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emolga-lover · 1 year

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i didnt realize u had a blog on here! idk if u remember our battle, but i was the kid w a cubchoo, sneasel, cryogonal, n glaceon 7 years ago who had 2 call a pause in the middle of the battle bc the egg i had w me was hatching? thx 4 being understanding abt that btw i still appreciate it ^v^

anyway im actually on the path 2 become a gym leader myself now! the process is kinda taking a while >.< but i get it they need 2 b really sure that ur a good candidate. how long did it take u 2 get accepted?

-@just-a-trainer-blog

oh my god hiii!! it is so good to hear from you again, weren't you kicking my butt the entire time? i hope you're well, friend!

and of course i was glad to pause the fight, i was so eggcited to see what would hatch! ehehehe! oh, oh- i forgot, what did hatch? hopefully something eggcellent! eheheh!

okay, sorry, puns aside. it genuinely took me so unbarably long to get my gym badges and licenses and all that stuff. i started young, and had to excell fast. i think it took me almost 4 years? i honestly reccommend becoming a gym leader a bit later in life than i did. it's fun, but it's a lot of work!

and i would absolutely love to see your gym in action! and i need a rematch with you, be so much fun. please, feel free to stop by sometime for a rematch or some coffee! i love talking to young trainers and aspiring gym leaders.

#pkmn rp #elesa posting #elesa answering #sorry im a little jumbled up today #i'm so glad to talk to you again though!#please stay safe out there #and if you need anything #you know where to find me!#also i am SO sorry i took so long to respond #i randomly learned i have polls #and had to rewrite this entire thing

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underdark-dreams · 8 months

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[Poll results]

A smut piece for Rolan that became a 7k word fic. I don't know what it is about him--I just need him to be happy. 🖤 For anyone else who feels the same!

In Amber

Rolan can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He only knows he wants things with her to be different. A series of encounters between Rolan and the person who is teaching his black heart how to hope.

Tags: Fem Unnamed Tav, Explicit Sexual Content, Mild Hurt/Comfort | Word Count: 7,033 [Read on AO3]

The beloved hero of the Grove has saved them all from the Shadow Curse, apparently.

Word spreads fast, and it's all Rolan hears the Harpers talking about in their rush to take final leave of Last Light Inn. Nearly all had gone to Moonrise Towers with the Druid, but a small group stayed behind with Isobel in case the fight turned to the worst.

Rolan was the first one packed. With the shadows lifting, all he wants to do is travel the road to Baldur's Gate and finally reach his destiny. Leave this hollow place behind him.

At last they are finally moving in the right direction again--the three of them along with Lakrissa and Alfira, led by the Harper rangers.

He glances at Cal and Lia walking beside him. They're in the middle of chatting about the first things they want to do when they reach the lower city. Rolan can't seem to stop checking that they’re still there–as if he might look to find them gone once more.

He hasn't seen their savior since the night she brought his siblings back to him. That made twice now that she'd saved all three of their lives. Few things bristled against his nature more than owing a debt that couldn't be repaid. Rolan didn't like the feeling of being under anyone's thumb.

She wouldn't even accept a reward for saving his brother and sister's lives, just waved him away with a smile on her lips. The memory frustrated him endlessly. He couldn't understand why she took such an interest in helping him and his family. He was even beginning to consider that goodness of heart might really exist…at least when it came to hers.

Half of his mind felt tormented by her inscrutable kindness. The other half thought he'd very much like to kiss her.

Before he could brush away the alarming idea, the Harpers in front threw up a cheer. Rolan looked around to see the commotion.

She and her companions were covered in more blood than he'd seen on them yet, but they were still standing as they led their small army down the path from Moonrise Towers.

His eyes light automatically to her face–it shines with a radiant smile, but Rolan recognizes the way her shoulders slump under her armor. He is flooded with relief. At least she's alive.

Their groups converge on the road outside the tower. Everything is a jumble of cheers and shouts as the Harpers jostle forward to reunite with their comrades; a man he's never met claps Rolan’s shoulder hard enough to make him wince.

"Go on, then," says Lia beside him. She's following his gaze knowingly. "While you've got a chance."

He only manages to throw his sister a scowl before she trots away. Is it that obvious?

He decides to take her advice after all. She was right that this could very well be the final time their paths converged. Baldur's Gate was a large city, and whatever grand adventures their savior would face next, he doubted they would involve spending much time browsing magical emporiums.

She gave him a little wave as he approached, the kind one might give an old friend. It pricked his conscience. He'd thanked her for saving Cal and Lia, true, but his mind tossed up all the countless other times he'd been needlessly unpleasant toward her.

"Seems we owe you thanks yet again," he said, hoping it came off sincere.

She shook her head wryly. "I've never done any of it alone, you know that. Every one of these people fought like hells in there."

Standing close, his nose was hit by the thick tang of blood that coated on her armor. How much of it was hers?

"You should go to see Isobel," Rolan insisted. He'd drag her straight to the cleric himself, if she'd let him.

"Do I look that bad?" She was teasing, but there was a strain to it. "As long as I make it to my bedroll in the next hour, I'll be fine. You're sweet to worry, though."

"Stop saying things like that," Rolan snapped, unable to contain himself. "You're so nice, and I'm just a bastard."

Her eyes widened at him, taken aback. "I don't think you're a bastard."

Rolan looked down at his hands. "That's what makes you so nice," he said. He had to get to the point. "Look…I know I haven't been the easiest person to get along with. I've been rude and awful, ever since the Grove, and you didn't deserve it. So." He straightened up properly. "I'm sorry for that."

It's far less eloquent than he'd rehearsed, but she seems to understand the sentiment.

"Don’t worry about it," she tells him. "You feel responsibility for the people you love. That can make anyone forget themselves for a while."

"I suppose," is all he can manage to say. How well she seems to speak what's in his mind.

Her Githyanki companion approaches with a clear intention to speak with her, and Rolan turns away, not wanting to intrude on the company of her true friends.

"Rolan, wait–"

The flutter in his stomach humiliates him. Will he ever get used to her saying his name?

She rummages in the pack at her waist. "Almost forgot. I found something–well, stole, but it doesn't matter now."

A fist is held out to him, closed around something.

Uncertain what to expect, Rolan offers his hand. Her fingers graze softly against his as they deposit something small and hard. He looks down at his palm.

"A rock," he says, deadpan.

"Not just any rock, it's a topaz."

Rolan blinks at her. "And…what am I supposed to do with this, exactly?"

"I don't know," she shrugs. "Keep it, or don't. It just made me think of you. Matches your eyes." The admission brought a flush of pink to her cheeks.

He felt his heart skip at the sight, followed by a jolt of fear–as if she might be able to see the hope blooming inside his chest.

He turns away with a tut. "Absurd."

She gave only a satisfied laugh before taking her leave. Once she'd retreated out of sight, he tucked the gem securely into the folds of his robe.

Rolan has long abandoned the fantasy that he is his master's apprentice.

Whipping boy would be a more accurate job description. Perhaps test subject. He is trapped in an impossible game that he can never win, and his highest purpose is to be the canvas where Lorroakan paints his next magical experiment.

His mind shudders at the way the red wizard's eyes rest on him during "lessons": casually devoid of all concern or care. No matter how hard Rolan concentrates, no matter what he answers, it won't be good enough. And then the pain will follow.

The mindless Constructs are worth far more to his master than he is.

There was a time when someone made Rolan feel like he could deserve more, but that time is gone now. All he can hope is to learn enough, train hard enough, and one day claw his way through to something better.

Today, however, will offer the chance of a reprieve. He's been sent to deliver a message on foot across the lower city. Weeks ago he would've seen the task as an insult. Now he wonders whether it might take all morning, if he's lucky.

If he often feels like a drowning man, these moments of escape are like a sweet gasp of air. He walks with his face tilted up to soak in the sun's warmth.

The marks of abuse that paint his features have long stopped troubling him. An occasional passerby might stare at the bruises, but since the Absolute army's march, most Baldurians give Tieflings a wide enough berth not to notice. One wearing fine robes is no different to them.

As he passes the bridge to the Counting House, his eyes land on her figure. He stops short in surprise, earning himself a rude remark about clumsy devils from the woman behind him.

Rolan would recognize her face in any crowd. She stood on the bridge in the middle of some kind of confrontation between two women; one of them a beggar, by the state of her, the other finely dressed.

As he watches he very clearly sees her invite the rich one to "piss off", to the woman's indignation.

An affectionate chuckle escapes him. Then he winces, hand rising to the cracked skin on his lip. He tastes a drop of blood.

Swift panic grips his chest. She can't fucking see him like this, not once–more broken and pathetic than ever. Not after how many times she's already played rescuer to him. He cringes in shame at the thought.

At least she hasn't found him trapped behind his desk, there's a chance he can slip away unnoticed yet–

"Rolan?"

He missed his moment by a hair. It's unfortunate that hearing her voice after all this time freezes him straight to the cobblestones, or he might consider dashing away like a coward.

"I thought that was you! I'd recognize those horns anywhere."

Resigned, he turns back toward her. But he keeps his face cast down toward the pavement.

"What do you want?" He asks stiffly.

"Hello to you too," she laughs, and he stifles the impulse to watch her do so. "It's been a while. Cal and Lia, they're good?"

"Thanks to you," he concedes. No thanks to me.

"I'm glad to hear it." He watches her boots step closer, tentative. "Everything okay with you?"

She can never just leave him alone, can she. Why does she insist on caring when so many others don't bother?

"Fine, busy with my studies," Rolan deflects. "I've got to get back to the Sundries."

There's a tight pause, and then her voice grows firm. "Look at me."

He curses himself for being unable to disregard her, and for his eyes wanting to take her in despite everything. Slowly, he raises his head to meet her gaze.

Her face is somehow lovelier than he remembered. As he watches, it shatters in shock. He can see her eyes flit from mark to mark as if taking inventory.

"Who did this to you?" She whispers, aghast.

He turns away, unable to hold her gaze. "Believe me, it's nothing that can be helped."

"Rolan–" Her hand extends toward his jaw.

If the thought of her touch thrills him, the thought of being touched by her with pity is unbearable.

"I don't need your help," he spits, slapping the hand away with his own. "And I certainly don't need your damned sympathy!"

The shock and hurt on her face are the last things Rolan sees before he turns on his heel.

The archwizard was not pleased with his late return. That night, Rolan comes home with a large fresh bloom of purple over his left eye.

Lia's already limited patience snaps. She flies into his face with angry tears and threats that she'll march straight into Lorroakan's tower herself with shortsword in hand. Cal stands between them, pleading for peace, eyes wide and sad.

"Enough," Rolan orders them both. "Don't you see we're nothing but hellspawn refugees to these people? My position is the only thing keeping us under this roof, the only thing."

He doesn't stop Lia as she storms out–she didn’t take her sword with her. The door rattles on its hinges as it slams behind her. He pushes wordlessly past Cal to his room, and collapses in a heap against his bed pillows.

His face aches enough that he knows sleep won’t come easy tonight. One hand reaches into the robe at his chest, and he slowly pulls out the small amber stone. His fingers turn it over and over as he closes his eyes once more to escape into imagining.

In some other world, he could've been the one powerful enough to save and protect her. Even be the person who makes her smile.

He would not be the pathetic, broken man that he is. He could feel worthy to return her tender touches with his own, drawing her close to him instead of pushing her away. Feel her lips on his own…her hands circling his shoulders…

Rolan rouses himself to stare down at the topaz shining in his palm. He feels his rotten heart crumple.

He can't remember what made him this way. Bitter, insufferable. He doesn't like the man he is. He wants to be different–he wants things with her to be different.

The stone grows warm in his fist as he clenches it. She crept deep into his heart a long, long time ago. He'll probably never get the chance to tell her, so he might as well admit it to himself.

And even if he did see her again–what chance did he have that she might feel the same? None. She single-handedly managed to improve every part of his life that she touched. What could he possibly offer her?

In this world, precious little.

Lorroakan of Ramazith lay dead on the ground.

Rolan felt a numb hatred as he stood over his former master, eyes frozen wide in the final shock of death. Months from now the expression might have given him cause to laugh. Today, Rolan can only stare mutely.

One more sick megalomaniac who possessed more power than Rolan could have dreamed of wielding…brought down by his insane, insatiable lust for more. Always always more. For what? In the end, he was just another corpse.

It was she who dispatched him, of course. Why wouldn't it be?

After all this time, it was perfectly inevitable that she and her friends would be the ones to fly in and deliver him from yet another tragic end. He felt like he was stuck on a wheel going around and around. He couldn't escape her, either in reality or in his own mind.

Rolan comes to himself and looks down at his robes. Blood splatters his front and soaks up to his elbows; a crust of frost coats his boots, from whose spell he can't remember. All at once an overwhelming tiredness soaks into his bones.

The dream of destiny that had carried him here…had it ever existed, really?

He decides to slip away while she's distracted, speaking urgently to one of her companions. Her plans probably extend far outside this room and beyond, but this is where his path reaches a bloody dead end.

He allows himself one last look at her profile before stepping quietly to the portal. He wants only a bath and the release of sleep.

His feet drag along the streets of the lower city as they carry his body home, ignoring any frightened stares at the state of his clothes. Silent as he can, he slips through the front door and down the hall to his room. Cal and Lia's voices carry from the kitchen. He'll face their questions when he wakes.

In the end, exhaustion and relief overtake him. There will be no more lessons. He falls to bed in a heap and drifts off, still wearing his master's blood on his hands.

In retrospect: letting Lia discover him face-down in his bed covered in dried blood was not the smartest decision Rolan had ever made.

After he'd groggily yelled himself hoarse enough to stop her screams, a sharp pang of conscience drove through him like ice. During the time he thought the two of them were lost to the Shadowlands, he wanted nothing more than to drink himself to an early death.

He never wanted either of them to feel that emptiness. For once, he let Lia hold him tight without protest.

With a few days' rest, and some of Cal's better efforts in the kitchen to date, Rolan's spirits had rallied sufficiently that he felt well enough to leave the house. Even to attempt a cautious return to his place of employment.

To his surprise and distinct confusion, no one at Sorcerous Sundries had a thing to say about Lorroakan's disappearance, or about any possible employee involvement.

If anything, the mood around the shop was noticeably lighter. He even caught Tolna humming a soft little tune to her bookshelves. “The tomes never respected him, you know,” she whispered to Rolan.

And once he got over the bizarre sight of Lorroakan's projection, hovering with a vacant smile behind his former desk, he found a perverse humor in it. Who was the fucking errand boy now?

Most of all, Rolan found himself free to finally do what he came to this place for: study magic. He had no archmage master, but he was intelligent, and he now had free access to all of the tomes in the tower library that Lorroakan had enjoyed dangling under his nose.

These days he preferred to spend his days alone in the upstairs, absorbed in theory and practice. His skills grew, and so did his confidence in himself.

If he also felt drawn to the spot because it was the last place he'd seen her…well, he was far too late on that score. He could've finally confessed the feelings that had long been bursting through his chest.

Instead he had slunk away in silence, too scared to stand in front of her and admit how misguided he'd been all this time. She must think very little of him. She probably didn't think of him at all.

Who knew if she was even still in Baldur's Gate? He searched every face he encountered on the streets, hoping for an answer. It had become a reflex.

At the end of another day, he trudged alone across the twilight square. His hands ached from practicing the gestures for elemental conjurement over and over. One of the Steel Watchers clomped mindlessly past, looking about like Rolan felt.

The thought of going home filled him with weariness. Cal and Lia's cheerful bickering always annoyed him, in an affectionate way. But tonight, he truly felt he might not be up to it.

He felt sad. Lonely.

Glancing up, he found that his legs had carried him to the steps of the Elfsong. A drink…that would soothe his sorrows for an hour or two, at least.

The doors swung open to usher a wave of stimulation over his senses. Warm firelight, the smell of roasting venison, tables packed with conversation and clinking glasses.

He was grateful that many others seemed to have had the same idea this particular night. It made it easier to slip through the crowded taproom unnoticed, catching meaningless slices of gossip and flirtatious banter on his way to the bar.

The surly bartender didn't look overjoyed to be serving a Tiefling. He took Rolan's gold without comment, however, and left him alone with his wine.

As the alcohol spread a welcome relaxation through his limbs, Rolan passed the time by idly watching the groups around him.

A halfling sat alone with shoulders slumped, staring down his tankard as if he wished to drown in it. Across the way, a large bearded man was leaning across the table in open pursuit of his female companion. Clearly getting nowhere, from her expression. But he looked far too drunk to notice.

In front of the great hall fireplace, a pale elf sat in conversation with a pretty dark-haired young woman.

Rolan's brow furrowed; he knew those two. His eyes quickly scanned over the room's faces until he found her.

She was removed a ways from her usual traveling companions, seated at a small table in the far corner. He watched her swirl the cup in her hand idly. Her eyes followed the liquid’s pattern, but the look behind them was leagues away.

For the first time in days, Rolan felt his heavy heart lift. She was exactly the person he wanted to be with tonight. Even if it was just sharing a drink.

This was it, he told himself. He had to speak with her or he'd regret it the rest of his life.

But first–he knocked back a very large mouthful.

His heart pounded in his ears as he drew closer to her. With each step he expected she might look up, piercing him with those eyes that visited most of his dreams. But she remained transfixed by the wine even when he drew up beside her table.

Improvising, he cleared his throat. "Hello."

She glanced up at him in pleasant surprise. "Oh!"

They stared at each other for an awkward silence. Then, somehow, he found himself laughing with her.

"Sorry, it's so strange. I was just thinking about you," she said, her face brightening.

The fact that he occupied any space in her brain would consume him later, but he shoved it aside for the moment.

"Mind if I join you?"

She patted the chair next to her. As he sat, he wondered if the spot had been a tactical choice on her part. Their table had a view of the whole room and both exits, yet the wall behind offered a sense of privacy.

"You're not drinking with your friends tonight," Rolan observed.

"Just taking a little break. We're celebrating another family reunion," she explained, gesturing her glass toward the group around the blazing hearth.

Rolan looked back over his shoulder. He recognized the one-eyed young man with curling horns, but not the older one whose hand was clasped on his shoulder. Quite clearly father and son to anyone with eyes.

"I'm glad for them," Rolan said. To his surprise, he found he truly meant it. The Absolute had ripped apart so many families in so many ways, including his, leaving the lower streets flooded with the hopeless and broken and displaced. He counted himself and his siblings incredibly lucky, and it heartened him to see another happy scene among so much misery.

“You know–” She eyed him curiously. "I was hoping I’d see you. You ran off before we could talk that day."

He looked down at his drink. "I know. I've regretted it since then. At the time, it was just…a lot to take in."

Her eyes narrowed, but not at him. "I hope you don't mind me saying, but that man can burn in Avernus for all I care. For what he did to you. For what he tried to do to Aylin."

Rolan recalled the runic circle in Lorroakan's library, the one whose mysterious power had at first awed and enthralled him. And then he'd seen the aasimar with the shining wings, and watched the demented hunger in Lorroakan's eyes, and the horrible realization had run through him like a sickness.

"Lorroakan was a monster," he agreed. "I just wish I'd seen it sooner. Or even found the strength to open my own eyes."

He felt a hand rest on his forearm.

"I saw what you went through to get here,” she said. “It’s natural that you thought you had to see it all through, no matter what.”

Rolan said nothing for a while, just let her kindness soothe into his chest like a balm.

“On the bright side,” he added suddenly, “He did keep an excellent library. I’ve learned more from one of his books than I ever did from him.”

“That’s because you’re a proper talented wizard,” she laughed. “And he was an idiot.”

“A dead idiot.”

“To that,” she said with a lift of her cup, and they both drank. He noticed she used her free hand, not moving the one that laid on his arm.

When he caught her eye after, she was watching him with a smile. "You look so well, Rolan."

He knew what she meant. The last time she saw him, his face had been dappled in marks and bruises from Lorroakan's brutal instruction, with more that she couldn't see under his robes.

Now, the last mark across his cheekbone had faded almost to nothing. He hoped it would take the memories of the meaningless pain he'd endured along with it.

"Thank you," he said simply. "So do you."

He meant it; he realized now that he'd only ever seen her dressed for combat. Tonight she wore soft hide pants tucked into her hunting boots, a linen shirt half unlaced at her collarbones. It softened her. Close beside him and bathed in firelight, she set his heart racing again.

Perhaps it was her closeness or her touch that gave him the courage, or perhaps it was just the wine. He shifted his arm slightly to capture her hand in his.

"No one else has ever shown me the kindness you have. Not even Cal and Lia, though I do love them."

She watched him speak in silence, and he gazed back at her, as if the answers to everything might be found in her face.

"I don't understand you,” he said earnestly. “Why you've kept giving me chances. You've been so much more generous with me than I deserve. I've insulted you, yelled at you, I've been an absolute unbearable prick–"

Before he could think, she leaned in to silence him with her lips.

The kiss lasted forever and only a second all at once. Rolan closed his eyes, breathing in the faint smell of lavender on her skin.

Before he was anywhere near ready, she gently pulled away.

"Because," she murmured, "you're a good man, Rolan. And I like you." Her words, the lingering taste of her on his lips, they made his head spin. He felt like he was watching the door to a new world swing open before his eyes.

Before anything else, Rolan had to kiss her again. He released her hand to smooth the hair back from her face, watching the way she tilted into his touch, and gently guided her toward him.

It was deeper this time; he tasted the heady wine on her mouth, her breath a soft tickle against his cheek. As his fingers tangled her hair, he felt her hand wind sweetly over his shoulder, holding on to him.

A wet stripe flashed across his lips. His mouth gasped open in surprise, allowing her tongue to softly meet his, then draw slowly over his pointed teeth.

The unexpected sensations brought his mind back to reality, and to the fact that they were in a public place. With effort, he wrenched himself out of the kiss. They breathed against each other for a moment.

"I've got a room upstairs," she murmured. "If you want to?" Her cheeks were flushed from firelight and wine, and possibly even from him.

Whether or not he wanted to was no question: her words sent a fervent rush of blood to his groin. But first, he mustered enough control to hold her back from him for a moment. Her lips were parted in question.

"I adore you," he said. "I think I have for a long time. It's–very important to me that you know that. Before anything else." Even if the anything else was a dream that had kept him awake more nights than he could count.

Her soft hand cupped his cheek; he thought he might combust if she didn't say something. "Thank Gods," she laughed breathily. "I swore you hated me for a while there."

"I had no idea what to do with my feelings for you, I was a fucking idiot." It was all tumbling out of him now. He opened his mouth to continue, but her fingertips went to his lips.

"Rolan–" Her voice was full of relief, and he was charmed to see the blush across her face deepen. "I feel the same way. I really, really like you."

His rotten heart could have flipped with joy.

“Now.” She cocked her head askance, and he felt her fingers twine with his. "Make it up to me?"

Yes. Please, please, yes. He nodded in a daze, reeling like he'd sustained a blow to the head. All he could feel was the elation and anxiety swirling around and around in his stomach as he followed her toward the staircase, let her lead him by the hand like a lovesick idiot.

As they passed her companions he pointedly averted his eyes; he couldn't afford to lose any of the nerve building inside him. He'd need every bit of it in a moment.

The dark staircase seemed to ascend forever. Part of him wanted it to–he was no virgin, but the hand she held tight was shaking with anxiety. He wanted to make this perfect.

Overthinking proved pointless. The moment the heavy door closed behind them, he found himself pinned against it with a thud by the length of her body.

His involuntary groan was lost in their kiss. She was everywhere around him at once: hands pinning his shoulders back against the wood, hips grinding into his thigh with no pretense, her tongue pressing against his lips and slipping past his teeth to taste him. She moaned against his mouth, and the sound reverberated from his head to his feet.

His erection was practically instantaneous. He hooked his thumbs over her hip bones, sharp nails finding purchase in her pants, and rolled himself against the yielding softness between her legs.

Whatever release the pressure provided multiplied it tenfold. Desire coursed through him, burning in his veins hotter than he thought possible.

The maneuver brought an approving hum from her throat, however. Encouraged, he ground her into him again, and again, as slowly as his body could be convinced to go.

Her hands released his shoulders to rake upward through his hair, pulling his face toward her.

Pulling him deeper into the room, he realized. He stumbled slightly against something; tasting her lips was infinitely more important than breaking the kiss to look where he was going. He trusted her lead, impatient to reach whatever destination she had in mind so he could freely explore her.

Their connected bodies bumped up against the edge of something soft. She pulled away, and his immediate disappointment rapidly turned around as he felt her fingers fumbling with the clasps of his robe. He guided her hands, struggling at the same time to kick off one boot and then the other.

As his robes pooled on the floor, her palms pressed him away for a moment.

Rolan stood frozen and panting in his trousers. She licked her kiss-swollen lips as she looked over his bare shoulders, his chest. When her eyes reached the obvious hardness straining in his pants, she let out a delicious sound.

Rolan's hands grabbed for her of their own volition. They slipped under the hem of her shirt, against the bare skin of her waist, and wrenched the garment up over her head in one motion.

To look at her directly was almost too much–he felt love and desire churning together inside of him. "Beautiful," was all he could say.

He buried his face in her shoulder instead, fang-like teeth brushing over her skin as he left a trail of kisses along the curve of her neck. She let out a gasp when his hand gently stroked her breast.

"You're so warm," she murmured into his hair. To him, she was pleasantly cool; he shivered when her fingers traced the small set of ridges that ran from his collarbone to his sternum.

But he needed more of her. He hooked both thumbs over her waistband and tugged ineffectually. She quickly took over, shucking them off with a shimmying motion.

The sight of her bare, for him, was almost enough to make Rolan come then and there. He reached out to her hips to steady himself. She was so much more divine than anything his paltry imagination could have conjured.

Through his blazing arousal, he was barely aware of the hands unlacing his pants until she tugged them down to finally let his cock spring free.

A sigh of relief escaped him. He watched her take him in, her eyes half-lidded with arousal.

"You're incredible," she whispered. Then her arms slid around his neck, pulling him down into a kiss.

He tried to concentrate on her mouth, but the way his cock brushed and nudged against her skin every time she moved was taking over his brain.

With a motion of her hips, she captured his length between her thighs and rocked forward and back, sliding her dripping wet center over his cock. The revelation of her own state of desire sent his mind spiraling with want.

Rolan let out what could only be called a whimper. He clutched her to him, capturing her bottom lip between his teeth as firmly as he dared, as if she might suddenly disappear and leave him in an aching pile.

She made a pleased sound, then gave his shoulders a push. With his pants still around his thighs, he lost his balance–knees buckled as he fell backwards onto the mattress behind them.

He propped himself up on his elbows just in time to see her kneel on the floor in front of him. Her two hands pushed his knees apart, as far as the straining fabric would allow–

Rolan tried and failed to breathe normally, heart pounding in his ears. It felt like time was slowing to a crawl. Her eyes glanced from his face to the stiff erection between them. A droplet of moisture shone at its tip.

"Can I–?" She was asking him for permission, hands poised on his thighs, her expression heady with arousal.

"Anything," Rolan swore, and he meant it. She could do whatever the fuck she wanted to him right now. Before he could prepare himself, her mouth closed wetly around his tip.

Truly, nothing could have readied him. He let out a gasp–his head dropped back as his hips rose involuntarily to seek more of her soft, cool mouth.

He had scarcely adjusted before she took him in further, sliding her tongue down along his length to his very base–then slowly, achingly slowly, back up again.

He heard the rip of fabric as his nails gripped the bedding. He gathered the will to raise his head up to look.

Rolan was mesmerized by the sight of her lips wrapped around taught red skin, his length disappearing into her mouth and returning wet with saliva. She was working him over almost reverently slow, eyes closed as if tasting him.

Tasting herself on him. His cock twitched inside her mouth at the realization. She glanced up at him, releasing him from her lips with a soft, wet pop.

He could have groaned at the loss of her. Instead, he used the moment to work off his constraining pants and toss them away. Before she could reach for him again, Rolan pulled her up and onto his lap.

Her knees sank into the bed on either side as she straddled him, but she kept herself hovering well above him without contact. He pushed aside the ache between his legs to focus on more important things.

He leaned forward to press a soft kiss between her breasts, allowed his mouth to explore. She sighed with pleasure as he alternately licked and kissed across each curve, then drew sharp breath as his teeth sucked at the soft flesh under one breast.

Her hands, at first resting on his shoulders, flew to grab two fistfuls of his hair. The sensation sent a shiver down his spine.

Rolan pulled away for a moment for admire the purple mark blooming on her breast. He glanced up as though looking for approval. She gave it, tugging his hair to tilt his face into a waiting kiss.

Ever so carefully…mindful of his fingertips, he placed the flat of his palm on the heat between her legs.

“Rolan–” she gasped, breaking away.

The sound of his own name had never been dearer to him. He was run through with a thrill, and a fervent desire to do whatever it took to make her say it again.

He massaged gentle circles into her, the base of his palm pressing against her clit in slow rhythm. Her wetness coated him with each stroke. She quaked under his touch, eyelashes fluttering, and his other arm circled her back to support her. He felt her lean against him without a second thought. Trusting completely.

“I can’t believe I have you,” he heard his voice say, perhaps to himself.

As he spoke he felt the core of her tightening under his hand. Abruptly, her fingers closed around his wrist to still his ministrations. He froze, immediately afraid he had scratched her somehow. But her face shone with nothing but desire for him.

"On your back," she directed.

Rolan nearly pinched his tail under himself in his haste to obey. He swept his legs out from between hers and stretched out as she climbed over to straddle him.

Now they were finally here, she wasted no time leaving space between them. Her hips rolled down onto him and drew the wet folds of her center across his tip. His entire length throbbed at the blessed return of her touch, the head of his cock burning against her.

Smoothly, simply, she lowered herself onto him.

The shuddering exhale from his lips met against her moan of relief. Rolan willed himself to keep his eyes on hers, even as her inviting walls gripped him, even as he practically felt his pupils dilate with want. Her features relaxed into a state of pure, unadulterated satisfaction.

Then she started to move her hips.

She pushed her palms against his chest for leverage, riding his cock at a steady pace that felt entirely too slow. Whatever will he had to follow her lead was immediately tested; he was overcome with the need to touch her everywhere at once.

Care forgotten, he gripped the soft flesh of her back with his fingertips. She cried out softly as his nails dragged from her shoulders to the base of her hips, but he felt her walls clench around him in response. His tail curled up and around her waist of its own volition, holding her as she took him in further with each bounce of her hips.

She gasped and fell over him, hands braced on either side. She was already losing control. He felt his own release closing in, used the new angle of her hips to thrust up into her.

“Oh, Gods, yes–” Her mouth dropped open. She moved her hips back with each of his thrusts to take him more deeply.

Rolan thought he might shatter apart. Waves of searing desire swept harder and harder through him. She took him so perfectly, his cock almost painfully gripped by her tightening walls, so wet and lush and sweet and for him–

A hand flew up to the back of her neck to grasp and to pull her down so he could taste her as he came. Lips crashed together frantically as the pace of their bodies started coming apart at the seams.

In one bright concentrated moment, she shook and trembled violently into him as she grasped for whatever part of him she could reach. He managed one last stuttering thrust before his climax was ripped from him by her own, spilling inside of her clenching center, hurling him outside himself and into the wide Astral plane.

They shuddered against each others' bodies as white-hot waves receded outward farther and farther. Her head dropped to his shoulder as though she'd lost all muscle control.

He felt her slowing breaths fan out across his chest, and he rested a hand on the back of her head to keep her there.

As Rolan stared up at the wood-paneled ceiling above them, something cold dripped down at the base of him. He realized he was still inside of her. He swung his free arm over the side of the bed–still woozy enough from his climax that he nearly slid head-first to the floor–and snatched up his rumpled robes to clean them both.

She rolled off him then and cuddled up on her side to watch him. He mirrored her pose, adjusting against the pillows to make a spot for his horns. One of her fingers found the point of his ear and began tracing.

“How do you feel?” She asked.

Rolan sighed deeply. “Happy.” He could cast around for another dozen words, but he’d rather take her in. He smoothed a hand up and down along the curve of her side.

“So do I.” She leaned over to spread light kisses along his lips, then his jaw and cheek. His tail brushed against her leg in an idle caress.

She glanced down. “I didn’t actually know about…that.”

“Am I your first Tiefling?” He teased, though the thought genuinely pleased him.

“First and last,” she replied. The words were instantly locked away in his chest.

She gave a little shiver then, tucking her body against his warmth. He dug the covers up over themselves and wrapped her up tight with his arms and legs. The simple feeling of holding her brought him a deep sense of calm.

“I love this, Rolan.” Her lips moved against the hollow at the base of his neck. “I wish I could take tonight and carry it with me everywhere.”

Something sparked in him at her words. He opened his eyes and reluctantly released her to feel around the floor at the floor for his stained robe.

"What are you doing over there?" She lifted her head curiously to peer over the bedside.

"Just need to find something." He rummaged through his layers of discarded clothing before finally, his knuckle grazed something hard.

He slid back up under the covers beside her. She propped herself up against him, resting a palm on his chest with an expectant look.

He held out his thumb and index finger. Between them, an amber stone glinted in the dim light.

Her mouth fell open in recognition. For one second, he was afraid she might cry.

Then she buried her head in the crook of his neck, wrapping both arms tight around him. "I knew you were a darling all along."

#blowjobs and self esteem #bg3 rolan #rolan bg3 #rolan x tav #bg3 fic #bg3 spoilers #i can't be trusted with this man apparently

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tripleyeeet · 4 months

Text

THANKS, LASS!

SUMMARY: Rugan finally gets to buy you that drink at the Elfsong... and say his proper thanks.

PAIRING: Rugan & Female Reader

WORD COUNT: 3,252

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (female receiving), teasing, a little bit of hair pulling if you squint, CONSENT!

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi, I've never written for this man in my life so if it's bad... just uh... move along, please. Also, thanks to everyone who voted for the poll! I promise I'll do more fun things like this when I'm not so sad and sick. :')

MASTERLIST

The pain that resides in your lower back is intense. A torturous shift of muscle and bone pushing itself in all the wrong spots. So much so that as you take that first step towards the Elfsong’s upstairs quarters you can’t help but groan at the impact. Remembering how awful it felt to fight off that horde of elementals alongside Lorroakan’s particularly brutal set of spells.

At this rate, the only thing you can feel is the need to rest and drink. Both of which somehow manage to pull your thoughts away from the staircase beneath your feet. Or more specifically how increasingly painful each step becomes.

“You guys still have that gold from earlier, right?” Karlach asks. She’s about two steps in front of you and barely hanging on herself. With her great axe strapped to her back, it’s a wonder she’s still upright considering she probably took the brunt of the fight.

“Yes, why?” Beside her, Shadowheart looks over skeptically. Even though she already knows why the tiefling’s asking.

“I ran out.”

“Of course, you’d conveniently run out of money the second we make it to the most expensive tavern in town.” Leaning against the railing of the staircase, Astarion uses one hand to steady himself and the other to flippantly wave her off. All while rolling his eyes before shooting you an unimpressed look. “I swear, all this woman does is mooch.”

“Says the bloodsucking vampire!” Karlach retorts, prompting Astarion to scoff.

“You know, comparing an eternal curse to a lack of financial responsibility is rather poor taste, Karlach.”

“Yeah, well—“

You’re already turning back towards the bottom of the staircase before you can listen further, grumbling under your breath. Moving your aching hands to your face to scrub them down in annoyance as you make a beeline for the bar.

All day they’d been at each other’s throats. Bickering about the littlest things as a result of too much pressure. Even before arriving within the city limits, you could feel the tension of everyone’s problems reaching their climax. And now it was well past the point of boiling over.

“What can I—“

“Whatever’s strongest, please.”

Awkwardly, you shift onto one of the barstools, cringing at the pain that radiates through your spine. Trying your best to ignore the exhaustion that settles once you inevitably trade your drink for a few pieces of gold.

“Rough day, I assume.”

You give the barkeep an annoyed nod, leaning forward to readjust your position. Attempting to alleviate the discomfort by putting more weight onto your elbows as you begin to anxiously sip. The drink overall isn’t bad for what it’s worth. A bit fiery as it slips through your lips and down your throat but still tolerable. Better than most of the shit you’ve ransacked on the road which leaves you somewhat thankful.

“You an adventurer?”

As you take another drink, pausing mid-sip to narrow your eyes at the barkeep you can’t help but wonder how he hasn’t gotten the hint. You’re not here to talk —you’re here to drink. To drown in the silence of your thoughts until you inevitably have to come back up for air and wander helplessly upstairs to bed. To wallow in your own pity as you try and decide whose problems you’ll have to face next in favour of avoiding your own.

Opening your mouth to respond, you’re quickly interrupted by a familiar voice. One that’s low and Northern —a jumble of words you don’t quite catch on account of the speed at which he scolds the barkeep causing him to scoff.

“He bothering you?”

Glancing to your left, you’re met with Rugan’s familiar eyes. All tired and blue, looking at you with an odd amount of smugness that has you holding back a smirk as you shake your head. “Not anymore.”

“Good. Ol’ Darvin’s always been a bit shit at social cues, haven’t you Darv?” As he speaks, his volume rises, catching the attention of the barkeep once again who flips him off.

“Oh, piss off, Zhent.”

All he does is laugh. Lending you a moment to take another much-needed sip feeling your stomach flip.

“I see you made it back in one piece.”

“Mostly.”

“Rough trip?”

You snort in response, knowing just how unaware he is of how truly rough it’s been. “You could say that.”

“Hopefully no more gnolls?”

“Only a few.” You shrug, watching him nod his head. Noticing the way he pauses his response to take your appearance in full, his eyes darting from the faded bloodstains coating the roots of your hair to the dishevelled way your armour sits on your frame, already begging to be discarded.

“When did you make it back?”

“A few nights ago.”

“And you’ve just now decided to take up my offer for a drink? Tsk, I’m offended,” he teases, his lips pulling down into a mock frown that has you biting your tongue and shaking your head, trying to appear aloof.

Because if you're being honest, at this moment you’re feeling anything but. Thanks to the way he continues to stare —practically drinking you in like a man devoid of hydration— it feels as though you’ll cave at any second. Something you know you can’t do because there’s work to be done.

“My sincerest apologies,” you reply dramatically, pausing to take the last few sips of your drink before sighing in relief. “Yesterday I was a bit tied up fighting a cloister of angry Sharran’s and today we had to murder a power-hungry wizard. So, the offer sort of slipped my mind if I’m being honest.”

Unsurprisingly, that piques his interest, prompting his brows to raise and his frame to sort of shift a bit closer. “Seems a bit excessive, don’t you think?”

“How do you mean?”

“Aren’t you meant to relax now that you’re back in the city?”

This time you laugh, throwing your head back —watching as he scrunches up his face in confusion until you eventually settle back down, wiping a stray tear from your eye.

An act you half expect him to question considering how absurd it looks suddenly erupting into madness. How despite always acting like you know exactly what you’re doing you’ve just shown him otherwise. Granting him what little access you’re willing to release in order to pull him in.

Which sounds ridiculous when you take into account you barely know the man. Having spoken to him on only two occasions, he really shouldn’t be trusted. Not at least until he’s proven himself an ally like others have. Instead, he should be placed at arm’s length like every other soul you’ve managed to save along the way. Looked at with fondness and curiosity but not faith. Never faith.

“Got yourself into some deep shite, have you?”

The way he smiles after he speaks leaves you questioning everything. The way your body shifts in response —the way your lungs give out and your legs move. The way everything feels warm and taut, forcing your mind to travel to places you know they shouldn’t.

“Course.”

“Bit of a troublemaker?”

In response, you shrug your shoulders and grin, unsure how to respond because, truthfully, you’re not. At least, not really. Sure, trouble always seems to find you as of late but obviously you don’t want it. Instead, what you want is peace. A night of no consequence or agenda. A night of song and dance and drink. A night of something other than what you’ve been constantly offered time and time again over these last few weeks.

Which is why you don’t protest when Rugan merely changes the subject, offering to buy you another drink. Or why you fail to stop after the second or the third —pausing around the fourth to debate going to bed before eventually relenting once more, smiling at the way he pokes fun at your lack of tolerance.

“Figured a fierce warrior like you’d be able to handle their drink.”

By that point, your mind is exclusively swimming around him. Thinking of all the ways you could further enjoy his company after this is over. Maybe you could ask him out for another drink. Or tag along with whatever trouble he’ll most likely get himself into again.

“Give me a break, Zhent,” you chastise, swirling the glass that now sits idly in your hand. Trying your best to tear your gaze from his, knowing that you’re drowning. Slipping further and further into those pretty fucking eyes that look and stare and absorb every single little thing you do. Every new glance making you unnecessarily nervous —a bundle of skittish thoughts and movements erupting over time, forcing your guard to quickly lower. Causing the once-severed connection between your mind and mouth to mend itself in the form of drunken rambles that have him practically on the edge of his seat.

“You know, I kept thinking I’d miss you when we arrived,” you tell him, glancing over your shoulder to hide the stupid grin that sits across your face at just the thought.

“You don’t say.” He grins back.

“Mhm. I kept having to tell myself not to get my hopes up.”

“Didn’t realize you viewed me so highly.”

“I don’t,” you immediately lie, despite knowing he’s already caught you. Thanks to his patience, charm, and heavy pockets he’s managed to earn at least one admittance of vulnerability, and knowing him that’s all he needs.

“You know, you’re a terrible liar,” he muses, and although you want to fight him on it, you don’t. Knowing that the conversation would just lead to another ill-performed lie tumbling from your already loosened lips.

“And you’re too smug.”

“Well, that’s because I have to be.”

You raise your brow. “Why?”

“Because pride gets you places. Shame doesn’t.”

Suddenly, you’re scrunching up your face and leaning forward, placing your glass on the counter between you —moving towards the edge of your chair so that you can explore his features the same way he did earlier.

Somehow it hardly phases him. Instead of making him sweat as it had previously done to you, you can sense that pride he’s talking about. All the underlying confidence that peaks through his pores, settling between the lines of age that reside around his mouth and eyes. It practically radiates off of him. Blinding you for a good few moments before it slowly fades behind the backdrop of something new. Something far more vulnerable, showcasing itself in the subtle way his eyes dart down towards the hand that’s suddenly found itself around his knee.

“You know, it’s okay to be vulnerable sometimes,” you say, speaking to both him and yourself. Attempting to boost whatever confidence the two of you once had during the flirtatious parts of your conversation. “In certain circumstances, obviously.”

“Obviously.”

Looking away, you then press your lips together and go to move your hand, feeling his quickly slip over top and how it pulls you back in again.

“This your way of granting me permission to be vulnerable, then?”

All you do is shrug, glancing down to see his fingers maneuvering your hand into his. Each digit lacing between the empty spaces of your own so that he can raise it and place a gentle kiss on your knuckles. An act that leaves you utterly breathless as he snorts and says something else. Something you don’t quite catch due to the fact that you’re already six feet below the surface, desperately trying to come up for air so that you can focus on the sound his mouth makes rather than what it might feel like against your skin. Or how it might taste after a long bout of—

“Oi, you listening?”

“Sorry?”

All he does is scoff as he kisses your hand again, watching your mouth open and close like a fish out of water. Taking you in with each struggling breath until he can feel your sense of stability returning.

“I said I’d really like to take you upstairs and fuck you, if that’s alright.”

At that moment, you’re completely speechless. A silent mess of twisting expressions too scared to respond with anything remotely charming.

As if you’ve been reduced to nothing but a follower worshipping their holy God, eventually all you do is nod and allow your body to be led up the stairs. Patiently waiting for the moment you step over that final threshold of privacy. All while internally wondering if what you’re doing is the right thing because there’s still so much work to be done. Not to mention the fact that everyone’s relying on you to—

“Aye, they can handle themselves for the night, yeah?”

Practically reading your mind, it’s as if you’re already one. A pair of bodies so tightly wound that by the time you’ve stepped into the room, he’s already working towards that goal.

Kicking the door closed, he presses into you almost instantly, moving his hands around your frame; lingering on the plushest parts as he inevitably slots his mouth against yours. Barely giving you a chance to think let alone breathe as he leads you to the bed. All while your hands wildly follow his in tandem, wrapping themselves around his shoulders —feeling them tense with excitement as the edges of your arms roughly knock against them on your way to hold his face.

Caressing his sturdy cheeks as he sits on the mattress’s edge, you then feel him pull you onto his lap, prompting you to smile against him. Feeling the way he gently bites back through the hazy taste of heated ale and desperation. Suppressing the urge to moan at the impact of his teeth taking hold of the skin before pulling back.

“You’re breathing a bit heavy there, sweetheart. Everything alright?”

You’re tempted to smack him but instead, you resort to merely tucking a hand behind his head to pull at his hair, watching his jaw shift. Feeling the tone of the room change almost as quickly as he grabs your chin.

“Careful there. Wouldn’t want to hurt that pretty little face of yours any further.”

For a moment his fingers feel tight against your face, pressing your lips into a pout until he eventually allows the softer side of his movements to return. Then you’re lost to the waves all over again, feeling him guide you to a standing position beside the bed. Watching intently as he follows behind, moving his fingers to the clasps of your armour.

“Bit overdressed it seems,” he jokes, instantly making quick work of all the fastenings and ties. Starting with your chest plate before making his way down to the belt of your trousers, painfully lingering on the latter.

“I see that pride of yours is still intact,” you say, moving in to kiss his lips. Realizing just how truly soft they are in comparison to the rest of him. How unlike the arrogance and greed that resides in his voice and hands respectively, there’s a hidden tenderness there. An Achilles’ heel that you’re more than happy to nurture rather than exploit.

Which is something you’re certain he notices based on the way everything changes after that. How, instead of things progressing solely for the purpose of shared satisfaction, they move with care. With newfound attentiveness in the form of slow, curious hands that coast the edges of your torso.

“You know, I never properly thanked you for saving us that day.”

Narrowing your eyes, you can’t help but smile at the sensation of his breath suddenly wafting against your neck. Or how his palms feel dragging down the fabric of your tunic only to tuck themselves against the bareness of your skin, resting just above your hips.

“Didn’t you?”

Far gentler than you anticipate, his mouth sucks the skin of your neck. His teeth applying a bit of pressure before his tongue darts out to soothe the small affliction. “Not in the way that I wanted to,” he tells you after, kissing that same spot before moving lower and repeating the process. All while digging his fingers into your hips. “Not in the way you deserve.”

There’s a moment when you go to ask him what he means. Not because you’re unaware but because you need to hear him say it. To listen to him admit that what he’s doing is nothing more than an act of gratitude so that after this is said and done you won’t be distracted anymore.

But then he proceeds to lower himself to the ground, floorboards creaking under the weight of his knees. Thumbs carefully brushing across the edges of your stomach before moving back to your belt. Looking up at you, his eyes are larger and more desperate than you’ve ever seen them before and it’s as if you're back on the shore, wondering whether or not it’s okay to dive back in.

“Can I?”

“Yes.”

It comes out like a whisper. As your lungs fail to provide the air you need to breathe, you’re left stranded. Wafting through the waves of his hands peeling away the fabric of your dirtied clothes, the only thing that’s there to stabilize you is him. His hungry mouth and broad shoulders —his calloused hands ghosting the backs of your calves as he tentatively kisses the inside of your thighs. And in order to stop the tremors he inflicts from toppling you over, you have to reach down to grab his hair.

Wrapping your fingers gently around the knot that sits on top of his head, you hear him hum in response almost instantly. The vibrations of his voice brushing against the edge of your cunt. Every subtle movement of his hands and mouth forcing your body to shift uncomfortably, trying your best to alleviate the pressure.

An alleviation that doesn’t come easy. Thanks to the teasing of his lips eventually wrapping around your clit but failing to do much else. Knowing that good things like this take time.

(And that a little bit of teasing never hurt anyone).

“Rugan, can you— oh fuck—“

His tongue circles the exact spot you need it to. Moving languidly around before darting elsewhere and repeating the process, you can feel your insides tightening. The imaginary band within you being pulled taught as he moves his fingers up to brush your folds. Every motion working together to force a moan from your lips. The kind that makes him grin against you, forcing his fingers inside just as shifts to suck your clit again.

Immediately, it’s all too much. An overload of sensitivities taking over your mind. Suddenly, you feel your hips blindly rut against his mouth while you tug at his hair. Forcing him to work that much harder. Making it hard for either of you to breathe because he refuses to stop.

Even when you can feel him desperately panting against you, he refuses to stop. Running his tongue across every exposed area —embedding the feeling of its efforts throughout every nerve— it doesn’t take long for you to come undone.

In fact, it’s hardly a minute after you’ve egged him on that he’s pushed you over the edge, remaining completely consistent in his efforts to please you. To show his appreciation in the form of a suckling mouth that continues through the endless waves of pleasure. To graciously thank you over and over until you’re later left limp against his chest after the fourth or fifth round (you’ve lost count) breathing so hard he can’t help but feel smug about it.

TAGLIST:

@oldanimefan @void-singer @gunslingerorchid @littleplasticrat @fistfuloftarenths @kirahlene @killerpancakeburger @charmedslytherin @voloslobotomyservice @cloverthebarbearian @my-favourite-zhent @imgoingtofreakoutnow

#thanks lass!#rugan x tav #rugan x female reader #rugan x reader #rugan smut #summer writes

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crimsonbubble · 1 year

Text

cw. nsfw, afab!reader, oral (f receiving), bondage, hair pulling *not proofread, just pure horny

[the poll wanted price but I need more alejandro content oops 🤭]

MINORS DNI !!

if someone told you that one day, alejandro vargas was going to be on his knees infront of you with his mouth on your slick cunt and his hands tied behind his back, you probably wouldn't believe them.

he peers up at you through his eyelashes, moaning into your wet pussy at how your eyes are already on him. your legs are perched on his shoulders, your hand buried in his hair to keep his mouth working on you.

you can hear the slight rustle of the cuffs binding him, his lower half tensing as he takes your throbbing clit in his mouth. his tongue drags down your slit, his eyes sparking in the dim office lights.

your thighs tighten around his head, his eyes fluttering as he eases his tongue into you. each of his low moans send jolts of pleasure up your spine. his pants do little to hide how hard he is but oh how he wishes you could feel how much he's leaking within his confines.

alejandro shuffles closer, pressing his nose to your clit while his tongue delves in and out of your sticky cunt. tears glimmer in your eyes as you push the hair out of his face, clenching around his tongue as he merely looks up at you with lust and devotion.

a new wave of love and arousal crashed over you as your eyes shut, basking in the feeling of alejandro lapping up everything you give him. your words are jumbled as each flick of his searing tongue pushed you closer to the edge.

alejandro groaned against your sweet cunt ad your legs tightened around him, holding him there as you rode out your high on his tongue. his eyes rolled to the back of his head as he swallowed down every drop he could get his mouth on.

your hand tugged at his hair harshly, before your thighs loosened around him. both of your breathing is erratic, as you both take a moment to piece yourselves back together. alejandro's mouth and chin are glistening in your juices, a familiar sight that always sends sparks to your still pulsing cunt.

"Lean back, mi amor. I'm not done yet."

#bubbly writes <3 #alejandro vargas x reader smut #alejandro vargas x reader #alejandro vargas #mw2 x reader #cod x reader #modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare 2 #cod mw22 #cod mwii #simon riley x reader #simon riley smut #john soap mactavish x reader #john mactavish smut #simon riley #simon ghost riley #ghost x reader #ghost smut

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sturn1olo-ffics · 7 months

Text

- INTO IT -

pt. 1 | pt. 2

- Chris Sturniolo x Fem Reader (she/her pronouns used)

- Warnings: kissing (making out), profanity, pining?, use of y/n, I think that’s it

- About: Reader goes on a trip to Florida with Chris, Madi, Matt, Laura, and Nick while trying to hide her feelings for Chris, but soon failing when they get alone.

—————————————————————————————

(Y/N’s POV):

“The sky is so pretty right now.” I paused to take a picture for my Snapchat story. “Yeah, I love coming to the beach. It’s beautiful here.” He said calmly, brushing his arm up against mine for a quick second. The conversation back to the condo wasn’t awkward at all. Everything felt just right with him. We talked about new music we listened to and how we both missed our parents back home a lot. The conversation was so easy until we got into the condo and closed the door behind us. The lights were off and the curtains were open, revealing the huge windows in which the warm sunset came through, lighting up the room softly. Silence over came us as we both walked toward the couch so I could grab my portable charger off the coffee table. I grabbed my charger, which was soon dropped on the floor along with my phone when Chris placed his hands on my waist, pulling me in. “I don’t know why, and I don’t think I ever will know why, but I really, really want to kiss you right now.” He started before my lips crashed onto his, interrupting him. Our lips moved in sync like they were made to fit together. The soft, sweet kiss sooner turned into a rough, passionate kiss as he pushed us down onto the couch. A few minutes of making out pass by and I pull back, gasping for air along with him. “Chris- I don’t know what that was- but I’m-“ I jumbled my words together nervously before he finished my sentence for me. “Into it? Yeah I know baby.” He whispered into my ear seductively before kissing my neck and helping me off the couch. I was so in shock I couldn’t respond. I was so crazy for him and he knew it. “Come on, let’s go back before they get worried.” He picked up my phone and portable charger, then guided me to the door by placing his hand on the small of my back. As we began walking to the arcade, I finally muttered out a response to everything. “Chris, I know this is wild but I think I’m in love with you and I have been since March-“ I started. “I know, sweetheart. The look in your eyes when you look at me says it all.” He laughed. “There is no way-“ I laughed along with him. “You’re my girl.” He said, pulling his phone out to snap a picture of the two of us to capture the moment. He giggled at me leaning into him, then interlocked his hand with mine and laced our fingers together. “Really?” I questioned, heart practically melting into his hand. “Always have been, I just get to say it now.” He responded, rubbing his thumb back and forth on my hand. We made it to the arcade and met up with Matt, Madi, Laura, and Nick. “No fucking way.” Matt said excitedly when he saw us holding hands. “Annoying ass mf.” Chris shook his head and walked past, buying us cards to play the games. Everything in my life after that felt so content. Everything was at ease knowing Chris was mine and I was his.

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A/N: Guys! If you haven’t voted on the poll yet for what you wanna see next, do that! I need to know 😭 So far it’s my other planned Chris fic up next (sorry Matt girlies 💔 I’m also hurting over this)

#chris sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo x you #chris sturniolo x reader #chris x you #chris sturniolo imagine #chris sturniolo #matt sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you #sturniolo triplets x reader #matt sturniolo fluff #nick sturniolo x reader #the sturniolos #sturniolo triplets #fluff

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dinozarr · 9 months

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tutee!choso since technically the poll won… ¹⁸⁺

𝐓𝐔𝐓𝐄𝐄!𝐂𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐎 . . . wasn’t the brightest tool in the shed when it came to his language arts. he wasn’t normally a verbal guy, let alone learning how to use grammar and punctuation properly. normally, he wouldn’t mind going about his day with a 36% average in his class, but he’d realized that exam season was closing in on him and when exam season neared, the end of school did as well.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀asking for extra credit was definitely out of the question, his teachers already hating the man for his lack of focus in class. he spent numerous hours hovering over his computer as if he were some sort of discord mod, scrounging the internet for a tutor who would give him lessons out of the kindness of their heart. with no fees, of course. he was a university student after all, so money was no where close to being in his name.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀however, after mentioning his situation to his cousin Noritoshi, the kid had given the man your contact information after he had also been tutored by you and passed his exams with flying colors. to say Choso was anxious to contact you would be a complete understatement. it took for his brother Yuuji to hype him up in order for him to even send a simple “hi” text.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀it wasn’t that he was nervous to talk to you in particular. he just got nervous around women in general. he swore that they terrified him, let alone talking to one would send him into a cardiac arrest. yet, when he met up with you at the library he found himself warming up to you faster than he expected. it took a few pushes of you asking him the same questions until he alas answered, but once he realized you weren’t going to be letting down anytime soon, he stopped forcing himself.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the first few sessions were simple ice breakers. you pestering him about his life and family; him barely being able to answer you, let alone look you in the eyes. the way he fidgeted with his thumbs at the hems of his textbooks, and how he shook his leg at a lightning pace made his uncomfortable aura all to radiant. yet, you were used to guys with his personality. it was common for them to “want” a tutor, or at least pretend to need one just to talk to a girl. choso wasn’t like them though, he could barely speak more than a murmur with you, so you knew that he was here for just the knowledge.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀or so you thought.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀because, the day he watched as you made your way into his dorm room with a cropped black tank top and a pair of puffy pink short shorts with your matching black boxer briefs rimming around your waist, he could feel the fabric of his joggers tighten by the millisecond. you noticed how he’d reverted back to his stammering and nerve-racking ways after spending weeks building up the courage just to speak a proper sentence to you. it was quite odd, you thought. yet, didn’t put much effort behind the inquiry, simply just disregarding it.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀never would you have thought that you’d be balls deep on his dick, curling your hips with every movement you made on him. your arms were wrapped loosely around his neck with your fingers delicately entwining with his thick locks in the back of his head. each time you lifted yourself just to drop back down, you rolled your waist and felt as choso utterly melted beneath you.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀the man had regressed into nothing more of a puddle beneath you. the noises that left his quivering lips had your stomach jumbling together like a paper ball that you’d pass around the classroom. his large hands rested on either side of your body, the skim of his nails delving into the flesh of your ass and causing you to bite down on your bottom lip. the entirety of the man’s focus was on your chest that was front and center in his face, watching attentively as they bounced with each action you made.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ his erection had filled you up entirely, the girth of it far bigger than you could’ve imagined. the veins that dragged along the sides, and bottom rummaged your juicy walls eagerly. your dripping cunt had sucked him in so smoothly you swore you could see stars the deeper he entered you. only halfway in and his throbbing tip that was already leaking in his pre-cum was rubbing your cervix. never would you have thought you’d be a gasping and groaning mess when taking in a guys dick so well. you also didn’t think choso would be the first student you’d hook up with, but there’s always a first.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀tears stained the man’s cheeks, his eyes coaxed in those same glossy reflection as he gazed up at you with nothing but pure admiration whirling within his chocolate irises.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “i-i-i’m sorry if i’m hurting you-”

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ “shut up” stating simply, you pressed your swollen lips against his to suppress the moans you felt building up in your core.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀his upward thrusts that met you halfway left your already sore legs, jello-like. you pushed your body onto his more while pulling him closer, your stomachs almost touching with how aggressive your actions were.

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ you were both close, choso’s thrusts becoming sloppier and your moans getting louder. soon enough he was full on crying through his orgasm while your eyes rolled back with your hands planted solidly against his bare chest. your mouth was open just a slither prior to laying your forehead against his shoulder, each of you heaving uncontrollably.

NOTEZ : i need to start writing for more characters bro🧑‍🦯🧑‍🦯 might do attack on titan next idk idk

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explicitred · 11 months

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Nightmare

June 27, Post 23 of the "30 Days Fanfic Event"

Zhongli x Male Reader

Future Events Poll! - You can vote in this poll to let me know what events you're interested in seeing from me in the future :D

is this considered angst??

Zhongli’s eyes open up quickly in shock, breathing heavily from his nightmare.

He listened to his own breathing as his jumbled mind formed the thought that he wanted you.

His hand patted down the space beside him, realizing you weren’t there.

Zhongli needed you, now. He desperately needed to know that you were safe and that you were still his.

Propping himself up, his amber eyes roamed the room, searching for you.

Where were you? Where was his beloved, whom he had loved for a lifetime?

The door opened slightly, creating a creaking noise.

Zhongli’s gaze shifted towards the door, where you were trying to step into the room quietly, not wanting to wake him up.

You stared into his eyes, acknowledging that he was awake.

“...Oh, did I wake you up?”

“No, dear.”

Comfortable silence passed as you silently went back into the covers, noticing Zhongli’s eyes intently on you.

As you got in the bed, the amber-eyed man immediately grasped onto you, holding you tightly.

His head was on your chest with a hold of desperation. Zhongli sucked in a breath, expelling the air from his lungs timidly.

“...Please, don’t leave me.”

bruh i just realized my 2 year spelling mistake in my personal tag and user while writing this (june 24 pst) D:

i have almost 100 posts with this one personal tag, and I have 92 posts on my blog with more in my queue. its gonna take a while, help.

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awakentheeldritchabomination · 2 months

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First Random Writing Dump

CW: mentions of self harm and emotional abuse

As decreed by the poll, most of ya’ll seem fine with a little bit of word vomit, and since I have some time, I’m just gonna spew a bit of my thoughts on my version of Charlie so far. It won’t be much, just a jumbled list of rough ideas. I don’t know how set I am with these, but here goes:

- They may or may not be renamed

- They use they/them pronouns but don’t correct people who misgender them; they find gender to be an odd concept, and they can’t quite grasp why people care so much about it

- They know a lot about human history but have not personally interacted with many people beyond what is necessary (until later)

- Their capacity to empathize with the plight of humans comes from guilt, their mother, who is still going to be Lilith… maybe…., a horrific chance encounter, and their relationship with V (gotta pick a name for her lol)

- Still, growing up in a privileged position largely removed from the sinners’ reality while being surrounded by reminders that these people invited suffering through their own wickedness has given them this sense of innate superiority; they are semi-aware of the fact that their elitist mindset exists and is not…great…but they prefer to bury it under toxic positivity and pretend it’s not an issue

- They have been trained to fight (heaven and hell are still basically at war, after all), but they’ve never had a real battle, and they’ve certainly never killed anyone before; the weight of dealing death terrifies and paralyzes them

- They are aware of what they are, and they deeply fear what they are capable of

- They are not very well acquainted with their demonic form, and they’d rather not be; it’s often triggered by ugly feelings they don’t want to confront

- Yeah, they’ve got some things going on deep down. Beneath the sunshine and rainbows and genuinely good intentions, there’s this raw, wriggling darkness, gnawing on their insides like maggots; they don’t know why

- Spoilers: it’s the manipulation and emotional abuse Lucifer subjected them to as well as the resentment harbored against both parents for deciding to bring a child into a realm meant as an eternal torture chamber for evil people; they don’t consciously recognize the abuse they experienced because of strategic subtly, gaslighting, and isolation from other experiences. Both they and Lilith know something about Lucifer is off, and it creates this eerie, underlying fear that permeates every interaction, yet neither of them know how bad it actually is; Also Lilith likes to make excuses just like: “Oh, don’t be like that. He’s just doing whatever coz he loves you :)”

- Their warring sides will come to a head; the anger inside them will boil over, and they will be a terror

- Lucifer cuts them off after a falling out that occurs because of the hotel proposal; they will only be accepted back once they’ve “come to their senses”

- Charlie and Alastor have a weird relationship; they’ve got this yin-yang, mirrored image thing going on; they:

1. Are both biracial and are torn between different worlds

2. Have distanced themselves from one (their blackness. Yeah, Charlie is technically half black. But it’s a little more about their relation to the whole of humanity for them), but while one is actively trying to seek it out, the other has been conditioned to avoid it

3. Are performers (which will play a role in discussions of identity, y’know, what it means to perform an aspect of identity; what is whiteness vs blackness; queerness vs heteronormative ideals; how we generally define them and individually express them. But it’s also just “hey, we both like doing a thing. Oh, wow. Neat.”)

4. Have a volatile amount of anger that makes them violently lash out

5. Have strictly opposing yet similarly extreme moral principles

this will also be present in their designs (they have opposing coloration: blue vs red, white on black vs black on white, etc.); then there’s the wolf vs deer thing… I feel like I’d need a separate post to go through all that. I feel like this is already a lot lol

- They kinda feel conflicted about being friends with Al because he allows them to cut loose a bit and have fun, and they weirdly enough have a bit in common….but like…. dude ate people…..uhhhhhhh (does that make them a bad person if they like a literal murderer?), but then they think “I’m not supposed to judge. I’m supposed to help (and I’m totally fine….right….?). Meanwhile, V’s just like, “No, babe, please judge”

- They don’t like absolute silence, and they don’t like being alone; it allows their mind to wander into dangerous places; since Alastor is a literal radio that spits out music and static constantly, they sometimes just seek him out when their thoughts are too loud. Like, he just becomes a sentient noise machine for them basically

- Charlie’s got a habit of chewing on things when they’re nervous—pens, the inside of their cheek, their nails—coz dog (or….wolf….dragon….thingy); it’s usually harmless, but when they feel especially bad, they bite themselves (sometimes they bite the stuffing out of pillows as a substitute); when they start to more aggressively gnaw on their nails, V usually tries to guide their hand away

- They hide under the bed when they are feeling particularly miserable and anxious

There’s a lot more crap brewing, and I didn’t go into as much detail as I could have…. But I think that’s enough for maybe the week idk. If anyone’s at all curious, I might make another post about V or something.

Leave thoughts in the notes if you wanna!

#hazbin hotel critical #hazbin hotel redesign #hazbin hotel criticism #hazbin hotel rewrite #charlie redesign #hazbin charlie redesign #Hazbin Charlie rewrite

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calaisreno · 1 year

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Point of View in Fiction: Some Observations

I did a poll on point of view in fanfiction a while ago. The results didn't surprise me; I knew that some people just don't read 1st person stories, and most people don’t care about POV. I was more interested in the reasons people gave for their preference.

It's a personal thing, how someone tells you a story, and if you don't like the narrative voice, you will associate it with other things. Readers don’t often think about voice, but it is one of the most important ways a story draws you in, or sends you to the back button. I suspect it's narrative voice that is affecting some readers more than POV.

I’ve never hit the back button on any fic because of the POV. I have hit that button because of format, paragraphing, and a few other issues. I’m an English teacher who taught creative writing for many of those years. Now I don’t read things that feel like student writing-- simply because I can’t enjoy reading something if it feels like I should be grading it. If there are spelling errors or common grammar mistakes that I see over and over in student work, I don’t read it. It might be a good story, but I can't put myself in the right headspace to appreciate it because it feels like work.

Judging from the replies to the poll, some people associate first person POV with bad writing, but there are many other things that flag a story as badly written. And a badly written story isn’t necessarily a bad story. (Barbara Woodhouse assured us that there are no bad dogs; this may be true for stories as well, but choice is an individual matter. There are some breeds I would not choose as a companion.)

I was given the task of teaching creative writing because the admin in charge of the schedule at my school needed another English elective and I had a hole in my schedule. I was an avid reader and had written a lot of original fiction at that point, and thought having students write poems and stories might be a nice change from essays and book reports. My feelings about it were not relevant. Nobody cared whether I was qualified; it was either Creative Writing or Study Hall (i.e. Purgatory) for me. I did not hesitate.

The reality: I loved it and hated it.

Many of my young writers were reluctant, having been placed in my class to fill a hole in their schedules; they did not enjoy writing in the least. A hundred words was an accomplishment for some of them; if they could break this barrier, they got smiley faces and exclamation points. Others were wildly enthusiastic, producing pages of badly spelled and punctuated narrative, a chaotic jumble of scene and dialogue with random flashes of brilliance.

Grading a story is not like grading an essay. The fledgling writers who are serious need to know that spelling, punctuation, and grammar matter: it’s the suit you put on for the interview so you get the job. The ones who dislike writing need encouragement to see that it doesn't have to be punishment. It can be play.

A few observations from my years working with student writers:

Inexperienced fiction writers tend to use POV 1st person more often. Most of these writers are also enthusiastic readers. First person POV helps them find the camera eye focus they realize fiction needs. However fantastic, the story they write is their story, intimate and personal, and 1st person feels most comfortable to them. They need encouragement and a few friendly suggestions, not a paper bloodied by my red pen. In writing process, first drafts are allowed to be horrible.

The non-readers in my class were the most reluctant writers; they often failed to understand POV and wrote from an outsider third-person POV which ended up being more of a summary than a story. My job was to show them how to pull scenes out of the summary. People talking, doing things.

We all start somewhere.

Publishers note that first submissions are often written in first person. It is not that they reject these stories because of that; the stories have other amateur flaws and the POV is just a flag for other issues. First person is not bad, it’s just harder for new writers to pull off well.

Several novels I’ve recently read use first person narrator to good effect: Piranesi comes to mind, The Rule of Four, and Moriarty. The Left Hand of Darkness is a story I can’t even imagine in third person-- and it has two narrators! The original Sherlock Holmes stories (all but a couple) are written in first person, with Doctor Watson narrating.

There are choices even within a first person narrative. The main character doesn’t have to narrate. Watson isn’t the main character in ACD’s stories, Holmes is. Watson is an involved/interested observer (a common use of first person); he stands in for the reader, seeing the mystery unfold, not understanding what all the clues mean until— surprise!— Holmes reveals the solution. I have read mysteries where the first person narrator turns out to be the murderer; the shock value of this fades if you use it every time, but it’s effective on some stories. First person is not bad, if chosen for a good reason.

And third person has its own set of problems. The multiple “he” and “his” that need clarification. The accidental wandering out of limited point of view into semi-omniscience. Even a close, third-person limited narrative provides some distance from the viewpoint character.

Second person is rare and considered gimmicky. I wrote a story in second POV once; the only comment from my most admiring reader: NO. Just, NO. Since that horror, I’ve used first person with second person address in a couple stories (Blessings and The Story of Us, if you’re curious). It’s not a choice I’d often make, but sometimes it’s the right one.

Several of my favourite fanfics use the first person brilliantly. (Pointing to ivyblossom’s The Progress of Sherlock Holmes and The Quiet Man.) When reading, I generally don’t notice point of view unless I think about it; if the narrative flows, the choice obviously works. I don't read much in other fandoms, but think that the Sherlock fandom has a lot of really talented and experienced writers, better than many published stories I’ve read.

I use first person in some of my stories, usually because I’ve found a narrative voice I like. I’ve also rewritten stories after the first draft, changing POV (first to third, or third to first) because I thought it would work better. My feeling is that neither is better in general; in a specific story it should be a deliberate choice, not an accidental one. It’s one of many things to think about when writing a narrative. Voice is one of the most important.

My conclusions:

Reading for pleasure means that the best story is the one you love. It’s a personal choice, not a debate.

Writing well develops over time, as a product of many things. If you’re writing for pleasure, not pay, you should write what you love. Do not change your story because of what a poll says.

If you’re unsure or unhappy about what you’ve written, find a beta reader. Ask them questions. Pay them in adoration. Return the favour; it’s a great way to learn.

Polls are useful only for provoking thought. My thanks to all who participated!

#writing fiction #writing advice #fanfiction #writing for fun #point of view

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changingplumbob · 28 days

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Pancake Household: Chapter 9, Part 1

Time to check in with the Pancakes stack!

Nicknames: Bob = Sleek, Eliza = Jumble

Brindleton Bay in autumn, the best world/season combo or so I’ve been told. We start with Ginger chasing her tail and Bob and Eliza waking up.

Eliza: You ready for tonight?

Bob: Tonight?

Eliza: The dinner party Sleek

Bob: I remember we were having one I just didn’t remember it was tonight. Let me just call in work

Eliza: I could always cook

She looks at him but can only keep her face composed for a few seconds before laughing at her own joke.

Bob: *laughs* Let’s not burn the house down Jumble

Since we’ve last visited the youngest Pancake, Fergus, has been diagnosed with ADHD. He wants to see if he can manage without medication for the moment which makes Eliza a little nervous now and then.

Fergus: Morning dad, morning mother. Is Emi still coming for dinner

Eliza: Her and her parents, as well as Onyx’s friend Carson and his parents

Fergus: Just remember you have to call her Artemisia because you’re normal, I get to call her Emi because I’m her friend

Eliza: *quietly* Thank the watcher our eldest picked a simple name

Bob: You’re telling me

Bob stands and pulls Eliza up to kiss her on the cheek. He’s hoping they’ll have a daughter soon.

Onyx: Good morning everyone. Dad, mother, I couldn’t help but notice we still have a horse shaped hole in our lawn

Fergus: Did you dig up the yard?

Onyx: It’s an expression *switches to talking to Eliza* because I’m an A student mother

Eliza: Must be the only grade A student in detention

Onyx: It was one detention! Everyone gets at least one detention

Eliza: I didn’t

Bob: It’s not the detention that’s a problem. Your mother and I are concerned about how you’d manage taking care of a horse on top of your school and cheerleading responsibilities

Onyx: I’d fit it in. Please mother, I’m sad I don’t have a horse

Eliza: How about a test then

Onyx: A test?

Eliza: You take over walking Ginger for a while and if you can manage that we can talk about a horse again

Onyx: Deal. My dog walking skills will be legendary

The table bursts into laughter at this response.

Eliza: Oh I do love your confidence honey

Bob: Of course we’re lucky we can afford Ginger

Eliza: Bob…

Bob: For a while there my books weren’t doing so good

Onyx: They weren’t?

Bob: The first critic, what did he say Jumble?

Eliza: *sternly* Bob

Bob: That it was expensive toilet paper

Onyx: Oh my watcher! That’s awful! Is that why we had to move? Do we owe the mob money? Will they kill us in our sleep

Bob: What?

Clearly surprised that this new has upset Onyx, Bob turns to his wife to signal for help. Good thing she’s already prepared.

Eliza: It was a long time ago and we got through it. We may not be rolling in simoleons like some other families but we’re certainly in no danger of losing Ginger or the house

Bob: You’ll see Onyx, we’ll be… good?

Eliza: Thank you Bob, that was very convincing

Bob: *laughs* Thank the watcher charisma levels can’t go backwards

Onyx: I just have to do my homework mother then I’ll walk Ginger, you’ll see, I’ll have loads of time

Bob and Eliza watch their kids hurry off to get their homework out the way, Eliza feeling proud, Bob wondering if he should have added more onions to the breakfast quiche.

Settling onto the workout machine Bob thinks it’s a good time to do a short livestream, he still can’t believe he has fans, but he’ll have to get more for promotion.

Bob: Hey viewers. I’m having a dinner party tonight and I’m getting ready by exercising early! Remember to do your warmup stretches and add the weight you lift gradually. So my kid is 14 and I’m wondering… is it safe to let them in my kitchen? Let’s do a poll!

Inside in their room Onyx is oblivious to their responsibility being debated online, focusing instead on finishing their homework correctly. It would probably be easier if Eliza hadn’t picked now to vacuum but with visitors coming she will not be accepting dust bunnies today!

After completing his own homework assignment Fergus sets about doing the laundry. He checks all the pockets and gets it in the machine. Just as he sets it to go Onyx comes out for their cheer practice.

Onyx: Did you just do the washing

Fergus: It’s only right, we have guests coming and mother can’t do all the chores

Onyx: Suppose

Fergus: Plus if I do it you’ll have time to walk Ginger

Onyx: That’s nice of you, thanks-

Their words are interrupted by Fergus having chosen the porch as the best place to practice dramatics! Onyx shrugs and carries on their own practice, may as well practice not being distracted by random noises.

Livestream finished Bob heads inside to start prep for the dinner party. It’s here he realises he has a fridge full of batter but no dough, oops.

Bob: Hey, Jumble?

Eliza: Library! Doing chess!

Bob: Oh. Turns out I have to wait some time for the dough to mix together. I was wondering if I could persuade you to join me in bed for our own mixing

Eliza: *smiles* ask me nicely

Of course they do end up in bed and spend far longer mixing together than is required for the dough.

Previous (Romero) ... Next

#sims 4 #the sims #the sims 4 #simblr #my sims #ChangingPlumbobStorytime #R0904 #ElizaPancakes #BobPancakes #OnyxPancake #FergusPancakes

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sadiecoocoo · 3 months

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Hello hello! Sadly my prompts are no longer open, so no more ideas can be submitted at this time.

However I would like to make a poll for all the ideas… so here’s some info! (This is not a listing from favorite to least, just a numbered list of a summary for all the ideas)

1. Parksborn with a soulmate mark trope

2. Mortycest, Rick ends up hurting Morty in some way, be it physical or emotional, and Morty runs to vent to Evil Morty

3. Freaky Mortys theory where the two have a secret relationship

4. Based off of @onemorefromthemultiverse’s au, showing Rick and Birdperson’s recovery stages after their trauma (go check out the au it’s awesome!)

5. Morty leaves the curve with evil Morty at the end of season 5

I would like to say that the results of the poll do not dictate which I will be writing, though it might help me decide. So please if a certain one wins and I don’t end up writing that one don’t be upset lol

Also, making it a week long to give me some time to jumble all my ideas together

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volfoss · 4 months

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long post sort of to explain the poll but. when i hit bj should i:

ok so. i want to get a kinda gauge on this due to how DRASTICALLY different all these orders are. heres an explanation for like... the horrors i think.

tldr: chrono is going to be very true to release order but probably not super helpful to eng only readers, kodansha keeps the formatting that ive been having, vertical is going to be easiest for eng only readers as its THE way to access the series. for more in depth thoughts i tossed that shit under the cut bc its long lol

chronological order is pretty self explanatory but it is DRASTICALLY different than any other BJ release. if i did it in chrono order, it is pretty much the only universal order, as its a VERY concrete release order compared to how releases kind of jumble it around.

for comparison heres the first 10 chapters chronologically (from my big scary spreadsheet) and how it corresponds to each release:

hopefully you can see that its a MESS with this. explaining the other two orders and why i am contemplating doing them that way.

Kodansha- so the big big big chronology that im following here is the Kodansha releases of 400 volumes of Tezuka's most noteable work. There are 22 volumes of Black Jack in the Kodansha release and they are from MT-151-> MT-168 (for the original run) and MT-366->369 (for the volumes released after the original run was concluded). The obvious issue of going for chronological order is it does NOT directly correspond with the EN/Vertical order OR the Kodansha order. If i did the Kodansha order, it would be easier to format like my other posts on this have been (ie: Princess Knight (1963-1964) being from MT-004->MT-006 in the order). But it would be a very big pain for everyone reading as I don't think anyone else WOULD be doing the order mentioned in the Kodansha volumes.

Vertical- ease of access definitely wins out here, as I'd be going by the 17 volumes here and it would be VERY easy to follow along if you also wanted to read Black Jack. it is also heavily out of order (as you can see by the snippet of the spreadsheet I included), but as the chronological volumes are only VERY recently being released in Japanese, it would be the most accessible to everyone else.

the other big difference would be in length/amt of posts. If i went by the chronological order, it would be about 11 or 22 (as there are 242 chapters per post, so I'd be dividing them up so its not just... reviews for EVERY SINGLE CHAPTER in one post. no one wants that. The Kodansha volumes have about 10 chapters on average per post BUT are missing some of the sealed/semi-sealed/otherwise just missing chapters so I would have to make prob 23? posts going over it if i divided it this way. The vertical release has about 12~ chapters per volume and also does not include the sealed chapters (which I've found some translated and some untranslated scans online and for completions sake, do want to include them in any review) so it would be probably 18 posts, with the sealed (and thus not included, as the Vertical release includes some of the semi-sealed chapters) posts making up the final post here.

#twist rambles #tzkposting #sorry this is sooo long i wont even be hitting black jack for a while (esp given teh INSANE amt of untranslated stuff i have before then)#but i wanted to get thoughts on it :) personally leading towards chrono bc i will be dropping my spreadsheet link wise for this all soon bc #its a lot of info and stuff that is helpful. but i also see why the others COULD be good options :) please leave input and stuff if u have #strong opinions/desire to read bj and are like fuck i gotta wait for u to review them or wtv lol #ill also be srbing this for like... every 3 hours or so to try and get a good range of thoughts on this ok :)

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