the panic out of his voice.

How could he?

His second son, a cheerful boy of the age of six, was trying to beat the eagle of legend with a stick, shouting at the eagle loudly, “Go away! Shoo! Shoo!”

“Ezio!” Giovanni shouted, grabbing Ezio’s wrist before he could smack the eagle once more.

Not that he was able to.

Any time the stick was even close to hitting the bird, the Desmond simply flicked one of its wing, parrying the strike and causing Ezio to stagger backwards.

Ezio was a stubborn child though and he would continue to try and hit the bird even as it simply parried all his strikes.

Once it was clear that Ezio couldn’t whack the bird, he turned to his father as he shouted, “Petruccio!”

Giovanni was about to ask what he meant by that but the Desmond lifted its wings, showing his youngest son softly giggling as he tried to crawl away from the bird. One of the bird’s talons was gripping Petruccio’s clothes, keeping the boy still.

Giovanni’s eyes widened as he realized that they were in the second floor balcony that Petruccio’s room had. It was always meant to be locked considering Petruccio was a curious child.

And the railings had enough distance between each pillar that Petruccio could slip through.

The Desmond stared at Giovanni expectantly as it slowly lifted its talon and Giovanni used his other hand to scoop his youngest son into his arms while the baby tried to crawl to the railings.

“Thank you.” Giovanni said as he bowed deeply at the bird, earning a confused frown from Ezio.

The bird simply shook its body, reminding Giovanni of a man stretchering before the bird turned to stare at Ezio. It lifted one of its wings and Giovanni’s blood ran cold, worried about how much Ezio had offended the bird.

The bird did not try to hurt Ezio though. Instead, it used its wing to pat Ezio’s head three times before hopping away. It flapped its wings and flew out of the balcony.

And Giovanni finally let out a relieved sigh.

#i was thinking of which ancestor to use for this #but desmond being mistaken for attacking baby petruccio #by protective big brother ezio #was too much of a fun idea to pass #desmond is turned into an animal subgenre #desmond is turned into a creature subgenre #assassin's creed #ask and answer #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #desmond miles #ezio auditore #giovanni auditore #petruccio auditore

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lure-of-writing · 4 months

Text

Art

Summary: Sometimes everyone needs to be reminded that they are more then what they think of themselves

Word count: 1.1k

Warnings: none

“Some people are artists. Some, themselves, are art. And you my sweet, sweet Azriel are art.” his piercing hazel eyes stare blankly back at you. “You are art crafted by the gods themselves, and it has nothing to do with your looks, Az. And it has everything to do with your soul and who you are.” Somewhere deep down Azriel knew you were talking to him but all he could focus on was the tears running down his face and colliding with your hands that gently cupped his face. All he could feel was the warmth and love radiating from your soul that was trying its hardest to pick up the broken pieces of his soul to help him put himself back together again.

It wasn’t often that Azriel cried and even rarer that he cried in front of another person and just about damn near impossible that he would cry in front of someone who wasn’t his brothers, but here you are cupping his cheeks and wiping his tears all while reminding him that he is worth more than he thinks of himself. There was something so soft and tender about your words yet they were so strong and full of passion and Azriel could never bring himself to battle the words you so fiercely speak to him.

“You are art in the way you look after everyone, constantly aware of our needs before we ourselves even think about what it is we need. Art in the way you are always willing to listen to us complain even if you’ve heard about the same story for the millionth time all while offering the most kind, considerate, caring advice because you listen every. Single. Time. “ he silently listens as you put emphasis on your last three words “ Your willingness to sacrifice yourself as long as it means your family is safe is beautiful, don’t get me wrong it scares me like no other to think of a world where you are not in it but none the less I think your willingness to protect your family at any cost including yourself is beautiful.” The sound of the fire crackling just a few feet behind where you sit on Azirels bed provides the only sound in the room and it is also the only source of light allowing you to see the striking eyes of the shadowsinger.

“You give and give and give constantly to those around you but what about yourself Azriel? When will you realize that you have to take care of yourself before you can help others? I know that you think about all these endless possibilities where you are not a part of this family but I can tell you without any doubt that none of us would have ever let that happen. We need you as much as you need us, even if you are reluctant in acknowledging that part.” The small laugh that follows from your lips brings Azriel’s focus back to the present. His room is lit only by the fire casting you in a beautiful orange glow, and oh how he wished he could paint like Freye because he's never wanted to keep a memory to himself more than this one.

The room once smelt like him now has the faint scent of your perfume wafting around in the air bringing him a sense of comfort Azriel didn’t know he even needed. He would never understand how he could need so little in life but he would always need you. The person who pulled him out of his darkest thoughts. Held him after the day had taken its toll and left him feeling like a failure. Prevented him from staying in his head when his thoughts took a darker turn than was acceptable.

There are many things Azriel is grateful for but your existence is by far the thing he values most in his life. Rationally he knows that Cassian and Rhysand are unwavering pillars of friendship and family in his life but there was something so intimate about your late night talks when you pull him out of his self-deprecation that he could never have with his brothers.

“Your soul is the most beautiful piece of artwork I have ever seen. But that's the thing about art Az, not everybody is going to like it and that's ok. But do you want to know a secret about art?” your hands release his face in favor of grabbing his hands to give them a reassuring squeeze. Once more you look into his eyes, the hazel eyes that you know will never tell you a lie and all you can see is the desperate need for reassurance that breaks your heart. Azriel may put on a facade but you always see past it. And what you see is a man who has been dealt a terrible deck of cards in this game called life and up until this point the only goal has been survival. But now it's time to teach him how to truly live, starting with learning to at least be at peace with who he is. Far later down the road will you teach him to love himself like you love him but for now you need him to know that no matter what happens in you lives you will always find art and beauty in who Azriel is, beyond his skills and talents because he has always been more than those things, he is his mind and thoughts and passions and hopes and dreams and he is someone who deserves to be loved. Without any conditions or hesitations. But whole heartedly and passionately.

“Sometimes after the artist thinks they are finished with their work they take a step back and release they don’t love what they have created and that's ok for a few reasons. One, someone else may think that it's the most beautiful thing that they have ever seen. Two, the artists can always change things about their painting: add this, take away that, until they like the end result. This part has no timeline, no defined ending to when it has been perfected. And reason three, there will be people who look at the beginning painting and love what they see but the artists will be unhappy and change it however many times they need until they love it and those people who loved it the first time will love it at each and every stage until the final result is finished.”

“We are the artists and who we show up as to the world is the painting of our soul so if you don’t like it, keep painting until you are happy, and I promise you I will love it at every step of the way, because you my sweet Azreil are the most breathtaking piece of art I have ever seen. Do not let your clouded vision of yourself prevent you from seeing what I see, because it is beautiful.”

#acotar x reader #azriel x reader #azriel angst #azriel fanfic #azriel imagine #azriel one shot #azriel shadowsinger #acotar x you #azriel acotar #acotar imagine

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pochapal · 7 months

Note

hi there! Since you're currently Homestuck I'm writing in to ask you a favor: could you explain the truth/relevance/essentiality model of native integrity, for someone who has some experience with metafiction but hasn't read the Epilogues? I never got to that part of Homestuck and my attempts to Google explanations has left things very unclear in my head - in particular where each category ends and the other two begin.

okay so! caveat that a lot of this is going off memory and also 4 years of my own interpretation of the terms that may or may not correlate to actual reality, but truth/relevance/essentiality can be explained as follows:

as per the epilogues these things constitute the three pillars of canon - for a piece of fiction to attain canonicity it must be true relevant and essential to that which came before. in some ways this is as simple as if something like a sequel/spinoff passes the "he would not fucking say that" test and sometimes it's less simple.

for ease of understanding, each pillar can be understood as thus:

for something to be true, it must by definition not contradict either the literal or metaphorical truth of the canonical text. what comes after must be congruent with what came before. the easiest way to measure a story's truth value is to see if what is being said is verified as existing in some form within canon - if a character expresses interest in thing A, but this piece of fiction depicts them as both liking B and disliking A without even acknowledging their canonical enjoyment of A, then it loses its truth value.

for something to be relevant, it must have some matter of value or importance within the text itself. an example of something that is true but not relevant would be a side story that doesn't contradict the main canon but also doesn't add or change the core story in any way. inoffensive fluff of no consequence in other words.

for something to be essential, it must be in alignment with the themes and driving theses of the text. to make something essential, it must speak to the "why" of the source text in such a way that it either changes/becomes part of the central message. another understanding of essentiality is through audience impact - is this feature valued enough to stick in a reader's consciousness as a key component when recounting the story's details? in a lot of ways essentiality/relevance do share overlap, but my understanding is relevance = within the text and essentiality = outside of the text.

when thinking about these pillars, the important part is that these terms are also a loose metaphor for adherence to power structures/conformity to hierarchical norms. in homestuck, "canon" is a form of violence inflicted on its characters (the alpha timeline as a concept is the most accessible form of this) and so to adhere to canon is to perform existence in a way that the system views with approval. the pillars of canon are extrinsic validation that represent a total narrativising of reality, and thus the conflicts and hardships of canon continue to perpetuate (in homestuck epilogues terms, this comes in the form of sacrificing "happily ever after" for an intriguing and exciting sequel despite the suffering it will inflict on the characters).

what's interesting about this model is that truth/relevance/essentiality can also be self-generated and self-sustaining. a totally canon-divergent fanfiction will completely undermine the rules of its source to the point where if it were to be moored to canon it would damage the integrity of both texts, but it nonetheless continues to have its own internal consistency/structures. a queer AU means nothing to the source text, but it has meaning to itself and to the audience it exists for (audience response isn't very hashed out in the epilogues model, but i think it's important to consider for a more comprehensive picture - @hms-no-fun's godfeels touches a lot on this angle) and thus an alternative mode of being is formed in response.

the problem with a text that fails to adhere to these pillars is that, while it is afforded a greater structural freedom, it also fails to matter. a fanfiction that is canon-compliant has a greater value in the discourse surrounding its source text than a coffee shop au that only has character names and appearances as a shared commonality - even if this coffee shop au is a groundbreaking and moving piece of narrative, because it lacks any meaningful ties to canon it cannot be used to shape canon.

to give a clear example, a lot of this for me is most easily explored in the concept of june egbert who existed most prominently as a nebulous promise destined for the future of homestuck, but absent in its present. the question driving a lot of the fans with a vested interest in june during the 2019/2020 era was "june egbert is real, but how can june egbert be real? and what does june egbert being real mean?"

you can see this a lot with the two schools of fanworks depicting june egbert. on one hand you have what is loosely dubbed "hairclips june" - a version of june egbert who exists as the platonic ideal of transfeminine fantasy, who inhabits contemporary college aus and perfect femininity and coming out stories filled to the brim with queer coming of age tropes and feelgood trans girl archetypes. she is true and essential and relevant to the transgender experience (and indeed hairclips june *has* helped in cracking people's eggs and thus her validity and importance cannot be denied) but not the homestuck experience. in homestuck, june egbert will never come into being as an early 20's john egbert who realizes her depression is actually unaddressed dysphoria and who spends a great deal of time taking estrogen and wearing skirts and kissing her friends, but that doesn't mean there isn't a great deal of value in these texts existing regardless of their proximity to canon.

on the flipside you have "extant june" (a term i am inventing right now to categorize this character type in absence of official terminology), a version of june egbert focused much more on meaningfully addressing "how can june egbert come to be in a convincing way?", or "what canon and canon-adjacent avenues could june egbert take to come into being?". these june works are more dominated by the messy and heavy and dramatic rules that govern homestuck, and figuring out how to fit june egbert into that pattern. one such instance of this is godfeels, whose june comes about from a mind-meld with a sort of brain ghost vriska after a severe depressive episode and creates the composite "june eg8ert", a manifestation of vriska's influence on john during act 5 brought to its logical extreme. another instance is my own story, omelette route, which has june egbert come into being following her resurrection at the end of the epilogues and the canonical truth that "john egbert is dead"; freed from the narrative obligation of being john egbert, she is able to start examining the true shape of her feelings - this of course is an extension of the questions of selfhood posed over and over again by postcanon homestuck. you can even turn to homestuck^2 itself for what will almost certainly be "canon" june's entrance, through a 40 year old john egbert who, after sleepwalking his way into a miserable life and cruel world, has decided to once again give autonomy a chance.

extant june's stories are, for a better term, characterised in bleak and heavy and thematically dense brushstrokes, because homestuck itself is all of these things and more. to make a plausible june egbert that adheres to the rules of homestuck is to make june egbert compatible with the suffering of homestuck. june will never get a neat and happy coming out, but she might experience post-resurrection ego dissolution, or she might experience a personality-shifting psychic fusion, as these are all extreme character-defining moments common to homestuck's narrative language. yet there remains a controversy in these junes compared to hairclips june - these stories are often too complicated, too messy, too traumatic for an easy and palatable consumption. and yet they feel infinitely more tangible than a story about 21 year old college senior john egbert who is forcefemmed by his transfem roommate rose lalonde and has several feelings awoken as a result.

one version of june strives for truth and relevance and essentiality, and one does not. both junes contain an immense value for their respective audiences. in this way, you don't need the pillars of canon to have a conversation with a story's audience, but you do need them to have a conversation with the story itself. a story can only speak to its own pillars. if you discard those pillars either willingly or unwillingly, then you are distancing yourself from the possibility of dialogue. this is not to say that extant june is more "real" than hairclips june (they are both fanworks after all, and thus unable to ever attain absolute "truth" on their own due to not being canonically-authored texts), but that extant junes are more readily in direct dialogue and conversation with homestuck and thus have a greater potential for influence in this specific way. hairclips june through her essentiality can change your relationship to yourself, while extant june through her essentiality and relevance can change your relationship to homestuck.

i hope this helps in illuminating these concepts in a way that makes more tangible sense!

#cetaceanhandiwork #homestuck epilogues #june egbert #homestuck 2

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kiwisa · 1 year

Text

grid dynamics ✩ the harpy

F1 Grid x Fem! Driver! OC

⏤ series masterlist

✩ GEORGE RUSSELL

#GEOSTRÉE... ıllı NOW PLAYING: You’re My Best Friend, Queen !

George was the first person to welcome her, to reach out to her. If their meeting seems to have been determined by the fact that Astrée debuted with Williams, the extent to which her teammate went to put her at ease shows the sincerity of his intentions. Very quickly, their collegial relationship turned into a true friendship that kept growing until Astrée came to consider George as her best friend. If it is usually complicated for her to open up to others, George soon imposed himself as an obvious choice.

He has in a way become her pillar in Formula One, being her protector and mediator on the paddock, whether with the press or the other drivers, both of whom can sometimes take Astrée's unintentionally rude gestures badly.

George is always pushing his friend to try new things, dragging her into messy plans like post-race parties where the alcohol flows freely or holidays spent climbing mountains—Astrée hates hiking.

Since Astrée's transfer to Red Bull and George's to Mercedes, the two former Williams drivers don't see each other as much as they used to, but they take advantage of the races to catch up and they sometimes even fly to see each other, either in Monaco (where Astrée lives) or in London. At each break, whether summer or winter, they spend one or two days together. It has become a tradition that has yet to be broken.

✩ CHARLES LECLERC

#CHASTRÉE... ıllı NOW PLAYING: Bad Liar, Selena Gomez !

It took Charles a long time to dare to approach Astrée. He was intimidated by her. It must be said that he is perhaps one of the only drivers to have followed her career closely, and not only when her arrival in F1 was announced. The many praises he heard from his brother Arthur in F2 didn't help either to shake off the image of Astrée as a racing prodigy. The first time they really spoke was when Astrée congratulated Charles on his podium finish at Silverstone⏤which ended with a DNF for the woman⏤three months after she had joined the grid. If Astrée hadn't made the first move⏤which in itself is a miracle⏤they could have gone on for a long time without talking to each other.

The reason for this is very simple. Although he will never admit it, even under torture, Charles has developed a little crush on the French girl since he discovered her existence. Unfortunately for him, not admitting it doesn't mean he doesn't show it: this boy has no concept of discretion. Looking at her with puppy dog eyes and blushing every time she deigns to speak to him are not the definition of "secret." Internet users put two and two together rather quickly and, since then, ship them together.

Excluding his inability to function normally around her, the two French speakers have managed to build a strong friendship, which is underrated on the paddock and internet, perhaps because we see her more with George or Lando. Yet, Charles is the mediator between her and Max and perhaps the only one who gets them to talk to each other without insults.

✩ LANDO NORRIS

#LASTRÉE... ıllı NOW PLAYING: True Love, Pink !

Lando is the perfect example of the bad first impression Astrée can trigger in others. Outwardly cold, as she is reserved and cautious by nature, Astrée was immediately intimidating to the young Britishman. Although they are almost the same age, Lando's reactions to Astrée suggest that he is much younger than she is. Fearful of confronting her on the track, of talking to her, the driver is never at ease when the Frenchwoman is near him. Even the simple fact of being in the same room as her terrifies him: Astrée is silent, cold, charismatic, unpredictable and Lando hates it.

However, what started out as a distance between the two due to shyness on Astrée's part and some form of intimidation on Lando's has evolved into a friendship with a unique dynamic that many internet users love for the content that emerges from it. Lando and Astrée are like cat and mouse. And Astrée is definitely not the mouse.

Numerous videos⏤there would be enough to make an hour-long compilation (fans often have a field day doing precisely that)⏤have captured all the times Astrée has terrorised Lando. If at first she didn't realise it and just found this Englishman rather strange… she soon understood what was going on and learned to use it to her advantage to get her daily dose of happiness. There's something hilarious about seeing an almost 25-year-old man screaming because of her "hello." She can't help it: her sadistic side comes out with Lando.

If the latter is the victim of her numerous attacks, he can count on his tormentor to also be his defender. Every time someone other than her dares to make fun of the McLaren driver, they are violently put in their place by Astrée.

Even though Lando still fears the woman, he knows that these seemingly sadistic gestures are actually a way for her to express her friendship (he would prefer words of affirmation or gifts but, as the famous saying goes, it is what it is).

✩ DANIEL RICCIARDO

#ASTRIEL... ıllı NOW PLAYING: Here Come The Sun, The Beatles !

No one thought these two would get along, but they proved to everyone that opposites can sometimes be a good fit. If one is the sun and the other, the moon, their differences allow them to reach a certain balance that just works. They complement each other so well. Daniel can drop his constant positivity around Astrée for a few moments without her judging him and Astrée can, for once, let down her guard.

Astrée is never as smiley as when she is with Daniel, and everyone sees that ⏤ drivers and internet users alike. Many times, the woman has been spotted bursting into laughter. This is rare in the paddock and when it happens, you can be sure that Daniel was the one to tell the joke. Like George, Daniel pushes Astrée out of her comfort zone and shows her that showing positive feelings is not a sign of weakness but can become a strength.

Since he has become Red Bull's reserve driver, and therefore they don't see each other at every race⏤running into each other once in a blue moon at the HQ is not the same⏤, many people notice that Astrée has turned in on herself, and smiles even less than before. The one who managed to calm the storm is no longer there to chase away the clouds, to the great displeasure of the others who thought they would see a lull on the paddock and track. This does not mean she tried to dissuade Daniel from making this choice, however. On the contrary, it was she who convinced him to leave McLaren: Astrée always has his back and will not stand to see anyone disrespecting him.

✩ LEWIS HAMILTON

#ASTRIS... ıllı NOW PLAYING: Your Song, Elton John !

Their beginnings were somewhat catastrophic, full of awkwardness, embarrassing moments, and sickly shyness (see their first conversation after the Imola GP) which can be explained by the great esteem Astrée has for Lewis. If he is not the one who inspired her to start racing⏤she owes that to a certain Michael Schumacher⏤he was the one who proved to her that everything was possible even when the world was against you. Lewis is, therefore, the only person who manages to intimidate Astrée. Normally, the exact opposite occurs (see Lando or Charles' personal experiences).

Astrée took a long time to get over the fact that yes, she knew The Lewis Hamilton and that, yes, this same Lewis Hamilton wanted to get acquainted. Their friendship was one that happened in private, away from the cameras. If various interactions on Twitter or comments on Instagram showed everyone that they are friendly acquaintances, the outings to Monaco, the skydiving, and the few holidays spent together were kept secret.

The transition from friendship to love went smoothly after a year of a somewhat ambiguous connection. These two are very much in love but remain hidden, for the same reasons as their friendship was: apart from the desire to keep it to themselves, they want to avoid hateful comments on the internet. They have no plan to launch their idyll any time soon, preferring to enjoy each other's company without being judged by strangers. They are well aware that their considerable age gap would be a bone of contention.

If they⏤and particularly Astrée⏤are determined to protect their relationship, it is because the latter acts as a true protective bubble for both of them. Astrée is the only one who understands Lewis and manages to take the weight off his shoulders. The opposite is also true, but, above all, he helps her to get past the criticisms which, despite two years, continue to persist.

No one knows about it, except for George who has become their diversion, but some suspect it. Probably because Astrée is shipped with every driver. Perks of being the only female driver, I guess.

✩ MAX VERSTAPPEN

#MAXÉE... ıllı NOW PLAYING: Me And The Devil, Soap&Skin !

Many thought that these two would get on well together. Two drivers with a sharp competitive spirit and a cold appearance: it seemed written in the stars. Their way of being on and off the track is quite similar. Perhaps a little too much so. For many, it is this very similarity that is the source of their discord. Rather than seeing the things they have in common as an opportunity for friendship, they become a weakness, a mirror held up to them that they would rather ignore.

They make everyone’s—the other drivers included—heads spin as their relationship constantly oscillates between hate and friendship. Many paradoxical gestures do not help internet users to determine what is going on between them. While Astrée abandoned her race at the 2021 Silverstone GP to help Max and suggested that two of the season's best drivers were getting along, the Frenchwoman's past tweets criticising him and the many jabs at each other in press conferences suggest otherwise. The chaos that was the 2021 Netherlands GP gave the final blow to what might have been.

For these two, the professional ruins the personal. It is impossible for them to get past the status of rivals and bond. Every time they interact, each other's victories and defeats come back to the front like bad memories—which they essentially are.

Astrée's transfer to Red Bull did not help. On the contrary, it has reinforced the immense rivalry between these two: neither of them wants to be the second driver. What was supposed to be a dream team—made up of two exceptional drivers that everyone expected and feared—quickly turned into a nightmare where chaos and quarrels coexist, much to the dismay of one Christian Horner who would very much like to send them to couples therapy.

✩ taglist !

@xcharlottemikaelsonx @i0veless @simping4marauders @muglermami @fxllfaiiry @exatse @lilsiz @iloveandsuffer @notaceventura @missamericana69 @kageyamama-hinatatata @gentlemonsterjennie1 @sad1esgf @16solace @kenanlotus0 @till1am @itsnotgray @starkwlkr @missflobelova @mehrmonga @crimeshowjunkie @anicega @kosmosgalore @lovemarvel16 @charles-dimple @hiding-behindmy-glasses @serenityleah @flowerchild-96 @hopiiex @ivegotparticulartaste @jivas0 @screechingtrashkid @gxp30 @lauren--maex @idkiwantchocolatee @javden @lighttsoutlewis @rowansshit @like-fire-love-blog @ironmaiden1313 @tpwkforevermore @thydarkestknight @almostjollypizza @sunfairyy @scuderialavender @erinisrightheree @f1version @motorsp0rt @mango-bear @xoxmariaxox @rippl3s @mactavishly

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roseeeya · 9 months

Text

daddy’s kid

warnings :: none

genre :: parent-child fluff

synopsis :: the hashiras meet giyuu's adopted 8 y/o kid who is very much a daddy's kid

pairings :: giyuu tomioka x child reader

prologue

giyuu tomioka is a very quiet man. he rarely says anything and prefers only to speak when absolutely necessary. being the water pillar, no matter how undeserving he feels of it, is his position.

one faithful night, he was given a mission. he did as told and followes his kasugai crow to the location wherein he was to slay the demon. he finds that he was too late and that the entire village was in ruins. in a quick response to the situation, he slays the demon and looks around to see the damage done.

checking every house, he finds everyone slaughtered. everyone but you. he tries to assess your condition. looking around, he sees three bodies. a male, a woman and a girl.

he comes to you and crouches. “uhm. who are they to you, kid?” he asks, an awkward aura filling the room. to you, it seemed he didn't know what to do with a child. you weren't surprised. your parents didn't either.

“m-my parents..the other girl is my older sister...” you mutter. he comes in a little closer, making you flinch. “it’s okay. i- uh- i won’t hurt you.” his voice sounded so calm. like the tranquil lakes of your home. or the serenity of the sky at night.

still shocked at the situation, he ponders what to do with you. with what you witnessed, and at your age too, you may just end up like him. labeled as insane. that was something that won’t go away easily. he didn’t want you to go through it. “what’s your name?” he asks you.

“i’m [name]…who are you, sir?”

“I’m giyuu tomioka. would you like to come with me, [name]?”

your eyes widen at his question. was he being serious? he wanted to take you in? in the spur of the moment, you nod. though you felt as if you wouldn’t regret the decision.

months later, you had grown accustomed to giyuu tomioka. his presence in your life has drastically changed you. granted, the trauma of what you saw was still there, but you were happy with him. you called him dad, and he didn’t get angry with it. you could hug him and he wouldn’t push you away.

you sat out in the gardens of his estate, watching the sky, as a familiar bird swoops in and drops a letter onto the man beside you. “what’s that, dad?” you ask.

opening the letter, you peer over to your side to get a glimpse (one which he gladly gave you privilege to do). it seems to have been a while since he received a letter, so naturally he was curious. he reads the contents and his eyebrows rise. it seems that master ubuyashiki has discovered of your presence and existence in his life and has invited him to bring you to his estate to meet his colleagues. he was of course, conflicted if he should expose you to their…antics. would you grow to hate him like they did him?

on the day you were set to meet the rest of the hashiras, you walk into the ubuyashiki estate gardens with your father. you hid in his haori, slightly nervous because you hadn’t had contact with much people other than the people in the tomioka estate, and of course, tomioka himself.

peeking out of his haori, he softly urges you to say hello to the people in front of you.

“h-hello. i’m [name] tomioka. it’s- it’s nice to meet you..”

gyomei himejima

my mans wouldn’t see obv

but he would be able to hear what’s going on and put the dots together himself

either that or whoever’s beside him will update him with what’s happening

when you approach him he melts

like if he was ice cream, he’d be an entire puddle of it

because omg

a child walked up to him and that’s just so cute HAJSHAJS

“it’s very nice to meet you, [name]. i'm gyomei himejima.”

would 100% give u piggybacks

and you love it bc upsies or u don’t if you hate heights and say sorry about it

that or it wouldn’t happen bc he would’ve asked before carrying

“you have a very cute child, tomioka. bless your souls.”

pretty much a 10/10 with him

because who wouldn’t love gyomei?

uzui tengen

would drop

guy would have his jaw on the ground

because the quiet, reserved and boring one of them that’s his words not mine has a child?!??!?

yes. yes he does.

would probably be a little awkward with you

like not shy awkward

it’s the kind where he wouldn’t know what to do with you

it’s as if you’re an object he needs to figure out bc let’s be fr his expertise is women not children

he does care for your safety bc well- you’re a person

well he does admire the deed giyuu did

“that’s a very flamboyant deed, tomioka! and your child is er- flamboyant as well!”

yk that meme where a man carries their child by the ankle upside down?

yea, that’s the vibe between you and him

he doesn’t know what to do, help the poor man

like actually get him some much needed help

rengoku kyojuro

he has a little brother

ofc the man is great with kids

he sees you come right out of tomioka’s haori and he was quite shocked

of all the hashiras he never expected giyuu with a child

though he finds it admirable and adorable

sweet bby

would definitely eat with you

and try out different foods with you

you love him because he’s fun

also because he isn’t mean to giyuu

unlike other people that we will get on with later

he’s probably gonna be a good babysitter

sometimes he’s a little loud but it doesn’t bother you that much

tries to be quiet around you if you’re sensitive to sound

100/10 great man

giyuu likes him so you were more open to being with him rather than obanai.

mitsuri kanroji

squeel

this woman will squeel

no shame in it because

well, there’s an adorable child. who happens to be giyuu tomioka’s child.

put the words adorable and child in one sentence and she will go berserk

would be good with you as well!

you’re slightly shy because of her revealing clothes

bc giyuu taught you to look away in situations like that (we love a respectful king)

so you just learned not to look

and now you’re shy

mainly about the fact that her clothes show her ‘forbidden things’ as you called it

she would definitely try out food with you with rengoku

omg you’d admire her hair a lot because you’ve never seen anything like it

she loves how you haven’t been tainted by the beauty standards

big sister energy and we love that

and ofc giyumitsu friendship?? so she’s like the cool aunt or sister or whatever

muichiro tokito

is pretty neutral with you at first.

and this is after he regains his memories

but then you approach him with a smile on your face

and he’s reminded if himself years ago

so innocent and carefree

which ends up with him having a somewhat soft spot for you

you see him as an older brother because giyuu practically treats the guy as his kid

was still aloof so he let you play with his katana once during a hashira meeting

was scolded by giyuu and shinobu afterwards

it never happened again.

you like his company because he’s quiet but still manages to be amiable with you

you think that his aloof personality kinda reminds you of giyuu

and it’s comforting

god he might attempt to carry you

keywords: might and attempt

he might if he wasn’t tired and if he actually wasn’t tired, he would attempt to atleast twice

until he gives up

just cuties being cuties

iguro obanai

see, i sometimes despise this man but love him at the same time

but i really think he’d berate you your dad

the man lives off of messing with your father

what on earth makes you think he wouldn’t give you the exact same treatment?

if anything, the only reason he’ll end up being nice to you is because of mitsuri

she likes you and he likes her so conclusion:

he has to try to like you.

that, and also partially because mitsuri got frantic when you cried because of his snake.

we all love kabarumaru but there’s never enough works where he just scares the living daylights off of the reader

in the end, he would probably refrain from saying bad things about you

you, not your dad. he still despises your dad.

can you see it? how much i loathe his actions towards giyuu? <3

you don’t like him either, don’t worry. he just-

he’s mean to your dad and you’re such a daddy’s girl so why wouldn’t you?

at this point i’m projecting so i’ll stop this here-

sanemi shinazugawa

omg he doesn’t like you at first

keyword: at first.

he obviously doesn’t like how you are in any relation to giyuu

but then you trip in front of him and you cry

and somehow, he helps you.

he doesn’t know why

he just did

so now you follow him around when you visit because

he helped you

and so with that, he learned to adapt to your presence

less mean to giyuu because he saw how you absolutely despise obanai

like he just doesn’t wanna upset you???

he will project onto you

by project, i mean he will at one point see you as one of his dead siblings

please get the man some help

please

omg would let you draw on his scars

because you think they’re pretty

oh and you were wary of him at first

bc you thought he was as mean as obanai

jokes on u, he just really misunderstands giyuu’s words lmao

shinobu kocho

normal smiling kind of impression

is soft with you

like less offhanded remarks when you are nearby

would treat your wound when you fell in front of sanemi

is probably awkward when you cry

because she can handle wounds but crying children?

not exactly her forte

that was kanae’e thing, not hers.

no matter how much she tried to imitate kanae

crying children is not her thing

you absolutely adore her hair

especially the pretty purple tips

and her voice puts you to sleep sometimes

ofc giyuu does the ‘sleep from calm voice’ thing better than she does

but it works so whatever

would scold tengen because she just knows

she knows of the vibe you and him radiate

(yk, the guardian carrying a child by the ankle.)

is protective of you because

well you’re a child.

you didn’t deserve to witness what you did

#demon slayer #kimetsu no yaiba #kny headcanons #demon slayer x child reader #hashira x child reader #muichiro tokito #mitsuri kanroji #gyomei himejima #sanemi shinaguzawa #giyuu tomioka #shinobu kocho #obanai iguro #tengen uzui #rengoku kyojuro #giyuu x child reader #giyuu tomioka x child reader #hashiras #rose’s garden #daisy fics 💮

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twstunes · 6 months

Text

Take My Hand again actually we're gonna go on a walk through Night Raven College campus real quick while I lose my mind

First off look at the front gate. People have definitely brought up the birds and the keys and those ARE both very important symbols, BUT. What about the thorns sprawled across the top of the gate? And the repeat use of 4-pointed stars in the lettering gives an especially prickly quality, overall.

Also of note are the decorations on the main pillars and the very specific aesthetic choice for the shape of the wrought-iron fence—by which I mean both reflect designs found in Draconimom's appearance.

The carvings on the gate pillars feature an ankh-like shape that matches up eerily well with the central decor of Draconimom's belt, as well as two curves that mimic the main body of the belt. The three-leaf/bud-like shape above that is reflected in the lace pattern and dangling decoration of the Mirror Chamber's chandelier. The two swooping S-shapes mimic the Draconia family's iconic horns, and the little decorations on either side of the carving match with the shape of Draconimom's pauldrons.

As for the fence…it's That Shape again. Each post also bears resemblance to the upper portion of Draconimom's staff.

Considering the focus on thorned vines in relation to Diasomnia/the Draconias, the way that vines are slowly creeping up both the fenceposts and gate pillars feels relevant.

(Please recall: The coffins by which students are summoned into NRC are also referred to as "Gates.")

Next stop is the botanical garden. As I mentioned in a previous post, the building's overall shape is notably similar to the chandelier found in the Mirror Chamber. The large beams surrounding the building, with their spear-like support pillars, give the impression of the building being held in place by thorned vines.

The inside of the garden doesn't yield much in the way of analysis, unfortunately. The most stand-out feature is the crumbling structure in the subtropical zone, but that arguably could've been intentionally allowed to decay as a way of cultivating the various mosses and lichens we see growing on it.

(Please recall: at the beginning of the game, before you choose a student, Crowley has a monologue in which he appears to refer to the Dark Mirror as "a lovely and noble flower of evil.")

And now the Hall of Mirrors. This one has subtler details than the others, but still just enough for the pattern recognition part of my brain to start making noises.

Again, the outside of the hall bears a passing resemblance to the chandelier in the Mirror Chamber, though much less so than the botanical garden. More important to this analysis is the inside of the building.

Listen. Not all lace is related to overblots. But the majority of lace in Twisted Wonderland HAS appeared in relation to overblots. The presence of an unmistakably lace-y pattern on the beams under each ceiling arch feels worth pointing out. After all, as of Book 7, at least one student per dorm linked to the Hall of Mirrors has overblotted.

There are also small floral decorations on each arch: two buds in the lower corners, and a bloom at the top. Again, Crowley's "flower of evil" comment comes into play; each dorm, again, features a major antagonist who is visually and textually placed parallel to their respective member of the Great Seven (OG Disney villains).

There's also. Y'know. The horn-like design on the pillars.

(Please recall: each dorm linked to the Hall of Mirrors is, apparently, contained within a pocket dimension with somewhat strict borders.)

Okay now we're at the coliseum and I need you to bear with me for this first point. Look at the entrance. It's too ostentatious to not be important somehow, right? It's too overdone. It's the Dark Mirror's mask, kinda? Don't ask how long I've been staring at this thing

Aside from that, the coliseum has thorns lining the rim of the structure twofold. One set of thorns exists as spears jutting out along the rim, while the other set exists as the long, simple, repeating pattern on the wall just under those spikes. On the outside of the building, this pattern repeats for every floor, effectively giving a sense that the structure is "wrapped" in thorns.

There are also thorns visible in the support beams of the stage; they're especially noticeable after Malleus fixes the stage, as they're lit up a bright pink (as opposed to the gold they were prior).

Upon the stage sits an odd, crumbling structure. It's clearly made of a different type of stone than the rest of the coliseum, being a dark gray instead of subdued purple, but that's not all—the architecture doesn't match up, either. The two main columns don't resemble any others found in the coliseum, notably. The arch-and-a-half visible both distinctly feature three-pointed arches, unlike the round arches consistently found throughout the rest of the building.

The fact this structure has been allowed to remain in such a deteriorated state is also worth questioning, especially since it's obviously been modified at some point fairly recently; the LCD screen it's been fitted with seems to work like a normal electronic device w/ no magical component to it. Even if you were to argue that the structure is supposed to have a distinct aesthetic from the rest of the coliseum to better draw attention to the stage it rests on, its condition renders the argument null. I love its decrepit vibe as much as Malleus might, but very few people would see this as an acceptable "centerpiece" for such an important location. With how Crowley squawks about maintaining the school's reputation, why does this pass by without comment from him…?

At least the chains frame the stage nicely. Though, they could serve a symbolic purpose as well…

(Please recall: according to Rook, the school staff claims that the coliseum is "imbued with a special field that makes it harder for damage to spill out." We can assume that this is the truth, as no one outside of the coliseum seemed to notice Vil's overblot—just the traces of excessive magical energy leftover afterwards.)

And finally, we come to the Mirror Chamber. Keeping in mind that the Dark Mirror can teleport people (both for enrollment and in general), the most notable visual qualities of this room are as follows:

Gates (coffins, the Dark Mirror)

Plants (chandelier, rose arches, standing lamps, windowpanes)

Mirrors (the Dark Mirror)

Containment (chains, coffins, the Dark Mirror)

It is very, very interesting that the four primary structures on NRC campus with a direct relationship to the items on this list also feature aesthetic similarities to the Mirror Chamber. Also of note is that although each structure chiefly embodies one item on the list, they all incorporate aspects of the other items:

Front Gate–

Plants: As previously noted, there are vines steadily attempting to overtake the fence and pillars + thorns sprawling across the top of the sign.

Mirrors: Structural design is mirrored across the vertical axis, carvings are mirrored across both horizontal and vertical axes.

Containment: Although open in this view, the front gate as a whole embodies the concept of NRC campus as an area that is closed off to the rest of the world.

Botanical Garden–

Gates: The entire building signifies a departure from the surrounding campus into a space especially designed for the housing and growing of plants.

Mirrors: Look at that thing. You can't have a building made mostly out of tempered glass and not have it be reflective as fuck.

Containment: Aside from the appearance of being held down by thorned vines, the building does, again, exist for the purpose of containing plants.

Hall of Mirrors–

Gates: Each mirror acts as gate leading to each of the seven dorms.

Plants: Previously-detailed floral decorations.

Containment: Again, each mirror contains a dorm. This, in turn, means that this building technically contains…nearly the entire student body.

Coliseum–

Gates: It's got one right out front lmao. But yeah, like the botanical garden, the building signifies a departure from the surrounding environment.

Plants: As mentioned earlier, the entire building has the appearance of being wreathed in thorned vines + further incorporation of thorns in the stage.

Mirrors: Previously-shown Dark Mirror comparison. Also, like the front gate, the structural design is mirrored across the vertical axis.

What does this all mean? NO fuckin clue. But if we consider how the very first battle of the game seems to take place in the Mirror Chamber, at least two of these locations have been (or will be) the setting for a major overblot battle.

(I will say…it's very funny that, despite Pomefiore being the first established dorm from a lore perspective, a lot of the campus has much more Diasomnia-esque aesthetics.)

#twst #twisted wonderland #twst meta #meleanor draconia #night raven college #design analysis #twisted rambling #nearly 1.5k words and i'm tired of looking at this thing. change da world. my final message. goodb ye

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yandere-wishes · 2 months

Text

𐙚 𝕬 𝕮𝖔𝖓𝖋𝖊𝖘𝖘𝖎𝖔𝖓 𝕷𝖊𝖙𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝕿𝖔 𝕯𝖗𝖆𝖈𝖚𝖑𝖆 𐙚

Wednesday February 14th xxxx

Dear Dracula:

I find myself pondering if, deep down, in the heart you deny possessing. There still exists a chasmic rhyme and reason for all which you do. They call you monster, fiend, abomination. Yet aren't they the ones that maim and slaughter for reasons as thin as thread? Thus why should we possess the burden of such an accursed name?

Valentine's is upon us. Maybe such sacrilegious festivities can be blamed for my intrepidity. We've yet to consort outside our nocturnal affairs, outside our world of half-spun truths and forgotten anecdotes. I pray you forgive my effrontery. I pray you comprehend my need for making such inquiries.

But my dear precious Dracula, I have to ask. Do you still remember your mother, your home, your heritage? Many deny that one as egregious as you could possess such mortal things. And yet aren't those the fundamental pillars of who we turn out to be? Isn't one man's evil another man's crusade?

So I, a mortal who believes she may have fallen for you in all your atrocious glory, ask do you remember being a son, a child? Being innocent and naive enough to believe every lie and fable? Do you still yarn for your mother in the dead of day? Recalling her scent and the bouncy curls of her hair, tasting nostalgia on your blood-soaked tongue.

What was it like in the sand, in the snow, in the green valleys and rocky outskirts? Did the coarseness of sand and the roughness of rocks and the tickle of flowers leave phantom pains across your body? Did you play with the snakes and climb fig trees? Did you laugh with others of your kind?

Do you recall your ancestrial home? The bronze walls of your mother's temple. Her fingers wafting through your hair as her smile radiates brighter than the moon. I zealously trust the visions that flash before my eyes on moonless nights. Images of a frail batling wrapped in kaleidoscopic blankets tucked under his mother's arm. Your mother mingled with owls, I wonder why she constructed you in the likeness of bats, of wolves, of snakes? Did she wish for you to serve as a cacophony to the detested, to those we so quickly forget? Did she wish for you something she could never have herself?

They seldom recall you are one of the sons of flames and stardust. Do they forget we share a legacy? One I believe you fought for. Both descendants of the divinely blessed. Both lost children arid for blood and retribution.

I too know of the darkly sweet tang of rich blood upon the tongue.

I too know the fragile elation of scraping blood from under one's fingernails three days later.

I too know the sensation of being a monster in everything but intentions.

I cherish the two lone bites you've left upon my neck. I cherish the cuts your claws have left upon my hips. You never say a word when you fall. When melancholy and memories obfuscate your judgment. I know you refuse to act human, to pretend and be something you are not. Thus I won't ask for sweet nothings from you.

Yet still I long to hear you call me "love".

When did you realize you were equal parts hellfire and shamshir?

When did you realize that humanity deserves to suffer for its every injustice?

My sweet, sweet Dracula, I regret to inform you that as of late my bones feel faulty and brittle, as do my thoughts. Can we still call ourselves holy? Do we still have that right? Can we still repent for our sins? Who decides what a sin is anyway? Will we ever be innocent to someone?

Are you torn too? Broken in all the wrong places? Do you feel the open wounds and amputations, when you stare up at the stars? I wonder if I owe you an apology. I wonder if you owe me one too…

Dearest Dracula, would you ever understand if I told you that I am tired of being a monster, a villain, an abomination? Would you understand if I told you I need to rest inside a glass coffin, to be rejuvenated and reborn into the world as something useful?

Would you believe me if I say I believe in you? That I lay the burden of my aspirations upon your unwavering shoulders. Should there exist any mere slivers of hope, I shall bestow them upon you in trim vials of gold.

Where did our obligations go? Where are they buried so that I may pay my tardy regards?

Dear Dracula,

I hope you understand every star I've spilled to you.

I hope you comprehend the love I harbor within my defective heart.

I hope you adore the blood I've penned this letter with.

I just hope you understand…

In your absence, thorn bushes grow across my cadaver. suffocating and desolate. Without you, voids grow inside me, where hope once flourished. Dracula what I've been trying to say this whole time is…

I think we're both monsters.

I think I could love you.

Sincerely me…

P.S

Think of me as you feast upon your latest victim. And I shall think of you as I fall asleep to the city's empty tunes.

I need an origin story for Dracula.

sorry for the cryptic love letter.

But hopefully this way everyone can identify with it in some way.

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likealittleheartbeat · 1 month

Note

hey! i really enjoy your analysis of aang and zuko's relationship, and i was just wondering if you have any thoughts on this:

when aang considers what he's afraid of the most, he doesn't just see zuko - he sees the blue spirit. why do you think his fear is linked to that mask? zuko was the most amicable towards him when he put that mask on, and was hostile every other time.

Ooooh!! This is such a rich and meaty question!! And it's something I've wondered about but never dove into before.

I guess there are a couple of questions we need to explore. One, do we want to begin to analyze this from Aang's perspective or the series' themes, which, when put together, should offer us the fullest idea of what the intent might be? If we begin with Aang's perspective, then the next question we need to next ask what is Aang's view of Zuko and/or the Blue Spirit at this point in the narrative? My worry about beginning at that intimate level is that we might miss possible connections that a thematic understanding might facilitate and may, like many fandom analyses, leave it at a character level when, in fact, the characters exist to serve larger philosophical purposes, especially in a show like ATLA.

So, we'll return to those questions about Aang after we visit some questions about the broader themes here. We know for a fact that the team did a lot of research into Eastern philosophies that they had to then pack down into 24 minute episodes, preserving a surprising amount of complexity not in the words but in the actions and visuals. The 2 part Crossroads of Destiny episode is probably the most evocative of this practice. The four-way fight scene is celebrated for the way it masterfully shows character development through fight choreography. Then, Aang's crystal chamber he forms to master the Avatar State is a direct reference to a statement about pre-enlightenment in one of the foundational texts about Japanese Zen for American Buddhists, "The Three Pillars of Zen." The rapid explanations of the seven chakras with Guru Pathik might seem like a a skimming of Tantric beliefs based on the brief statements and processing, but it's another prime example the way ATLA suffuses meaning beyond the script.

What more can be said about the Earth (also called the Root or Muladhara) Chakra, then, that the show might reflect without stating it explicitly. Guru Pathik explains that the Earth Chakra "deals with survival." Is there any subject more prescient than that for our protagonist, the single survivor of an otherwise all-encompassing genocide? Other accounts of this chakra that I can find explain that it's at this chakra that one can observe that their base needs are being met--enough food, enough water, etc. There seems to be a subtle witnessing to the effects of PTSD here then. With this chakra untouched, unopened, and out of balance, Aang within his mind has been living in a state of emergency without knowing it, believing himself at a core level beyond his consciousness to still be under immediate threat even in moments of peace like his meditations throughout the opening of his chakras. "Your vision is not real," Guru Pathik points out, not to say that no danger exists for him in the world but to illuminate the immediate reality surrounding his person.

The memories and visions that flash during the sequence hint at how fear conceals deeper realities and thus possibilities. I'll start with the clip of Katara sinking away from the first episode of Book 2, "The Avatar State." The Earth Kingdom General performed this cruelty after many other attempts to force Aang into suffering to gain the Avatar State. Believing he lost another person he loved, the state was triggered despite the actuality that Katara was unharmed. The fear of her loss overwhelmed Aang, and even her safe return could not assuage his traumatic response. The Blue Spirit incident forms a striking parallel to this event, in that case. Aang felt himself helpless and in danger only to discover the opposite: the seemingly malevolent force freed him from danger. Further, that Blue Spirit Mask concealed Zuko who, by the end of the series, will be revealed (to himself and) Aang as an ally and a friend. The shadowy image of Ozai, then, connected with these two fear-inducing semblances, can be seen then as perhaps the ultimate foreshadowing of Aang's ultimate success in pacifying Ozai. Put in the context of this chakra and the other two visions, it frames the Firelord as a facade meant to induce terror and distance, when in reality, life and humanity still lay behind the horrifying megalomania.

Concerning the Blue Spirit element specifically in the series, I want to explore one more factor within the series before getting back to Aang's character relationship in this moment. Blue has a running symbolic theme within the series that seems especially relevant here since it played a huge role in a highly symbolic part of the directly previous episode, "The Earth King." As Zuko rides out his psychogenic fever induced by releasing Aang's bison and abandoning his Blue Spirit mask, he is confronted in his dreams by a blue dragon voiced by Azula and a red dragon voiced by Iroh. I felt really confused by these two would-be shoulder angels for the longest time (literally until I was sorting my thoughts out to write this) because Azula's blue dragon is the one who entreats Zuko to rest, which even in Grey Delisle/Azula's clearly threatening tone--she even ends the temptation by saying "sleep just like mother!"--seemed to be what Zuko needed to do as opposed to the red dragon's exhortations to get out. I could see how sleeping might also refer to accepting his upbringing without thought, but why blue? The layers upon layers of possible meaning overwhelmed me.

I posit that blue in the series, especially when put in relationship to red/orange, as it is in the dream sequence, the dynamic between the water tribe and the fire nation, the fire of zuko and azula (especially the final agni kai), and the energy-bending of Aang over Ozai in the finale, ought to be read as Yin (making red/orange yang). Yin is passive, retractive, and receptive, which makes the invitation to rest by a blue dragon make perfect sense. Yin is also feminine in nature, hence the association with both Azula (whose blue fire and lightning becomes especially interesting to explore under this understanding) and Zuko's mother in the dualistic dragon dream. If you know anything about yin and yang, you know that it's key tenet is ever-changing coordination of yin and yang within one entity and with relationships between entities rather than the privileging of one above another. The two dragons in Zuko's dream, while seemingly in opposition to one another, are actually seeking, like the bumper stickers say, "coexistence" of their dispositions.

Now, back to Aang's vision of fear over the Blue Spirit. The red that overlays everything is specifically a reference to the Earth Chakra, which is symbolized by the color red. But the fact that he has one fear of Katara, the pinnacle of blueness/yin in the series, dying, and another fear of the Blue Spirit, a de-flamed (read: emasculated) Zuko attacking him that are then overlayed by this Earth Chakra red, a color otherwise used to portray yang (masculinity, activeness, expansion, and repulsion) and the fire nation in the series, suggests that his fears are specifically about within holding onto yin nature (symbolized by his grasping for a disappearing Katara) without being entirely overwhelmed by it (in the image of the fear he felt as the Blue Spirit approached his imprisoned body). And all those fears are intensified when living in such a patriarchal, or yang-skewed age and society, which gets depicted through both the final image of Ozai, the ultimate patriarch within this world, and the red coloring.

I promised I would get back to the characters, and after that hopefully illuminating thematic expansion, we can hopefully get at the core of what's going on here for Aang personally and what it might mean for him to be picturing Zuko with the Blue Spirit mask as a fear. I want to put this moment into context with Aang and Zuko's relationship at this specific moment. Aang hasn't seen Zuko since he watched him cry over his uncle in the ghost town after Azula struck him with lightning as a diversion. That was ten episodes prior (and more than 6 months time if you were watching the show in real time as it premiered; May 26th-Dec. 1st). The next time Aang sees Zuko, two episodes later, they are glowering across a crystal prison cell at one another with antipathy as they're embraced (a gesture I can only remember from the fantastic black romance film Love & Basketball, and in a gay context that is clearly referencing that moment in L&B, in the Norwegian teen romance series Skam). Right before this scene, Aang readily agrees to co-rescue Zuko and Katara with Uncle Iroh despite Sokka's protestations. Nothing seems amiss with Aang, no obvious belligerence toward Zuko until he sees him. Zuko has barely seen the airbender this whole season, and the one moment they encountered one another, Zuko was attacking Aang's attacker rather than him. Why is Aang expressing anger toward Zuko in the crystal chamber then? It's a rare expression from Aang even when we look at their more antagonistic interactions from the first season.

Here's where this vision of the blue spirit Aang envisions as he opens his earth chakra might enliven his characterization and his relationship to Zuko. We get two pieces here. His attachment to Katara and the queer implications of his partnership with the Blue Spirit/Zuko. And they are inseparable.

I don't feel that I need to especially dive into the attachment to Katara since it's been a pretty big component of discourse within the fandom, both in general analysis and more specifically relating to the (literally historic) shipping wars between zutara and kataang that emerged after the series came out originally. What I'll say here is that the first vision that Aang has as he addresses his root chakra points to his fear of losing her and what she represents pretty explicitly and, as I suggested earlier, also provides its antidote in the realization that accepting/surrendering the fear of impermanence reveals its simultaneous illusion. Katara wasn't actually harmed and wasn't truly lost when the general subsumed her into the ground. Aang has to let go of her as a permanent fixture that he'll always be able to see and know entirely (not, as many have interpreted it, let go of loving her). He'll also have to let go of saving her and the world of so many others she represents, which is as much a pressure and role Katara and others put on him as Aang yolks himself to.

Part of this acknowledgement of Katara's impermanence as a living being and a romantic possibility is addressing the others in her life who pose both danger and attraction for her. Zuko embodies both of these things simultaneously. The aggressive stare Aang launches at Zuko in "The Crossroads of Destiny" can be understood through this lens. The Eve Sedgwick's concept of the triangulation of male homosocial desire between romantic rivals was one of the foundational ideas of queer theory. It's so well-established as to be a meme among the tumblr crowd. The show even references the history of these literary homosocial tropes in "The Avatar and the Firelord" as Sozin and Roku's tight-knit youthful friendship is slowly rent apart at the event of Roku's heterosexual marriage, which thus begins the imperialism of the Fire nation.

Except that Roku and Sozin aren't romantic rivals. And Zuko's obsession with Aang begins sans Katara. And, as you pointed out, if the romantic threat is Zuko, it ought to be Zuko in the Earth Chakra vision instead of the Blue Spirit? Well, those all exist because ATLA is not a tragedy for homosocial relationships, and it's hard for me to explain how groundbreaking that was.

You see, the show theorizes homosociality differently. If Aang is required to let go of Katara, he has no pivot point, no object (because women shouldn't be objects for male fodder!) to connect with and compete with a rival male, so he has to look directly at the desire of another male for him and, therefore, face the fears that he might have similar desires. I said above that the Blue Spirit is an entirely de-flamed Zuko, which I then paralleled to emasculation. One could even go farther to call it a kind of symbolic castration (Firelord Ozai losing his firebending at the end of the series certainly demands this kind of reading). These aspects ignite fears about lacking masculinity which then cause reactions, which make men avoid accepting any thoughts and behaviors associated with vulnerability and homosexuality invoked within themselves or by others.

I think Aang, in his way, is confronting these fears but not from the angle of someone raised within a homophobic or misogynistic culture. His openness to Zuko and the potential of connection to him is ripe from the first time they meet--"you're just a teenager" connects them without any intermediary. He comes to understand the rigidness of the environment he's in, though. He feels like he's being forced to choose between a yang/masculine role he plays with Katara, who at this point in the series though growing out of it and certainly not a fault of her own making still sees him as her savior and depends on him to save her and the world through metaphysical mastery and the repulsion of evil, and yin/feminine role he plays with Zuko, who finds Aang in and forces him into positions of elusion, surrender, and passivity, while requiring his compassion and forgiveness. When the Blue Spirit comes swinging his swords (read that with all the innuendos you want lol) at a shackled Aang, it's the ultimate expression of Aang's potential for submissiveness because, not only is he entirely helpless but the one who could harm or save him in that scenario is another who is not participating in the expected power of fire/yang/masculinity.

I think everything in the show says this is attractive to Aang--that he remains with Zuko immediately after their escape from the fort, that he reflects on the Blue Spirit as he opens his chakras, that a reference to the conversation that followed their escape that Zuko makes halts him in his tracks when Zuko asks to join the team. Zuko's Blue Spirit persona means a lot to Aang, a scary amount, and my point is that it's this fear of the meaningfulness of their encounter as two men who are not the masculine paragons they are supposed to be which Aang faces as he opens his chakra. As much as he wants Katara, he wants Zuko. He fears he'll lose Katara and he fears he'll lose his life to Zuko. These are the dichotomies he's tackling as he processes the Earth chakra.

Aang eventually opens the chakra, but that's only to say he acknowledges and surrenders his fears to a destiny and understanding beyond his control, not that he necessarily learns how to address and solve all the conundrums contained therein. We know he chooses his attachment to Katara at the end of the episode to obtain power over the Avatar state but perhaps we could've been clued into this choice by noticing he has not chosen Zuko with that initial glare Aang gives him. Aang hasn't found a way in his chakras or his heart to hold both Katara and Zuko at once, so he chooses Katara and expresses a newfound jealousy and rivalry toward Zuko (not that Zuko's at his best behavior at this point, but it's Aang who initiates the exchange).

By the end of this season, Zuko abandons the Blue Spirit mask and Aang loses his life for prioritizing Katara and a yang-centric mastery of the Avatar state. The next season involves all three of the protagonists finding more internal balance between yin and yang for themselves and accepting mutually reciprocal feelings for one another that allow them to escape the kinds of patriarchal tropes that have dominated Anglo- literature for centuries. The ability of this brief sequence to highlight so many of the series' central revolutionary themes speaks to the depth of the show and the way it invites the audience to think about rich subtext rather than pedantically hammer us with morals will just continue to be the gift that keeps giving from this show.

Thanks so much for asking! Didn't know how much I missed doing a deep dive into this kind of stuff.

#aanglove #zukaang #atla meta #the guru #guru pathik

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likehoneyandsilk · 5 months

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I Wanna Be Yours

Hi everyone! This is a draft I have been playing around with. As per my last post, I am trying out something new. This would be a short multipart piece of writing, however, it is not my usual style. That being said, I wanted to get across some content for feedback and opinions! This may flourish or very well end up back in my drafts. Regardless, it is worth a share! Thank you!

P.S. To get a vibe for what this will be think of "Strangers" by Kenya Grace!

. . .

Any lucid person would tell Savina she was being played by the strings. Like a puppet, twisted, and turned in all directives at the hands of her puppeteer. Filled with life at his convenience. But together, they satisfied each other's desires, the appetite for comfort and comradery. Together, they kindled fires so passionate and uncontainable. What was malignant was also nourishing.

And when he held Savina, she melted like snow underneath a scorching hot sun. Sensed herself wilt into fragments as he pressed his lips to hers, so soft at times and others so intense she believed the butterflies in her stomach would burst. When he replenished her air with his laughter, Savina spiraled into a cordial and pleasant world. And when he pressed into her, yearned every inch of her golden skin, and looked into her doe eyes, she swore she saw glimpses of heaven across his ocean blues.

It all began three months ago when she had caught his eye at a charity affair hosted by the Bengals. Savina was the creative lead for the organization of the event, representing her company with exhibited ease and tranquility, but inside she rippled with anxiety. For the next year, her company was to manage all charitable events held by the Cincinnati Bengals. The pressure to be successful and receive a well-deserved promotion hung above Savina's head like a grey cloud, lingering to storm down on her. She counted down the minutes till she could flee, take refuge in her tiny apartment, and adequately breathe.

One could never see the battles Savina played in her head. Because on the outside, to the dashingly bestowed bachelor in all of Cincinnati, Joe Burrow watched this woman with pure attentiveness, averting his lingering gaze as he worked the bravery to approach her. She dazzled in a black ankle-length dress, hugging her hips just enough and falling effortlessly around her lower limbs. Her breasts were round and full, graced with the black fabric, but not enough to hide the last few lines of an unintelligible script in a tiny black font that peaked from underneath. The straps resting on her shoulder were barely an inch thick. Leaning against a pillar, cradling a half-empty glass of sparkling water, Joe observed the astonishing stranger's doe brown eyes, surrounded by thick black lashes moving around the room.

And suddenly he felt time freeze. His breath hitched in his throat. He was speechless. A haste washed over Joe, the need to speak to the woman before him, to fill her attention with his existence only. Yet, before he could put one foot in front of the other, her cheeks burned red and she turned away, that long jet-black curled hair bouncing with every step she took.

Savina's hands trembled with nerves. Her body felt heavy, her senses foggy when she found his eyes on her. There was a limit to the extent of their paths crossing. Too much was on the line. The peak of her career lay in this event, and had she been seen locking eyes and trading longing glances at the untouchable man, she could have kissed all her dreams and aspirations away. Joe Burrow meant trouble, despite whatever miracle had sparked his attention in her, she had far too much to lose.

Mortified at how far her thoughts permitted her to proceed, how silly it seemed that she was convinced he had taken a liking to her, Savina set aside her drink and busied herself with the event. Presenting herself as efficient and professional, she lingered around the peripheral vision of her boss, who she doubted would even recognize her hard work as he was now numerous margaritas into the night. But to dismiss the urge she felt to meet the lingering gaze of the quarterback as he discreetly watched her move about the room, she occupied her time with the event.

Just before midnight, the bar made the last call. Savina watched as the few remaining guests made their way for whatever they could get their hands on. Thoroughly sober, yet she felt like she was hungover. She had found solitude in a corner of the event space, far from the bright lights and embellishments. She sat atop an unused speaker, leaning her head back against the wall. It was no lie that she had sought out Joe in the crowd. He was impossible to forget. All eyes seemed to fall on him. 6'4", athletic physique, and despite sporting a black suit like many of the men in attendance, he appeared to stand out the most. He smiled guilelessly, baby blue eyes sparkling underneath the lights. Every few seconds when he appeared overwhelmed, he ran a hand through his hair, emerging ever so effortlessly unshakable.

The lights of the bar had fallen dim. The music ceased playing and Savina watched her boss stumble up the steps of the stage, thanking everyone for attending. She stood up, tidying her dress, as she made her way to join the crowd. Engrossed in her boss's horrid speech, she awaited her name to leave his lips, to acknowledge that she had done well, at least some ounce of credit into organizing this event. Unbeknownst to her, she stood next to Joe, hardly reaching his Adam's apple even in her heels. Joe's heart beat profusely in his chest as he watched her through his peripherals.

Up close, despite not being in clear view, she was sensational. The blush embellishing the apples of her cheeks had faded, the rose pink hue now a reminder of the night. Her lustrous lips curled up in a smile and soon fell into a straight line, the glimmer in her eyes abruptly fading as the chocolate brown darkened into charcoal. Forcing his peaked interest away from her, Joe watched the intemperate man before them, dawdle down the steps. A muffled applause fell through the room, and Joe felt a shift in the air when he turned to his side.

The nameless stranger hung her head low. Her hands clutched the silk fabric of her dress. Her hair fell around her, and then behind her as she straightened herself. As if slipping back into reality, she turned her head, tilting it upward to finally allow her eyes to meet his. Her features displayed scraps of dissatisfaction and regret. Joe wondered if he could wish away all her pain. He opened his mouth to speak as bodies moved around them, and all at once he could tell she felt suffocated. Her eyes screamed, and her frame became timid as the crowd moved around her. The lights above them began to dim, and she occurred to freeze.

His mouth went dry. His vision was hazy. He reached out a hand, despite the voices in his head pleading him to stop.

He leaned down, his lips inches from her ear. Savina felt as if she might faint, from his proximity integrated with the irritation she felt towards her boss. All those weeks of hard work faded with the lights as the event closed. But Joe was saying something, and she flinched the slightest when his hand rested on the small of her back. She eased against him, preserving her energy and tuning out all noise to clear her head.

"I know a place you can get some air."

She filled his nostrils with a floral scent, so rich and exquisite. He smelled masculine. Like bergamot and applewood. Together they seemed to harmonize so well.

Savina gulped, nodding her head, and missed the feeling as his hand parted from her body all too quickly. She followed his large and tall frame through the crowd. He steered her towards coat check. As if playing coy all too well he remained a few steps away, fiddling with his phone. He nodded reassuringly as she met his eyes from the line.

Every muscle in her body tensed. Every inch of skin tingled.

Her mouth was parched as she fiddled through her purse for the coat check slip. Offering it to the attendant she watched them vanish into a room full of racks. Savina inhaled a large breath, holding in the air before releasing it.

Get it together Savina. She watched Joe scan the room, his demeanor impatient. He knew he was crossing a line. But so was she.

Joe backed away gradually, eyes scattering around the emptying room before forcing open a door that read "NO ENTRY UNLESS AUTHORIZED" with his back. Savina fell behind, as she scurried after him, flailing her coat around her. As she approached the door, she seemed to recall the reluctance to engage with this man in the earlier hours. All that still stood profound. She promised herself not to pivot from her goal.

Joe was not visible on the flight of steps that led to another door when Savina stopped to breathe in the solitude of the poorly lit room. It smelled of floor cleaner, remains of pine and citrus evident in the air. The voices faded completely, and Savina listened to the footsteps on the other side buffer with each passing second. Either she turns back now and forgets all this happened, or she takes a gamble on her screaming heart.

The air was crisp. Bitterly cold Joe stood against the concrete balcony. Below him, vehicles passed by as specks of light, faster and faster. It was early October, yet the city had nestled into an early Winter coldness. The sky was clear above him. A few scattered stars sparkled, adorning the full moon that seemed within reach this high up. Dispersed cigarette butts littered the ground. Two empty lawn chairs sat underneath a lone umbrella perched within a discarded glass patio table.

Joe feigned composure. His hands rested in his pockets. His nose was slightly red from the cold. With his head bowed, he shifted his gaze between the door behind him and the scene below him. After what felt like a century, the door screeched open, closing behind her with such a loud bang it felt as if it vibrated through the ground.

Slowly, Savina made her way to him. Her heels clicked against the concrete. The bare skin of her legs became scattered with goosebumps. Her lungs felt fully expanded despite the iciness that settled around her. It felt good to catch a breath of true air. Joe turned, catching his eyes with her once again. An invisible string between them pulled them close. Savina found herself situated next to him, her gaze now shifted to the passing city beneath them. She could feel his eyes on her, and she wondered if he could hear how loudly her heart banged against her chest, or how red her cheeks had become.

Willing herself to speak, Savina sighed. But before she could spill out a single phrase, Joe spoke.

"My name is Joe." He offered her his hand, suggesting a handshake.

"Savina." Her voice came out quiet. She carefully positioned her hand in his grasp, and he held it so gently, and when they parted, she felt every electric speck flutter through her as his skin brushed against hers.

"How do you feel now Savina?" Gosh, how her name sounded out of his mouth. Joe's voice was both manly and soft. His eyes conveyed concern and prominent interest. He seemed the least bit flustered, but his calm and cool composure kept Savina grounded and at the same time craving him in all aspects. Savina smiled, slowly curling her lips into a smile.

"A lot better. The best I've felt all night." Joe watched her teeth graze her bottom lip. He stood straighter. A boyish smirk washed over his lips. A cold breeze passed between them. "I take it that asshole was your boss?" Taken aback by his word choice Savina could not help but laugh. She felt unrestrained. Her body was both filled with energy and glow. Joe watched the woman before him unfold. Her laughter was music to his ears.

"That would be true." Savine sighed, leaning against the balcony. A newfound surge of confidence reigned over her, that dark storm cloud above her head slowly evaporating.

"I was the organizational lead for this event. I work for Commons Corporate. This was my big break to show him what I've got, and to be frank, I think he won't remember a single thing."

Savina nodded disapprovingly as she confirmed her thoughts, pulling her hair behind her ears. Her eyes fell to the ground. Her confidence began to quiver, the recognition she would be frowned upon for engaging with a player beyond professionalism.

But she was lonesome. She craved camaraderie and consolation. She desired all the urges a young woman who found refuge in her apartment did.

"I think the event was amazing. And I can't stand men who can't give credit to women when it's worth." Joe inched closer, pulling Savina's attention from the ground back to him. His body emitted heat. Savina was convinced underneath the layers, his body was warm and tender.

"Thanks." The whispered word barely leaving her mouth was audible. Their eyes fell from the others to their lips, the energy around them begging them to do something.

"Savina?'

"Mhmm?"

Savina stepped closer. Joe's arm wrapped around her frame, underneath her coat. Savina shuddered.

"Is this okay?"

Savina nodded, cradling her head against his hand as he rested it against her cheek. "And this?"

Savina nodded again, stepping even closer till her body pressed against his.

"Savina, can I kiss you?"

Joe's blue eyes merged a shade darker. His frame towered over hers, in a way that was protective yet flushed her body with deep desire. He tilted her head towards him even more. "You tell me to stop and I will Savina."

Please don't stop.

"I want you to kiss me."

And with that, his lips were on hers. Every ounce of desperation filled Savina as his lips moved against her. He was delicate, holding her as if she were a feather, and kissing her so gingerly. Joe tuned her, her core pressed against his and she gasped, a rush of blood surging to her cheeks. His arms netled her against him, her own wrapped around his neck. She leaned back as he inclined into her, never once breaking their kiss, as her head dipped above the city below them.

"Savina, god damn it," Joe muttered against her lips, lifting her off her feet as he situated her on the edge of the balcony.

"Joe!" Savina gripped Joe's arms, eyes frantic as she forced herself not to look down.

"Easy, easy." He cooed, instantly calming her nerves as he pulled her off, twisting her body so that he leaned against the balcony now. "I wouldn't let you fall."

Joe Burrow was a stranger. A well-known man in the city, but truly and logically a stranger. Yet Savina trusted him blindly, a flutter of her heart telling her she was safe.

Savina was flush against his chest, her lips inches from his.

He held her so close. How could one feel so at ease when you just met them?

"What are you thinking about?" Joe watched Savina's brown eyes darken, a sudden plead of desire clouding over any logical thought. He'd be a fool to say he didn't present her with the same.

"We shouldn't be doing this." Her hand wrapped around his. She pulled away from him, tugging him with her. She walked backward, pulling him with her.

"We shouldn't." They stopped at the closed door, possibly the barrier to their separate ways. Savina's back pressed against the door, her hand still within Joe's own. Joe held the latch in his free hand, hindering the door from opening.

What they felt was electric. What they desired lay in the other.

What they needed was each other.

. . .

Friendly reminder to let me know what you think! Opinions/constructive criticism welcomed, my interactive options on my page are open! Thank you again loves!

#joe burrow #joe burrow one shot #cincinnati bengals #cincinnati bengals imagines #joe burrow imagines #joe burrow x reader #joe burrow imagine #nfl imagines

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sheeple · 2 months

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Miracles don't exist | 39: Till Death do us part

Genre(s): Riddle!reader / Slytherin!reader / kinda slowburn / little happy moments Fandom(s): Harry Potter Pairing(s): Theodore Nott x Reader / Harry Potter x Riddle!reader Summary: Being the Dark Lord's daughter and raised under the strict supervision of the Malfoy's is no easy life. Especially if you start crushing on your father's arch-nemesis, Harry Potter. And that while being engaged to one of his follower’s sons. Warning(s): An abortion mention / it's maybe a bit fast-paced at some parts [Masterlist] [Mini masterlist] [Playlist]

You sit next to Theo on a bench, your head leaning against his shoulder as the two of you share a hot chocolate. Your eyes are trained on Sirius, who's sitting with Tonks and Lupin, the both of them huddled together.

A heavy feeling sits in your chest. Because they've escaped death by an inch of their life. Like you and Theodore. You could easily have ended up dead, laying on stretchers covered by a white cloth. Next to each other but still never together again.

Harry has stormed off somewhere after seeing Lupin and it broke you to see Sirius that hurt.

You watch how the Weasley family mourn over the death of their son. You watch how Madam Pomfrey flutters around and heals wounds and breaks. You also watch Hermione and Ron seek comfort in each other's arms and walk out of the Great Hall.

"Do you want a refill?" Theo puts a strand of hair behind your ear.

With a shake of your head, you push the blanket off your shoulders that covers both of you. "No. I have to speak with Hermione and Ron. Give me a minute."

But as you stand up, Theo follows after you. "I'm not letting you leave my sight. From this moment out, we're going together. Okay?"

You nod and grab his hand, pulling him with you. Outside of the Great Hall, you see them and Harry discuss something that's just outside of earshot.

Creeping up the stairs, you hide behind walls and pillars.

"Are you mad? No!", you hear Ron say and you pull Theo behind a wall, finger to your lips. "You can't give yourself up to him."

Hermione and Ron follow after Harry as he slowly walks down the stairs. "What is it, Harry? What is it that you know?", she asks, a sad look on her face.

"There is a reason I can hear them, the Horcruxes. Why the both of us can hear them. I think I've known for a while. And I think you have too."

Hermione lets out a whimper as tears fill her eyes. "I'll go with you."

"No. Kill the snake. Then it's just him. And her. Promise me you make it quick. Don't make her suffer."

You stumble back, not believing your ears. Theo manages to catch you in time before you give away your presence. "What does he mean? What's going on?"

In some deep, dark part of your brain, you've always known you were a Horcrux. That was the special mission he had for you. That's why he never sent you out. Because you have a part of his soul.

And now you have to die.

You look at Theo with tears in your eyes. How are you going to tell him? Would he do it for you? You would much rather have your husband do it than Hermione or Ron or a random Death Eater.

You take his hand and pull him away from the main staircase. You make your way towards a classroom that has a still intact door. Leaning against the door, you let out a deep sigh.

"My love, you have to tell me what's wrong. What were they talking about?" Theo takes your face in his hands and wipes away the tears from your cheeks.

You swallow thickly. "Have you ever heard about Horcurxes?", you begin. After he shakes his head, you continue. "Horcruxes are objects that house a part of a wizard's soul. With a Horcrux, a wizard becomes immortal."

You wait a moment for it to click for Theodore. "So… Voldemort has a Horcrux?"

"Multiple", you nod, "which most are already destroyed. Three are left. Nigini is one. Harry Potter is also one-" Your voice breaks at the end.

He shakes his head, picking up what you're implying. "What is the last one? (Y/n) tell me, what is the last one?" He grabs your shoulders and slightly shakes you.

Your silence makes him drop his head, resting on your shoulder. He shakes while holding you close. Closing your eyes, you clutch the back of his shirt, you let your tears soak the fabric.

Suddenly, Theo pushes himself away and starts moving around with a determined look on his face. "I have an idea. It's crazy, but it's something."

Your shoulders slump. "Teddy… Nothing can be done about it. How much I wish there was a way…" You trail off, not wanting to think too much about it.

"What if, and let me finish before you protest, we trick Death. There is this potion I saw people frequently use to fake their death when Death Eaters came roaming around town. Draught of Living Death. It produces a sleep so powerful it looks like the drinker has died.

"What if we use the potion and get you into a deathlike slumber? That way you've technically died, without dying."

You run a hand through your hair, not knowing what to do with the suggestion. You remember the potion from last year's classes. How it was pretty tricky to make. Even Hermione couldn't do it.

"Do you think the Potions supply cupboard is still intact?", you question with a small smile as you hold out your hand. Theo gives you a smile back as he takes your hand and pulls you out of the classroom.

The two of you hurry towards the basement. You stumble a couple of times over debris but in the end, you manage to get to the Potion's classroom in one piece.

"You grab the supplies, I grab the ingredients", says Theodore after managing to find a potions book.

The two of you scatter around the classroom setting up the station. You've lit the fire and made sure the cauldron is secured in place by the time Theo's collected all the ingredients.

"This is the last bit of sloth brain so this batch has to be it", says Theo in earnest.

You work together in silence. Cutting and crushing the ingredients while the other manages the temperature. The temperature in the classroom rises significantly and you shrug off your jacket.

Theo seems distracted for a moment before you snap him out of it. He gives you a sneaky smile while you roll your eyes.

After a while, the potion goes from pale lilac to clear to black as a signal it's done. Theo bottles it with a shaking hand and holds the vial up to the light. The potion is so black that no light is able to penetrate.

"Do you… do you have the antidote?", you ask while holding the vial. A green bottle gets pulled from Theo's inner pocket and he shakes it. "Wiggenweld Potion? It's that easy?"

Theo shrugs his shoulders. "Sometimes it is."

You conjure a small mattress and pillow on the floor and go sit on it. Playing with the vial, the severity of the situation dawns on you.

"Half an hour. After thirty minutes I'm pouring the Wiggenweld down your throat." Theo helps bring the black potion to your lips, but you stop him just before giving him one last kiss. It could well be your last one.

The potion tastes vile and you gag while Theo helps you lay down. As drowsyness settles over you, you reach out and grab his hand. "I love you", you whisper before the lights go out.

When you open your eyes again, it's blindingly white. Squinting, you go to sit up and a hand appears. Following the hand, you gasp as Tom Riddle stands before you. You scramble up and make space between you and him.

"What are you doing here?" Your voice echoes around. Where even are you.

Your eyes travel around and it looks like it's the beach. Looking down, you're barefoot and in a white sundress. It's weird how white everything is. Even the ocean.

"Why are we here?"

Tom Riddle comes to stand next to you. He puts his hands in his trousers as he watches over the water. "I don't know. You called me here."

That makes you frown. Why would you call the younger version of your father towards some weird hallucination of the beach at the beach house?

"I must say, it's smart how you tricked me. Draught of Living Death." He lets out a laugh while shaking his head.

Blinking, you stare at him. How you tricked him? Does he mean… Voldemort? Or..?

"You're Death", you sound breathless, eyes wide and face pale.

Tom Riddle — Death — looks at you with a charming smile as he reaches out to grab your hand. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you, Miss Riddle." He brings your hand to his lips and places a soft kiss on your knuckles.

It's so weird. This is weird.

"You must ask yourself why this version of him, right?", Death muses, a half smile on his face. He has his hands clasped behind his back again. "You never had a connection with him or an affinity with his younger years. So why this?"

You must admit that he's right. But then again, Death is almost always right.

"It's because I associate him with death. And at least now you're pleasant to look at. That's the first thing that comes to mind, at least." You give Death an awkward smile and he belly laughs.

He full-on throws his head back and laughs out loud. A wide smile on his face, which is remarkably contagious. By the end of it, both you and Death stand next to each other, toes in the sand and laughing loudly.

You lick your lips. "I never expected death to be this joyful."

Death cocks his head to the side. "Oh but Miss Riddle, this is not death. Yes, you are dead. The potion you and your husband brew was a little bit too strong." The joyous way he says it sends a chill down your spine.

"So- so what is this then?" You look around you, but nothing is there.

He straightens his back and points over your shoulder. Far in the distance, you see something lying. It's small and crumpled up. You at Death and he gives you a motivating nod.

Slowly, the two of you walk towards the thing. The closer you get the more you see it's something of a bloody foetus. Some abortion abomination.

Looking back at Death, you raise a single eyebrow. "What's this?"

He crouches down and looks at it. "It seems like it is the part of Voldemort's soul that has managed to latch itself onto your own. Pathetic isn't it?"

You scrunch your nose. "More disgusting seems like. Do I need to destroy it in order to get rid of it?"

Death stands up again and faces you. "No. It's already dying. Your part here is done. I'll send you back now."

"You're letting me go?", you ask surprised.

"Miss Riddle, many may say I'm evil, but I'm not cruel. I recognise it's not your time yet. Not for many, many years."

A small smile grows on your face. "Thank you. I would hate to leave Teddy behind."

The world around you starts to become brighter and brighter and Death slowly fades. You close your eyes and when you open them again, you're face to face with a teary-eyed Theodore.

A relieved sob escapes him once he sees your eyes and he cradles you tightly to his body. "Yo- you died. Your heart stopped. I-I lost you. I lost you", he sobs, rubbing his chin over your head. You let him run his course, happy to be back on earth again.

"He said our potion was too strong. We've made it too well."

Theo abruptly releases you and looks at you with big eyes. "Who? Who said that?"

Licking your lips, you hold his hand. "Death. He said I was dead but that it wasn't my time."

Theo looks at you like you've gone crazy so you pull him closer to you to kiss him. "You know what I said to him?", you ask between kisses. "That I would hate to leave you. So you're stuck with me for many, many years."

A sad laugh escapes him. "God I hope so."

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