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audreyscahier · 1 year

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Off the Record (Pedro Pascal x OFC)

Word count: 4,560 words

Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Content warnings: Daddy kink (not ddlg; she just calls him daddy a lot), oral sex (m receiving), penetrative sex, fingering, (slightly) rough sex, sweet sex, Big Dick Pedro, Soft Dom Pedro, alcohol, lingerie, a little bit of slapping, dirty talk, a hint of sugar daddy vibes

Summary: Rae is an entertainment reporter who has developed a playfully flirtatious professional relationship with Pedro over the years. Totally professional. Until he invites her to hang out in his hotel room one night after an event—strictly off the record.

Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction and written just for fun. If RPF makes you uncomfortable, please do not continue with this post.

The convention is so crowded that it feels like an act of fate when Rae steps out for some fresh air and happens upon Pedro, alone behind one of the side buildings. He’s smoking a cigarette and he gives her a playful, guilty grimace when he spots her, gesturing with a flick of ash.

“You caught me,” he says.

“You’re such a bad boy,” she teases.

He laughs.

“Aren’t you cold?” he asks. He’s looking her up and down and she sees his eyes linger on her bare legs before drifting their way up the rest of her body. The attention makes her stand a little straighter.

She’s used to California weather. This is a rare travel assignment and she hadn’t packed well for the climate.

“Fucking freezing. But that’s the cost of beauty,” she adds loftily, like she’s done it on purpose.

He raises an eyebrow, amused. “Well, it’s paying off,” he says. “You look gorgeous.”

She gives him an appreciative smile. “It’s too bad you didn’t put any effort in; we could’ve looked good together.”

It’s a joke. He’s wearing a cozy, well-fitted cashmere sweater and designer trousers, with a one-inch heeled suede boot. His dark hair is styled at the perfect in-between point of messy and coiffed, with well-defined curls that you could still run your fingers through.

Not that she’s fighting back the urge to touch him. That would be unprofessional.

He’s playing along with the joke, narrowing his eyes at her and shaking his head, ruefully. “You’re always fucking showing me up.”

Her phone vibrates and she glances at it. It’s a text from her producer, giving her a 15-minute warning for their next interview.

“Three more hours,” she sighs. “And then I’m going to go back to the Fairmont and climb under all the covers and stuff myself with room service.”

“I’m at the Fairmont, too,” he tells her. “Don’t order the crab cakes—they’re dry.”

“You should invite me over to hang out,” she says. “I can help you raid the minibar on Disney’s dime.”

He takes a drag on his cigarette and blows the smoke out of the corner of his mouth, away from her, considering it. “What’s your poison?”

“That depends,” she muses. “If you want me to stay good, I like vodka. Tequila? My clothes come right off.”

He barks out a laugh, slowly shaking his head. “Well, I’m in…” He digs in his pocket, pulling out a slim wallet and rifling for his hotel key card to find the room number. “Room 512, if you want to stop by. We can call down for salt and limes.”

It makes her heart beat a little faster, that he’s taken this past harmless flirtation and turned it into… This was an invitation, wasn’t it? Rae schools her expression, trying to remain playfully aloof.

“Maybe I’ll see you later, then,” she says, and gives him a wink as she turns to go back inside.

He opens the door on her second knock. The room is nicer than hers—it’s a king suite with a huge tub that she spots through the open bathroom door as she steps inside—and he hasn’t been in town long enough to make it very messy. The lighting is muted, just a couple of table lamps on in the corners and a golden sheen from the setting sun filtering through his open curtains. He’s kept on the nice sweater, but changed his trousers for a pair of dark, comfy-looking sweatpants, and abandoned the shoes in favor of bare feet.

Rae slips off her flats by the door, making herself at home.

“I thought you might stand me up,” he observes.

“Of course not,” she says. “It’s not like I can afford to break into my own minibar. I needed to get to yours.”

Pedro clicks his tongue, mock-hurt. “You’re using me. You know, Meryl Streep warned me about this. She said the more famous you get, the less you know who you can trust.”

He’s joking around, she knows, playing off of her comment and name-dropping the most absurd famous person he’s acquainted with just to make her laugh. But the sentiment still makes her feel a little sad, and it probably comes out too earnest when she tells him, “You can trust me.”

He looks at her and gives her a quiet smile. “Yeah, I know.”

There’s a plate of lime wedges and a shaker of salt already sitting on the counter with a bottle of tequila and two shot glasses. She raises an eyebrow, delighted he’s chosen her favorite vice.

“I warned you about the tequila,” she reminds him.

He makes a face, dismissive. “You don’t scare me.”

She waggles her eyebrows, like, maybe you should be scared, but he just shakes his head, amused, and pours them each a generous shot.

“Salud,” he says, clinking his glass to hers.

They don’t go overboard. A 7:00 AM wake-up in this time zone will be 4:00 AM as far as her west coast-attuned body is concerned, and she likes her job too much to sabotage it by getting seriously drunk the night before a long work day. But with two or three shots apiece, they make it through a few of the tiny, overpriced bottles, and they each have a pleasant, relaxed buzz going.

Pedro makes for good company. Off the press line and away from any cameras, inhibitions lowered by the tequila, his sense of humor comes out a little dirtier. Every time one of his jokes lands, sending her into a fit of laughter, he grins, looking pleased with himself. Not for the first time, she finds herself thinking that it’s almost maddening how charming and charismatic he is.

“You know,” Rae tells him, “A lot of fangirls out there would pay good money to take a shot with you. I’ll never be able to tell anyone about this because they’d rip me apart out of jealousy.”

“Oh please,” he teases. “Don’t pretend like you’re not right there with them, getting all hot over the Mandalorian every week.”

Her jaw drops, but she swiftly recovers. “Actually, I belong to the camp that believes Din Djarin is a virgin. I don’t think he’s probably even that good in bed.”

He’s offended. He goes from a lazy sprawl to sitting upright, just like that. “Excuse me?”

She raises an eyebrow. “Do you have a take on this? It’d be an amazing scoop if I could get a quote from you.”

“Hey,” he says warningly. “This evening is strictly off the record.”

“Of course,” she agrees. He holds up his hand, pinky extended, and she scoots closer on the couch and hooks her pinky around his, promising. “So?”

“Din Djarin is not a virgin,” he says decisively. His tone says he thinks the mere concept is ridiculous.

“Well, who has he had sex with?” she challenges him.

He counts off on his fingers. “He fucked that twi’lek girl with the knives—”

“Xi’an,” she supplies.

“Of course you remember her name,” he laughs, but not unkindly. They both know she’s nerdier about Star Wars lore than he is. He ticks off the next finger. “He fucked Omera. He obviously fucked Cobb Vanth, if you can’t see that you’re blind.”

He has to raise his voice to be heard over her laughter. He’s holding back his amusement, too.

“I can’t believe you’re questioning Mando’s sex life when you’re the one calling him a daddy all the time.”

“Uh uh,” she corrects him. “I think you’re a daddy.”

Over the course of the conversation she’d continued to unconsciously slide closer to him, and now as he watches her in amused contemplation, they suddenly feel very close. The realization of it, in the silence following her overtly flirtatious statement, makes her smile fall and her pulse pick up. She looks down, taking a breath, and when she glances up he’s still looking at her face. His voice has turned husky when he speaks again.

“Can I kiss you?”

She bites her lip, trying to stay cool, and nods. He leans in closer, lightly gripping her chin under his thumb.

“Yes?” he checks.

“Yes,” she says breathlessly.

His lips are soft, and dry, and a little tangy from the salt and lime they’ve both been consuming. He slips his tongue lightly over her bottom lip, adding a little glide to the kiss. She follows his lead, melting into him and feeling flushed. He’s cupping her face, and the firm press of his hand on her cheek is simultaneously grounding and makes her feel like she’s caught up in a dream.

“Can I—” she starts. She curls her fingers, closing around nothing. His eyes are dark, watching her patiently. “Can I touch you?”

“Yes,” he murmurs. He takes her hand in his and guides it to rest on his upper thigh, close enough the permission is clear—not so close that he’s making her move too fast.

He kisses her again, and she closes her eyes and lets herself follow her instincts. Her fingers inch higher on his lap until she feels his bulge, stiffening under the soft fabric. She runs her fingers along him and his breath hitches. She squeezes, lightly, and he grunts, shifting his hips up into her touch.

“Can I—” she starts again. He cuts her off, answering against her skin as he works his mouth down the length of her neck, telling her, “Yes,” before she can finish the question. “Yes.”

So she makes her way to the edge of the couch and sinks onto her knees on the floor, pushing his legs open to settle between them. He’s looking down at her there, looking turned on, looking like he likes what he sees—but when she reaches for him he stops her, grabbing her wrists in one hand.

“Wait,” he says. His voice is lust-rough. With his other hand, he picks at the fabric of her top. “Take these off first.”

She bites her lip, feeling a rush of arousal pulse through her to pool between her legs. She misses his grip when he lets go of her wrists, but she stands obediently and strips off her clothes, until she’s down to just her underwear. Pedro’s mouth falls open, taking her in. Focusing in on the matching bra and panties.

“You brought this for a work trip?” he asks, sounding awed.

Maybe she hadn’t done such a bad job of packing her suitcase, after all.

“I just… like lingerie. I like to wear it under my regular clothes,” she tells him. “It makes me feel sexy.”

She does a slow turn, letting him see the cheeky cut of her panties.

He looks a little dazed. “It’s very sexy.”

His gaze follows her breasts, perched filling out the lacy, balconette cups of her bra, as she kneels before him again. This time he doesn’t stop her when she reaches forward, brushing her hands over his growing bulge as she grasps his waistband and tugs it down to unveil him to her.

She was certain it would be big, but the sight of his cock still makes her mouth drop open and her eyes widen as she takes it in. Her hands look small, touching him, wrapping around his length. She feels that rush again, pussy going wet and her mouth watering for him. She licks her lips, purses them tight, and leans in to slide her mouth open around the tip of his cock.

He swears.

She sinks her hot mouth onto him, sucking him off and savoring it, her saliva mixing with the mild salt-tang spurts of his pre-come spilling onto her tongue. She slides her hands down to the base of his cock where she can’t reach her mouth, slicking him up and working over his length in firm strokes.

Rae pulls back for a moment, wanting to watch his face while she jerks him off. She has one hand wrapped around his shaft and she reaches the other down to massage over his balls. His eyes are heavy-lidded, watching her, and his breath is unsteady, hips twitching like he wants to thrust hard into her heat. He grabs the back of her head with one large hand, tugging her forward just gently, telling her without words that he wants her mouth back on him. When she doesn’t take him in immediately, he taps his cock lightly against her cheek, nudging at the corner of her mouth.

Her eyes flutter closed. “You can be rough with me,” she tells him. “I like it.”

“You like it?” he repeats. There’s a pause, as she meets his hot gaze and silently nods. “Then take it.”

Pedro’s grip is tight on the back of her neck as he forces his cock past the seam of her lips. He fills her mouth, hitting against her throat, and she moans, focusing on avoiding him with her teeth and distracted by the way her clit throbs from the rough treatment. Her body is rocking, legs pressed tight together, head bobbing on his dick, all her senses overwhelmed by the taste and smell and sound of him—by his soft stomach where she’s braced one hand, tucked under his shirt, and the ache in her jaw and her vision blurring with unshed tears from taking him too far and starting to choke.

He pulls her off, to let her get her breath back, and squeezes his fingers around the base of his dick, steadying himself as she runs the back of her hand over her wet mouth, wiping away the drool that’s gone running down her chin.

“Come here,” he says, gentle again. He pulls her into his lap, straddling his legs, and kisses her softly at the corners of her mouth, soothing over her swollen lips.

He runs his thumbs delicately along the tops of her bra cups, feeling the lace bordering her soft skin, then smooths his hands down her sides to her hips. He looks up, watching her face as he slides one hand over the thin fabric of her panties, but his controlled expression changes as much as hers does when he touches her and feels the arousal soaking through.

“You got that wet for me?” he rasps. “From sucking my cock?”

She nods slowly, feeling exposed and shivery under his gaze, turned on even more by hearing those words in his deep voice.

“I told you I liked it,” she whispers.

His jaw clenches. He slips his fingers under the fabric, teasing over her skin, feeling along her folds—watching her gasp when he finds her clit. Then he pinches it, hard enough to make her cry out and buck her hips in his lap, and her breath comes out unsteady when he lets go.

“Rae,” he says. “Go get in my bed.”

The command sends a wave of calm through her system. She takes a deep breath. “Yes, daddy,” she murmurs, and climbs carefully off of his lap.

In the bedroom, she follows his instruction, stripping off her lingerie and tossing it aside before climbing onto the plush bed. She leans back on her elbows, legs demurely crossed at the ankles, and watches him pull his sweater over his head, revealing his softly toned body and broad shoulders. Then he shoves the sweatpants off his hips, stepping out of them where they pool at his feet, and her gaze is drawn back to his cock, bobbing enticingly between his legs. Her eyes glaze over, hypnotized with want.

He kneels onto the bed, reaching to uncross her ankles and make space between her legs. His eyes rake over her, drinking her in, absently biting his bottom lip as he lingers on her pussy. Then he makes his way up, straddling her thigh, one knee by her hip and the other just below her cunt, not quite close enough for her to grind against his leg like she thinks she might like to try. He kneels over her like that, leaning forward to brace one hand next to her shoulder, and caresses her face with the other, running his fingers lightly over her cheekbone. She melts under him, meeting his dark eyes, taking in his handsome face and his lush lips and thinking maybe he’ll kiss her again.

Pedro slaps her face, just hard enough to send a jolt through her, making her gasp. Her eyes snap back to his, pulse racing.

“Tell me what you want,” he demands, voice gone husky.

“I—I want your cock,” she moans.

“Tell me,” he says. “Say it again.”

“Please,” she begs, “I want your big fucking fat cock, daddy.”

He laughs, a low, dirty chuckle. “Where do you want it, baby?”

Her face is flushed; her whole body is on fire, all hot and needy for him. “In my pussy.”

“Yeah?” He rubs his hand over her mound, warm on the smooth-shaven skin, then feels down into her slick folds where she’s soaking wet. “Your pretty little pussy? You think she can take it?”

“Yes,” she whines. He pushes three thick fingers inside her, making her cry out and tilt her hips up, greedy for it. His knees are spread wide to balance himself and hold her legs pushed open with his own. When she writhes under him he sets his weight down harder, pinning her.

With his free hand, he slaps her tit. The sting makes her yelp and her cunt clenches tight around his fingers. He twists and pulls them free, then thrusts inside her again, working in and out until she feels like she can’t form a full thought, head all empty but for the sound of her moans and his hot, heavy breath, and the fast, dirty squelching sound her pussy makes as he fucks her hard.

When he pulls his hand away she can see her slick coating his fingers, shining wet in the dim lamplight. He falls forward so that he’s hovering directly over her and feeds his fingers into her mouth, making her taste her own arousal. Her eyes flutter closed as she sucks them clean.

“Dirty girl,” he murmurs. He pulls his fingers gently out and lowers his face to hers instead, giving her a deep kiss to chase the taste of her with his tongue.

He grinds his hard cock into her hip and eventually pulls out of the kiss, murmuring against her mouth, “I have to grab a condom.” He brushes his thumb over her mouth as he pulls away, tender. “You still good?”

“Mmm,” she breathes. “So good.”

He rifles in his travel bag, unzipping a small pouch and retrieving a condom packet. When he returns to the bed, he runs his hand along her thigh and then slaps her flank. “Get on your knees.”

She rolls over, pushing up onto her knees, and braces her forearms on the bed, arching her back. It feels primal, presenting her cunt like this for him to take, and behind her he growls with want.

She feels the head of his cock press blunt and thick at her entrance, and he starts working his length into her in shallow, prodding thrusts, a little deeper each time. He starts slow—he has to, she’s so fucking tight around him, and it’s only because she’s so turned on that the stretch isn’t too much to take. Gradually, he pushes his cock into her hot, slick center, and it leaves her gasping for air, like he’s fucking all the way up into her lungs.

“Christ,” he groans. His voice has gone impossibly deeper. “You feel so fucking good, baby. How does that feel?”

She tries to speak and it comes out a strangled moan, incomprehensible.

He withdraws a little, fighting against the grip of her pussy trying to keep him inside. His hands are strong on her hips, holding her in place.

“Tell me,” he commands. He thrusts in again as she opens her mouth, and she cries out.

“Tell me, baby. Tell me how this cock feels in your sweet—little—pussy—” He emphasizes each word with a deep thrust. She feels lightheaded from it, but it’s like it breaks something inside her and her tongue finally works again, babbling needy words at him.

“It’s so good, fuck, it feels so good, daddy,” she moans. “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me—” The friction is easier now, with her body opening up to take him, and he’s moving faster. She’s gripping desperately into the bedsheets above her head, moving with the push-pull rhythm of his sex, and she’s starting to feel almost high from it, a little spaced out on the sensation of his dick driving into her.

He leans forward, draping hot over her back, and it shifts the angle of his thrusts, so that he’s suddenly hitting a spot that makes her see stars.

“Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit—” He probably can’t make out the words; her voice is muffled in the sheets. Her body is trembling, on that pre-orgasmic high, pure pleasure running through her with every stroke of his huge dick. She wishes she could stay suspended like this forever, in this luxurious bed being fucked by this perfect cock, balancing right on the cusp of ecstasy.

When she comes, she collapses flat onto her belly, shattered, and he follows her down, pinning her to the bed and continuing to fuck her just as hard. She cries out, the sounds of her orgasm tearing out of her throat and ringing in her ears as her pussy pulses and flutters around him. Finally, he slows and pulls out of her, and the sudden emptiness feels too big, like he’s left her hollowed out in the tender space of her cunt. He turns her over, onto her back, and braces over her, eyes focused on her face when he slides his dick back inside and fills her in again. She whimpers, needy and overwhelmed, feeling every long, slow inch of his cock dragging through her.

He kisses her, languid tongue matching his steady thrusts. It’s intimate in a way Rae’s not sure she’s earned the right to be with him. But it doesn’t surprise her, learning he’s sweet like this. He’s always looked at her like he wants the eye contact, like he wants to be close, like he thrives on connection. She’s always seen him act kindly to everyone in the room, and it only follows that when you’re the only one in the room with him, he’d devote himself to you and take his time.

She wants to make him feel good. To see him lose control and let go. She squeezes her cunt around him, experimentally, and he breaks their kiss to exhale a gasping breath, rhythm faltering.

“Fuck,” he breathes, mouth on her chin. “Do that again.”

She clenches again, running her hands down his body, teasing at him with her long nails and feeling him tremble. “You feel so good, daddy,” she whispers. “Your cock is so big, I don’t—fuck!” she exclaims, when his pace picks up and he rams into her, harder. “I don’t know how you even fucking fit inside me, your big—fuck—fucking cock—shit—”

He’s panting, making ragged, desperate sounds, pushing up into her like he can bury himself even deeper. Teeth sharp, biting at her jaw. She’s not even thinking about the words spilling out of her, just lets every filthy thought slip free, riling him up. “Fuck me, daddy, fuck—you’re fucking splitting me in half—I want you to come inside me—fill me up—I want it, I want it, I want it—”

He groans, hiding his face in her neck, stiffening and releasing inside of her. She wishes, insanely, that he had fucked her bareback so she could feel it coating her pussy, dripping out after. She would have let him if he wanted to, she thinks, and it’s a terrible thing to realize about herself.

It doesn’t stop her from holding him in place before he can pull out, keeping him deep inside her cunt, and rubbing at her swollen clit until she comes on his dick one last time, savoring the orgasm and the rumbling sound of his groans in her ears.

He doesn’t try to kick her out after—in fact, he orders a slice of caramel cheesecake from the room service menu and asks if Rae wants something, too—but in the end, she reluctantly says that she should go.

“I have to be up early to interview that kid from the new Marvel movie,” she sighs.

Pedro laughs, unsympathetic. “Oh, your life is so hard.”

“Yeah, harder now,” she complains. “I’m gonna be walking funny on the press line tomorrow.”

He bites back a laugh, but then furrows his brow in concern. “Are you alright? Did I hurt you?”

She hums, giving her nude, exhausted body an experimental stretch. “That was the biggest dick I’ve ever taken,” she tells him. “And… it was the best.”

He relaxes again, looking like he’s not trying very hard to hide a satisfied smirk.

“Don’t let it go to your head or anything.”

“Oh,” he says, shaking his head dismissively, “Way too late for that, sweetheart.”

When she sees him again they’re back in LA, at a premiere for his new indie film. He greets her with a familiar, professional smile, but she can see the change in how he looks at her now, the new, interested sparkle in his eyes and how he lingers on her longer. He gives her a tight hug goodbye, murmuring, “Bye, baby,” too quiet for the mic to pick up, and she slips a folded note into his hand as she pulls away.

I had to buy a bigger toy—you’ve ruined me. Asshole.

She hears his dirty, delighted cackle and she fights to school her face, tamping down the light, giddy feeling in her chest as she turns her focus to the next guest on the press line.

She’s not sure how he got her home address. It probably wasn’t that hard, she supposes, to have his agent contact her company and sweet talk it out of them with the promise of exclusive promo material, or something of that kind. It’s probably not worth questioning how one of the biggest rising stars on the planet can get something he wants. In any event, she’s grateful he did, because she might have received this package in the middle of the office, otherwise, and that would have been more than a little embarrassing.

He’s got her size right. She wonders if he’d snuck a peek at the tags before she put her underwear back on—if he was already planning this even then. The thought of it makes her feel—something. She’s not sure what it makes her feel. She’s walking a tightrope between a dangerous mistake and total euphoria and it’s all she can do to keep her balance, because she can’t risk taking a misstep.

The set is from a luxury brand so expensive she would never buy it for herself. It’s an ethereal blend of ribbon and tulle, the thong nothing more than a scrap of beautiful fabric, and she knows it will have cost him several hundred dollars.

There’s a gift note, sitting on top of the tissue paper-wrapped goods.

A ‘sorry for ruining you’ gift. So you can feel sexy at the season 3 premiere. Show me after, if you want.

-P

Her stomach swoops, as she tries not to fall.

#pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x ofc #pedro pascal x reader #pedro pascal fanfic #pedro pascal rpf

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ethereal-night-fairy · 6 months

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Forgotten sorrows

Chapter 6

Fae!Soap X Female Reader

Witch X Rún X Price

Price warns Soap to stay away from you for his own good and you enjoy a day out with your best friend. Seeing her in pretty dresses might have cause your brain to short circuit with very dirty thoughts plaguing your mind. It doesn't help when Price decides to butt in on you flirting with her.

Warnings: MDNI, smut (Rún thinking about Witch and Price, no Soap this time sorry i got carried away but I'll include it in the future chapters maybe...that depends on if this ship lasts) kissing, oral sex, fingering, light bondage, Top/Bottom, dark themes, mention of trauma, light angst, cursing, hurt/comfort sorry if I missed any.

I'm so sorry I've been gone so long again you might as well just expect chapters at a monthly pace lol. I fought myself so much writing this chapter because i was in such an angsty mood but i had promised to be sweeter and that what i wanted to deliver. I was literally doing a 'Ricky when I catch you Ricky' with my own brain lol. I know I said I'd include Rún thirsting after Soap with some smut and you all voted on it but i just don't think Rún likes him enough to willing let herself think about him like that yet. Especially since she thinks he's fucking her sister. I'm not comfortable with writing cheating. Even though he's so hot. It's got to wait until he confirms he never done anything romantic with Daisy. Your getting smut with Witch X Rún X Price though hope you enjoy that. Hopefully in the next chapter I'll include some real light smut and more fluff. Feel free to send me ideas or questions about the story if you don't understand anything. I hope you all enjoy the chapter. This Fae au belongs to @ghouljams I feature their Oc in my writing, send them some love. This story wouldn't exist without them. Thanks again to @ghouljams hyping me up to post this chapter. Your the best!!! Also shout-out to 🦖 anon on ghouls blog who's Ocs I mentioned in this chapter.

Forgotten Sorrows Masterlist

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Words: 8k

Soap laid on Gaz's bed trying to get air back into his lungs. After being fucked into the mattress, on request of course. His wrists were raw from the bounds he was just in, the pain helped distract him from his racing thoughts. Gaz comes into the bedroom freshly washed and glistening with water droplets, a white towel wrapped around his waist. Soap turned to admire his figure as he opened his closet to get dressed for a night out. He drank in the sight of Gaz's toned body and wet skin. Getting up he presses himself into Gaz and starts kissing up his defined back towards his neck while pulling him back towards himself. His skin smelled nice and he felt his cock harden with his familiar scent and warmth.

"Enough you mad dog! I've been fucking you for the better part of today. I need to go hunt. Don't you dare leave hickeys on me", Gaz said, pushing Soap back with his hand as he grabbed his clothes. Soap whined and tried clinging onto him like a lost puppy.

"But ah need yer support right noo mate, dinnae be sae heartless", he wrapped his thick arms around his torso preventing Gaz from moving. Getting fed up with Soap's clinginess Gaz snapped his fingers causing the ropes on the headboard to spring alive and restrain Soap back to the bed. His wrists and arms were bound as the ropes coiled around him. He tried escaping but to no avail. In the time he was struggling Gaz managed to dress and style his hair quickly. Soap continued to throw a hissy fit as Gaz put his socks on.

"I'll restrain your legs too if you don't stop", Gaz directed a pointed look at the exposed man laying on his bed. He was covered in bites and rope marks given to him again on his own request.

"What am ah supposed tae dae while ye're gone", he grunts aspirated, flexing his bound arms still trying to escape.

"Come with me and find someone else to fuck if you're so pent up, I've done the best I can. Almost blew my back out for you with how rough you wanted it today", Gaz gets up looking for his shoes when he hears a knock on his door. Both men exchange glances before Gaz snaps his fingers releasing Soap.

"Get cleaned up and dressed I'll go check what Price wants", Gaz walks out the room not waiting for Soap to answer.

Gaz walks down the hall to open the door for Price. He could recognise the smell of his cigars anywhere. It was unusual for him to visit at night though. More often than not business was done in the early hours unless it was a premeditated attack. The door swings open and Price stands outside with his hands full with takeaway food. The smell of his recent cigar was clinging to him like pollen does to bees. Gaz steps to the side to allow him in, breathing in the residue of the smoke as he walked by. It was comforting in an odd way.

Price came in going towards the living to set the bags of food down. While Gaz trailed behind him waiting for Price to begin talking.

"I need you to do some digging on someone from the winter court", he turned to face Gaz. "It doesn't need to be done tonight but I'd like the information by the end of the week", Price writes down who he's talking about and what kind of information he's looking for before telling Gaz to enjoy the food he brought and to have a quiet night with Soap since he's gonna need some company after what he's going to tell him.

When Soap was showered and dressed he met with Price in Gaz's living room. Gaz was lounging on the sofa enjoying his Chinese with 'Come Dine With Me' on the Tv.

"Ah thought we were going out?", Soap gave him a questioning look.

Gaz shrugged and said he changed his mind and focused back on the Tv. Price was sitting beside him waiting for Soap. He eyed the bags of takeaway wondering why there was so much food for 3 people. Soap took a seat and grabbed a container from the open bag and began eating, waiting for an explanation for Price's late visit. Maybe they could invite Ghost over for a boy's night. A change of pace would be nice from his insistent drinking. Soap noticed Price wasn't eating either. So he assumed he wasn't going to be staying long.

"I just dropped by to tell you to leave Rún alone, do whatever you want with Daisy but Rún is off limits", after finishing his sentence Price stood up to leave with the other bag of food.

"Wait? What? Why!?", Soap put down his food and hurried after Price. Gaz just glanced at them and continued watching his show, too tired to get involved. Maybe if he hadn't fucked Soap so hard he'd have some energy to help but he didn't. Probably needed a hot water bottle for his back.

"I don't understand why you're so upset, there's a whole city for you to hunt from. Just leave the girl alone, she's been through enough already and my Witch will more than likely end you if you try anything with her. So I'm warning you in advance, find someone else", Price left no room for negotiation and apparated his smoke swirling where he once stood.

Soap sunk down into the armchair as Gaz continued to eat. He held his head between his hands as he tried to understand what just happened.

"You're that whipped huh? This the same girl you met at the Renaissance festival? Or the other one you couldn't take your eyes off?", Gaz lets out a chuckle. "No wonder you came to me, it's ok mate there's plenty of fish in the sea. You'll find a decent meal soon."

Soaps first instinct was to protest what Gaz had just said. That you weren't just a meal to him but stopped himself by pressing his lips together. That's all you should be though, a source of sustenance nothing more. He wanted to delude himself into believing the only reason he wanted to expose and get rid of Daisy was to get to you. To make you trust him, to let him inside your mind. He didn't want to admit that his heart stirred when he thought of you rather than his stomach. Or that you had a little corner all to yourself, where you fluttered around carelessly. Tugging at his heartstrings from time to time.

He wanted to devour you, to slowly wear down your walls. To be allowed inside your turbulent mind, he wanted to sink his teeth into the tender parts of yourself you kept hidden. He wanted to cut you open and take you somewhere far away where he could consume you slowly and in peace. Away from prying eyes. Where he could painstakingly inspect every crevice of your mind and soul. While he basked in the taste of your sweet flesh and blood. He'd stitch you back together piece by piece once he was satisfied. Finally satiating his heart on how and why you had wormed your way into his mind. Or what magic did you cast over him to make him constantly think of you.

This is what his true nature was, a predator. Well that's what he's been telling himself. Not the silly lovesick puppy he thought you were trying to make him become with your gentle smile and mischievous eyes. Yeah, this was your fault he thought. You shouldn't have been born so sweet and kind. What other choice does he have but to steal you away from everyone else. Especially those who didn't know how to truly appreciate the value of your blood. He can still feel the weight of your little drawing in his void. You were too good for him to destroy and deplete without discretion. He'd be no different than Daisy who was using you without actually acknowledging the gem she had in her grasp. It would be like chugging down expensive Scotch. No he was going to truly savour you, down to your bones. But that was all it was, this was just about his own hunger. He didn't care for you….. no truly he didn't but for some reason those words wouldn't leave his mouth.

You weren't his typical prey, you weren't easy to hook. You didn't fall for pretty words or shallow complements. You didn't look at him like other people did. You weren't affected by his looks or his magic. On top of that you wanted nothing to do with him. Or was that just what you wanted him to think? He had caught your heated gaze on multiple occasions. Perhaps you felt too guilty acknowledging your own feelings, especially taboo ones like these. You probably wouldn't forgive yourself if you confessed to your sister's man. Not that he considered himself her man, he hadn't even kissed her. There was no need too, when all she wanted was to gain connections and contacts from him. But you found him attractive at the very least. He could work with that.

The fact you didn't have the sight was unusual. He didn't get to take a closer look into your bewitching eyes since you liked avoiding his gaze. But he was grateful for the fact you couldn't see his true form. His only redeeming quality in your eyes as of now. If he lost that he wouldn't know where to start in winning you over. He so desperately wanted to hook you. To bind you you him in a way you couldn't escape easily. He knew he was in for a challenge. You seem like the evasive kind, the kind the could slip through fingers like dry sand. This was no short of trying to capture the wind. It's what make it all the more fun. The chase, the uncertainty, the sweet taste of blood when you finally get caught in his trap.

He didn't want to disobey Price but you weren't someone he was willing to let go so easily. Good thing Price hadn't used a tether to stop him, it was just a warning. He could deal with the witch, he has before. Though that perfume she wore last time they met was atrocious. He just needed to avoid seeing her again, at least she didn't know him by name. What's the worst that can happen? He doubted Price would let his witch kill him. He knew his own value in Price's heart, he could definitely use it to his advantage when pleading his case after he was done with you. He'll be good to you in your short lived life. He'll promise you that.

He just sighed and went back to eating. He'll come up with a plan sooner or later but in the meantime he needed to utilise Daisy. That was the only bridge he could use to get closer to you. You were too smart for his typical tactics, but he'll find a way around that. Maybe he'd have to go old school. But being near you would be enough for now.

Witch had your damaged necklace in her hand. She had brought it back with her after checking on your condition before leaving you to rest. It brought back good memories of your healing. It was a shame it was burnt now. She took off the knot pendant from the burnt bark and put it in a bowl and went to go find a silver chain to go with the pendant instead, after finding it she placed it in the bowl as well. She began her cleansing ritual and started preparing a protection spell to cast on the necklace as it soaked in Acacia flower water. She plucked some asters from her dried bouquet to grind into a powder as well as rosemary, rue and angelica as she chants the spell. She covers the bowl to let it soak.

She stood there for a second just getting her thoughts into place after finishing the spell. You were sleeping peacefully in your room when she went to check on you. While taking a look at your burns again she saw you had tried clawing at your chest. There were red blood marks on your sternum.

She wonders if you crave having tethers like other fae do. Did you yearn for the bond that they created? But you seldom ask for anything. Even for your gifts or favours. Not with her, not with anyone you help. It's been like that since the first day she met you. You'd have a gift ready to give in exchange for any help you would ask from her until she had to stop you. You already knew not to say thank you, and you had previous knowledge of fae until your memory seal was put in place. After that everything was taught to you again by her grandmother and her, not that you would believe in it but you listened regardless and followed what you were told. She supposes that you became a lot like her in that regard. You were very careful not to get tethered. Or if you did ever need help you'd have a repayment ready before a tether took hold. You were hyper independent to a fault, you'd only come to her when things were out of your control, not before. She knew the reason why as well, though she wished you had more trust in your friendship with her to know she'd never see you as a burden.

She took a step back from her workstation to go stoke the fire that was dwindling. Getting comfortable on the armchair, she let the flames lick at her feet. She mulled over her thoughts on how to help you or just reassure you that things will be okay. Tampering with your memories again wasn't going to do you any favours. What if ten years down the line the seal breaks again, who knows what state your mind would be in then. Maybe this was a good time to heal from past trauma rather than try to forget everything. This could open your eyes to how your sister has been treating you all these years.

She knew of the promise you made to your sister, that you'd look after her in the name of family but this was just exploitation at this point. Well it always was on Daisy's end. She doesn't think Daisy ever considered you as family but you did and you continue to delude yourself into thinking this is what family was.

Her eyes landed on a box sitting high on her shelves, strongly warded and locked. It was made of eucalyptus wood from Egypt. Given to her on her trip to Faiyum by a coven who she assumed was from the region. The box had their symbol on it but she wasn't able to find substantial information on the coven even using her connections. A nepenthe draught they had called it but she couldn't verify it herself. The liquid was too small to run tests on or to analyse without wasting it. Nepenthe, a fictional elixir many had debunked as opium or weed as a way to forget worries. No witch she knew actually knew how to make the potion. The coven didn't really specify how the drug worked or what it did exactly. There were potions similar to that of nepenthe, potions that altered memories or made you forget entirely but they said that nepenthe was a gift of new life entirely. To leave one's past behind to begin anew. It was for the mortals or fae who had lived too long, had seen too much. Unlike other potions and draughts the effects of nepenthe were rumoured to be irreversible. Once drunk there was no going back to your previous life. But all that was speculation. She had never seen anyone use or procure a nepenthe draught. She didn't even realise it was an actual thing until they had given it to her with cryptic words as they left without asking for anything in return not even a tether took hold. She wasn't able to track or trace the origins of the box or the coven. It was as if they never existed.

"When winds clash from all four seasons, chaos will ensue. The choice will lay in your hands, on who you choose to subdue", she repeated their words to herself.

She didn't really know what to do with the draught, so she kept it safe in her home after her return from Faiyum. Which was hurried by your hospitalisation. She had contemplated on what the words meant since then, with zero luck. She only had ties to Summer nor did she engage with Fae from the high courts except for Price but that didn't count since he didn't involve her in his work. But there was no point thinking about it now she needed to figure out a way to help you.

She felt a wave of magic course through her wards before she felt his presence reappear. He was in the kitchen putting down food as she walked in.

"Should we wake her?", he asked.

"No, let her rest, she hasn't slept properly for the last few days."

The air was a little stuffy with notes of musk and wood floating through it. You picked up on the scent quickly when you had entered the quaint little shop at the end of the alley with Witch. The shop also smelled of wax and incense and the walls were lined with jars and jars of odd things. Some had claws, others had hair. You wondered where the shopkeeper got his supplies from. Witch was conversing while you walked around the quiet store. There was no one here beside the three of you.

Witch had thought it would do you some good to get out, especially after yesterday's incident. So here you were, helping her gather and stock up on her supplies. It wasn't much different from you going to your favourite art store in the city. It's been a while since you've seen ‘the old hen’, the owner of the store. A sweet old lady who had given you your first job at 16. You worked for her up until you graduated from college. She was very kind to you, to this day you buy your supplies from there unless it's a niche item you're looking for. You remember getting your first paycheck and buying the more expensive art supplies you could only dream of having before. You even got a staff discount. You had also made a friend called Mimi a couple years ago when you were working but she didn't stay long though and you haven't seen her since. She might return though she said she would. She had taught you a lot about painting more so than your actual art teacher. You catch yourself smiling at the memory. Even with all your horrible memories that had resurfaced. Remembering the nicer ones just felt warmer and sweeter than before. Much like an oasis in the desert.

You browse the store as Witch continues discussing the more rare items she was looking for. Your eyes land on a murky jar with eyeballs in it. Were those human eyeballs? They seemed like it. You were hoping it was just a prank, a gag joke to make customers laugh. Why would the shopkeeper have human eyeballs? You take a closer look trying to decipher if they were real or fake. An eye twitches and turns to face you. You clamp your hand over your mouth to prevent a scream from escaping. Once that eye had turned in your direction the rest of them did too. It's an odd staring contest you're having with roughly 20 eyeballs. To say you were unnerved is an understatement. But this was your life now you couldn't just ignore the existence of fae and magic like you did before. Slowly stepping back from their direction, you make your way towards your best friend. She's finalising her order as you approach her. You rest your chin on her shoulder as you watch the shopkeeper weigh and pack her order into brown paper bags tied with red strings. It was strangely captivating watching him do the task. She cups your face gently with her hand as you both watch the shopkeeper's packing skills. Her head turns slightly to place a kiss on your cheek as you continue watching.

"Bored?", she inquires. You just shake your and make a humming sound. Her warmth seeps into your skin as she continues to caress your face with her delicate fingers. Once everything was packed you two moved onto the next store she needed to visit arms linked. The day went by like this, with you two running errands and enjoying each other's company. Around mid afternoon you two finished your late lunch in a cute cafe and decided to walk home.

The September air had developed a sharp edge to it as the sun was lowering in the sky. The warmth once acuminated, now fading by the second. Your only source of heat was Witch's hand holding yours as you two admired old cobblestone buildings on your way back making idle chatter. You really should have dressed more warmly, but heavy clothing always felt restrictive to you. You preferred lightweight, airy, breathable fabrics to shroud your figure. You enjoyed the way the wind would play with your dresses and skirts during all the seasons. Air coursing through the fabric as if it was trying to give you flight, trying to whisk you away from all your troubles. But in all honesty you needed to take your sweaters and jumpers out of your storage, hopefully no moths had gotten in this time.

You're passing an alley when an old shop lantern catches your eye. You stop to peer into the dark space to see what kind of shop it is. Witch halting when you do.

"See something you like?", she squeezes your hand as you walk closer to the old shop. It looks run down at first glance, almost dingy in a sense. But you look closely at the display of a gold embroidered silk gown. If you looked long enough you'd catch flashes of light emanating from the finely done embroidery, before getting a headache and squeezing your eyes tightly. Your eyes wander to the hanging sign post 'Golden Threads' written in peeling paint.

"Want to go in?", she said, giving you a second to collect yourself from your disoriented thoughts.

"Yeah…. If that's ok… we can go home if you're too tired", you fumble with your words a little bit as you talk to her.

"Nonsense! Who doesn't want to look at pretty dresses. It'll be fun. We can play dress up like we used to as kids," She giggled as she led you through the small entrance. "You might find a dress for your upcoming exhibit at the museum".

The sheer expanse of the shop shocked you as you walked further in. It was better lit on the inside than it looked from the outside. Sun lanterns decorated the high ceilings raining down beams of subtle sunlight. You felt heat re-enter your body slowly warming your skin. The walls had racks and racks of very expensive looking dresses, skirts, suits you name it and a whole section of the shop to display jewellery and accessories to go with any items in the store. Witch was greeted by a very pretty sales assistant, but when her eyes landed on you her face fell for a second before she recovered. Witch couldn't help but eye her for an explanation.

"Oh forgive me, I thought you were a moth for a second. We don't allow moths inside, you see. Bad for business if they eat all our stock", she laughs awkwardly.

You simply smile and nod acknowledging her apology even though Witch was reluctant to let it go. She leads you both to the sitting area near the ornate mirrors and large changing rooms. And begins asking questions to best help you find what we were looking for. Once that was done she led you both to a rack with very elaborate looking dresses specifically made for big events.

"Don't worry about sizing, everything here can be altered by the owner who sews and designs these dresses. If nothing catches your eyes you can always book a consultation to design a custom piece. Give a shout if you need any further help I'll be right back with some tea and coffee, she gives you both a final smile before going back to the backroom to get your beverages.

You both begin browsing through the rack, showing each other dresses you think are nice. By the time your coffee and her tea arrived, she had decided on a dress to try on. You waited for her to change as you enjoyed your coffee.

When she emerged from the changing room in that champagne silk gown you almost choked on your coffee. You had to calm your coughing enough to get a good look at her cinched in waist and her ample breasts spilling out from the cowl neckline. To say you were speechless was an understatement, you were gobsmacked. You may have stared at her breasts for far too long that she clicked her fingers in front of your eyes to get your attention back to her face. Heat flooded to your cheeks when she gave you a knowing look.

"You'll catch flies if you don't close your mouth Rún", she smirks at you while walking closer to the mirror to get a better look at herself. The dress was structured and fitted her body well. The colour also suited her complexion making her look more radiant than ever. With her back turned to you got a great view of the very low backless dress. You really shouldn't be looking at her with such lustful eyes. But she looked good in anything in your opinion. She could be wearing a nightgown right now and you know she'd look beautiful. The image of her wearing a nightgown popped into your head and you felt your heart rate pick up.

"You can hardly blame me, it's your fault for looking so good", you flirt back trying to quell the hammering of your heart. You hoped she couldn't hear it. She smiled a full tooth smile at your compliment as she fixed the dress to sit better around her breasts. To distract yourself you get up again to look for a dress to try on. The sales assistant goes to help Witch look at accessories that would elevate the dress if she chooses to purchase it.

A dress that looked to be have dyed in a blood caught your eye, the deep square neckline makes you think it would look divine on Witch (picture). You pinch yourself trying to get your mind to stop popping up images of her breasts. You felt like a pervert or worse a hedon. The velvet fabric glides through your hands as you contemplate if you should show her the dress. Would she think of you as a pervert? No…. Probably not… It would be a crime if she didn't try on the dress, you try to counter your own thoughts. You go back and forth with your own mind for a bit trying to come up with valid reasons for her to try on the dress that didn't frame you as a pervert. But you didn't need to because the sales assistant had come over to you eyeing the dress and looking back at Witch countless times to take the hint in what you were thinking. She smiles and takes the dress off the rack to bring it to Witch as she was looking at necklaces that matched the current dress she was wearing.

“I think this dress would suit your body so well, why not give a try?”, she smiles as she places the dress on the hook in the changing room after showing Witch.

“Oh that dress is beautiful, have you found anything Rún? I feel like I'm the only one trying things on”

“I'll find something soon…. you go try on that dress, I think it'll suit you very well.”, you didn't stutter, you felt proud that you didn't stutter. But your heart rate still hadn't gone down. You hoped seeing her in that red dress wouldn't cause anymore heart palpitations.

By the time she came out you had chosen two dresses to try on. But you could care less about the dresses when your eyes landed on her. Your breath got caught in your throat, almost choking you. A sculpture of pure beauty and elegance she was. The dress accentuated her curves just the right amount without making it vulgar. The neckline was deep and showed the rounds of her bosoms. Her skin glowed from the contrast of the deep red colour. The sleeves had slits running up it. And were connected from the back in a sort of cape that could also be used as a hood if she wanted. It was of the dress was made to be worn by her and her alone.

You knew she didn't particularly like going to big events where eyes would be on her but she had promised to attend your exhibition and go to the afterparty. You hadn't asked her as of yet to be your plus one, finding out about Price made you think it'll be better just to give her two tickets to attend the event with Price and you'll take your sister as your partner. You didn't want to overstep your position as her friend. But that didn't mean you couldn't jokingly flirt with her.

“Wow…..just…..wow”, you drank in her body as if it were the fountain of youth. Your eyes just roamed and appreciated her body and elegance as the velvet hugged her figure. You hear her giggling at your words or lack thereof.

“Staaawp….you going to make me blush”, she says, raising her hands to her face to hide for a second before looking at herself in the mirror. “You really think it suits me?”

You nod your head adamantly leaving no room for doubt that you found her and the dress stunning.

“You wear that out and you'll see men, women and anyone in between falling to their knees for you”, you see her scoff in disbelief before you continue. “Heavens you'd have me on my knees from a simple look in my direction”. She was about to counter what you just said but before she could you both heard a deep chuckle come from the entrance.

“Ya think you'll be able to satisfy my Witch?”, Price saunters in like he owns the place. His hulking body stopping directly where Witch and you stood.

On instinct you find yourself shielding yourself behind Witch as you look over her shoulder at Price. Witch seems just as shocked as you to see Price so neither of you were expecting to see him. You don't know what caused you to say your next words but you were feeling slightly vexed by yesterday's incident and now his current appearance. The words left your mouth before you could stop them.

“I'd do a better job than you”, you say bitterly and mostly to yourself. But by his amused facial expression you knew he heard you. He steps closer causing you to hold onto Witch out of reflex. Placing your hands on her shoulders.

“I'd love to see you try, and when you fail. I'll show you how to do it properly”, he shamelessly counters while giving Witch his signature smile. He didn't seem at all threatened by your comment. Probably knowing you were all bark no bite. Witch smacks his arm when he comes closer.

“Stop teasing her, you still have to apologise for yesterday”, she gives him a pointed look choosing to ignore the words that were exchanged between you and Price probably thinking it was a joke. Price takes a closer look at your face to find your burns healed. Witch's salves must have been extremely potent. It's just another testament to her skills. You shrink back against his stare when you see him coming closer.

“Your right luv, I should have addressed that first”, he places a gentle kiss on her cheek before turning to you. “I'd like to apologise for my unrefined behaviour with you yesterday, my words caused you harm and for that I'm truly sorry”, he bows his head slightly and offers his hand. “I'd like it if we didn't carry any animosity towards each other.”

You didn't know what to do, should you take his hand and accept the peace offering? Or should you keep your distance and not speak to him again? His kiss had you feeling a slight sling in your heart but you pushed that aside. You knew he was a better match for her than you. No matter how much you wanted her for yourself you knew better than to be selfish. She deserved better than what you could offer her. Being her friend was enough for you, even that was beyond what you deserved. You look at Witch to try to gauge an answer but she didn't give anything away on how she wanted you to answer. You knew Price was more than likely going to end up a permanent figure in Witch's life and by default in yours. It was best to bury the hatchet. You glanced at his eyes trying to find any hint of deception but you couldn't. You saw some type of remorse, you didn't know if it was for hurting you or upsetting Witch by hurting you. You take his calloused hand in your soft one giving it a gentle shake before retreating swiftly.

Witch smiles once you shake his hand and tells you to go try on your dresses so she can have a look.

Soap was peering in from the display window of the shop. Price had entered a few minutes ago sensing his Witch was in the area while the four of them were completing some ‘errands’ to put it nicely. Price had dismissed them and Ghost had taken the first chance to apparate home to his misses. Gaz and him had stuck around trying to catch Price with his mysterious Darling who was impossible to hook even though they had seen her before, not with Price though. Gaz was blowing out his smoke from his cigarette dispelling the stress of their recent activities as he peered into the shop as well. Nothing exciting was happening; it looked like Price was helping her choose accessories and possibly getting matching suits for himself to compliment the dresses she was buying. He was so soft with her it was uncharacteristic compared to what he was doing a little while ago. He was acting if he didn't just wash his hand of blood. Price really won the lottery with his Witch she was beautiful and looked even better in the dress she was wearing. Both Gaz and Soap try to look discreetly not trying to get caught by Price. The consequences of that would be detrimental. Or worse he'd put them on clean up duty without magic. He could feel himself getting ready to gag remembering the last time that happened.

His eyes drifted to the changing room curtains that fluttered open to reveal a very beautifully dressed you. Your delicate steps took you to the spotlight in front of the large mirrors as you inspected the sheer fabric. You turn and twist your body scrutinising every detail of yourself and the dress that looked as if it was sewn onto your body. The outer fabric was an ethereal lace (picture), the metallic blue complementing your smooth skin on display. A nude slip peaked from underneath the fabric of the floor length dress yet your underwear could still be seen slightly. You didn't seem to mind though. He supposes this wasn't much difference to type of clothing you liked wear on the few occasions he's seen you. You seemed mostly comfortable with your body or rather comfortable with the clothing you chose to wear. Airy and light very indicative to the type of magic you possessed. The slip dress moulded itself to your figure creating a ravishing silhouette. All he wanted to do at this moment was bury his face in the crook of your neck while inhaling your scent. Maybe bend you over the counter and take you right here in front of everyone. It was unlikely you'd let him near though. Especially now that you had your friend to protect you. He needed to stay put to avoid her gaze. She was the main obstacle at the moment. Seeing you dressed up like this had his blood rushing to places it shouldn't. Hearing Gaz let out a whistle from next to him was what brought him out of his trance.

“What a sight, sucks you got no chance with her”, Gaz smirks at Soap regardless of the glare he was getting. “You should have chosen better mate, you've dug yourself into a hole.”

“What would ye know?, ye cannae even get yer darlin to desire anythin tae make a deal.”

“Low blow mate, why don't I go talk to her and show you how it's done”, Gaz chuckles.

“Don't ye dare go near her”, he growled. Usually Soap was fine with sharing; they'd all know each other long enough for it not to be a big deal. But that fact his chances with you were low and that fact Gaz could literally charm anyone by simply smiling at them was irking him.

“Too late”, Gaz was already halfway through the door before he could stop him.

You stood in the changing room in the nude slip that came with the dress you were about to slip on. The blue lace felt really soft in your hands. But your mind was elsewhere. Price’s words irritated you. Just because he was a couple hundred years old he thinks he knows everything. You're confident in your ability to give oral regardless of the fact you've never actually given oral but that was beside the point. You've read enough books to rival Price's experience in years, that's what you delude yourself into thinking that is. You were probably just upset he called you out on it. But you did have intensive book smarts about sex even if you don't have any physical experience. Not forgetting you also possess female genitalia, so you knew your way around a woman's body. You knew how to please yourself so you were confident if a chance ever arose where you were on your knees for Witch you'd do a good job at pleasing her. Not that it would actually ever happen. Why would anyone ever want you? Especially in a sexual manner. Yes you know you and witch flirt from time to time. But that was just some banter between friends. No one has ever actually approached you with genuine interest before.

But right now your mind was flooded with images of Witch. All you could think about was being on your knees for her. Having her in a state of undress on the couch with her legs spread over your shoulders as you go to town on her folds. Her breasts on display, nipples becoming erect. Her dress pooled at her waist as you caresses and stroke her clit while fucking your tongue into her sloppy cunt. Her juices leaking into your mouth as you drink in her sweet essence while keeping your eyes locked on her face taking note of every flinch, shaky breath and whimper. You'd hold her legs open as you'd ease your fingers into her drenched pussy attacking her clit with your tongue altering between soft and hard licks to keep her from cumming too soon. Feeling her hands tighten in your hair when you wouldn't let her cum. Her tugging and pulling to get you to comply with her needs. In your mind you come up with various positions where you'd have your mouth attached to her cunt. Her sitting on your face as you run your nose over her sensitive folds and clit while tongue fucking her. Or on her hands and knees as you ate her from behind until her legs shook and gave out. Seeing her collapse in a heap on the floor. Breath laboured skin shining from the exertion. Or over the table as you play with her cunt her hand gripping the edge for dear life. You finger fucking into her soft spot until she gushes on them before placing them in your mouth to get a better taste. Running your tongue over her juices on your slick fingers. Making a show of it to get the point across that you adore her taste. Savouring her sweet release and the salt from your sweat. Then brushing your lips against her in a gentle kiss. To give her a taste, an understanding on why you're so addicted.

You pinch yourself again feeling guilty for having these thoughts. You run your thighs together trying to ease the tension building. You hope your panties didn't have a wet spot on them. You slowly start slipping on the fitted dress as your mind wanders again even with you trying to stop it. You think about Price actually watching you do all the things you wanted to Witch. His glacier eyes sending chills down your spine as you work your mouth on his women. As you make her breath catch and shudder. Would he shove your face deeper into her cunt if he thought you were teasing her too much? Would he yank your hair back if you took too long to make her cum? Or would he guide your head gently giving you tips to improve your performance. Would he shower you both with compliments for doing such a good job? Maybe he would tie you up to make you watch how he does it? Preventing you from partaking. Preventing you from touching her supple body as he eats her out. Making you strain against the ropes as you witness her come undone. Showing you how he covers his body over her smaller one, how his thick fingers stretch her out more than you ever could. How she probably prefers his prickly kisses as he runs his face against her thighs. How he makes her a babbling mess in just a couple seconds.

You shake your head dispelling the thoughts. You really needed to stop having fantasies like these. She wasn't yours and you needed to accept that. You chide yourself for coveting something that you didn't deserve. The dress had moulded to your body as you pulled at the spaghetti straps to adjust the top before slowly opening the curtains and stepping out. The dress moved with ease and comfort as you walked to the mirrors. Witch stops her conversation with the sales assistant and Price to look at you giving you a very genuine smile. You feel heat rush to your face again but for more innocent reasons this time. Her looking at you like that made you feel beautiful and bashful at the same time. You inspect the dress as she walks closer giving youn lots od compliments and suggestions what jewellery would look nice. You look at yourself in the dress thinking this dress would be great to wear to the exhibition. You didn't mind it being see through since you had a slip underneath it even though that also wasn't completely opaque. You didn't need to worry about Price looking at you, you knew he only had his heart set on Witch. He wasn't foolish to jeopardise his relationship over wandering eyes. Not that he'd look to begin with. You don't think anyone would really look at you properly other than Witch.

“I think this dress suits you so well. It'll definitely look great at the exhibition, but you should try some more dresses on to see if you'll find something better.”

“I couldn't agree more, you're a force to be reckoned with”, a dark skinned man walks into the store and the first thing you notice is his disarming smile. A full toothed smile so bright you might temporarily go blind if you looked too long. His tall muscular frame comes into view next as your eyes wander down. You're taken aback by his words, you can hardly remember a stranger ever coming up to compliment you like this. Especially not a handsome young man like him. You say young but he was probably older than you by a couple years. Or maybe a lot with him being a Fae and all. Age was tricky to pin with them always looking so youthful.

You feel put on the spot not used to this kind of attention so you just hide behind Witch not sure on how you should respond. A more familiar voice joins his not a second later causing the hair at the back of your neck to stand up.

“Ah told ye not tae come in ye fucker”, Soap grumbles as he comes into view. Price looked at them unamused at their stupidity for coming in when they had no business here. Now Witch wouldn't believe him when he said he was just passing by.

Gaz continues to make idle chatter causing Soap to get even more irritated. You watch as they take sneaky glances at Witch's breasts not that you'd blame them but it still irked you. You kinda wish Price would notice and give them both a smack on the head for daring to look at what was his, not that Witch was considered property. It was more so a show of affectionate jealousy. If you knew how to use your magic properly you'd have sent them flying. Or maybe you should just cover your hand over her breasts to send the message.

Witch keeps her gaze sharp on Soap, a look of recognition falling over her features. And irritation quickly dripping from her form. You didn't know where to look anymore, too much was going on at once. Feeling them stare at you as they argued was putting you on edge. Maybe you should pick something more subtle, something that would draw less attention. You didn't like the attention you were getting even though you have experience wearing pretty dresses to fancy events. The attention was always on the art you were selling, not on you. People hardly ever paid attention to staff. This situation wasn't something you were used to dealing with. Price was growing more annoyed at their disturbance, especially by Gaz's blatant flirting and Soap's irritation. Price had had enough and just dragged the two out as Witch led you towards the accessories to distract you from the chaos. You hear Gaz shout one last time before he leaves. You were assuming he was just doing it to get on Soaps nerves.

“You'll send an invite to your exhibition won't you darling? I'd love to come see your work.”

You did have extra tickets given to you so it wouldn't be hard giving him one but you didn't even know his name and it kinda felt like he was just messing with you to get to Soap. But it was amusing how easily he could get Soap worked up. You also wanted to get at him for causing you so much trouble. You still haven't figured out a way to get him to leave your sister alone. But he seemed unhealthily interested in you. You could use that to draw his attention away long enough to get her to safety.

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xzhdjsj · 11 days

Text

Tangled in Love

Andrew x Reader

Okay before you continue this, I wanted to let you know this fic mentions description of hair texture. The reader has wavy/curly hair! Additionally, this fic is a rewrite of part 6 of Andrew’s story.

+a lil rant before the actual fic (you can skip the first part but please read the second)

I wasn't going to post this because it's a self-indulgent piece but hey I’m sure someone out there will enjoy it too. I've struggled with my hair for quite a while. It was one of my biggest insecurities, and I never knew how to take care of it. For the majority of my life, I've treated my hair as though it was straight, using straight hair products and styles, because that's what I wanted my hair to be. I hated the 'frizz' which in actuality was just me damaging my curl pattern😭 Thankfully, even though I couldn't see it, the people around me did and helped me manage and properly care for my hair. These days, I embrace my curls, and I love them more than anything! If I'm not rocking my curly hair I feel incomplete, it's become a huge part of me! I still have a long way to go, but I'm beyond happy I was able to finally recognise how beautiful my hair is.

That being said, I want to remind all of you that YOU ARE PERFECT! I know we doubt and pick at ourselves from time to time, but it's important to remember THOSE DOUBTS DON'T DEFINE US! Every imperfection and flaw is what makes you perfectly, uniquely and most of all beautifully YOU. Please remember to be kind to yourself and never ever stop loving yourself ❤️

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

It's been months since Andrew ended things with me. At first, I prided myself in being mature and acted like the entire thing never even happened. I stopped sitting where his eyes can easily find me, I never take similar routes as he would and avoided his office at all cost. It was easy to find a temporary tutor to help with my assessments, that way I didn't even need to attend his tutorials.

The less contact with him the better. This little routine was good and dandy, getting me by as I immersed myself completely in y work. If I distracted my mind, I wouldn't need to think of Andrew, right? Wrong.

So fucking wrong.

Every other thought, he was on my mind. I wondered how he'd answer questions on my exam preps, and his opinion on every sentence I wrote. I thought of him so much, it was sickening and before I knew it I was tired and relapsing.

I gave university my all until I couldn't anymore. I was heartbroken and ignoring my feelings only made them worst. They burdened my mind, and I spent nights upon nights crying my eyes swollen into my pillows. I knew I had to accept it somehow but the ghosts of him haunts me, even in my dreams.

Last night’s dream was an especially painful one. I vividly remember the look on his face and the way my heart shattered into a million pieces as he drove away that day. What a shit start to my day!

I rolled out of bed, heading straight for the bathroom where I splashed my face with cold water and looked into the mirror. What a mess, my hair was messy and unkept and not in and attractive, quirky way, more closely resembling a bird’s nest. I wonder if Andrew could ever love me even when I look like this.

I sigh, rubbing my temples and trying not to cry again. Maybe a nice long shower would help, so I did just that. I stayed under the running water for more than an hour, then detangled my hair before stepping out. It did help, at the very least I felt clean and refreshed.

Today was going to be more or less going to be simple, there was a single task posted on Moodle and that’s all I needed to get done.

I settled into a comfy set of clothes and started drying my hair, only to be interrupted by a knock on my door. Who could that be? I threw the towel over a chair and opened the door, and my eyes are met with the last person I wanted to see.

“Hi, I’m here to speak to you” His mouth is agape and he looks a bit shocked.

Speak to me? Here to speak to me? My mind roared. Absolutely not. I was about to slam the door in his face, but he steps forward.

“Only as a professor!” He clarifies. “May I please come in?”

“Fine, but make it quick.” I demanded.

He sighs, “Thank you.”

He steps inside and I lock the door behind him. A waft of his scent hitting my nose, God how I missed that.

“I've emailed you several times about booking a tutorial, whether that be online or in person, and I haven't heard anything back. Me being here is a last resort. It's part of my job to make my students are well, and that if they're struggling, I can point them in the right direction.” He paused, finally taking his eyes off me to look around. “You have a nice place. It's what I imagined it would look like.”

“That’s not why you’re here And- Mr. Marston.”

“Yes, strictly business it is then, though, I don't want to treat it as such.” His eyes are on me again, but I refuse to give him the same attention choosing to fidget with my fingers instead. “I'll try and keep things brief for the both of us. You've been attending as usual, on top of your work as usual and nothing on the surface warrants concern, but because this is around the time where I need to be updated on essay plans and what you intend to do, us talking to one another is inevitable and for your records, and my peace of mind, we must.”

“It’s going good.” I replied, monotoned.

“It’s going good? Is that’s all I get?” He pushes.

“It’s an update, is it not?”

“It's a different response. In the past when we had our tutorials, that went on for at least an hour, you were so passionate about your subject, you made your own reading list and clearly planned out your arguments. You talked me through every point and asked for my opinion just to be sure you couldn't look at it from any other angle because you were adamant about not just getting it right but understanding different perspectives. Tutorials are only supposed to last around half an hour. Why do you think I always put you in the last slot? The look you have when you lose yourself to your ideas, when your eyes spark with this clarity I never want to stop you mid-thought or let that light disappear.” He rants and I wish he’d stop describing me that way.

“First and foremost, I am your professor. I’m here to nurture your curiosity and always have you searching for answers so when you don't show up to your tutorials I get concerned.”

“But I attend classes and all my work is completed. Is that not enough?”

“Your work is fine but that's not the problem I-” He paused and sighs for the hundredth time, “I want to ask how you are.”

“Now you’re interested in that?”

“I never had the chance to and even if I did try to talk to you would you have answered?”

Well shit, he’s got me there. I stay quiet and stare at my feet.

“You've been avoiding me for over a month now and I completely understand why. It's enough that you're still going to classes and doing your work, and I can't imagine what you must be feeling having to be taught by me even now. For the pain I still give you, I am sorry. For the pain I gave you that day, I am sorry.”

I swallow the lump in my throat. “Is that why you’re here? To say sorry?”

“I didn't come here under the pretense of apologizing but… it's something I’ve been meaning to do for a while now. The rumours have died down but that doesn't change the thoughts people still have. It's not something that we should live with, but we must.” He regains his composure quickly, shifting the conversation back to university. “Anyway, care to tell me anything else about your essay? Any avenues you're thinking of exploring? Any reading material that's caught your eye?”

“What about you? Howe you Andrew?” I finally find his face with my eyes.

“I thought you wanted to keep this strictly business.” He uses my words against me. “Don't worry about me. I want you to focus on your studies.”

He smiles and it makes my heart skip a beat.

“Have you… Have you seen the petition?”

“Yes, I’ve seen it. I considered resigning and letting them win.” My eyes widen at his confession.

“Rumours can get out of hand quickly. Heh, never in my life did I think I’d be called such names. Now people think I let students get close to me to get good grades, no matter the gender. I’m a danger to all apparently.”

He sounds tired too, that’s one thing I can sympathise with him.

“The dean’s comment eased some of the backlash, but this is a burden I’ll most likely carry for the rest of my career.” He continued.

I stay quiet, unsure how to respond to him. I supposed we’ve both been hurting in our own ways.

“Can I be frank with you?” He catches my attention again and I look up from my thoughts. “I don’t regret any of it. It was one of the most honest decisions I’ve ever made. My only regret is not protecting you when it mattered and- and I’ll never be able to undo that.”

Fuck he always makes things so difficult for me.

“When I saw that video, and those comments I panicked. The first thing that came to my mind was how you’d feel reading them and how you’d continue knowing people thought of you that way. I know how that feels, something similar happened to me years ago. It hurts being ostracised and judged on lies and when you wade in that water you still have to hold your head up high, so you don’t drown. But thinking back I was irrational. I let my own fears get the better of me and made a decision that was not only mine to make. I… I should have spoken to you before driving you away. I’m not asking for your forgiveness or pity. I just need to let you know this.”

“So what now?”

“That’s a good question, I would say we continue as we are now, I only have your best interests at heart and that should be more important to me than my feelings for you.”

“You… you still have feelings for me?”

“Of course, I do! You think they just stopped? I tried burying them, stifling them, but every time you walked into my lectures it was impossible not to remember all the things we experience together.”

“Andrew look at me.” I shake my head. “I look awful, I’m a mess.”

“I disagree. You’re still as beautiful as the day I left you. If not, even more. Your hair, I- I’ve never seen it like that. It might just be the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

My hair? I haven’t even straightened it like I always do. How could he find this beautiful?

“Still, you said it yourself, this could never work. Why would you-“ “I’m saying my heart wants to follow you again. Despite it all, I still want you.” He sounds so desperate, and I can feel my heart in my throat. “But this isn’t about what I want. It’s up to you. I you want nothing to do with me outside of university, so be it. If you want to give this a chance, a real chance, I’m fine with that too.”

“Andrew I-“ “You don’t need to give me an answer now, or at all actually. Just… do what you feel most comfortable with.”

That day I had a lot more to think of as I stood in front of my mirror once again. My hair was still unstraightened and a thought crossed my mind. I remember Andrew’s words before he left.

“I know I said it before, but your hair really does beautiful. I can’t quite get over it. It suits you.”

Maybe if I was going to give this another shot, it was time to start afresh. No more secrecy and sneaking around. I stare at my hair in the mirror. Maybe it did suit me and it wouldn’t hurt to try something new, would it?

Months later I feel so much better, the air is clearer, the sun is shining and I’m finally ready to talk to Andrew again.

I sat the window of the café I asked to meet at, looking over at the door each time the bell chimed. This time I was right, it was him. He spots me quickly and walks over.

“Hi, I know I’m a little early. May I sit?”

“Of course, please do” I urge him.

“I see you changed your hair. It looks really good.”

I run my fingers across the soft curls on my shoulder.

“Less of a change more of an embrace I’d say. I thought it was about time I stopped straightening it and wear my natural hair.”

“Not that you were any less beautiful before, but I find it harder to keep my eyes off you now.”

I smile. My cheeks are probably flushed, I can feel them all warm like the fuzzy feeling in my stomach.

“You know it’s very similar to my decision.” I tell him. “It’s another thing I want to embrace and flaunt to the world.”

“And I'll accept it no matter what it might be. So, what's your decision?”

My ass is off the chair in an instant, and I lean over the table to pull his face to mine. I missed kissing him, I missed kissing him so damn much.

#sorry for ze long rant #i just wanted to let you whos reading this know that I love you!#every part of you!#zsakuva #sakuverse #asmr #andrew #andrew marston #hair is looking gorjus but my pockets hurt from buying hair products😭

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novalizinpeace · 3 months

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This question doesnt have anything to do with the story- i just wanted to know if you have any tips on artstyle? Yours is just so fluid and smooth and i think it looks awesome

i uhm

Thanks???? i honestly don't know what to tell you, 'm not used to get compliment in my artstyle, to be honest idk how to explain it.

from start, i don't have a defined artstyle, at least not that i noticed myself. My style tend to adapt itself acordding to the situation.

i blame the fandoms i grew up into, since they teach me a lot of the things i still use to this day.

and of course years of following deviantart tutorials to learn how to make good sketches, lineart, coloring, shades, ect... and i'm STILL learning, 'cause i really like to make crazy things with my art, and that required work.

The only thing that came to my mind to recommend you is to eat tutorials like a starved man till you find the one that work for you (there's millions of lineart tutorial out there, and heavens know i tried at least half that millions while trying to find a way to make lineart easer for me), make artist challenges to get ideas and get out of your comfort zone, and don't give up, 'cause master a artstyle till you become comfortable in it takes time, to give you and example, i took me 11 years to finally learn how to make Sonic character like it supposed to be.

and i didn't even mean to! I learn other things on my way like dynamic lines and tridimensional sketches that, somehow, help me work with this specific artstyle, you never know how useful is a tutorial till you try it and suddenly it become a constant in your art process.

Learn from the true masters out there, that my recommendation.

#nova habla mucho cuando se pone nerviosa #so sorry if this isn't helpful #i just got all nervious for the compliment #ask #nova say

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letters-to-rosie · 2 months

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You said last month that it's not Ekko if he's not involved in activism, anarchism, just actively doing shit to make a change. I absolutely agree. But you also said you "come out of a particular background and that means [you] have certain thoughts and approaches to social change that leave out things that others do and are involved in". Would you please elaborate further on that? Not just for writing Ekko, but for the sake of knowing and maybe applying to real life. You made me curious.

So I sat on this for a while not because I didn't want to answer it but because I wanted to answer it thoughtfully, and I've typed out some things that didn't feel right, but I'm going to try again now.

I tried to find the exact context for where I said that and I failed lol so I am working off memory, but again I will try.

So in terms of background, I'm a Black American. When I was young, I pretty much assumed that my family history would be depressing and I didn't want to look into it. And some of that is there: family trees that get lost once you hit enslavement, dysfunction you can pretty much trace right back to that period, having to explain to people that your family is on the light side not because of consensual relationships but because you're from one of those states that exported slaves, you get the deal. A byproduct of this is that by the time I was an adult and wanted to dig into it and found that there was actually a lot to learn, many of the elders I wanted to learn from had passed on.

That, mixed in with me trying to understand my... financially turbulent?? life led me to engage with black radical thinkers as an adult. And that led into left-wing politics in general. So that's like half of it.

The other half is I've always been the type of person who likes a hands-on problem. My approach to social change has always just been "find a problem and throw myself at it." And that translated into a social service background. Even now, to pay for my classes, I work in social services at my university, still throwing myself at a problem that's sort of followed me around for a decade or so now. I'm not in love with the conditions of trying to fight a problem within the walls of an institution that helps perpetuate them, but for me, the immediacy of people's needs supersedes any need I feel for ideological consistency.

On top of that, I study race. And media. So imagine my excitement when I see Ekko!

I don't know that I've ever encountered a character who checked so many boxes. He sees problems and throws himself at them. He practices radical compassion with people struggling with substance use. AND their victims. And even though he's fighting Silco, he knows that the problems in the city go straight to the top (I oughta write a fic someday where he does make it across the bridge and gets to yell at the council because he so deserves that).

He grieves. I've said before that grief is the emotion that has most defined my adult life. I feel like I'm always grieving. And Ekko models how you do that and keep moving. Rather than giving into the hopelessness of the setting, he creates a place where people can heal and be their best selves. AND HE HAS NATURAL HAIR!!! My natural hair journey is another story but it's honestly tied up in all of this lol.

He's like a treasure trove of things that matter to me, honestly. I'm not even sure how much I realized it at first. But as time passed, I'd keep going back to this character and thinking. His revolutionary spirit is truly to be admired. And I think that evolution in how I've thought about him comes through pretty clearly in my writing, as I come to fully embrace a bottom-up style of conceptualizing revolutionary thought and practice. I know I'll grow and change as I get older, learn more, and do more, but at this particular moment, I think Ekko has a lot of value for me.

So what am I not interested in? Off the top of my head...

versions of the character that leave out that political dimension. I'm not inserting politics into the show. The division between what is political and isn't is a false one. If the politics aren't registering, that's because they're close to the politics of the status quo

which is not to say I think everybody has to write him with politics fully foregrounded, but I wish more people would, you know?

and speaking of the politics, not really interested in ones that aren't radical. Not trying to pass a certain purity test, but we can keep in mind that Misfit Toys shows Scar beating up a dummy Enforcer, in gear. Which they probably got by fighting them. Fun!

another thing I think is key and I would like to see engaged with more is that Ekko doesn't view people using shimmer as enemies. I honestly wonder whether the Firelights know as much as they do about Silco's stuff because they have members who formally worked in the syndicate.

and I bring that up because another thing that the show as a whole and Ekko's interactions with Jinx invite us to think about is not viewing anyone as too far gone. I think in the rush to clearly delineate good and evil, we make too many lines and ignore the material conditions that motivate and contextualize people's actions.

and on that note, I don't like to make Ekko a paragon. I think casting him as a pure soul who is working tirelessly for his people ignores his indignation at the situation around him and how he is actively choosing, every day to do the things he does. I like to keep agency foregrounded.

To close, I wanna share some quotes, because y'all know I love reading revolutionaries.

“It is necessary that the weakness of the powerless is transformed into a force capable of announcing justice. For this to happen, a total denouncement of fatalism is necessary. We are transformative beings and not beings for accommodation.” —Paulo Freire, Pedagogy of the Oppressed

“We have chosen a different path to achieve better results. We have chosen to establish new techniques. We have chosen to seek forms of organization that are better adapted to our civilization, abruptly and once and for all rejecting all kinds of outside diktats, so that we can create the conditions for a dignity in keeping with our ambitions. We refuse simple survival. We want to ease the pressures, to free our countryside from medieval stagnation or regression. We want to democratize our society, to open up our minds to a universe of collective responsibility, so that we may be bold enough to invent the future. We want to change the administration and reconstruct it with a different kind of civil servant. We want to get our army involved with the people in productive work and remind it constantly that, without patriotic training, a soldier is only a criminal with power. That is our political programme.” —Thomas Sankara, Speech before the General Assembly of the United Nations

“Let me just say: Peace to you, if you're willing to fight for it.” —Fred Hampton

#arcane #ekko #arcane ekko #rosie's writing desk #asks #i wrote a whole-ass essay #hope it was fun lol

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bioluminesced · 3 months

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saw your last fanart (16 of january) and it's so good

it beats me how this kind of colouring/painting is done though. how do you pick the right colours? the right places? the value of colour and it's warmth?

i always have trouble with colouring because i have a very strict basic knowledge of shadows and colours and no visual imagination

sorry for such a long ask

hi anon!! no need to apologize this is such a kind ask and i still really struggle with this sometimes. i didnt start experimenting with color in my art until around summer of 2022 and before that it was so frustrating to color that i almost didnt produce any colored work.

i also have complete aphantasia so my visual imagination is very limited! this leads to a lot of trial and error in my work because i cant tell what looks good until i simply try it lol

i will try to answer about my process as thoroughly as possible! but a lot of it is seriously just vibes, and playing around. a lot of what helped me was studying how artists i liked used color in THEIR work and trying to work it into my style.

a lot of the vibrancy and harmony in my work comes from my base layer, which i put under the sketch like im “priming” the canvas. when im coloring later on i let this base layer inform my choices and also let it show through in places for unification of the colors. its a lot like doing an underpainting except i dont go crazy on the range of values

the hardest part for me is doing the base colors over this layer. i dont have a lot of guidance for this because i kind of just pick colors to start with and then edit them bit by bit until it looks satisfying to me/matching the intended mood and harmonizing with the base layer. i edit the colors mostly by using gradient maps and layer modes until i find a version i like and merge it to just create a normal layer with the colors i want. i keep this base layer underneath my sketch

i render on top of my sketch/lineart always so i can better define the shapes and have smoother edges. this is the part where i really go crazier with my colors - some conscious decisions i make:

- where can i make my highlights and shadows stand out more? i accomplish this by choosing warm colors on the cool base or cool colors on the warm base. theres blue in the flesh tones of the face and orange in the blue tones of the coat.

- where does the rendering need to be more “clean”? someone viewing an art piece will gravitate to places in the drawing with finer detail, so i put a lot more work into the shapes and colors of the faces and the fish, because this is where i want someone to look the longest

another thing i usually do is pick one really saturated color and place it throughout the drawing. for thos one its that bright red, around the eye, blood, and outline of the fish as well as the characters’ hands.

this part of my process takes me the longest and can be seriously frustrating at times! something i always force myself to do is to keep working on it. whenever im like ok its done! i go back and render for another half hour and it ends up looking a lot better

gradient mapping the final drawing! for further unification i have a gradient map i made that works for most of my warm pieces

and i put it on top with an overlay layer mode and then adjust the opacity

it makes a big difference in the warmth and unification of the final drawing!! so honestly i cheat a little with my colors :P

i hope this helped a little bit with your question! my general advice is to also do some color studies of movies or pictures you like it really helped me get a feel for harmonizing color (and not being afraid to use really vibrant colors!!) again thank you for such an ask and good luck to you!!

#mjs asks #long post sorry!#i really just do whatever which is such a stupid way to put it but yeah

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mbti-notes · 3 months

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Anon wrote: Hi! I’m 22 F, fairly certain that I’m an INFJ. I keep seeking role models to mould myself. I want to have some source of inspiration from external sources, I am not just looking for style, I’m looking to emulate their attitude and beliefs as well.

I think this ‘need’ for me has increased after a fallout with an acquaintance who was a close friend of my friend. She used to be very bossy and controlling of my friend and if I want to interact with my friend then I had to be on the other girl’s good books so I tried to be friends with her as well.

Eventually my friend cut ties with her and I too limited my interaction with her. She thought I somehow manipulated my friend to stop talking to her and lashed out at me, calling me a ‘Chameleon’. I didn’t like it but I can’t stop thinking if it was true. I wanted to become independent and bold to be unaffected of what others think of me

Maybe this is my way of overusing Ni to find purpose/ using Fe-Ti to rationalize my behaviours by using the ‘role models’ to set internal structure and avoid hurting? I don’t want to keep looking for role models because it’s exhausting, whenever I like someone, I feel as though I’m unworthy to choose them. How do I stop doing this/searching for motivation?

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

I'm a little surprised you said 22 because your way of thinking still seems a bit adolescent, in terms of ego development. Lagging development isn't abnormal or something to panic about. It's simply a sign that there needs to be some reflection or inquiry about the factors behind it. Addressing those factors is the pathway to getting personal growth going again.

Generally speaking, it's normal and healthy for kids and teens to seek out role models to emulate; it's one of the many learning methods that human beings utilize in the process of growing up into productive members of society. Observing good qualities and impressive achievements in others is a way of getting to know more about oneself and one's own good qualities and capabilities.

We can label ego development as "lagging" when, into adulthood, a person still doesn't really know themselves well enough to have formed a solid sense of self or personal identity. When you have a strong sense of self and a personal identity to express, role models mostly become obsolete except in rare cases where inspiration is needed for further personal growth. One defining characteristic of adulthood is independence, which means there is no need to rely on others to define oneself.

As such, it is indeed appropriate to be asking why you still rely on role models at 22, a time when you should already be independent. In adulthood, reliance on role models can become pathological when it's no longer about learning but more about trying to overcompensate for an unrecognized deficit in one's self. I don't know your history, so I can't give you an explanation. You'll have to reflect on it, but I can give you starter questions for reflection.

Do you have a strong sense of self? Do you have a personal identity, including your own ideas, ideals, beliefs, values, etc, that you want to express out into the world? If not, why not?

Do you understand what it means to "be yourself"? If so, why don't you (instead of trying to be someone else)? If not, then you need to do more to get to know yourself better.

It's not uncommon for this kind of lag in ego development to manifest as "chameleonism" in INFJs. Through immature Fe, many INFJs learn that it is to their advantage to be whatever others want to see in order to get the social acceptance they crave. Unfortunately, this shortcut to validation comes at a big cost of not developing a proper sense of self within. You use the word "unworthy". Low self-worth is one of the major factors behind chameleonism. You might want to read previous posts about it.

#infj #auxiliary fe #role models #sense of self #chameleon #self worth #ask

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ganymedesclock · 1 year

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random shout-out from someone who DEVOURED your SU theories years and years ago--you know, even if blue Fusion and all the other stuff turned out to be wrong--i'm definitely happy with the way SU turned out, but I find myself thinking--wistfully? about the universe and lore you speculated about. IDK. I do love the way the show went, but sometimes I think I liked your version of homeworld better (definitely liked your white diamond better XD)

That's kind of you to say!

I will say, some amount of theoryposting is an inevitable amount of creative writing. When we don't know where a show goes, we try to slide in what we think would fit based on what's known, which is our creation no matter how hard we try to base it in canon materials.

Some of it is weaker, some of it is stronger- I think the more forceful and bold Yellow Diamond in canon is definitely more interesting in the story Sugar and Crewniverse was telling, than the idea of a shy reclusive nerd that I put forwards. It makes Yellow working with Steven about White more meaningful, because we're not signaled from the start "hey she's a softie" and when they did that instead with Blue Diamond, it still comes with the edge of we've seen just how terrible her temper can be as early as The Answer.

Steven Universe was ultimately its own story and I was not completely right about what it was, which is fine. Sugar isn't me, and doesn't have to write "my" kind of story for it to be any good- that just means I get to write my own stories, to which SU has been a huge inspiration and challenged me to think about all the choices it did make.

I have immense respect for SU as a story that's very itself. Most of what I don't like about it feel like genuinely valid choices; I can't wholeheartedly say the meandering nature of many of the characters' arcs is "a flaw" when that very nature made their triumphs and final choices way more significant, and allowed them an almost unparalleled sense of reality to all these characters and the way that people deal with things (and don't). It creates a very distinctive flavor and identity and is committed and conscientious about it, which is a commendable thing not every piece of art gets to say.

And, yeah, that means either you like its flavor or don't. But I can definitely aspire to create something with that much style and gravitas to it.

I'd also say some of my theories around SU were born of ideological weaknesses in myself, not in that they were wrong and thus weak, but in hindsight, I realized that there were patterns I created.

About the main thing I was wrong about three for three with the Diamonds is how potentially scary they are; canon really went no-holds-barred with these grandiose personalities. This is baked deliberately into even the physical scale of the Diamonds- they are people who can thoughtlessly do a lot of damage because of their sheer size and power. We don't really need to get stereotypical "bad mean boss" scenes between Yellow Diamond and her Pearl, because the sheer scale of them defines the power imbalance. It's not surprising then that when we see a Yellow Diamond who is working to better herself in Future, she's interacting with Gems up on a desk that brings them closer to her eye level. The gap isn't closed, but she's trying to see where they are.

My versions of the Diamonds were leaning harder into how tragic and sad they were, which I think was born of a discomfort I feel very often in storytelling, that if someone is categorized as "evil" that a belief emerges that you cannot do anything evil or morally wrong to an evil person. Treating "evil" as just license to be exactly as mean and nasty as you want in response, because there's no way anybody who's done more damage than you think is reasonable could possibly have anything driving this behavior- and suggesting they have any reason to be sad or even the capacity to be sad is tantamount to being a quitter who thinks we should just let them do bad things unchecked.

Canon examined the tragedy of the Diamonds without needing to make them exaggeratedly soft. The versions of the Diamonds I created, while potentially compelling, were people who were themselves trapped, not decisive winners, who were so overtly vulnerable that I hoped people couldn't hate them.

And like I said- this is potentially compelling! A lot of this DNA carries over to the major antagonists of my original project, Chiaroscuro- so if you're missing my writing, I can guarantee those flavors are still around!

But it's ultimately born of a little bit of insecurity. The desire to make a blameless, tragic, vulnerable soul out of the villains so that people will feel obligated to see past their knee-jerk, "the character crossed a moral line and I don't want to relate to that or examine it" when I think that's important.

I think that we should be able to relate to people who make abhorrent choices. Even people who make unjustified abhorrent choices. I think we should be able to do that, and acknowledge their humanity, and not have it weaken our conviction that what's wrong is wrong.

If you can only stand against evil when it's an abstracted cartoonish force that isn't attached to anybody with feelings, when you imagine the worst person is actually not a human at all but some kind of demon from hell with no real feelings, you're not really in a good place to stand against evil. You're in particular, in a really bad place to stand against the potential for evil in yourself, and the potential of people with very bad intentions to appeal to you.

And that's something I tried to scratch at with my theories, and it's something canon also put its finger on, but canon, especially in Future, brought the added angle to this that sometimes doing the right thing and creating a better future means you don't get to punish people that did something wrong and you're mad at them.

The Diamonds are kind of dislikable and frustrating. But the scene with White Diamond and the pillar illuminates in stark contrast that the problem isn't White anymore; she's got loads of her own, and they haven't evaporated, but Steven needs to address his own malcontent and anger, rather than acting like it's all White's fault and getting rid of her would make his crisis stop. At the point White isn't a threat anymore, Steven nearly killing her is about him, not about her. It's not any evaluation on what she's done, or hasn't- what matters is that she's distant to him and he can justify she's done too much damage to have peace, so it's someone he doesn't, in the moment, mind lashing out at.

It's a point where the world is, easier, more peaceful, when we have enemies to attack that are just bad and we don't have to think about them and we don't have to think about what we do to them. But that easier world has some very ugly costs- because "mindless true evil" doesn't exist, so you have to choose to make the evil orc army out of other people.

#Steven Universe #readmore

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vamxxpire · 8 months

Text

Thundering Storm. (18+)

Mare Barrow x Tiberias "Cal" Calore VII

(AO3 | Masterlist)

Summary: A continuation of what happened in the woods. (Book 3: King’s Cage, Chapter 22.)

Warnings ⚠️: Mild Angst/Comfort, Traumatic response(?), very light dom/sub undertones if you squint, inexperienced, awkward-ish first times lol

Wc: 5k

A/n: Hii this is written in a way to mimic the series to make it seem like an actual chapter. So after the — — at the start, it’s transitioning into my own writing. The — — at the bottom being the end of it and going back onto the book. Ignore if my writing feels different / weird in here; The goal was to replicate the writing style of the books but also keep my own charm!!

His chest flushed beneath my palms, rising with reckless heat. His skin looks even paler next to mine. Using his teeth, he unlatched his flamemaker bracelets and tosses them into the undergrowth.

“Thank my colors for the rain,” he murmurs.

I feel the opposite. I want to burn.

— —

A rough hand of his continued to trail down my spine, tracing the scars adorning my back. Julian called them Lichtenberg scars, something about my blood bursting from electricity and heat. It was confusing at first to understand, but it made sense. The sounder device used my abilities against me, my own lightings. I still struggle with its pronunciation, but it felt nice to have a name to these wounds. They serve as a constant reminder of what’s happened over the last year, what I’ve had to endure to survive, and who I am. Not Mareena Titanos, or the lightning girl.

But Mare Barrow.

Despite the cold droplets of the storm, Cal’s hands remain a comforting warmth, and are quite easy to pick out where they settled on my body. Not like I’d ignore his touch any time soon.

The palm he had wrapped around my neck, an earlier attempt Cal made to soothe any worries or malicious thoughts of mine, edged my body closer to him. He loomed over me, eyes darting all over my face, taking in every detail as if I’d disappear any second. Both of my hands pressed over his chest, proving I wasn’t some dream. A palm laid flat against the uneasy thumping of his heart that betrayed the calm expression on his face.

I found myself doing the same. I searched his face for any hidden intentions, a habit I’ve formed over the the past six months imprisoned by Maven. No matter how much I try to convince myself I’m safe, to not read so much into actions and people, I continue to do it.

Yet, I find nothing; He remained true to himself, real and raw under my touch. His skin buzzed at my fingertips, and for a moment it reminds me of the electric pulse of the storm, but it was something deeper I can’t harness. It was a heat only I could find in Cal. It danced beautifully in rainfall, drowning out the sounds of pouring water and thunder.

Cal leaned closer into me, pulling me into a kiss. It felt different compared to this morning’s; Gentler, nervous. He squeezed his eyes shut, and I followed suit, feeling the warmth of his fingers tracing the bottom of my scars shift onto my waist in a slow motion. His palm gently nudged my the bottom half of frame forward, bodies pressed against one another. I shifted on my footing, opting to stand on the tips of my feet, reaching upwards for his touch.

My mouth opened, tongue cautiously darting out to lick at his bottom lip for something, asking for anything he would give me. Cal is quick to catch on to my message, instantly being met in kind with his own opening up and pressing against my lips. He answered eagerly, sucking gently on my tongue in a way that made me stutter in breath. My fingers trailed down his muscles, defined from years of training for the war. Quick digits founding the hem of his tight training pants, now drenched and clinging onto his body. Similarly to how I am.

Cal feels me pull at the waistband of his pants, and gasps into my mouth, pulling back from the kiss. My first instinct is to whine out, wanting to continue feeling him even as my lungs scream for air. But it is quickly replaced by worry. “Fuck. Sorry, too soon?” I asked breathlessly. Apologizing came naturally to me now, coming from a place of genuine concern. He shook his head, small droplets dripping from the tips of his hair. He flushed in silver, his blood color reaching the ends of his ears. I understood now, he’s nervous. And so was, my own blush creeping itself onto my face now.

“I just don’t know what to do.” He answered bluntly, a hint of worry in his voice. He was used to planning out things, mapping strategies. He is a born soldier, it was second nature for him to have a clear route. This wasn’t, and it made him embarrassed; Guilty from the lack of knowledge. I felt similarly, maybe for different reasons, but all the while the same.

I chewed on the inside of my cheek, nodding briefly. “I can take off my pants too, if you want.” If. We both knew that word was unnecessary, the sizzling of water against his body was a clear indicator of what we both truly wanted. The heat radiating off him came in strong waves, and while it didn’t burn at my skin, I was grateful for the rain cooling us down enough.

Cal hesitantly nodded, excitement flickering in his eyes, a golden color that reflected his abilities. I pulled back my hands slowly, glancing briefly at my own training pants snuggly hugging at my curves from the rain. I brought my gaze back up to Cal, who intently watched me. I returned the favor, not breaking eye contact as I tugged at the lining of my bottoms, breaking the waist of them free and slowly pulling the fabric down. I didn’t bother to pull them all the way off, letting them sit on my calves as I bent down and brought myself up. I was already struggling pulling them with the weight of the damp material. I don’t want to imagine what it’s like putting them back on.

He swallowed down, jaw clenching as his eyes darted all over my figure, not knowing where exactly to settle themselves. Butterflies settled into my abdomen, and I realized he looked at me similarly the first time we met. It made me feel bare all over again.

He glanced at my crotch, dragging them up my figure and onto my breast, both clothed by black underwear and bra. For a brief second they eyed the spot where Maven’s burn mark original was. While painful, Sara burned at the skin again in order to properly heal it. It felt like a small victory, proof of no longer being in his chains. They finally landed on my face, but not for long. He looked elsewhere, looking everywhere but at me.

“Didn’t think you’d be so shy, Cal.”

His eyes snapped to me, “How can I not be? I’m not as bold as you, Barrow.” A lie, maybe. His voice came out barely above a whisper. As if he were afraid we would be caught if he talked any louder. The trees and sound of the howling wind disguised any trace we could possibly leave.

A half smile tugged at the corners of my lips, making you forget all about the embarrassment from earlier. Even now, the playful bantered continued. “Well. It’s your turn, isn’t it?” I looked down at his own tight pants, emphasizing my point. It did little to the imagination; What I assume is his length, was obviously strained against the wet article of clothing. Cal’s fingers on my waist twitched in response to my shameless eyeing, reluctantly pulling away from my waist. For a second I regretted it, missing the warmth of his hand. But any regret was quickly forgotten as I watched him pull it towards his body, rewarding me with a new sight of Cal pulling at the elastic material.

He stretched them down to the start of his knees, not reaching as far as I did since a hand remained occupied at my neck, spilling a soothing heat onto the skin. My breath hitched, eyes darting over his soaked underwear that matched in color with mine. My body didn’t dare to move, the hairs on it standing on point from the cold water. An electric current ran down my spine, drawing out the scarred tissue.

I didn’t get much time to ogle over the tent in front of me, as he pulled my face up, closer once more to his figure and directing my gaze to his blazing eyes.

“You stare so much.” He muttered lowly, face hovering dangerously close. I swallowed down a lump, trying to ignore the bubbling nervousness in my abdomen. “Same could be said about you. ‘How can I not?’ ” I repeated his words from earlier, though different. In response, he scoffed at me, a crooked smile forming.

“Looks like you’re missing quite a few lessons from Lady Blonos.” Cal hummed lowly and looked down at my lips while his free hand found itself back to its designated spot; Cradling my waist and pressing both our bodies flush. An electric current pumped in my veins, pulsing in time with my heart. I pulled eyes down to his own pair of lips. “Care to teach me, your highness?” I answered teasingly, feeling the his fingers twitch while he took the bait.

Cal was quick to pull me back into a kiss, his eyes closed. I followed suit, savoring how he riled me up. We were hungry, a type neither of us ever felt before unless it was from one another. That much was obvious, and didn’t need to be communicated. But after half a year of being starved of basic needs, of affection and tenderness, I felt desperate. Greedily, I wanted more; And Cal was no fool to the needs of mine, he felt it all the same. So when he pushed me against the dark oak behind me, I didn’t protest, answering with a groan at the sudden harshness. My hands separate from his torso as my mouth easily opened itself once more for him, never finding end to the delicious taste of his tongue. I trailed my palms down to my underwear, quickly pulling the fabric down to the mid of my thighs.

I pulled back for a gasp of air, trailing saliva connecting us, and took it as a chance to peek down. I swallowed down at the sight of his clothed groin pressed against my stomach, and looked back up at him, asking. His eyes searched me as well, and he nodded, giving me all the permission I need to continue.

I moved my gaze back down to his underwear, noticing my own was drenched in something else than rain. My face flushed, blood spreading itself quickly onto my cheeks. Quickly, I diverted my attention to Cal, and with shaky, twitching fingers, pried the hem of his underwear back. I dragged them down enough to spring his length free, gasping at the sight as it slapped against my stomach and warmed me up. He in turn hissed, what I imagine could be from my cool skin.

I felt my mouth drop and lungs stop taking in air, nervously eyeing his dick and its size. Cal squirmed under my staring, and I craned my neck back to stare at him with wide eyes. “Am I going to die?” I breathed out. His eyebrows furrowed together as he grinned, “Maybe. Try not to.” He joked, but quickly his expression softened. “We can take it slow, it uh— it doesn’t have to be today if you’re not ready.” Cal quickly added on. If. I hated the word, but it wasn’t like him to backtrack on his words. So I brought a hand up to his forearm, giving an enthusiastic squeeze.

“I want to.” I whispered, not breaking eye contact.

He stared back, silver blood paled his skin with a blush. “Right. Right, yeah, okay. I want to, too.” He mumbled to me, though it sounded that he was bracing himself more than assuring me. He was afraid for me.

I smiled at his sheepish nature, a new side I’ve never seen. I stood on my toes to wrap my hands around his neck, bringing Cal down for a quick peck at his lips. When I pulled back, I watched as he chased after me. He stopped when I began to slowly bring my kisses down to his jawline, eventually reaching his neck. When he sighed out in content and dropped his shoulders, I continued. “It’ll be okay. I’ll be okay. Just—“ My voice trailed off, bringing a leg up to wrap it around his waist. It doesn’t take much to understand where Im getting at, and without much effort he pulled me upwards, leaning me against the tree behind us. He pulled at one of the legs of my pants, freeing them and giving me free access to move them.

I wrapped my legs around his waist, and Cal held my hips tightly, making sure I don’t fall or slip away from his grasp. I don’t think I ever will, not again. From this position, we could both see all. From the way our chests moved as we breathed, to the way our bodies joined together. If we were back in Norta, anyone would scream at the thought of the Prince, destined to be king, and the soon to be Princess, doing such scandalous things. Lucky we were in Piedmont. And both our destinies were no longer decided for one another.

I watched as his erection throbbed in between my legs, gulping down saliva that pooled in my mouth. He shifted my weight against the bark, taking advantage of how I had my arms around his neck, and legs tightly crossed across his hips. I know Cal would never drop me. That didn’t mean I wasn’t opposed of meeting the floor. Especially when I’m so bare and naked. For once, I hadn’t notice the lack of coziness of his hands as he quickly moved his fist to grasp at his length, swallowing down a grunt, faint enough to be drowned out by the rain. But not my ears. I watched in awe, not being able to tear apart my eyes from the action. And it felt neither could he, his gaze never moving as he began to line himself up against me.

Without moving his gaze, he squeezed lightly at my neck, checking in on me. Asking for permission once more. I eagerly squeezed at his own toned back, fingers tapping against the skin now as embarrassment bubbled itself back; It finally began to dawn in at the vulnerability, nakedness of it all. Yet the fire between us refused to be extinguished by mere emotions.

That was all he needed, and he glided his dick in between my folds, as it was practically drenched with slick. After a few testing thrusts, and surprising whines from my end urging him on, he finally pushed. My eyebrows scrunched together, feeling my heart skip a beat while I focused on the sensation of him stretching me. I bit back any sounds, nearly breaking the skin under my lip. Cal wasn’t so subtle in his reaction, hissing out and cursing under his breath as merely the tip being popped inside. His fist, originally grasped at the base, flew onto my hip and gripped tightly for some sort of stability.

“ ‘M gonna start moving.” He said for both our well beings. Even as he hadn’t moved yet, It was a burn I’ve never experienced before. It felt similar to his fire and my lighting, sending jolts down my legs, and up to the nape of my neck. Yet it remained new, the sparks that danced along my skin not being familiar to me, fed by something entirely different. It felt good, and it wasn’t even as close to starting.

While originally he faced a bit of resistance, after a brush of his thumb at my scars, I calmed down and eased up. I watched as Cal inched inside me, agonizingly slow. While he inched in an unbearable pace, it was overwhelming. I was feeling myself being stretched, the hum of the storm, and Cal’s fiery blaze all wrapped up uncomfortably around us. My mind raced with various thoughts all coming to dead ends or reaching pointless conclusions.

For once I felt graceful the exiled prince didn’t have his flamemakers, in fear of what it would be like to sense the true intensity of his flames. It was the thing that defined him. Without it, he was just like any other red trained soldier. No, that’s not right. Cal is Cal, with or without his abilities. No one will be able to take that away from him, or me.

With a groan pulled out of the both of us, Cal finally bottomed out; Joining our bodies together, hips flushed against one another. He stilled his movements, and I was thankful for the thousandth time these last two weeks. Small tears clouded my vision as I blinked rapidly, swallowing down air into my lungs that lost itself from the exchange. I dragged my face up, eyes finding Cal who was already staring at me. The world around us seemed to fade, leaving us the only two people existing as of right now. Finally, I understood what the scholars in Julian’s book were talking about, why the Gods cursed us. It wasn’t for our abilities, or because of silver blood, but for the sins of humanity. I felt every hint of them; Pride, Greed, Wrath, Envy, Gluttony, Sloth, and especially Lust, as I stared up at Cal.

A part of me wondered if he felt the same, or understood what nonsense wracked my brain. For a second it felt like he did, as if he were a Whisper and could read my thoughts. Though, he seemed to be in his own head instead. I nodded briefly, encouraging him on once I felt ready.

Albeit shaking, from the rain or something else, he pulled back his hips in the same tauntingly slow manner. Only to move his hips forward and flush against me; He was more understanding with the purposeful and gentle pace he set. The air around us felt intoxicating, all sound drowned out by our small grunts and moans. “Tell me if it’s too much.” He said abruptly through gritted teeth. I knew I wouldn’t have to. I wanted to feel it all, no matter how bad. I nodded anyways for his sake.

With no warning, he picked up the pace, his hips snapping harshly against mine. I struggled to breathe as the air was fucked out of my lungs, involuntarily digging my nails into the flesh of his back for some sort of support. A moan was dragged out from my throat, and I dug my head into the crook of his neck to shut myself up. The action only fueled Cal, like coal to a flame, and the intensity of his thrusting picked itself up. “Look at me,” I hear his voice muffled; Drowned out by my voice, the slap of skin, and thumping heart in my ears. But this doesn’t stop the words from bringing me back to Norta, to Maven when he had asked for my gaze, seconds before using the painful device on me. And for a second I panic, bolts jumping under the tips of my fingers begging to be released. His words bring me to the sounding device, making me hear the painful ringing in my ear.

I squeeze my eyes shut, wanting to run away from my thoughts and sound. The storm on top of us rumbled with thunder, syncing up with my emotions as I began to hyperventilate. With a gentle but firm tug of someone’s hand deep into my hair, I’m pulled back to face something. I snap my eyes open and searched wildly, afraid. I quickly realized who brought me towards his face, making me look at him. And I felt grateful. It was still Cal.

Im safe; I’m safe; I’m okay. Repeated in my head. I could write the words with my eyes closed from how many times I’ve repeated them these last two weeks. But no matter how safe Piedmont was, how far away we were from Norta, Maven still had his claws deep into me. His brand, long gone, continued to burn under my collar. And while my body healed, my mind didn’t. As if sensing where my thoughts were going, he traced my scars with his thumb, slowly reaching his touch up to my cheek. This became a habit between the two of us. I panic, pulled into the dark place of my brain, and he pulls me back with simple touches that made the cold go away. “Hey,” He said with a hushed voice. I swallowed down, throat dry and vision blurred with tears I didn’t realize formed and were wetting my cheek. I pretend it’s just rain. “Hey.” I responded back, voice hoarse. His eyes flickered all over my face, studying it for the millionth time. He squeezed at my cheek, silently asking.

Are you okay?

I breathed heavily, I didn’t know the answer to the question, but still squeezed at his muscled back .

Yes.

After a moment given to control my breaths and calm down, he broke the sounds of our breathing. “Can I uh. Move?” He asks, and I’m pulled back into moment. I realize how tightly snug he fit into me, and how my body ached painfully for something else. Embarrassingly, I answered as soon as the words left his mouth. “ Yes.” I hissed, but it didn’t stop there. “Fuck Cal, please. I need it.” The prince wasn’t used to begging from me, neither was it. These months changed us. Though it seemed to have an effect on him, and I heard a shaky breath leave him. He gripped at my hair, tugging me back and making me groan mindlessly, clenching around his dick. His hips stuttered, and I watched as my actions indirectly pulled a low moan from him. He pulled me into a desperate, needy kiss. I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve felt his lips today. Too focused on elsewhere, I returned the kiss sloppily, the feverish movements making it difficult to even keep my head straight.

I felt my mind swirl, and I squeezed my eyes shut again to concentrate on something, anything. But Cal wasn’t having any of it, he didn’t want to lose me again. “What are you thinking?” His voice beckons, and my eyes open to look at him. I hadn’t realized we stopped kissing. But I didn’t complain. The image of Cal itself almost finishes me, a coil tightly wrapping itself on my abdomen. It reminds me of the storm, close enough to feel it, but not quite there.

Cal stared at me with lidded eyes and blown out pupils, lips parted as he breathed heavily. It reminds me of when we shared a room back in Tuck. The words get caught in my throat, and after a particular thrust, I cried out. I searched for air, forcing myself to speak. “I don’t know.” I answered breathlessly. He dryly laughs, the grip at my hips tightening as he shifted, angling himself to fuck me better. It he weren’t holding me so tightly I think I would’ve broken apart, putty under his hot touch. “No Mare— Fuck. I mean. Do you feel good?” He paused in between words, catching his breath in the spaces with the occasional moan. As soon as I processed the words, my head snapped up and down, nodding. It was more than good, it made all of my senses fry, it didn’t feel enough yet it was too much. I couldn’t find the words, so instead my nails dug into his skin, dragging them back up painfully.

That was all he needed, a shiver rocked his body, and suddenly he was too caught up on me to entertain conversation. His movements became harsh, and with them his length jabbed at a particular spot that made the purple sparks of my electricity cloud my vision. My mouth fell slack, babbling nonsense as different kind of sounds left me. His movements were erratic, waves of pleasure hitting me harder every time. He leaned his face closer, teeth scraping against my cheek as silent words reached my ears. ‘I love you.’

Like a dam, I broke open. The cables of my abdomen was quickly becoming loose and springing around like a live wire, and all I could do was grab onto Cal; My anchor as I came. My walls squeezed at him without my knowing, and with a guttural groan from Cal, he quickly pulled out, with a twitch thickly spilling all over my stomach.

Fireworks continued to spark behind my eyes, not noticing the sudden emptiness. My body shook, jolting from the intensity of my orgasm. Sounds of our heavy breathing and gasping filled the air, still humid from rain. The storm was beginning to pass as it didn’t pour so heavily, indicating it’ll soon only be the two of us left.

I blinked rapidly, hauling Cal into view through teary eyes. I watched as his chest moved up and down with quick, shallow breathes. He laid his forehead against mine, the tips of our noses touching as we didn’t dare to stop looking at one another, afraid it could all be a dream. But we were both here, and very much real. I rubbed at his shoulders, feeling the traced shapes he drew into my skin.

After what felt like hours of crying and Cal brushing away my weeping with the back of his hand, muttering sweet words of encouragement and praise; He slowly moved me down from the tree. He held me steady until my feet touched the ground. Even then, he continued to hover his hands over my waist and neck, afraid I’d break apart, and I almost do, my knees buckling as I stood on wobbly legs. I was thankful for the rain, as it washed away the evidence of his orgasm on my stomach, and the remains of my sobs. The hand tracing at my neck scars trailed up my jaw, then chin, and he cupped at it softly, making me look up.

Too exhausted to speak, we opted to communicating wordlessly, a fun game. He kissed my forehead, ‘thank you’. Then pressed another at the top of my head, out of worry. I grinned sheepishly, kissing back at his collarbone and leaning into his touch. I pressed at his biceps, kneading the muscle. With a long drag from his arm to his side; I relished the last shiver I’ll pull out of him, for now. My fingers trailed until they bumped at his underwear, tugging his semi hard length back into its containment. I watched Cal grimace, and I burst out laughing. Speaking came too easy for us now.

“It’s cold.” He grumbled, for the first time his rough palm left my neck, both his hands trailing down my sides to grab at my underwear. He began pulling it up to cover at my bits, returning my gesture. My eyes narrowed, smiling at the complimentary actions.

“Water never sat well with the Prince of Fire, did it?” I answered back slyly , pulling up my training pants and and looking around for my shirt.

He pulled up his own bottoms, picking at his flamemaker bracelets he had previously discarded nearby. With a click, they latched onto his wrist, and he flexed his fingers. “I wouldn’t mind it if it meant we’d get to do this more often.” He answered nonchalantly, though I could hear the mischievous smirk from his tone.

I flushed, blood pooling at my face, and I bit at my tongue to hold whatever response was ready leave me. If I had it my way and didn’t know better, I would beg him to shove me against the tree for a second round. Instead, I shrugged, fighting back a snort and losing. I grabbed at my drenched shirt and twist it, watching as the water fell onto the grassy earth. “I’ll make sure to track the next storm then.” I joked back, making him pale with a blush. Now it was my turn to sneer as I pulled the wet shirt over my frame. I huffed, scrunching my eyebrows at the familiar feeling of cut skin at my back, probably from the oak tree.

As he stretched, I saw the same reaction be pulled from Cal. His eyebrows knit together, confused, lips forming a thin line. “Fuck Mare.. how bad did you claw at me?” He muttered, turning for me to view. I gasped softly at the state. Silver blood trailed down his back, long scratch lines and cuts dragging themselves on his back and over his shoulder. Despite it being his blood, the sight was oddly erotic. Blood trailed around his muscles and made them pop out. Bringing up my wrists, I looked at my fingers, finding faint metallic color on the tips.

I held back a giggle. “This is going to be awkward for Sara.” I bent down to grab at his shirt, and wrung out the water, handing it over once it felt dry enough. I moved my hands to repeat the action towards my dark hair adorned with grey curls, squeezing the water out. He smiled at me, pulling the top over his head and wincing at the cold fabric against wounds. “Not if we don’t get her to heal us. I’d love to keep these.” He winked at my direction, now it was my turn to turn away from him; Starting to walk as my face and ears felt hot at the implication.

Cal barked out a genuine laugh, jogging to catch up to me. “For the person who made the first move to fuck in the woods, you are easily embarrassed, Barrow.” He said lowly. I turned my face to glare at him, my grin betraying my look. “Whatever. You were shaking as if a Shiver touched you.” I scoffed, looking ahead as we made our way out of the woods. His own grin reached his eyes, narrowing happily.

His look shifted over to my curls, and he stifled a noise by bitting his bottom lip. “C’mere, you have something stuck in your hair,” Cal reached a lazy hand over, and began to pull out green vegetation from the tree out of me.

— —

I refuse to go back to the row house covered in mud, and due to Cal’s oh-so-inconvenient living quarters, I can’t clean off his barracks unless I feel like sharing the showers with a dozen other soldiers. He picks leaves out of my hair as we walked towards the base hospital, a squat building overgrown with ivy.

"You look like a shrub," he says, sporting an almost-manic smile.

“That's exactly what you're supposed to say."

Cal nearly giggles. "How would you know?"

"I— ugh," I deflect, ducking into the entrance.

#victoria aveyard #red queen #red queen series #book series #glass sword #king’s cage #mare barrow #tiberias vii calore #cal calore #red queen fanfic #marecal #calmare ?#I don’t know their ship name lol

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bcbdrums · 29 days

Note

🍓🕯️🔪

"🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction?"

well. one day in 2004 when visiting my cousin in the hospital after her car accident. i missed an episode of Bonanza, due to...you know, being at the hospital. this was back in ye olden days of TV guides, recording things on VCR's, and....no....wikis.... not like we have now. no sites to tell you everything, no screencaps, no youtube... and ye olde dial-up internet days. and anyway.... the TV guide descrip made that episode sound thrilling. and...and i just had to know!

and i knew... i remember, knowing in my heart. that if i went online and tried to find out what happened. i'd never get off the computer again. well, i was right. the short conclusion to this tale is i found specific Bonanza fansites loaded with fanfiction!!! and i devoured it. i wanna say within the same month? i was hand-writing fanfic in spiral notebooks for Bonanza. still have that spiral notebook and that unfinished fic, literally locked in a treasure chest. and i still remember the entire plot, what i planned to do with it... yeah.

no, i never did find out what was in that episode i missed/didn't get to record... like i said, no wikis or anything of that nature... (we had to leave from school that day so i didn't get to go home and program the VCR; i'd not known that morning we'd be going to the hospital later.) and they didn't re-run the episode again... so i've still not seen it... but, i started writing fanfic that summer. a defining moment in my life. and yes, my cousin is well!

"🕯️ ⇢ on a scale from 1 to 10, how much do you enjoy editing? why is that?"

ohhh, hmmm... idk if i could scale it. maybe right in the middle, a 5 or 6? this will make more sense if i describe my process perhaps.

so if i'm really in the writing zone, i just...plow ahead until i'm finished. and then i go back and edit. when i'm "in the zone" oftentimes i don't see things that could genuinely be improved by better phrasing, better language choices... they just elude me cuz i'm so hyperfixated on the story and it's so clear in my head, so, of course it's great on the page! (example: Forfeit was written this way.) usually i then just quickly fix obvious typos/grammar things and toss the fic into the void. then i'll return a few months later when it's no longer fresh, and then see soooo many things that could be better, and depending on my mood i'll go back and heavily edit, or, i won't.

the other process... if i'm not "in the zone" usually i write a few lines, get stuck, and to get myself unstuck i go back and edit what i've done. fixing things, adding things... and usually once those few lines are edited i have the next ones ready to be written in my head. it's a slower process overall.

editing for other people is a whole different ball game. i love doing that (as long as i'm in the mood/have the energy/time) because it helps me refine my writing craft too, in trying to assist someone with a totally different style than mine. it's great. and i've edited/beta-read for so many diff people now with such a variety of styles it's really making me more aware of my own, and how it's changed over the years. and i also just enjoy helping people.

the idea of something getting better just appeals to me i guess. it's a good feeling, it's productive. so in that sense, i enjoy editing. if i feel really stuck on a project, then it can become just another slow-down however. that would be the only negative i suppose.

"🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?"

haha, already answered this in a prior ask but i'll choose a different one.

i spent days learning how to waltz properly. all the techniques, and the process by which one learns... to write one character teaching another character, very, very methodically. and apparently i did it well, i received a comment about it from someone who actually waltzes professionally if i remember correctly who was very pleased with my writing of it! can i waltz? or dance at all? no, no i cannot. but i could probably talk someone else through how to learn!

thank you SO much for the ask!!! ^_^

#ask answer #bonanza #kim possible #drakgo #sherlock #the waltzing was in a sherlock fic

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slavghoul · 2 years

Text

Interview from Rock Hard FR #232

The devil is in the details

You never hid it, Metallica had a big influence on your way of thinking about your career. Impera is your fifth album. It allowed you to play in very big venues, it saw you reach the first place of the US charts. Is it, in a way, your Black Album?

I don't think I can compare our career to Metallica. The band was, at the time, part of this huge mainstream rock wave that was the equivalent of what many rap bands are today. In 1991, Metallica was listened to by every high school student. Whereas, on our side, even if it's undeniable that we're doing well, it's always young people "on the fringe" who listen to us because our trajectory has always been more alternative than mainstream. But it's true that the pressure we felt when creating this fifth album is surely the same as the one Metallica experienced at the time, as well as Iron Maiden with Powerslave (1984). Metallica did have a huge impact on me, it influenced my way of thinking enormously, as did Maiden again, especially in terms of how to tour, how much work to put into our projects, how to behave... We've toured with both bands, and a lot of our strategies - even if it sounds a bit like we're a company - about how to create a good atmosphere for all the people who work with us on the road are very much influenced by the fact that we've opened for them and that they've treated us well.

It is not easy to manage such a success, to manage to prolong the ascension while reinventing oneself sufficiently. Metallica made the choice to drastically change its orientation on all levels, even if it meant taking a big risk. How do you approach this step, which is similar, for Ghost?

We're not at a point where we've accomplished everything yet, especially in terms of gigs, the places I want to play, and there are still a lot of new people to reach. Musically, I already have an album in mind that will contain things we haven't done yet. I also have a film project. But if I ever wanted to do something totally different, I would probably do it under a different name. I'm trying to make Ghost evolve into whatever form it can take, but I would never say to myself, "Okay, I'm going to give up the theatrical stuff, we're going to play in the clothes we wear every day". That's not cool, that's not what we're known for, and that's not what people want. Of course, you could argue that we've already disappointed fans of the first and second albums, who feel they didn't get what they wanted, but exploring new territories and evolving is a very difficult thing to define. Nevertheless, I think there are some key ingredients in the Ghost recipe that I can't subtract without causing serious consequences. If you think of Ghost as a dish in an Italian restaurant, the music is the olives and garlic, our visual attitude is the pasta base, you can't remove one of the two ingredients from such a dish without distorting it... I would add that the lyrics would be the cheese! (laughs) But if I had more time, I would love to play drums in a punk rock band in the future!

I'd like to talk more specifically about the universe and philosophy of the Ghost concept, which is a band that has always given the feeling of being black metal... but without the black metal music. The cover of Prequelle (2018), for example, or the lyrics of a track like "Majesty" are elements that one would easily imagine to find in a black metal band...

I come from the black and death metal scene. I built myself up with it, starting to listen to this music when I was in puberty. My whole adolescence was coloured by this extreme scene, although I grew up listening to a lot of different styles of music. It's clearly my home, where this sort of sub-culture or pop-culture that I like so much comes from. But I also got out of sync with the times pretty quickly: by 1995, I had already lost interest in new bands, being too busy listening to 1985 bands instead! (laughs) The bands I liked the most were still around though. Either because their careers were still going strong, or because they were reforming. In fact, the music that followed me all my life was the music my mother listened to when she was young: The Rolling Stones, The Beatles, The Doors, Janis Joplin, Jimi Hendrix. It was an echo of another era, the 60s and 70s, which I obviously never experienced. But metal being closer to me, it comes out in Ghost, even though a lot of our melodic elements come from something else. It's in the attitude and the lyrics that you find my black metal, death metal and punk influences. This nervousness, this biting side, the will to move mountains with words, in a very adolescent, aggressive approach...

Since the beginning of the band, some of your lyrics have been precisely anchored in religious references, sacred texts like the Bible. For example, Satan Prayer contains an ‘inverted’ version of the Nicene creed, and many other lyrics refer to very specific things that I imagine you have studied in detail...

Yes, I've always been interested in religion, especially when I started, as a teenager, to get interested in demons and the occult. That was the beginning of my first band. I started writing songs and spent a lot of time with a dictionary, trying to collect words, phrases, and that's what I still do with Ghost today. When you work with words, you have this desire to explore your inner self, linguistically, to refine your language. I'm bilingual, but I want to keep learning new words, new phrases, grammar, whether it's in English or Swedish. When I started writing lyrics, I wanted to do death metal, then black metal, and all the bands I listened to used these words and names inspired by biblical or semi-biblical texts, or expressions in "Latinized" English. I read books on religion, the Bible of course, but I also turned to films, anything I could find, at a time when, without the Internet, it was more difficult to find sources. I collected and gathered a lot of things!

There's another thing you've cultivated since the beginning, in parallel with these very satanic lyrics: it's your sense of humour, which allows for a rather explosive duality. So, when Ghost was still only on Myspace, you were already sending deadpan messages to the fans who contacted you. Like: “you'll burn in hell for eternity for being interested in Ghost... but you can still send us your questions!”

(Laughs) As far back as I can remember, I've always been like that! It sounds a bit silly when you say it like that, but the world loves to laugh. I've always been guided by humour, satire, even when I was playing with Repugnant. Even back then I had a bit of an ironic attitude, and I always added humorous elements to my work. I've always enjoyed both the joking and the very dark - at least on the surface - aspects of some bands. In the underground scene I know, with the exception of a few idiots who were completely dead inside, and who actually had huge mental problems, most of my friends were very funny guys, always guided by the joke and the humour. That's a very important thing to me. I can't imagine living without comedy, without the ability to laugh at almost anything. From my point of view, it's what allows us to deal with things that are supposed to make us cry. There are so many tragic and horrible events in the world, and you'll always find someone to say, "No, it's too soon to laugh about it". But for me, it's never too early. It's a very contemporary thing, to constantly question what we are allowed to laugh about, what we are allowed to say. But I really think that in the future we'll be able to start laughing at everything again, because that's how we get through things. No matter how negative or horrible the subject is, that's how we should live our lives: trying to entertain each other, allowing ourselves to have fun with almost - and I mean almost - everything.

As we said, despite this fun side, your lyrics are very serious. Nevertheless, in the eyes of some listeners, you may give the idea that all this is only a parody of Satanic codes, for fun. It is however difficult to imagine you making fun of Satanism when we know the strong links you had with the late Selim Lemouchi (The Devil's Blood) or that still unite you with Erik Danielsson (Watain), two figures who we know do not joke at all with the question...

(He cuts me off) But I don't make fun of Satanism! Not at all! That was never my intention (silence) I take the example of the book The Name Of The Rose, written by Umberto Eco. Anybody who reads this book can understand, especially in Europe, where many people grew up under a Catholic religious influence... Do you have any recollection of the Church being associated with anything comical or funny? Do you remember priests as comedians, who make you laugh and have a good time? No... Because the devil has always represented intellectualism, freedom of thought, comedy and satire, whereas Christianity has always represented the opposite: the repression of feelings and needs. For me, if you want to approach things from a satanic angle, I can't imagine a more satanic life than the one we propose! (laughs) We talk about freedom, intellectualism, laughter, not following the conformist path. There is sometimes an attitude among the people who form the underground scene that makes them confuse the totalitarian nature of the Church with its opposite. But what do you want? A totalitarian Christianity without the slightest hint of laughter or the other way? You decide... It's also a funny confusion when it comes to the symbols, rhetorical elements, references to the Bible and visual language we use, both in Ghost and in metal in general: we are all fascinated by the devil, power, all that stuff, but to my knowledge, not a single destructive empire in the history of mankind has been designated as Satanic... The number of murders perpetrated by Satanists can be counted on the fingers of a few hands, whereas the HUGE amount of people tortured, raped, killed, burned, stoned, dismembered, thrown like piles of rubbish in public places, for thousands of years, in the name of Christianity and other religions, is insurmountable. Who are those who do harm? (silence) Who are those who cannot take a joke? If you don't want to laugh and prefer to become an authoritarian person, determined to fuck people up, you should go and see a priest, it's the best thing to do...

A band like Black Sabbath had to make their non-Satanism clear early in their career because they couldn't stand to be misunderstood, both by believers and by Satanists themselves. Ghost is eminently more blasphemous than Black Sabbath, but you were never forced by events to speak out on the issue. The Telegraph newspaper recently ran the headline: "How Ghost became the acceptable face of Satanism".

I think it has a lot to do with the groundwork Black Sabbath laid fifty years ago. The first Satanic bands, like Black Widow, Coven or Black Sabbath - and I think even the Rolling Stones, although it's just a word in the title of a song (editor's note: Sympathy For The Devil /1968) - were confronted with the peculiarity of the late 60s. They were in their twenties, born in the 40s, and had taken a big leap into a new era, with all these new freedoms that their parents didn't have, who had been born in the 10s or 20s. And their parents were embarrassed by it all. The long hair alone was too much, not to mention the way they lived their sexuality and didn't care about anything. For their parents, these kids were ruining everything. Today, I dare say that our concerts probably bring together four generations of people. Those born in the 40s, others born in the 50s and 60s, then my generation, and finally the younger ones. All of these people have grown up with a pop-cultural Satan in one way or another, whether it's movies or rock music. It's not as provocative as it used to be, unless you're a puritan or a black metalhead who doesn't know how to smile and thinks that Ghost is joking with Satanism... I would like to point out something else in this regard: of course, Ghost never joked with Satan, not at all, but on the other hand, I'm not trying to embody the face of Satanism. My approach is different from that of Selim or Erik. I'm not trying to get people to take my... (fumbling for words)... whether I am a Satanist or not. At the end of the day, we're an entertainment group. I want to make people happy, but also inspire them. And while I'm doing that with my band, I take the opportunity to give the listeners an idea of what I think about things, how I feel about them. But let's say there is no... programme! (small laugh) I don't think that way. I want to do my bit to help make the world a better place, according to my vision, that of someone who grew up in the 80s with VHS of horror films. My childhood memories are of such a liberated cultural climate... We had almost no restrictions, and I combined that with my personal life, with an older brother and a very liberal mother. There was BB King in one room, the Dead Kennedys in the other, and me in the middle, playing on the table with my Star Wars figures. I believe in a very culturally liberated society, and I want to offer a kind of big buffet with all these things that made me. I think most people think like me. At least the ones I know, because there are of course people elsewhere in the world who seem to miss the great days of the KGB... I don't know what they miss most: perhaps the lack of food and the empty stalls? But it's natural to be nostalgic, to want to go back to a time when life was cool. I believe that, in the near future, the life we are talking about will be allowed to exist. We will be able to listen to rock'n'roll, eat whatever we want, kiss whoever we want as long as they agree to be kissed back, and that's regardless of gender. And the only thing I can do to move those mountains is music, making people dance and laugh. It's the only thing I've ever been interested in, and also the only thing I'm capable of doing. I can't do more, I can't do differently...

The children's choir at Hellfest singing "Come together for Lucifer’s son" is far more disturbing than any ritual with pig's blood and inverted crosses. Yet few people are shocked. Most find it fun. Ghost is thus a kind of joyful satanic expression!

I love the duality of this experience! I also have my moments where I turn into a poser doing the "invisible oranges" gesture [editor’s note: a gesture that consists of holding both hands in front of you as if you were holding oranges] when I hear something that sounds **EVIL** (laughs) I like this aggressive, dark side, because it is also a part of me. But I chose to present this part, at least with Ghost, in a more joyful, positive way, because I believe that the Force is a balance. You have to combine the light and the dark. Everything evolves in a circular way, and if you try to trick people into using only one or the other side, it doesn't work. I don't believe in that. Doing this kind of stuff is the most intuitive way to express myself and my feelings. For me, "Monstrance Clock" with children defines me exactly, in the strongest way: it's funny and solemn at the same time, in a sacred sense... It's my more childish side because I also want to believe in supernatural things. I really do!

Because you are not an atheist.

(Firmly) No! I am not! I believe in the Force! Of all the explanations that exist, George Lucas' is the best: we have to work with the Force, it needs to evolve, but you can use it in two different ways, positive or negative. With it, you can destroy as well as rebuild...

#the band ghost #tobias forge #interview

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