#this city isn’t even 100 years old

[yeoldenews]

A Guide to Historically Accurate Regency-Era Names

I recently received a message from a historical romance writer asking if I knew any good resources for finding historically accurate Regency-era names for their characters.

Not knowing any off the top of my head, I dug around online a bit and found there really isn’t much out there. The vast majority of search results were Buzzfeed-style listicles which range from accurate-adjacent to really, really, really bad.

I did find a few blog posts with fairly decent name lists, but noticed that even these have very little indication as to each name’s relative popularity as those statistical breakdowns really don't exist.

I began writing up a response with this information, but then I (being a research addict who was currently snowed in after a blizzard) thought hey - if there aren’t any good resources out there why not make one myself?

As I lacked any compiled data to work from, I had to do my own data wrangling on this project. Due to this fact, I limited the scope to what I thought would be the most useful for writers who focus on this era, namely - people of a marriageable age living in the wealthiest areas of London.

So with this in mind - I went through period records and compiled the names of 25,000 couples who were married in the City of Westminster (which includes Mayfair, St. James and Hyde Park) between 1804 to 1821.

So let’s see what all that data tells us…

To begin - I think it’s hard for us in the modern world with our wide and varied abundance of first names to conceive of just how POPULAR popular names of the past were.

If you were to take a modern sample of 25-year-old (born in 1998) American women, the most common name would be Emily with 1.35% of the total population. If you were to add the next four most popular names (Hannah, Samantha, Sarah and Ashley) these top five names would bring you to 5.5% of the total population. (source: Social Security Administration)

If you were to do the same survey in Regency London - the most common name would be Mary with 19.2% of the population. Add the next four most popular names (Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah and Jane) and with just 5 names you would have covered 62% of all women.

To hit 62% of the population in the modern survey it would take the top 400 names.

The top five Regency men’s names (John, William, Thomas, James and George) have nearly identical statistics as the women’s names.

I struggled for the better part of a week with how to present my findings, as a big list in alphabetical order really fails to get across the popularity factor and also isn’t the most tumblr-compatible format. And then my YouTube homepage recommended a random video of someone ranking all the books they’d read last year - and so I present…

The Regency Name Popularity Tier List

The Tiers

S+ - 10% of the population or greater. There is no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. 52% of the population had one of these 7 names.

S - 2-10%. There is still no modern equivalent to this level of popularity. Names in this percentage range in the past have included Mary and William in the 1880s and Jennifer in the late 1970s (topped out at 4%).

A - 1-2%. The top five modern names usually fall in this range. Kids with these names would probably include their last initial in class to avoid confusion. (1998 examples: Emily, Sarah, Ashley, Michael, Christopher, Brandon.)

B - .3-1%. Very common names. Would fall in the top 50 modern names. You would most likely know at least 1 person with these names. (1998 examples: Jessica, Megan, Allison, Justin, Ryan, Eric)

C - .17-.3%. Common names. Would fall in the modern top 100. You would probably know someone with these names, or at least know of them. (1998 examples: Chloe, Grace, Vanessa, Sean, Spencer, Seth)

D - .06-.17%. Less common names. In the modern top 250. You may not personally know someone with these names, but you’re aware of them. (1998 examples: Faith, Cassidy, Summer, Griffin, Dustin, Colby)

E - .02-.06%. Uncommon names. You’re aware these are names, but they are not common. Unusual enough they may be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Calista, Skye, Precious, Fabian, Justice, Lorenzo)

F - .01-.02%. Rare names. You may have heard of these names, but you probably don’t know anyone with one. Extremely unusual, and would likely be remarked upon. (1998 examples: Emerald, Lourdes, Serenity, Dario, Tavian, Adonis)

G - Very rare names. There are only a handful of people with these names in the entire country. You’ve never met anyone with this name.

H - Virtually non-existent. Names that theoretically could have existed in the Regency period (their original source pre-dates the early 19th century) but I found fewer than five (and often no) period examples of them being used in Regency England. (Example names taken from romance novels and online Regency name lists.)

Just to once again reinforce how POPULAR popular names were before we get to the tier lists - statistically, in a ballroom of 100 people in Regency London: 80 would have names from tiers S+/S. An additional 15 people would have names from tiers A/B and C. 4 of the remaining 5 would have names from D/E. Only one would have a name from below tier E.

Women's Names

S+ Mary, Elizabeth, Ann, Sarah      

S - Jane, Mary Ann+, Hannah, Susannah, Margaret, Catherine, Martha, Charlotte, Maria

A - Frances, Harriet, Sophia, Eleanor, Rebecca

B - Alice, Amelia, Bridget~, Caroline, Eliza, Esther, Isabella, Louisa, Lucy, Lydia, Phoebe, Rachel, Susan

C - Ellen, Fanny*, Grace, Henrietta, Hester, Jemima, Matilda, Priscilla

D - Abigail, Agnes, Amy, Augusta, Barbara, Betsy*, Betty*, Cecilia, Christiana, Clarissa, Deborah, Diana, Dinah, Dorothy, Emily, Emma, Georgiana, Helen, Janet^, Joanna, Johanna, Judith, Julia, Kezia, Kitty*, Letitia, Nancy*, Ruth, Winifred>

E - Arabella, Celia, Charity, Clara, Cordelia, Dorcas, Eve, Georgina, Honor, Honora, Jennet^, Jessie*^, Joan, Joyce, Juliana, Juliet, Lavinia, Leah, Margery, Marian, Marianne, Marie, Mercy, Miriam, Naomi, Patience, Penelope, Philadelphia, Phillis, Prudence, Rhoda, Rosanna, Rose, Rosetta, Rosina, Sabina, Selina, Sylvia, Theodosia, Theresa

F - (selected) Alicia, Bethia, Euphemia, Frederica, Helena, Leonora, Mariana, Millicent, Mirah, Olivia, Philippa, Rosamund, Sybella, Tabitha, Temperance, Theophila, Thomasin, Tryphena, Ursula, Virtue, Wilhelmina

G - (selected) Adelaide, Alethia, Angelina, Cassandra, Cherry, Constance, Delilah, Dorinda, Drusilla, Eva, Happy, Jessica, Josephine, Laura, Minerva, Octavia, Parthenia, Theodora, Violet, Zipporah

H - Alberta, Alexandra, Amber, Ashley, Calliope, Calpurnia, Chloe, Cressida, Cynthia, Daisy, Daphne, Elaine, Eloise, Estella, Lilian, Lilias, Francesca, Gabriella, Genevieve, Gwendoline, Hermione, Hyacinth, Inez, Iris, Kathleen, Madeline, Maude, Melody, Portia, Seabright, Seraphina, Sienna, Verity

Men's Names

S+ John, William, Thomas

S - James, George, Joseph, Richard, Robert, Charles, Henry, Edward, Samuel

A - Benjamin, (Mother’s/Grandmother’s maiden name used as first name)#

B - Alexander^, Andrew, Daniel, David>, Edmund, Francis, Frederick, Isaac, Matthew, Michael, Patrick~, Peter, Philip, Stephen, Timothy

C - Abraham, Anthony, Christopher, Hugh>, Jeremiah, Jonathan, Nathaniel, Walter

D - Adam, Arthur, Bartholomew, Cornelius, Dennis, Evan>, Jacob, Job, Josiah, Joshua, Lawrence, Lewis, Luke, Mark, Martin, Moses, Nicholas, Owen>, Paul, Ralph, Simon

E - Aaron, Alfred, Allen, Ambrose, Amos, Archibald, Augustin, Augustus, Barnard, Barney, Bernard, Bryan, Caleb, Christian, Clement, Colin, Duncan^, Ebenezer, Edwin, Emanuel, Felix, Gabriel, Gerard, Gilbert, Giles, Griffith, Harry*, Herbert, Humphrey, Israel, Jabez, Jesse, Joel, Jonas, Lancelot, Matthias, Maurice, Miles, Oliver, Rees, Reuben, Roger, Rowland, Solomon, Theophilus, Valentine, Zachariah

F - (selected) Abel, Barnabus, Benedict, Connor, Elijah, Ernest, Gideon, Godfrey, Gregory, Hector, Horace, Horatio, Isaiah, Jasper, Levi, Marmaduke, Noah, Percival, Shadrach, Vincent

G - (selected) Albion, Darius, Christmas, Cleophas, Enoch, Ethelbert, Gavin, Griffin, Hercules, Hugo, Innocent, Justin, Maximilian, Methuselah, Peregrine, Phineas, Roland, Sebastian, Sylvester, Theodore, Titus, Zephaniah

H - Albinus, Americus, Cassian, Dominic, Eric, Milo, Rollo, Trevor, Tristan, Waldo, Xavier

# Men were sometimes given a family surname (most often their mother's or grandmother's maiden name) as their first name - the most famous example of this being Fitzwilliam Darcy. If you were to combine all surname-based first names as a single 'name' this is where the practice would rank.

*Rank as a given name, not a nickname

+If you count Mary Ann as a separate name from Mary - Mary would remain in S+ even without the Mary Anns included

~Primarily used by people of Irish descent

^Primarily used by people of Scottish descent

>Primarily used by people of Welsh descent

I was going to continue on and write about why Regency-era first names were so uniform, discuss historically accurate surnames, nicknames, and include a little guide to finding 'unique' names that are still historically accurate - but this post is already very, very long, so that will have to wait for a later date.

If anyone has any questions/comments/clarifications in the meantime feel free to message me.

Methodology notes: All data is from marriage records covering six parishes in the City of Westminster between 1804 and 1821. The total sample size was 50,950 individuals.

I chose marriage records rather than births/baptisms as I wanted to focus on individuals who were adults during the Regency era rather than newborns. I think many people make the mistake when researching historical names by using baby name data for the year their story takes place rather than 20 to 30 years prior, and I wanted to avoid that. If you are writing a story that takes place in 1930 you don’t want to research the top names for 1930, you need to be looking at 1910 or earlier if you are naming adult characters.

I combined (for my own sanity) names that are pronounced identically but have minor spelling differences: i.e. the data for Catherine also includes Catharines and Katherines, Susannah includes Susannas, Phoebe includes Phebes, etc.

The compound 'Mother's/Grandmother's maiden name used as first name' designation is an educated guesstimate based on what I recognized as known surnames, as I do not hate myself enough to go through 25,000+ individuals and confirm their mother's maiden names. So if the tally includes any individuals who just happened to be named Fitzroy/Hastings/Townsend/etc. because their parents liked the sound of it and not due to any familial relations - my bad.

I did a small comparative survey of 5,000 individuals in several rural communities in Rutland and Staffordshire (chosen because they had the cleanest data I could find and I was lazy) to see if there were any significant differences between urban and rural naming practices and found the results to be very similar. The most noticeable difference I observed was that the S+ tier names were even MORE popular in rural areas than in London. In Rutland between 1810 and 1820 Elizabeths comprised 21.4% of all brides vs. 15.3% in the London survey. All other S+ names also saw increases of between 1% and 6%. I also observed that the rural communities I surveyed saw a small, but noticeable and fairly consistent, increase in the use of names with Biblical origins.

Sources of the records I used for my survey: 

Ancestry.com. England & Wales Marriages, 1538-1988 [database on-line].

Ancestry.com. Westminster, London, England, Church of England Marriages and Banns, 1754-1935 [database on-line].

#history #regency #1800s #1810s #names #london #writing resources #regency romance #jane austen #bridgerton #bridgerton would be an exponentially better show if daphne's name was dorcas #behold - the reason i haven't posted in three weeks

[undercoverpena]

had to see you

simon 'ghost' riley x fem!reader

summary: And then, he says, “It’s nice.” “You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.” “It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

an: eventual smut. angst with happy ending. will-they-won't-they, but they do. smut. he loves you 100%. word count: 5.7k || there’s a part two to this here

simon ghost riley masterlist

You love the rain. 

Not so much when you’re away. When you’re strapped up, weighed down by all your gear. The additional weight of being wet makes for an uncomfortable experience, with hair clinging to foreheads and mud sticking to your skin. It also forces things to rub more, chaff. Your skin is often raw from where the buckles and belts sit. 

But, at home, it’s refreshing. 

It’s why you never hated your nickname, the one given to you in jest—to remind you that you are a female, soft, emotional. Only for it to grow more fitting. Because Rain comes from above, sharp, falling where needed—catching people by surprise, and leaving traces behind, but never enough to know where you’ll land next. 

Rain is also one word. One syllable. Short, sharp and easy.

It can be spat, it can be sweetly said and affectionately called. 

On good days, it reminds you of long car rides, staring out of windows at passing traffic as you watch beads of its travel down—racing. On bad days, it reminds you of more unpleasant memories, ones born in moments you’d sooner forget, an emptiness in your chest from betrayal, loss and bad choices. 

At home, rain itself keeps you rooted. The scent, for one, not allowing your mind to whisk you off too old memories of war and enemy territories. The sound, for another, hits your windows and dulls the silence. All three senses are busied by it. It all blends perfectly together with the crackling of your candles and the low-light vibe you have going off in your flat. 

Plus, there’s nothing more British than bad weather. 

Each time you’re able to come home, you hope it’s raining. Landing back, greeted with cold and horrid rain. Preferably the kind which looks misty through windows and soaks you in seconds when you step into it. The kind which makes it hard to know which speed to put your car wipers on, and socks get drenched as puddles form quicker than people can account for.

You didn’t care that you looked like a drowned rat when you unlocked your flat door. Or that your wet clothes were difficult to remove as steam filled your bathroom because you were always going to have a shower. A routine—a tradition of sorts. 

Hands desperate to wash the months away, let your expensive soaps and scents soak into neglected skin and smother old scars and newly gained ones. Plus, the water was hotter at home, almost scolding your skin as you stood under it, letting each droplet massage a part of your neck and upper back as your living room music drifted through the cracked door.

You dress before you really prune, sliding on silk PJs—the ones which you buy as a treat and wear once, maybe twice a year. Your skin sighs in relief, thankful to forget sand, bullets and bruises, the same as your mind. Busying your hands with preparing a lavish dinner, a large dish too ridiculous for one person—but again, you’d missed it. Home.

The scent of gravy, potatoes and meat.

When asked, you’d been quiet about your plans with the others. Them only having a slight idea of which city you call home. It’s not that you didn’t want to see them—not even sure you’d be able to fall asleep without Soap’s snores, Ghost’s huffs and Gaz’s odd bedtime stories. But, you’d gained new nightmares on the last job—ones which you needed to make peace with before they stole another fraction of your soul.

That’s what it did, eventually. Even to the best of them. 

Bad choices, untested intel and wrong moves left little marks before they claimed a piece of innocence, kindness and happiness. 

It’s a little different with the 141. Without realising it, you’re sure you all help smother each other's struggles away. But it’s only temporary. You know it, you can feel it in the muscles in your back and in the knots in your stomach. So, if you saw them now when you needed to heal—if you relied on them—you’d go back weaker than when you left. And they needed you; you needed them. A team where you could only trust one another—having been betrayed so often, you were all each other had.

It’s why you were taken back by a firm knock. 

Short. Deliberate. 

Pausing, allowing whoever they were to realise their mistake. Even if the sound didn’t appear as though they’d chosen the wrong flat or someone who was cherry-knocking. It was purposeful, direct, and your hands quickly dried on the kitchen towel as your feet crossed the tiles and laminate to your front door. 

When you’d left, you’d asked a friend to check in on the flat—fix the peephole. Something having forced it to get stuck, leaving you blind to whoever was on the other side. Your friend is good, kind, and sweet but forgetful. Something which also reminds you of home as you snort, undoing the chain, and unlocking the door, half expecting them. 

Only to see him. 

“Ghost?” 

He has a hood up, and a scarf wrapped around the lower part of his face. 

His eyes fall over you, taking you in centimetre by centimetre, digging into you as if he’d not expected to see you.

You find it just as odd to see the skin around his eyes not tainted in grey or black and that his frame is still as ridiculously large, even in plain clothes, as he holds a duffel bag in his hand.

Suddenly aware of the thin layer covering your body from him. Especially as his eyes drop from your face to the silk shirt with its three buttons undone and then to your legs, where silk shorts did their best but were futile in hiding thighs, knees or legs from him.  

“You lettin’ me in?” 

Instinctively, you move, not even questioning it. 

Even if he didn’t say it like an order, he was still your lieutenant. Even on home ground, you slipped into your sergeant role too quickly. Watching him pass you, turning to face the direction he moves in before pressing your back against the inside of your door. Fingers sliding to the side of you, turning the lock, the sound filling the small space as you watch him stop at your key hook, slowly sliding his feet from his boots—finding him wearing thick, bobbly socks. 

He turns to face you, eyes washing over you again as his hood remains up as he undoes the scarf. It doesn’t matter if you’ve seen his face a handful of times, each time, it still renders you silent, if only for a second. 

Clearing your throat, you rub the back of your neck. “I don’t mean this to come out as rude, but why are you—“

“Someone broke into my place.” 

You move, almost too quickly, from the door. Your hand brushing his shoulder, wanting—needing—to comfort him, soothe him like you would a friend. Before you remembered who this was. 

Almost surprised he doesn’t flinch. Even if he does shoot you a surprised look before you wrench your hand back. 

“S-sorry. Habit.” He frowns, and you wish the floor would swallow you whole. “Not with y—when I’m home, I’m… well, I—did they take anything?” 

“Not sure.” 

Right. “Do you need somewhere to stay?” 

He looks at you briefly before his eyes flick away, the tell-tale signs of him processing and thinking. You’ve seen him do it often, especially when Price is talking and when he reads files. As if he’s choosing where to store it in the filing cabinet, he calls his brain. 

“Please,” he says, the word almost coming out as a whisper. 

As if it’s so rarely ever said. 

You’re unsure what to say, even if there’s so much swirling around your brain. So many questions you want to pepper him with, but he’s not Soap, who’ll answer them all or Gaz, who’ll have already told you everything. 

He’s Ghost. 

Silent. Quiet, Ghost. 

Your oven beeps, his head turning to the sound. 

Sighing, you rub your arms, suddenly aware of how cold your hallway feels, as you cover your chest with your elbows. “You hungry?” 

Silence. 

A beat or two blossoming, your eyes unable to move from his face, even if you know you should, before he licks his lips, saying, “Starving.” 

You smile, “Good. It's not a lot, just some chicken, potatoes… a bit of veg. Nothing huge. And, not quite a typical Sunday roast, but enough to ease me back in.” 

He doesn’t laugh, not that you expect him to. 

“Bathroom is there, to your right. If you need it,” you say quickly, almost stepping past him to answer your beeping oven. “I just need to dish up, and… yeah.” 

You expect to feel calmer by the time he’s back. Especially with your dressing gown on, loosely knotted at your waist, covering more of you from him. 

But you’re more nervous. 

Doubting the food you’ve plated, the scent of the candles, whether the low lights make it romantic and whether you should turn up the acoustic songs playing or let the rain be the soundtrack of the evening. Suddenly aware of how fucking odd this is. 

Him being here. 

And yet, not that odd at all. 

“Hope it’s okay…” you mumble nervously as you place the plate down.

He looks like he belongs at your table, even if your table is small and usually for one-person. He’d helped, in as much of a way as a stranger can in someone’s home, grabbing glasses from cupboards you direct him to, making squash for you and water for him. 

His hands stuffed into the pocket of his hoodie as he waited for further instruction, catching sight of the hood still being up, having noticed he’d swapped jeans for dark joggers before you told him to sit. 

“There’s more gravy… just wasn’t sure how you liked it,” you add. 

Ghost doesn’t answer, not even as you slide into the chair opposite. Your hands have a slight tremble to them as you pick up your cutlery, trying not to watch him take a bite—suddenly feeling like a contestant on a judging show. 

And then, he says, “It’s nice.” 

“You can tell me if it isn’t, I promise I won’t be offended—it’s not as though I cook often.”

“It is nice,” he repeats, giving you a look which tells you to stop worrying as if you have any control over your feelings.

The two of you fall into a comfortable silence, the occasional sound of a fork grazing the plate and the knife slicing through food. It’s almost normal—as though this happens regularly. 

“Your place is nice, too,” he mumbles.  

Lifting your head, you find he’s looking at you already. “You don’t have to lie, Simon. You can still stay even if you think my decor is odd.” 

His eyes widen a fraction before it vanishes like it never existed. A brief moment of you wondering why, until you realise the slip—the way you used his name and not his alias. Making it feel personal. More so than the two of your knees occasionally butting under the table. 

“It’s not what I expected.” 

“You’ve thought about my place?” 

Ghost says nothing, hovering his fork over his dinner as he keeps his eyes down. 

You smile if only to yourself, pushing some meat and vegetables onto your fork, continuing—wondering if he’s hoping you would. That silence would settle over the two of you, the storm outside being enough background noise to keep it from being awkward. 

“I have to ask,” you say suddenly, keeping your gaze down, trying to still your pulse as you manoeuvre food around the sauce. “Why me? I mean… I don’t mind you being here, but I thought, well, I assumed you’d pick Soap—if you needed a place to stay.”

You try not to look, even when you hear a faint snort, seeing his plate—empty, only traces of broccoli stalks remaining—slide closer as the chair creaks in his movement. 

“You were closer.” 

Oh. 

Your stomach drops, suddenly feeling foolish for thinking there could be any other reason. 

Almost wanting to kick yourself for allowing yourself to consider another option, one which you’ve been stuffing down for weeks, months… 

It isn’t as though you were meant to fall for him. The man who originally kept his face a higher guarded secret than his own name. But, it stemmed naturally and out of nowhere. He made you laugh as you moved into an enemy building—nerves humming in your bones. He made it worse when he flung himself in front of you before a car exploded, gripping you tightly against him, not letting go for minutes later before his hand cupped your cheek, mouthing words you couldn’t hear as ears rang and rang.

Smiling, you nod, not sure what else to say as you take his plate and yours, turning your back to him as you hear him clear his throat. 

“I had to see if you were okay.” 

You don’t place the plates down, not immediately. 

Eyes trying to peer at him through the corner of your vision, slowly lowering the porcelain to the counter—too afraid to break the moment with a single sound, even as your heart hammered in your ears, in your chest, and throat. 

He had said it so softly, you have to wonder how long it’s been churning on his tongue. 

Slowly turning, you face him, finding his eyes already on you with an awkwardness in his shoulders as he looks up at you. 

“Well, I’m fine.” 

“Had to be sure.” 

You smile, pulling your dressing gown around you tighter. “Well, that’s because you’re a good lieutenant.” 

His brows knit, lips spreading into a thin light before you notice the subtle shift in his nostrils as though he’s sighed before Ghost nods with his usual professionalism. That’s when your stomach drops, fluttering ridiculously near your feet as you feel you’ve made a mistake.  

“Tea?” you ask. 

Ghost’s face shifts and you’re almost sure there’s a faint smile on his lips. 

“Don’t worry, I know how you like it,” you add, pulling open a cupboard as you retrieve two mugs and flick the kettle on. “I’ve heard you berate Soap for his piss-poor tea skills.”

You make him snort. 

And it does nothing to stifle the fluttering.

If anything, it adds to it. 

Shit. 

Even though it’ll be his bed for the night, Ghost refuses to sit on the sofa and doesn’t allow you to sit in the armchair. Practically insisting you sit how you would if he wasn’t here. Even if you’re worried he won’t be comfortable, the ridiculous chair was bought as a filler—an accessory, rather than something people actually used.

“Fine,” you mumbled, grabbing your blanket and curling up across both seats as he clutched the mug in his hand. 

You put something crap on the TV, the volume low—just in case he doesn’t feel like talking. Your eyes flick to it occasionally, half-listening as you softly wiggle your toes under the blanket—needing something to focus on. Because you couldn’t keep looking at him. 

Not with how your mind was running away from you, imagining ifs and buts and everything else in between. 

He fits here. Your home rarely feels warm and comforting, but with his presence, it does. As though your place has always wanted to be enjoyed by two people, not one person who rarely ever visited it. 

It doesn’t feel weird, even if it should. It makes you feel unsteady, and dizzy. Suddenly unable to stop focusing on the fact there’s a six-foot-something amount of feelings in your chest, twisting and tightening, trying to unlock everything you stuffed down. 

That same instinct and set of emotions which made you try to rip yourself from Soap’s grip when Ghost had entered a blazing building just for a stupid USB; how you’d been so angry, feral—as Soap called it—not able to think, how it had filled you, consuming you. How you’d even told Price you needed benching, unable to even look at your lieutenant, never mind be in the same room. 

He eventually cornered you on the base, pushing you, mixing between berating and taunting you until you slammed your small fist into his shoulder as you called him an idiot, a fucking cunt, a liability, a heartless cunt. How your tiny fist hammered into him with each array of insults until he grasped it tenderly, staring at you until tears bubbled in your eyes. 

You cannot die.

Why?

But, he had to know. His eyes followed a single tear down your cheek as he released your wrist, allowing you to walk away from him and begin the process of stuffing everything down again. 

Then you’d been shot. Through and through. Fire, gasp and fucking pain, your mind rendered uselessly, but he was still the person you called for. Not Soap, who was closer, not Gaz, who could actually stitch you. But Ghost. 

Ghost who came in a flash, telling you what you needed to hear—ordering you to do things like look at him, gripping his arm. 

“What?” 

Blinking, you didn’t even realise you’d been looking at him. Your mind blanking excuses tumbling from your grasp as you offer the quickest smile and a ‘nothing’. 

You forget how good he is at reading people. 

Especially you. Almost sure you make it easy for him, even if everyone else says they struggle. 

Ghost always knows, as though he’s in your head, digging his way through each time he stares at you. You wonder how much you let him in, whether he finds it easy before you want him in there—in your mind, in your heart. 

Now, he’s giving you a stern look, one which makes the truth rattle in your chest and snakes up your throat. 

Sighing, you shake your head. “Fine, I was thinking about how weirdly normal it is that you’re here. That it doesn’t feel weird, alright? That was it.” 

Anyone else, you’d think they’d smirk. 

But with him, it’s the slightest movement of his lip which tells you he has heard you. 

Ghost takes a sip, purposefully holding your gaze as he does so before filling the silence with, “You thought about it, then? Me being here.” 

“Of course I have,” you answer too quickly, wanting to kick yourself as the words hit the air, his brows raising as he sips his tea. “Not… Not like that.” 

“How then?” 

Shit. Swallowing, you sigh, trying to buy yourself time. Shit, bollocks, shit. 

“Should tell you, lying to your lieutenant isn’t smart.” 

You give him a sharp look of your own, and he snorts—actually snorts. Your eyes are all set to roll until he says your name. 

Your real name. 

Not your nickname. Not sergeant or soldier. 

“Fine. I’ve thought about it.”

“It?” 

You groan, pulling the blanket up further—not that it’ll hide the obvious warming of your cheeks or embarrassment. You’re sure that’s painted across the room, likely even doing a jig at your expense. 

“Us. You, me. In a bed,” you mumble. “Happy?” 

Wanting to hide your face, almost about to when the sound of his mug meeting your coaster makes you freeze. Your armchair—the one his frame has somehow fit into comfortably—groans as he moves, and you let yourself see him from the corner of your eye. His forearms leaning on his knees, his hand sliding his hood down as he watches you. 

He’s silent. 

So silent it almost kills you. The adverts in the background do nothing to stop it; the rain, now hammering against the windows, was not stifling it. 

Slowly breathing as you place your mug down, standing before you can even consider the options. “I didn’t realise how late it is,” you say, forcing a yawn. “I should… go to bed. Let you make your bed.” 

You fold the blanket, throwing it over the arm as you try to shrug, and play it off, but he’s quicker at recognising you—he knows you better than that. His hand comes to touch your wrist, like he did months ago, eyes scanning yours.

For what you’re not sure. 

Not wanting to get your hopes up. Not wanting to lose yourself in dreams and imagination. 

So, you smile. As sweetly and as believable as you can as you point to the coffee table chest. “Blankets, pillows, the lot are in there,” you say, almost breathlessly, as he releases you. “Have a nice sleep, Gh—Simon.” 

He swallows, his face remains unreadable as he chokes out, “You too.” 

But you’re already moving, desperately seeking your room—throwing the door open and shutting it as you place your back against it. She’s closing, chest hammering so hard you’re sure it’s trying to escape. 

Go back. 

Go back to him. 

Your eyes slowly open, catching sight of yourself in the mirror as the street lamps partially light your room.

He came to check on you. You. 

Rolling your neck, your fingers flex at your side, twisting your wrists, wanting to shake it all from you. Trying, desperately to rid yourself of the tension and adrenaline. Almost doing so until you hear the floorboards outside your door creak. 

It doubles your heart rate as a lump forms in your throat, suffocating you. You don’t want to give in, but wish to all at once. Your hand cupping your mouth, trying to hide the extra breaths the sound has forced you to make. Needing him. Wanting his calloused fingers to leave marks over your skin, his stubble to slice against your cheeks as his lips capture your breath, words and soul.  

It’s that which makes you shift from the door. Not sure what you’re expecting, what you’re going to see, as your hand twists the doorknob, coming face to face with him all over again. 

His hoodie is gone. 

Expression torn—that same awkwardness in his shoulders.

Your hallway light touches his unreadable expression, highlighting all the lines and shading of his tattoo that stand out against his skin. 

“Tell me to go back to your living room.” 

Inhaling sharply, your hand drops from your mouth and falls limply to your side. 

You are not thinking, thoughts all scattered, scrambled. Not even sure you can find words to tell him you want anything but. That you want him here, right in front of you; you want him to be rough and also kind, you want him to kiss you like he’ll never have the chance to again. 

As though reading you, he moves closer, not even touching you, but your body yearns for him, muscles tensing and spasming at the endless thoughts of what could be—what he could do, what you already know he’d be good at. Suddenly wanting to rid yourself of your dressing gown, of your PJs, of the thin lace between your thighs you’ve already ruined. 

“Words, sweetheart.” 

Sweetheart.

Your legs almost give way, a smile wanting to bloom and spread across your lips, up your cheeks until it's radiating from you. 

“Tell me. Or I’ll kiss you.” 

Speechless, your lips part. 

Yes. Please, yes. 

Not even sure you are even breathing as you imagine his hands on you, his mouth against yours, against your neck, descending down and down—

His hand cups your cheek, pulling your eyes to his as he examines you. He studies you like he’s capturing every fucking inch of you: the curve of your cheeks, the position of your brows, the way your lips are waiting for him. The clear crisis you’re going through is rendered and broken at the mere thought of this becoming a reality. 

“Simon…” you manage to whisper.

Hoping it's enough. Needing it to be enough. 

He blinks once more before he lowers his head, his lips planting against yours and you’re sure you explode. Your heart furiously beating, ears buzzing and burning all at once.

Barely focusing on the way his arm snakes around you as your mouth moves to meet each one of his movements. His lips are soft, even if his tongue is rough; his grip tight, purposeful—desperate, even if yours are gentle, nervous. The pads of your fingers slide past the healed scar on his cheek, moving into his hair, his groan vibrating against your lips. 

Gh—Simon is almost lifting you, moving you back as his foot kicks your bedroom door shut behind him, blocking out the light from the hallway. Only the streetlights dance shadows across your room as kisses grow messier, fingers brushing over skin as he hooks a finger in the waistband of your shorts, then sliding, freeing you, until you’re stepping out of them. Your robe next, falling with a thud as your hands slide under his t-shirt, feeling taut, hard muscle and silver scars which paint stories as your legs find your bed. 

He smells different than usual.

Less sweat and fireworks, and more some combination of Ghost meeting sandalwood and amber as the two of you bend down onto your bed, the frame hissing at the weight and movement—not even aware of what’ll be expected to support soon enough. 

“Shit, woman. Y’know how beautiful you are?” 

His teeth nipping, sucking, leaving an answer to your prayer before you feel him unbuttoning your top, all slow and gentle, as if undoing a present he’s waited desperately for. 

“Rip it,” you moan, his teeth grazing over the space between your breasts before he lifts up. 

His eyes burn into yours, the smallest evidence of a smirk on his mouth as he slowly shakes his head. “I’ve waited too fuckin’ long to get here, I’m takin’ my damn time.” 

If you weren’t already soaked for him, that did it. 

All slick, swollen and hungry for him. Not sure if it’ll even take much, not with how precise you can imagine him being—how fucking thick his fingers are, how he’s staring at you like he wants to break you in all the ways he can before sunrise.

And you want it. Desperate for it. So much so that just the fan of his warm breath against your exposed nipples makes you rub your thighs together, needing friction—something he can tell, he must do. 

“Wait.”

It’s sharp, authoritative, and he’s going to be the death of you. 

Your body is so tense, you’re sure it’ll snap if you keep any more still as he undoes the last button and exposes your skin to the cool air and his breath. So focused on his eyes, you’ve forgotten all about his hand until you feel lace dig into your waist, tightening and tightening—snap.

And he smirks.

The devious bastard smirks. 

Your lips part to make a remark—one you’re not even wholeheartedly sure will come out right—but it dies when he touches you, one finger, one thick calloused finger sliding between your thighs, brushing where you need him. 

“Fuck…”

“Part them, sweetheart.”

And you do.

You do it like he’s said open-fucking-sésame. Two fingers sliding against you, diving between your folds. It’s intense, teasing and everything all at once. It’s making you burn and shiver, sweat building on your brow as you pant and whimper. His name falls freely, almost chanting it, like a song you’re the only one who can sing it. He captures what he can, tasting each syllable you say of his name until you’re tightening and clenching, and he whispers in your ear how good you are, how perfect you are, and you meet your orgasm with blinding lights and arched back. 

The sight of him licking your want from his fingers brings you back, his mouth crashing against yours as you pull him down, knee bent against his hip as his hand comes to rest on your hip—the one you hope he’s bruising. Wanting, wishing for him to leave literal fingerprints as your hand slides between the two of you.

You knew before tonight Simon Riley would be big. 

Almost too big. 

The weight of him against your palm is something else, the thickness of his cock in between your fingers as you make him hiss, thumb swiping over the head as he groans. 

He mixes kissing and nipping at your neck depending on what your hand does, the groans of your name making you desperate—needing him inside you, suddenly empty and desperate all over again, but not for his fingers. 

You want him so deep in you you’ll forever feel empty without him. You want to feel every inch of him, want to rock against his hips as you press half-moons into his skin as nails dig into him. 

The ache growing, worsening as his tongue draws a line from your neck to your earlobe, his fist clenching around your bed sheets at your side. 

“Fuck… stop. Stop,” he groans, a hand smothering yours, halting you as he stares at you before pressing his forehead against yours. 

Letting him go, touching his cheek—his eyes full of lust, searing into you. 

“I want you.” 

“Yeah?”

You nod, his lips sliding up into a half-smirk—a Simon special. “I’ll go slow.”

“I hope you fucking don’t.”

His eyes harden. “I’m going slow. I’ll ruin you later,” he whispers darkly, before capturing your lips, a hand gripping the back of your thigh—shifting it just over his hip.

You're set to argue, and comment you can handle it until you feel him lineup, the head of his cock pushing against your folds. 

You gasp as his hips move forward, slowly pushing himself in, your nails digging into his shoulder, into his waist as shivers run down your spine. The stretch being both too much and everything all at once, your toes curling, him slowly burying his cock all the way in as his fingers stroke your jaw.  

“So fu—tight. Fuckin'-shit, sweetheart.” 

“Simon…” 

Your hips roll, moaning at the way it feels, having never felt so full. Never felt so stretched. 

He’s slow, as he has been since he stepped over the threshold. His determination to take things slow, to take his time, not lessening now that he’s deep inside of you. 

You’re sure you’ve left an array of welts and half-moon marks into his shoulders as he begins to roll his hips, his thrusts purposeful, desperately seeking that spot he already knows. 

“Eyes on me,” he says, thumb against your jaw as your eyes lashes beg to flutter, but land on him all the same. “There’s my girl.” 

It’s sinful the moan you let escape at his praise, your legs almost jelly as he steals it with a kiss—as though to taste it. Your mouth grasping for him when he pulls his head back, gripping your hip, helping you both to find a steady pace.

He does ruin you.

Not the first time, the second, but on the third.

Legs so sore, boneless and aching you can barely walk without his aid to the bathroom. 

You’re not surprised he places you down on the side of the bath, taking a cloth you point him to as he cleans between your thighs as your hisses feel the space. You catch sight of yourself, an array of colours developing across your neck, collarbone and waist—just like you wanted.

A painting in colours of his own design. 

You expect awkwardness once you shuffle back, giving him a moment. Finding underwear, sliding it over shaky legs before surrendering the idea of PJs as you slid between your duvet and sheets. When he returns, you brace for regret—for words you wish he’d swallow, face hidden in the scarf or behind a mask, but he’s in boxers and shuts your door with care. 

Simon crosses the room, lifting the duvet as he slides in next to you, reaching out, tugging your back to his chest as he places a single kiss on the space below your earlobe. 

You want to tell him everything. That you like him, could even love him by now. That you look for him too, that you worry, that you care. You'd tell him that he has pierced your heart, and you welcome the sting, that you'd be there, whenever he needed it. Even with knowing he likes space and distance and everything else in between.

"Stop thinkin' so loud," he grumbles against your skin.

Smiling, you fix your eyes across the darkness, finding the outline of your dresser as his hand finds your hip. Whether to soothe you or silence you, it makes your hands clammy.

Unsure if he knows that someone loves him. Someone wants him alive, wants him uninjured.

“I have feelings for you…” you whisper, fixing your eyes on your dresser as you swallow. “In case it wasn’t obvious.” 

He doesn’t tense, doesn’t move. 

Blinking, you try to trace the shapes of your handles, keeping your mind busy, the silence building and building. 

"Say that again." You turn your head, meeting his stare, watching as he raises his knuckles before he traces your cheekbone. "Please."

His touch is so gentle, so soft that it makes your heart swell—your face relaxing as you repeat it again. "I have feelings for you.

"I care about you and...I like you alive, Simon."

You don't expect a reply, a declaration of his own. The fact he hasn't moved and hasn't pulled his knuckles from stroking your cheek, is enough of a declaration. Your lips turn, meeting them, pressing the softest kiss to them as if saying I know, I don't need to hear it. I know.

Letting your eyes ensure the message lands as you hold his gaze, ever-so-slightly nodding.

“I texted him. Johnny," he says. His fingers spread, cupping your cheek, thumb stroking your cheek. “But, I had to see you. Had to be sure.” 

Your eyes lower briefly, feeling your heart almost stammer at his words. “Because I’m your sergeant or because I’m your girl.” 

You’re my girl. Mine. Fuck, you’re mine. Mine. All mine. You hear me, sweetheart? 

His thumb pauses against your cheek, likely remembering the same words he chanted over and over as he fucked you senseless. His eyes narrow ever so slightly as his lips twitch, and yours try not to smile.

“The latter.” 

You nod. Feeling your body flush with warmth, turning your head back away from him, grinning as he pulls you flush against him.

Your heart thumping mine, mine, mine. Hearing him get comfortable against the pillow, a soft sigh blowing past his lips and kissing your skin.

“You make shit tea, though.” 

read part two

a huge thank you to @ghostaholics for this absolutely gorgeous graphic. I can’t believe how much it encapsulates the entire piece and is just so me, and so pretty. thank you so much, I appreciate it so much 💕!

#simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon 'ghost' riley #simon riley #simon riley x reader #ghost cod #ghost riley #cod ghost x reader smut #simon ghost riley x reader smut #simon ghost riley x f!reader #ghost x reader #ghost x reader smut #simon riley x you #cod ghost x reader #cod ghost angst #cod ghost smut #ghost smut

[swordcreature]

HCs for how the tiefling boys ask you to marry them?

anon this may be the first thing i have written this year that wasn't inherently smutty. so thank you for that because my default is horny heheh

but seriously thank you for the request these are so much fun

Dammon, Rolan, & Zevlor - Marriage Proposal

light implications of sexual acts (not sure if it warrants a tag but just to be safe) MDNI/18+

How the tiefling boys ask you to marry them.

Dammon: 

First off, Dammon totally makes your rings. He’s not a jeweler, so he doesn’t have the necessary tools to set stones or anything fancy like that. But he does make two beautiful golden bands with an inscription on the inner wall. Something sweet and sentimental written in infernal like “my heart forevermore” or “our love will last until the end of days” 

He isn’t the type to take this step unless he is 100% sure that it’s something you both want. He’ll straight up ask you if it’s something you want at some point, so when he finally does ask, you’re not blindsided. Just surprised because you didn’t know when it would happen. 

You expected it to happen during a date – every time you went on a picnic or had dinner at one of your favorite taverns you giddily waited for him to drop on a knee and ask you. But it kept on not happening. 

In truth, I could see Dammon initially planning something like that. An old-fashioned romantic date where he ends the night with flowers and ring in hand, proposing under the moonlight. 

But, despite himself and his planning, Dammon is just so anxious to ask you; he cannot wait to start the next step of your life together.  

It happens at home, actually.  

You’re both in bed, having just made love, laying on your sides to face each other. His arm is under your head as a pillow and your bodies are curled towards one another. It’s just such a tender moment as you two talk about nothing in particular, making each other laugh, sharing quick kisses.  

It’s both an unimportant moment, and the most important moment ever. Because he’s just so happy and in love with you, he feels completely at peace, so entirely safe and secure in the life you have built together thus far. It takes his breath away how much he wants this, forever. 

So of course he can’t be blamed for scrapping his whole elaborate proposal plan and asking you right then and there.  

He forgets to even pull out the rings. He just asks you, simply, calmly, as though he was asking what you wanted for breakfast. “Marry me.” It’s a statement more than a question.  

When you say yes (because I accept no HCs where you don’t decide to marry these absolutely wonderful men), he kisses you and holds you there until you can’t breath anymore. 

Before he completely forgets he ends up pulling the rings he made from his bedside table, showing you his work and slipping one of your finger. He worries it with his finger, twisting it back and forth against your finger with a satisfied smile on his face. 

He seems completely taken back by the look of his ring on your finger. He’s never looked so utterly content. 

Then he pulls you back to continue kissing every inch of you. Prepare to be thoroughly worshipped over and over again. 

You’re definitely not leaving that bed for the rest of the day as you celebrate your engagement.  

Rolan: 

It takes Rolan a long while before he is ready to make the jump to marriage. I think deep down you as his partner fear that maybe it’ll never happen. When you’ve brought it up in the past, it clearly made him apprehensive, so you resigned yourself to the idea that it may never happen. 

And you’re okay with that. You don’t need marriage to know you want to be with him forever.  

One day Rolan invites you out on the town with him, laying out a new set of clothes that he thinks you would look nice in. He asks you to meet him at a nicer tavern, or maybe even someplace in the upper city.  

At first you think he’s just planned a really nice, elegant date night for fun. But he’s acting strange. Nervous. His tail swishes back and forth, low to the ground and his eyes land everywhere but your face.  

It doesn’t let up after dinner either. He takes your hand and takes you for a stroll through Bloomridge Park by moonlight. You walk slowly almost like he doesn’t want to go back to the tower yet.  

If you try to ask him what’s wrong, he gets a little short with you, his nerves getting the better of him. He’ll apologize right away of course but he’s just so caught up in whatever it is that he’s been thinking about that he immediately goes quiet.  

You’re almost back at the park’s entrance when Rolan just stops.  

His back is straight, and he looks like he’s just seen a ghost. Can a tiefling’s face go white with fear? Because his definitely does.  

You try to comfort him, putting a hand on his shoulder or lightly cupping his face. And it’s like all his discomfort melts away in an instant – you ground him so much and that’s why he’s about to do what he’s about to do. 

He pulls you close to him, holding both your hands, earnestly staring at you like you’re about to run from him.  

He has a whole speech planned, and he begins, tripping over words that he clearly tried to rehearse beforehand. 

After a moment he just decides to adlib, ditching whatever script he was fumbling with.  

And he finally asks the question. It’s a hurried jumble of words – “willyoumarryme?” Color you surprised, at the very least. 

He doesn’t even wait for you to answer before he’s rushing over more words about how of course you don’t need to say yes, he would understand if you wanted to keep things how they are, maybe he should have kneeled while asking, would you have preferred being asked in private – but you stop him with a forceful kiss. Just shut that boy up before he flushes even redder.  

When you pull away, you whisper a tiny, confident yes and it’s like Rolan is seeing the sun for the first time ever. He lets out the biggest sigh of relief you’ve ever heard. Then he’s picking you up and swinging you around, kissing your face.  

He sets you back on the ground and tries to steel himself, pretending that his public display of vulnerability didn’t just happen. But you can see his mask slip as he grabs your hand again and drags you back to the tower like an eager teenager.  

He tries not to draw attention to the fact that he totally forgot to bring the ring with him. 

Zevlor: 

Oh my sweet Zevlor. It takes him a while to get to the point of marriage too, just because he wants to go through the motions of a proper relationship with you. He wants to give you the courtesy of having him in every way partners should before thinking about making their union official.  

So, by the time he’s planning on popping the question, you two are basically living like a married couple already.  

One big plus side to this though is that Zevlor is more confident than ever – about your relationship and himself. Towards the beginning of your relationship, he would have never been able to convince himself that he was worthy enough for something so divine.  

Now, though, he knows this is where you both are headed, where you are meant to be. So his nerves are more from excitement than trepidation.  

He plans a lovely dinner for you at home. Zevlor is an amazing cook and takes careful consideration in choosing a meal for this very special occasion. He’ll buy fresh ingredients from the market to make your favorite dish, and he even gets a somewhat expensive wine to pair with everything.  

When you get home the house is darkened, with only the small dining area filled with the low lights of candles. He lets you settle in, getting changed from your street clothes to something more appropriate for the evening, and is there waiting to pull out your chair when you’re ready. 

The topic of marriage has come up before, so there is a small, sneaking suspicion growing inside you of what this night may have in store.  

You have dinner talking, relaxing, enjoying the calm you feel in each other’s company.  

He would need at least a couple glasses of wine to work through his giddiness, so your food is long gone by the time he walks around the table and drops to his knees before you. He holds your hand against his heart so you can feel it's fast rhythm as he speaks. 

Unlike Rolan, Zevlor’s words aren’t rehearsed. He just speaks from the heart – what comes out is naturally elegant. 

I see him as the kind of guy to wax poetic about your love, making sure you know, without a doubt, that you are his entire world.  

At the end of his speech, he pulls out a small box with a silver ring in it, a red jewel in the center of the band. He wanted something simple and elegant to match how he sees you and your love. 

He’ll ask you formally, puffing out his chest a bit, breaking out your full name to propose. 

When you say yes, he slips the ring on, kissing your knuckles. You share a tender kiss, and you notice he has the beginnings of tears in his eyes.  

He’ll pull you to your feet and most likely spend some time swaying to the tune of music only you two can hear.  

Then he offers dessert. If you agree, he pulls you upstairs to indulge in the only sweet thing he wants in that moment.  

#bg3 #bg3 smut #bg3 dammon #bg3 zevlor #bg3 rolan #dammon #zevlor #rolan #my writing #anon #dammon x reader #rolan x reader #zevlor x reader #requests/suggestions

[five-flavor-soup]

This is technically in response/as an addition to a post on the supposed ‘double standard’ in the fandom between Zuko and Jet as Katara’s love interests, but it’s been so long since it was posted and I figured the OP would be entirely uninterested in my word vomit, especially after like one and half years—so, separate post. I added a link for those interested. There's a cut because this got quite long lmao.

In short, the post supposes the argument that though Jet would’ve made Katara kill people (something Zuko very much Did Not Do, no matter what you think about The Southern Raiders), he cleaned up his act after this. Zuko, on the other hand, did lots of Really Bad Things to Katara & Co. with far more frequency than Jet did and got redeemed after a multitude of episodes doing Various Things Moste Evile. To then slap Jet with The Toxic Ex-label and see Zuko as the ‘healthier’ and ‘better’ option creates a Double Standard(™) within the fandom, which is supposedly bad and not an arguably incorrect reading. 

But the differences in fandom perception between Jet and Zuko as Love Interests for Katara (one of which canonically, and the other potentially and apparently talked about in the writer’s room) are easily explained, as can the Supposed Double Standard—just by thinking about it from Katara’s viewpoint, or even the audience’s. Because, well, the worst things Jet ‘almost’ ended up doing didn’t happen because of outside interference only. 

That’s the important bit here. He 100% would’ve drowned an entire village just to get rid of a handful of Fire Nation soldiers, had Sokka not managed to evacuate everybody. He 100% would’ve grievously injured two people who, as far as Jet and everybody else were aware, were refugees who might not even be firebenders — considering nobody else saw Iroh heat up his tea, he could’ve been wrong — in an attempt to prove his own hunch. Had the guards not been there, had Zuko not been able to fight back with swords, Jet would’ve genuinely attempted to wound them for as much as a puff of smoke. And Jet consistently involves bystanders (innocent or not) in his desperate quest to harm and defeat the Fire Nation: the Gaang (and particularly Katara, through explicitly manipulative means) and the villagers in Jet; Zuko, Iroh, and the people in the teashop in City of Walls and Secrets. Additionally, we don’t see more violence from him because he’s not a main character like Zuko is—though it’s implied that Jet beats up villagers who are supposedly in cahoots with the Fire Nation often, only agreeing to turn over a new leaf when he, Smellerbee, and Longshot decide to move to Ba Sing Se. 

Zuko explicitly and frequently doesn’t harm people: that, or it isn’t important to the plot. He doesn’t burn down the village on Kyoshi, he literally only manages to lightly singe it. He threatens people with violence frequently but never actually goes in for the kill. I’d argue that the most explicitly violent thing he does in Book 1 is breaking Aang out of the Pouhai Stronghold—for his own ends obviously, but if it’s spelled like treason and sounds like treason, it’s probably treason. When he thinks of robbing the pregnant couple while he’s on the run, he stops himself of his own volition; when he considers using Appa to catch Aang (this was a point made against Zuko in the post), he’s unaware of what Appa’s been through prior to that point and sees him as no more than an animal used for travel, much like the ostrich horse he stole earlier in the season. 

Zuko’s schtick throughout Book 1 and 2 is that he doesn’t want to think of the consequences of his actions. His plans are never fully complete. He doesn’t think of how he’s going to get a chained, notoriously slippery little eel of an Avatar to the Fire Nation, and he doesn’t think about what would happen to twelve-year-old Aang after they got there—which is horrible of him, but it also shows an odd, ignorant kind of innocence that you’d associate with a kid who’s got a hard time telling right from wrong. Like, I love Zuko dearly, adore him even, but kiddo doesn’t think ahead until the Book 2 finale and even that’s debatable. He’ll eventually start thinking ahead a little bit but for the most part, he doesn’t. Not saying that takes away responsibility, because it absolutely doesn’t, but it is telling of Zuko’s character: he’s an ‘act first, think later’-kind of guy, all ‘fuck around; find out; maybe success’. His sole goal throughout Book 1 and 2 is going home, without even thinking on how to get there beyond like, Avatar in my custody => back in Fire Nation with Avatar => dad loves me again. And he says that his only intention is to go home too, in Ep 2 of Book 1:

Aang: If I go with you, [He holds his staff in front of him as an offer, making sure Zuko understands that he does not wish to continue fighting.] will you promise to leave everyone alone? [The camera cuts to a side-view of the area, Zuko's men still surrounding him, spears poised. After a brief moment of hesitation, Zuko erects himself and nods in agreement. Aang is apprehended by Zuko's men, who take his staff . . . ] Zuko: [Boarding the ship up the walkway. Determined.] Head a course for the Fire Nation. I'm going home.

(Added emphasis for my point)

Zuko is not the Big Bad. He’s not The Largest Threat. He never is. In Book 1 it’s Zhao, in Book 2 it’s Azula, and in Book 3 it’s Ozai. Zuko is a consistent threat, yes, but not a particularly large one no matter how good of a fighter he is. Because he’s presented to us as a disastrously hurt and traumatised little brat who we, the audience, are supposed to feel sorry for, and slowly grow fond of. Because we learn in The Storm that the notion of “caring for others is weak” has literally been branded into him. Because he keeps getting back up to fight, but consistently holds back. We are shown that he knows, on some level, that what he’s doing is wrong: the text suggests that Zuko is actively suppressing his morals. And by the time Zuko hires an assassin to ensure the Avatar is dead, we know that Zuko is incredibly unhappy with his choice(s) and is desperate to be safe; that he’s uncomfortable but wants to be comfortable; that he’s incorrect about the source of his fear while he’s back in the palace. The audience is shown this explicitly. 

By contrast, we’re shown that Jet is fully aware that those villagers will die. He’s fully aware that, if he manages to prove the two refugees are firebenders, they’ll be arrested and probably mutilated (if the hand-crushing is any indication). I love Jet and his character, but he’s supposed to be the example of poisoning yourself with your hatred, anger, and hurt. He’s revenge that goes too far, because he doesn’t allow himself closure. He knows the consequences and isn’t shown to care for them, as long as his goal is furthered.

And there is the small, but significant, difference between the two characters: Zuko initially just wants to capture the Avatar, is purposefully remaining unaware of what will happen when he does so, and is clearly shown to change, while Jet just wants to punish firebenders and is very aware of what will be necessary for him to do so, with a handful of lines of how he ‘stopped being like that’. And honestly, Jet is far more mature than Zuko is for quite some time, regarding the violence of war—basically as mature as Zuko eventually becomes at the tail-end of his redemption arc. But Zuko’s maturity is at that point healthier, because he doesn’t want to genuinely do harm. 

In regards to their separate relationships with Katara, there’s these fantastic points that @sokkastyles made in reply to the post:

The fact that Zuko actually did change and Katara actually forgave him makes ALL the difference. [ . . . ] The thing about Jet is how manipulative he was with Katara. He not only almost made her kill innocents, but he lied to her about the man he attacked having a knife when he was called out, so that Katara would see her as righteous. Someone who is willing to lie in order to make themselves seem good and someone who says they are going to change but then does the same things doesn’t have a good track record, and that’s a more troubling relationship dynamic than someone who acts as an upfront enemy but then sincerely changes.

And: 

I do think it makes sense to focus on manipulation being worse than being a cartoon villain when we're talking about personal relationships. I think many people can relate to having someone like Jet in their lives who seems nice but who lies and manipulates to justify their own bad behavior despite repeatedly claiming that they will change. Not that many people will experience being tied to a tree by someone who wants you to tell them where the Avatar is, and it is completely reasonable for people to be more forgivable of things Zuko did as a villain than things Jet did to Katara when he claimed to be a friend.

I actually don’t have anything to add to this, lol. It’s succinct and well-worded.

Lastly, in addition the relatability and the relationships being different (the manipulative, emotionally hurt, and self-proclaimed anti-hero versus the initially childish, explicitly confused and desperate cartoon villain, plus the girl they hurt horribly), there’s also the problem of Jet not being a main character. Jet is a relatively well-written side character, whilst Zuko is very quickly established as a main-ish character with his own POV (as the writers decided during the conceptualisation that he’d be joining Team Avatar eventually). Zuko’s troubling, self-destructive nature that has been forced upon him and his Tragic Childhood is shown in high definition. The audience is supposed to eventually be okay with Zuko and hopefully like him, slowly adding puzzle pieces to complete the picture of a horrific earlier youth and treatment by nearly everybody he knows except Iroh. Something like this isn’t necessary with Jet, not just because he was already incredibly likeable and understandable from his introduction and onwards, but also because he’s neither a villain nor a main character. 

There’s multiple reasons as to why Zuko is often seen as the ‘better’ option, just like there are multiple reasons why Jet and Zuko are compared so frequently—they’re both traumatised teenage boys who ‘rebel’ to get some semblance of control back, but we see Zuko change into a kid anyone would be a little bit proud and fond of and that doesn’t happen with Jet. Double standard or not, Zuko and Jet are different characters who the writers also treated very differently, on purpose. It makes sense to me that the audience would think Zutara is the ‘less bad’ or far better option. We know far more about Zuko than we know about Jet; and Jet’s redemption arc, if we can even call it that, halts permanently when Zuko’s is reaching the height it for him to go into a freefall, ultimately culminating in a genuine redemption. We, the audience, know this. So does Katara.

#atla meta #zutara meta #not tagging this j*t*ra bc its a bit negative and i do not want to infringe on anyone's tag lmao #but i will tag it #jetara critical #just to be safe #jet atla #prince zuko #katara #zutara #the thing about both these ships is that katara can be put down as making an active choice in the narrative #though it wants to punish her for it #she is Wrong. he is Bad Guy. here's Better Guy go have babies #regardless. i feel like post-redemption zuko would be easier for her to choose--because she saw the proof of his change

[hijinxinprogress]

The JL finds out Captain Marvels identity and regrets it immensely

JL find out Captain Marvels a child and they start trying to parent him and just being awkward so it’s decided that Captain Marvel will join YJ (Clark started referring to Billy only as ‘son’ and ‘young man’ one time Billy saw an airplane and Clark leaned down and went “That there, son, is called an airplane and it-” “I’ll fucking stab you istg”)

To the public Captain Marvel is just extra supervision for YJ but the hero community knows it’s a way to discretely move Captain Marvel onto a team with people his age and be ‘safer’

But it doesn’t work out the way they want bc Billy’s a chaos gremlin much like YJ so they’re just doing dumb shit in the public eye bc they technically have ‘adult supervision’ (it takes Billy fifteen minutes to convince yj to go against being supervised by green lanterns)

“We’re literally your coworkers??” “I’ve literally never seen you before besides isn’t it illegal for cops to question a minor without their guardian present? 🤨” “Technically, he’s not their coworker bc he’s not in the jl anymore” “Kon” “What? I’m just saying!” “Stfu wait does Marvel even have a guardian??” “He doesn’t”

Anita and Billy are trading magic tips and teaching each other spells they should NOT have access to esp bc they’ve blown up thirteen city blocks and 1/4 of almost every planet they’ve visited with YJ

Cassie and Billy play high stakes games of catch above the earths atmosphere with missiles and shit in their free time and also during missions

Kon and Billy do just plain dumb shit they have no business doing and then playing up the ‘I’m just a baby…and I’m not even really human/I didn’t have a childhood so how would I know that I shouldn’t do that?’ excuse after bankrupting Luthor for the third time this month along with demolishing all of his newly renovated buildings (Which he and Greta repurposed to create low income housing and food pantries)

Cissie invites Marvel to all her Olympic events and he shows up to every single one with an obnoxiously large magical banner

Bart and Billy plan quips, one liners, and trash talk together and everyone hates it bc they only use the good ones on them but villains (along with everyone in their immediate vicinity) are subjected exclusively to shit like “nuh uh” and “make me”

Greta and Billy are taking down shady government operations with zero fucks to give (they had houses built for the people affected but they did also send a very long list of people to the hospital/morgue)

Billy makes Tim a magic skateboard that flies at like Mach 1 with so many magic cameras it’s concerning bc he thinks Tim being unhinged is funny especially it inconveniences or at least stresses out batman

But they’re mostly talking about what lies they’ve told the jl recently so they can plan their lies around each other “I lied to batman yesterday so you gotta back me up” and Tim’s fabricating evidence despite having no other information bc Billy will 100% “Aren’t you a so called ‘ethical’ billionaire? Nonono it’s whatever, I just thought you’d want to look out for the people but-”

And JL tries to lecture Billy about it ‘you should be more mature. I expected better’ and he’s just like ‘why?? I’m baby 🥺 I don’t know any better’ 

And Green Arrow’s so goddamn confused bc ‘Bro?? I’ve watched you do negotiations when Superman’s not available…’ ‘I’m just a little guy’ ‘I’VE WATCHED YOU STOP A WHOLE ASS INVASION IN TEN MINUTES’ ‘little baby man’ ‘But you’re one of the strongest members of the league???’ ‘You do know I couldn’t tie my own shoes like six years ago, right?’ ‘HOW OLD ARE YOU’ ‘Wouldn’t you like to know’

YJ and Billy just do a bunch of petty shit until JL has had enough and they’re like fine whatever it wasn’t a problem before

#billy batson #billy batson says acab #dc captain marvel #justice league #young just us #young justice #bart allen #kon el #tim drake #anita fite #cassie sandsmark #cissie king jones #Greta Hayes #shazam #dc comics #superman #clark kent

[georgiapeach30513]

Much Too Fast, Part 1

Summary:  Spotting Curtis Everett broke down on the side of the road, you just had to pick him up.  Didn’t you?

Pairings:  Curtis Everett X Reader

Rating:  explicit

Warnings:  explicit language, explicit sexual content, hitchhiking, drinking, PIV sex, dry humping, fingering, squirting, mentions of oral sex, early indications of a D/s relationship, cheating (?), 18+ ONLY

Word Count:  5K

Series Masterlist

A/N:  this is 100% one of @tis-thedamn-season​ brain.  Not going to lie...I love it!

*dividers created by @firefly-graphics​

Looking at the clock in your car you sigh.  Getting closer to your destination every mile.  Putting more and more space between you and the place you used to call home.  This was the perfect opportunity to start a new life.  You weren’t even running from anything, you just wanted to see more.  Wanted to do more.  Moving to a new state, a bigger city, and to a possible beautiful home.

There were still so many doubts.  So many what if’s, but you were young.  Your parents told you that you needed to take the chances you were given.  Live life, and experience new things.  More than the little podunk town on the opposite side of the United States.  The east coast was going to give you more opportunities that is something you were sure of.  That you were positive.

The current hope you had was to make it to your last hotel before the rain started.  And then the last couple of hours to Boston.  One more sleep, and you would be there.  You needed to stay awake.  Stay alert, and hope for the best.

Curtis on the other hand is annoyed.  No service, and broke down on the side of the road.  The rumble of thunder makes him even more irritated.  He had just a few more hours on his mini road trip, and he would be home.  And then this stupid old car broke down.  He should have known better.  A mechanic taking a stupid dumb car.  Out in the middle of nowhere, with no fucking cell service.  

He couldn’t even remember why he needed to take this trip every year.  And in the predicament he’s in currently it just pisses him off.  He leans on the hood of the car, hoping that someone will see him stranded.  The chances were low.  He knew he was probably going to be staying the night in the backseat.  He was tired.  He was agitated.

You squint your eyes in the distance, seeing a figure leaning onto a car.  This is just like how every horror movie starts.  But you feel the need to pull over.  Slowing your Mini Cooper down, but staying on the road.  It was a small two lane road, and you hadn’t seen a car on here for miles.  

“Hey, uh…woah,” the man that approaches your car backs up quickly.  “Sorry, I know this is going to sound lame and dumb, but you’re a young girl out here alone, and I don’t want you to feel that I’m trying to take advantage of you or chop you up for…this isn’t making you feel better is it?” 

“No.  Not at all,” what he was saying didn’t make you feel better, but how he was saying it did.  “Are you having car trouble or do you normally just lean against your car hoping for someone to chop up?” 

“Ah, you caught me,” he leans over, trying to get a good view of you, but still standing far enough away.  “Although, my getaway car’s transmission went out.  There’s no cell service here.  Can’t even call my partner to come tow this damn car.”

“Your partner?” Curtis watches as your arm starts to relax a bit more.  The grip on your steering wheel loosens up.  

“Yeah, we own a garage together.”

“Imagine that, a mechanic with car trouble,” Curtis gives you a chuckle, stepping closer to your car.  “Not much of a mechanic are you?” His arms rest on your open window, and against your better judgment, you still don’t tense up.  “What are you doing out here?” 

“I go on a road trip for about two weeks every year.  I was almost home.  Heading to Newton.”

“Me, too,” Curtis’ eyes drift up and down your front.  He tries to make himself not look too much like a predator who had found its next prey, but you seriously were a gem.  Out here all alone, in your tiny little car, loaded up with piles of shit.  This car was too small for how much you had in here.

“Newton’s a few hours away, and it’s getting late.”

“Oh, I’ve got a hotel about twenty minutes up the road.  Um…do you need a ride?  I’m sure that they have a phone there.  Seeing how there’s no service.”

“Uh, did your daddy not teach you not to pick up strangers?” Of course he did, but somehow this handsome stranger was making you feel comfortable.

“Should I be scared?” 

“Of me?  No, but isn’t that what a killer would tell you?  I seriously mean you no harm, but I am questioning your judgment here.  You got pepper spray or anything?” Nodding your head, you dig around in your cup holder holding it up.  “Are you sure you’re comfortable with this?”

“You’re not making me feel better about this now.  But the GPS does say the hotel is just up the road, less than an hour to go.  Hand me your keys,” Curtis freely hands the car keys to you, and you stuff them in your doors pocket, unlocking the car, and letting Curtis clumsily get in.

Finally putting into perspective how long his legs are.  Cramping them up, and sitting uncomfortably beside you.  An adorable little giggle escapes your mouth, and he turns to glare at you, “You think this is funny?  Why in the world do you have this tiny little car?” 

“It’s adorable,” him squished up in the passenger seat was really adorable.

“It is useless for more than one person.  Where are you driving from?  Oh my god, how was this even comfortable?  This is terrible.  Please tell me this isn’t your only car.  If my daughter ever asks for one of these it’s not just a no, it’s a hell no,” the fact he was already talking about a future daughter oddly makes you tremble.  “What is the purpose of these cars?” 

“Some of us don’t have legs that go on for days.  You know, I didn’t even get your name?” 

“It’s Curtis.  And you are?” You quickly give him your name, and he shakes his head no, “You should be called Grace.”

“Why is that?” 

“Because, you and this tiny little car are my saving Grace.  Does she even get over fifty?” 

“Yes.  The bags of clothes in the back aren’t helping your space.  Your seat isn’t as far back as it could be.  Beggars can’t be choosers though.  I’m from Washington state by the way.  Why do you go on a road trip every year?” 

Curtis is constantly adjusting his seating.  Knees up higher than was normal, and pressing up against the dash of the car.  Twenty minutes wasn’t a long drive.  He could do this.  “Uh, just to get away.  Life can come at you fast.  Mine didn’t exactly turn out the way I wanted it to.  Without getting too into anything, I helped a friend out.  We got ourselves stuck, drifted, and somehow remained friends, and we make it work.  We have to.”

“I’m not going to ask.”

“Please don’t,” Curtis looks out his window, appearing as if something was bothering him, but you didn’t want to pry.  If he wanted to tell you more he could.  But you know he won’t.  “So New England?” Finally he looks towards you, and you gulp.  Gripping tighter to the steering wheel.  Oddly trying to rub your thighs together.  He was handsome.  Too attractive.

“Yeah, sometimes you get tired of the same thing.”

“What’s a pretty girl like you, driving all the way out here for?  I’m assuming you’ve got something lined up?” His deep blue eyes coast up and down your body, noticing every tiny movement in you make with a smirk.  “Is there something wrong?” 

“No.  No, I uh — yeah, I’ve got something.  Gotta meet with them, and would uh have a place to um…to live.”

“Hmm, you’re just breaking all kinds of rules, huh?” You glance back over to Curtis, and he was still eyeing you like his prey.  His legs spread as much as they could, but in this tiny car, he couldn’t get the effect he was wanting.  He didn’t have to try to make you want him.  You wanted him.

“What?” 

Curtis chuckles, wiping his thumb and middle fingers on the sides of his beard.  You reach towards the air conditioner, turning it up.  “You picked me up, and the way you’re talking…are they putting you up in a house?” 

“Yeah.  What…what do you do in Newton?” Something had to change.  The topics had to go to something else besides you.  It was getting more difficult to drive and pay attention.  

“I told you, I’m a mechanic.  Gotta garage with my buddy, Jax.  We stay busy.  Blue collar work.  Beats the traveling bullshit.  I don’t get it.  Traveling for work.  Traveling because you want a vacation.  On your own.”

“Did you just get off a two week road trip?” 

He turns to look at you, that devilish grin still there, “I like you.”

“Why?” 

“Called me out on my own bullshit quickly.  A lot of people won’t do that.  They say I’m too argumentative.  I’m not.  I’m blunt, there’s a difference.  Isn’t that the damn hotel?” 

“Yeah,” you respond.  Turning into the hotel and the gravel crunches under your tires, and you hate that this is it.  Curtis was about to make a call, and get something worked out, and this would be it.  You grab your backpack, and walk in with Curtis.  

He allows you to check in before stepping up to the counter, “I need a room for the night.”

“I’m sorry, sir, we have no more vacancies.”

“There’s…can I just — I guess hang out in your lobby then.  I gotta call someone in the morning to help with my car, and…”

“I’m sorry, sir, no loitering.  Have a good evening,” she walks off, and goes back to her seat.  Picking up her phone, and letting Curtis know that the conversation was over.

“Just my luck.  Damn.  Thanks, here let me get you some money.  I’ll…hell, I don’t know, start walking.”

“It’s two in the morning,” biting at your lip, you know this is the most bizarre and ridiculous thing you have ever done.  He was nice.  He was hot as fuck.  And you were terrified.  Not of him, but of moving here.  Moving away from what you knew and into the unknown.  All the warnings you push back in your mind.  You had made it this far, and he hadn’t killed you.

“I know, darling.  I’ve been in worse places.”

“No, I mean…I’ve got a second bed,” Curtis cocks his brow up at you, and you slowly exhale.  It was okay.  You needed something random and fun tonight.  Needed to get out of your head, and Curtis looked like just the man.  And the worst he could say was no, and you would never see him again.

“Hey, it’s fine.  You’ve done plenty for me, and I can’t thank you enough.”

“Then let me rephrase it; would you like to come up to my room for a drink? There’s a mini bar.”

“You’re testing fate?”

“I see a sexy man with nowhere else to go tonight.  And I want a drink with him.  There’s two beds,” he gives you a bow, and you start walking towards the elevators.  Everything's in slow motion.  Down to the roaming eyes of Curtis.  Licking his lips as he stares at you, and you are quaking.  

“C’mere,” he whispers when the elevator door closes, and you walk over to him.  His thumb brushes over your cheek gently.  Looking into your eyes as he traces your pouting lips, “You’re shaking.  I won’t hurt you, and I won’t do anything you don’t want to do.  There’s two beds, remember?” 

“I want to use one.”

“Then breathe,” the ding of the elevator has his hand drifting down your front, and grabbing your hand.  Starting to lead the way to the room.  “Key?” You hand him the key, and take your final breath.  You invited him.

The second the door closes, your hand glides up his chest, settling behind his neck, “No mini bar?” 

“Oh, that’s right,” he sighs when you step away from him, going to the bar to get two small bottles of liquor, “Tito’s or Jack Daniels?” 

“I’ll take my chances with Jack.  Join me on the bed?” He plops down, and taps on the bed.  Waiting on you to join him before lifting up his bottle, “To new beginnings.”

“To new beginnings,” you copy, drinking the vodka in one sip.  The little bit of alcohol was giving you a bit more of a confidence boost.  Looking up at him as you listen to him start to tell some story.  

You lean more into him, trying to listen to his words, but it is just static.  Curtis looks down at his lap, and his raspy voice moans.  You check to see what he was staring at, and your hand is palming him over his jeans on it’s own accord, “Is this okay?” You ask him with a pout.  Had you read all the signs wrong?  He knew what you were talking about, right?

“I knew exactly where this was going when you asked me for a drink.”

“Oh,” you start to move your hand, but Curtis grabs yours with his own mitt sized hand.  Placing it back over his swollen jeans, and starts your motions again.  “I don’t normally do this.”

“Me neither.  So lets for tonight, toss aside those pesky feelings telling us not to give into our primal needs as humans.  We’ve both been checking each other out tonight, so let’s act on those needs.  Okay?” You nod your head at him, adding a bit more pressure to your movement, “Why now?” He asks, groaning as he leans back on the bed.  Watching you enjoy his hardening member.

“I don’t want to be the person I was in Washington.  I want to have fun.  Be spontaneous.”

“Mmm,” his hips start rocking into the air with your movements.  When you start to undo his zippe, he tugs at your leg, guiding you to straddle him.  His giant sized hands rub up your thighs and to your ass, coaxing you to start grinding on him.

“So picking up men on the side of the road isn’t a normal thing?” 

“Nuh-uh,” you shake your head with a smirk.  Getting more into the movements, and you pull off your shirt.  Reaching behind you to undo your bra, you let it fall to the floor as Curtis starts groping your tits.

“Well isn’t today my lucky day?”  Sitting up in bed, he pulls you closer to him.  Peppering kisses along your jaw, and creating a trail all the way to your mouth, and you whimper into him.  His length was right at your core, and he was throbbing.  Just as needy as you.  “You know what you’re doing.”

“Curtis,” you whine as your hips gyrate over him.  Making a mess of his pants already.  It had been awhile since you had sex.  He had his thick fingers gripping the spears of your ass, and pressing you harder on him.  “Do…do you…” you can hardly speak from the kisses he was continuing to assault you with.

“I always carry protection, don’t worry.”

“Curtis, you’re hard.”

“And you’re wet.  What are you going to do about it?” He gives both your nipples a quick pinch, and your movements pick up.  Riding on top of him like your life depended on it.

“I wanna come.”

“Just like this, little lady?” 

“Uh huh,” biting at your lip, you pout at him as you move.

“Then make yourself come.  Enjoy yourself.  I’m not a little boy, I can hold off,” he lets out a guttural moan when you circle your hips over him.  Guiding his hands to your tits, wanting him to play with you while you get off.  

You are soaked, and so close.  Right there.  Hands on his shoulders as your desperately rub one out over him.  Fire courses through your veins, and your movement stutters as the sweetest pleasure races through your veins.

“Thatta, girl,” reaching into his pocket, he pulls a packet out, and reads the expiration date, “Still good,” you crash your lips into his.  Hands rubbing over him before pushing off his jacket, while he yanks your jeans open.  

He flips you over onto the bed, and stands up.  Watching as you struggle to tug your jeans off, but Curtis reaches towards them, yanking both the jeans and panties off at once, hissing when you spread your legs apart.

“Good fucking, girl,” he walks out of his jeans, his cock making his boxer briefs look uncomfortably crowded.  He gives you a wink when he pulls his underwear down.  A thick and heavy cock springs up, and you yip, your legs starting to close.

“You changing your mind already?” 

“No,” you wanted him.  Wanted this.  But that cock was thick.  Almost able to envision the severe stretch he was going to give you.

“You can take it.  And if not, I can make it fit.  We can stop any time, okay?” You nod your head, trying to steady your breathing, “I need your words.  I need to know that you can stop me if you want to stop.”

“Yes.  We can stop at any time,” Curtis pops the packet in his mouth, giving the foil a tear.  His lithe fingers place the rubber on his tip, and he starts to roll it on.  Pressing his knee on the bed, he gives your leg a jerk down the bed, before his wide body kneels between your thighs.

Spitting on his Hanford before roaming his fingers through your folds, “You are drenched.  When did you first get wet?”

“Well…”

“It wouldn’t have been in the car, would it?  I saw you moving your legs,” he pushes two fingers into your weeping cunt while his palm stimulates your clit, “Oh my god.  What a tight little pussy we have here.  You hear that?” He pumps his fingers into you more vigorously.  Your wet heat was making the most vulgar and loud squelching sounds.

“You are a sloppy, little one.  Did I make you that wet?  Oh god, you need to be fucked good and hard, don’t you?” 

“Yes, please,” you beg.  It had been too long.  Almost two years.  One bad breakup had turned you away from men, but now he had you turning into a big slut.  His cock forgotten as he tries to ruin you.  Sex before was all about your boyfriend.  Curtis wanted your pleasure first.  “Please, Curtis.”

“She’s polite, too.  Oh, fuck, she’s a juicy one.  Mmm, I already feel you squeezing me.  Come on.  Uhh, come on,” his fingers curl, and he sets off at an earth shattering speed.  You try to close your thighs when you can’t take anymore, but Curtis shoves them back apart.  “Come on.  Give it to me.  When you come, I’ll fuck you.  You can do it.  Come for me.  You're so close.”

Your hands grab onto the comforter, and you grit your teeth, not wanting to be too loud.  And when you squirt onto his thighs, he keeps pumping.  “There ya go!  There’s a good fucking girl.  Just like that.”

“Oh fuck.’

“That’s what I’m going to do,” getting closer to you, he slaps his cock over your clit, “You still want this?” 

“Yes, please.”

“She is well behaved,” your mouth goes slack as Curtis pushes through your entrance.  Slowly splitting you open as you whimper.  “Holy shit.  My god, you’re a tight little thing.”

“Don’t stop,” you plead as he slows his motion.  “All the way, please,” Curtis continues his journey into your body.  Not stopping until he slides all the way in.  You lift off the bed, staring at where the two of you connect.  “What are you doing?” 

“I’m giving your cunt a moment to stretch, little lady.  You okay?” You furrow your brows, biting your lip as you nod.  “You never had a big dick like this?” 

“It’s like a fucking traffic cone,” Curtis’ eyes close as he chuckles at you.  

“A traffic cone?” 

“It’s so much bigger at the base.  How…how did you get it in there?” 

“And looka here,” his hand rubs over a bump on your stomach, “You feel me all the way in your belly, huh?  That right there is where I’m at.  So you want this traffic cone to fuck you?”

“My god, yes!” 

“Mmm,” his hands rub up and down your thighs.  Giving the tops of your legs the sweetest little tickles before sliding to the backside of your knees.  Lifting your legs before slamming them on the bed beside your body.  Keeping you good and spread so he can watch himself spear into you.

His thrusts are slow and deliberate.  Drawing himself all the way out before plunging back in.  Your hands hold onto his wrists, and you make the most beautiful desperate sounds.  Scratching down his forearms when he picks up his speed.  It felt as if he was pounding his entire weight into you.  Bouncing you further up the bed.

He would love to see you riding his cock, but your pitiful little whimpers and whines of his name have him addicted.  You are reactive.  He gets to see your tits rock with the pounds into you.  He didn’t do this shit.  And after the year he had, it was what he needed.  He needed this warmth.  He hadn’t felt more alone and all while he was with someone, and you were just what he needed.

He hadn’t felt this wanted in a while.  Sex was treated as more of a chore.  Not this desperate need to get off.  It hadn’t been exciting.  It was predictable.  It was when she needed it.  But you are receiving every bit of him.  With the way you are pouting at him, and keeping your eyes only on him, he knows he could have you doing whatever he wanted you to.

Completely into a submissive role, and you didn’t even know him.  “Curtis!” Your whispered screams are giving him life.  The walls of your cunt flutter around him making him completely weak.  He wanted to keep you around.  Newton wasn’t too big.  But just one night was never going to be enough. 

“Curtis!”  Whining out his name as your head tilts back.  

“You keep…keep squeezing me like that, and I’m not — not going to last,” he pants out.  He had never felt someone react like this.  “Let go, little darling.  Let go for me.”

Your pussy quivers, and legs tremble as the hardest orgasm he has ever witnessed from a woman flows through your body.  You clench around him, and his forehead collapses on your shoulder.  Letting your pussy milk him dry.  Hugging every part of him perfect, convulsing around him so hard that he didn’t have to fuck you.  Your walls make sure every drip of his spend fills up the condom, and he can only deeply breathe on you.

“That.  Was.  Incredible.  You breathing?” 

“Barely,” you choke out.  “How many condoms do you have?” 

“Sorry.  I just got the one.  Whew,” he sits back up in the bed, and slowly pulls out of you.  Your cream coated his length so thickly.  “My god.  Oh my god.  I didn’t want to leave you.”

Leaving your legs spread, your eyes start to drift closed.  He figures you have been driving for a long time.  You look so peaceful, comfortable.  Letting your gaping hole be fully visible for him to gaze at.  When he starts to lay on the other bed, you jolt up, “Sleep in this bed.”

“There’s two beds.”

“Then we’ll sleep in that one.  This one is messy,” Curtis shakes his head with a smile.  Pulling the blankets down in the other bed before picking you up bridal style. 

“Fine, you twisted my arm.  I need you to have at least panties on.  Where’s a clean pair?” 

“Backpack,” he pulls on his own underwear before bringing your backpack over to you.  “Where are you going?” 

“You need water.  Panties.  Then sleep.”

“Okay,” you even shimmy your shoulders.  It didn’t take much to make you happy.  He definitely wanted to see you again.  Maybe start from the beginning and take you out on a date.  Spend some time together before he tells you about his complicated life.  But for tonight, he was just going to lay down beside you.  

Sending a text to Jax, he crawls in the bed with you.  He didn’t know why you are so comfortable, but holding a soft woman for the night isn’t something he was going to complain about.  He was just going to let you sleep.  Rest.  Tomorrow was a new day.

Pulling into the beautiful home, you crumple up that piece of paper, and toss it into the floorboard.  You knew it was too good to be true, and are slightly annoyed for getting your hopes up.  He was a man that you picked up on the side of the road, and had the best sex of your life.  Curtis was generous enough to leave his number on the pad of paper at the hotel, but you woke up alone.  Nothing was stolen, so you are thankful for that, and that you are still alive.

And now it was back to the reason why you were here.  A ridiculously large house, and what waits inside.  They had to be rich.  A well dressed woman, holding a baby, swings the door open wide.  Her arm flails around as she waves to you, “Oh my gosh!  I was so scared that you wouldn’t come, and you are early.  Come on, please.  Hey,” she gives you a strong handshake, and then makes her baby wave to you.  

“Ah!!  I’m so glad to finally meet you.  I’m Tati, and this sweet, beautiful, perfect, and angelic little thing is Poet.  But she will also go by Poe.  Poe, can you say hey,” the baby babbles a bit, but a hey does come out.  “So, I know this kind of a last minute thing.  We gotta wait on my…husband.  I’m having to fly out unexpectedly.  Oh, but don’t think that you have to definitely take the job.  My parents said they can help.  He’s taking the day off.  Uh, so first things first, if you say yes, you will have the pool house.  It’s a fully functioning house.  I don’t travel too often, but a fair amount.  The times that I do, at night, her daddy will have her.”

“Dada,” Poet whispers.  She giggles a bit before hiding her face on her mom’s shoulder.  Slowly peeking over at you grinning, and you give her a sweet smile.

“Obviously the whole house you will have access to.  Poet’s room is downstairs.  Your background check is impeccable, you’re up to date with your immunizations, speak French.  Honestly on paper you’re perfect, so I’m expecting you to have some flaws somewhere.  Anyways, ahh!  Sweet girl, guess who is here?” She looks out the window, smiling down at her adorable baby.

“Dada!  Aye!” 

“Yay!!  Daddy is going to be with you all day today.  How exciting!”

“Aye!” She claps her hands.  Her mouth moving with no words.  She was a daddy’s girl.

You turn towards the door with Tati, and your heart drops.  In walks the sexiest man that you have ever met.  The man that you could still feel all over you.  The man that had left you early in the morning, leaving you alone.  The man who was your possible employer’s husband.

“Curtis, I hate to do this.  But I got called out at the last minute.  You know.  Anyways, thank you for taking the day off.  I’ll be back in two days.  If you decide you want the job, Curtis can give you all the lock codes.  I left a list of Poe’s medicine’s and allergies on the fridge.  Emergency numbers on the hall calendar.  There’s a book with all the main contact numbers on it, but Curtis can show you everything else.  Eeee!! I hope you decide to stay.  Poe can’t quit looking at you.  I think that she likes you.  Anyways, bye my sweet angel.  Ah, you’re such a saving grace.  Thank you so much.  Bye.”

She gives Curtis a kiss to his cheek before grabbing her suitcase by the door.  Continuing to blow kisses to her baby as she walks out, and you and Curtis are left staring awkwardly at one another.

“Dadadadada.”

“I’m her daddy.”

“Mhmmm,” that much was obvious.  What wasn’t obvious was that he was married as he was fucking into you last night.  You even gave him in the middle of the night head, and he fingered you back to sleep.

“Oh, so we’re going to be like that now?  I had you saying please all night last night.”

“Ugh,” this was a bad idea.  Everything that could go wrong, did go wrong.  Nothing was going to be different here.  It was always going to be the same.

“Can you at least let me explain?  You gotta.  Look at this beautiful girl.  Poet Isabella, can you tell Grace, please?” 

“Peas,” she whispers, her chunky little legs kicking around.

“You can’t say no to that.  When you said please, didn’t I listen?” He might have listened, but he left out that he was married.  He was fucking married to your maybe employer.  He was married, and he was inside of you.

“This…this is very different and you know,” he shrugs his shoulders.  Walking over to a fenced in area, and he sits his daughter down.  His eyes looking at her, completely ignoring you.  “Fine.  Explain.”

“What happened to those manners?” Oh, he was an asshole.  You didn’t have to listen to this.  Didn’t have to put up with this, and then he purposefully places his left hand where you can see it, and you sit down on the couch.

“Please, explain.”

“Thatta girl.”

Next

Masterlist

Taglist: @tis-thedamn-season​ @marveloustaylortot​ @pono-pura-vida​ @sstan-hoe​ @missusbarnes-rogers​ @peaches1958​ @seitmai​ @smile1318​ @andydrysdalerogers​ @cjand10​ @midnightramyeoncravings​ @donutloverxo​ @whiskeytangofoxtrot555​ @bambamwolf87​  

#much too fast #mechanic au #mechanic!curtis everett #curtis everett #curtis everett x reader #curtis everett x fem!reader #curtis everett x y/n #curtis everett x you #curtis everett smut #curtis everett fic #curtis everett fics #curtis everett fanfiction #chris evans #chris evans characters #snowpiercer

[arabzian]

NANAMI KENTO X CAMGIRL!READER

synopsis: you are a camgirl who speaks daily to nanami, you are his absolute favourite and he spends a lot of his money and time on you. One day, he wanna see you in real life to spoil you more…

tags: prostitution, dom nanami, sub reader, blowjob, oral f receiving, a lot of cum, graphic description, dumbification. Nanami is 30 years old.

! The reader is 100% consent in this fanfic + English isn’t my first language so sorry…!

- He was a regular on this kind of site. The blond felt extremely lonely, and chatting with multiple girls in the same evening could indeed make him forget his loneliness for a night...only to feel even lonelier the next day.

- Nevertheless, when he came across your profile, he felt something of an emotional response. It's impossible for him to explain it rationally, but he'd been attracted by your pouty face and the cuteness of your profile description.

- After spending several days sending him sulphurous photos of you in all possible angles and positions. And also, after having him spend a lot of money. Nanami was ready to empty his entire bank account just to see you one night.

- You accepted. Now dressed in a long dress showcasing your beautiful womanly body, you were sitting in an Uber, heading to the address of the hotel that the thirty-years-old man indicated to you.

- When you arrived in front of the hotel, you were absolutely amazed by the beauty and grandeur of the place. You even wondered if you had the wrong address.

- You looked inside the hotel before receiving a notification on your phone.

Nanamin: I'm right behind you.

- You turned around to fall on the figure of a tall blond in a suit, his shoulders were wide and he looked impassive. Nanami seemed so stoic to you that for the first time in your entire life, you were intimidated by a client.

"Hi…," you greeted, shyly.

”You are so pretty… Did you have a good ride? Have you eaten yet?

- You answered with silence because you only nodded negatively to his last sentence.

- A sketch of a smile appeared on his lips, he didn't expect you to be so reserved. After all, you're a cam girl so he expected you to act with self-confidence in real life.

- But none of that. You were actually a little shy. And of course, he was even more surprised by your beauty. You're even more beautiful in real life.

- After inviting you to a luxurious restaurant in the city, where you had no idea how to pronounce the dishes on the menu, you were back at the hotel.

- The room was even more impressive than you imagined. Nanami smiled at the astonishment on your face and announced that he was going to take a shower.

- You nod your head and once you hear the shower water, you're comfortable on the bed. You took off your dress to unveil a lace lingerie set.

- In order to keep the effect of surprise, you put on the hotel bathrobe without closing it and you tried not to let the anxiety take over you.

”Calm down, he finds you sublime in the photos, he will also love you in reality”. Will you whisper to yourself.

- Nanami came out of the shower still soaked, a strong masculine smell emerged from him and the simple towel that he had around his waist revealed the musculature of his body.

- Oh, you only wanted one thing: that he would make you forget your first name.

”You're absolutely beautiful, I don't even know where to start,” he whispered as he gazed down at you.

- You noticed the nascent boner under his towel.

- He joined you on the bed and started kissing you. You sat on him and perpetuated the kiss. You kissed him all over his face, it was embarrassing to admit, but he attracted you so much that you couldn't stop.

- He laugh with tenderness after your butterfly kisses.

”Nanami, please stick your tongue out.“

- He obeys and you started sucking his tongue. He wanted to explode inside because he liked it so much.

- Then the blond man came down from the bed to kneel before you. He kissed your feet covered with the material of your knee socks.

- He licked the soles of your feet, kissed your toes, you felt worshipped like a goddess.

A man was on his knees before you kissing your feet. What a wonderful feeling.

- He went up his kisses to the inside of your thighs and then began to forage your femininity.

- His tongue played with you, he knew exactly where to press with his tongue to give you pleasure.

- Soon, you'll be pulling on his blonde hair as he gets more and more intense with your poor little pussy.

- He was torturing you with his fingers and his tongue, he was so focused that he could feel your breath getting jerky and your body shaking.

- When you gasped his first name, he anchored his gaze in yours and began to accelerate his movements so that you groaned his first name even louder.

”Nanamin...” you called desperately. ”I will...”

Before you could even finish your sentence, you ejaculated in his mouth. Now with the trickling jaw of your cyprine, he let go a mocking laugh.

' " It seems that the lady is quite sensitive.”

You blush with shame after he teased you, amused by your reactions, he thinks he's gonna have fun tonight.

Nanami put your thighs down perpendicular to his. He put his dick between your thighs covered by your socks and began to masturbate against your thighs.

You kiss each other while he enjoyed rubbing against the material in your socks.

”You are so good for me.” He groans.

Honestly, you loved what he did to you and he paid a lot of money just to be with you.

At that point, Nanami had the absolute green light on your body. He could do anything and everything to you and you knew you'd like it because it's Nanami.

You had absolutely no boundaries when it comes to him. He was so muscular, rich and good at sex. Nanami literally had a hold on you since you spoke to each other on the internet.

He drained a thick, hot liquid on your thighs. In a flash, he laid you down on the bed.

You were on your back and he was on top of you, his intense erection was facing you.

"Now, be a good girl, okay baby?"

You had absolutely the biggest kinks for pet names. You nodded meekly, patiently waiting for him to break you in half.

"We're going to play a little game."

He leaned to the ground and grabbed his tie. He began to tie your two wrists above your head with his tie.

You notice his big thing twitching when he looks at you. Completely vulnerable and at his mercy.

The fact of being tied up in this way highlighted your chest.

Your bra wasn't even a bra. It was ridiculously small and just covered your nipples.

Nanami was very sensitive to fabrics, he wanted to feel everything.

Always dressed in your bra that looked like a bikini top, nanami placed himself correctly on top of you and he began to place his dick between your breasts.

Your breasts were hugging and squeezing perfectly his dick which was already wet because of the pre-cum.

After masturbating with your thighs earlier, he was now masturbating between your breasts.

He passed his tip under each of the fabrics of your bra, feeling your nipples harden and appreciating the contact with the material of the fabric.

To be so much under someone's control, and on top of that, to hear Nanami moaning and using you the way he wanted made you so horny it was ridiculous.

Like a reflex, you opened your mouth wide by sticking out your tongue and he took the opportunity to suddenly penetrate your mouth with his dick.

You gasped with surprise when you opened your eyes wide. You looked at him with confused eyebrows as he smiled with satisfaction at seeing the shape of his dick through your cheek.

Always tied and helpless, you had his semen on your thighs, on your chest and soon in your mouth.

He held your head tightly and kept going back and forth in your mouth.

He waved his hips sometimes fast and sometimes slow and you could feel every inch of it on your tongue.

You felt your pussy get numb and wet.

Nanami went deeper and deeper and laughed at your facial expression. Oh, you liked it and it showed.

He started to moan too and under the excitement of the moment, he pushed his dick into the bottom of your throat.

The shape of his cock was visible from the outside. We could clearly see his dick in your throat.

He stood there for a second, moaning how good you were.

Without warning, he came into your mouth, you opened your eyes with surprise while trying to moan.

He put your hand in your hair like you were a dog.

"Good girl."

He withdrew from your mouth and all his semen trickled down on your jaw.

”Now we can start the serious stuff.”

You were trying to catch your breath, it's true that it was only the foreplay but you were already starting to look like nothing.

Always tied with his tie, you couldn't protest when he spread your thighs and rubbed his dick against your clit.

”I remember the texts. I know you prefer it from behind, but I don't know if I should give you this favor...”

You almost cry when you heard him say that. You wanted it from all your being and all he did was being mean to you.

Tears peaked at the corner of your eyes, you were trying to move to protest but the fact that you were tied up didn't help.

' Nanami, you such a meanie... I hate you!”, you whimper capriciously.

”I love you too.”

He smiles when he can't help but think you were so lovely even though you were covered in his sperm.

He wanted to see you a little more... Then he stopped rubbing up against you to penetrate you.

His big, wide dick finally penetrated into your poor, sore little pussy. The thickness of your lips would squeeze him so hard that he let go of a whimper as he entered.

His dick remained tight between your walls. It was so warm and welcoming. He felt at home there.

He pulled you by the arms while he waved his hips into you.

Your chest bounced every time he moved, and it seemed to you that the walls of the room were becoming abstract.

Nanami was going absolutely feral on you. You deserved all this so much.

He took advantage of the position to straddle you and suck your breasts. Little hickeys were born there.

"Nanamin," you almost called crying. ”Stop I'm sensitive here...”

He continued to suck you even harder while screwing you even faster.

Drool was starting to flow from your jaw.

Without warning, he changed your position and took you in a doggy.

You felt everything so deeply, and he did too. He grabbed one arm for him to look at your face. The sight on your ass, your back and now on your tearful face made him want to make you pregnant.

”Nanamin let go of me...

He didn't answer you, and instead he grabbed your other arm.

Now he was blowing your back by pulling you by both arms.

Your chest was levitating above the mattress and your back was so arching that nanami was going to break you in half.

”You're such a little slut, I love you so much.”

You weren't thinking anymore. You only had one thing in mind: his dick.

Nanami ejaculate into you without warning. He had the biggest breeding kink ever.

As his sperm poured into you, he grunted like an animal.

You were trying to catch your breath, but before you knew what he had just done, he put you against him.

With your back against his muscular torso, his arm raising your legs to gain better access to your pussy, he continued to penetrate you.

He was a monster. How could a man with such a closed face and such a strict posture be like that in bed?

If he continued like that, he'd get you pregnant.

You would have liked to tell him, but you couldn't even talk anymore. Apart from stammering his first name, crying and drooling, everything that came out of your mouth was literally incomprehensible.

”I am going to take so much care of you”, he whispers in your ears while you were crying in distress.

All positions passed through and all places in the room as well.

Right now, you had your breasts glued to the window while he ripped you from behind.

Your breasts were compressed against the window, normally it would have hurt you but in your case when it comes to sex: pain is pleasure.

Nanami grabbed you then and threw you against the table. With your belly against the table and your ass highlighted, he actually seemed to like it in doggy style more than you did.

Suddenly, as you were reaching your climax, he withdrew from you. You opened your mouth of surprise and he took the opportunity to stick his big dick full of pre-cum in your mouth.

You didn't have time to figure out what was going on when he cum into your mouth.

He threw his head back and let go of a sigh of relief.

”This is so good...”

While you still have his dick in your mouth, he looked at you.

"Hey princess, would you mind cleaning me up?"

Without understanding how or why you did that, you obey him.

Kneeling in front of him, you sucked his dick. No, sucking wasn't strong enough to describe what you were doing. You sucked the soul out of him completely, you swallowed his dick and swallowed every drop of his liquid.

While your mouth was moving so vigorously, Nanami had his hand gently resting on your head.

He grabbed his phone, which was right on the table where he had just fucked you.

He opened his paypal app and made a transfer of about 5,000 dollars in your account.

And it wasn't over, he was planning to stay with you tomorrow and take you shopping and buy you absolutely everything you wanted.

You fully deserved it, he was absolutely obsessed with you. You were his little princess.

psa: I love him so so much omg

#nanami kento headcanons #nanami kento smut #nanami headcanons #nanami kento #nanami kento imagine #nanami x reader #black reader #nanami x black!reader #nanami smut

[scourgiez]

(tumblr made this so crunchy, click for a better res!)

(Edit: I added more stuff and changed some things because yeah I’m obsessed w these two)

love love everyone’s headcanons about Astarion’s now-forgotten family and decided to make my own! As well as my own story about them. I hope my handwriting is readable :”)

As for a brief summary of his parents, (at the start of the BG3 game, because I headcanon them to still be alive somewhere)

Analelle is a moon high elf and is 391 years old. Definitely the smarts of the family. Very quiet and discrete yet cunning when she wants to be. Has a permanent “knowing look”. Usually about 2-3 steps ahead of you at all times.

Lithuryn is a half sun/half moon high elf and is 410 years old. Has dreams of being a noble within Baldur’s Gate and living lavishly with the other nobles there. He isn’t home very much. His work usually takes over his life.

Lots and lots more, sorry folks but i went crazy about these two:

Analelle and Lithruyn lived in Evereska, both working in politics or law within the community and meeting each other through their work. They weren’t exactly nobles within the community but they were very well-off and would be considered upper class. You can headcanon whatever age you want for Astarion but I always lean towards ~240 because it makes the most sense game-wise. They had him when they were in their 150s (about. Math x—x) while still in Evereska, however he only lived there until he was about 15 or so. (I have toyed with the idea of him having an older sibling (about +60 years or so) who ran off and became a druid after they loved to Baldurs Gate and hasn’t really contacted the family since…but that’s just a random theory because fun fact! I read somewhere that High elves are pretty infertile and usually only have a family of 3. So yeah I will leave out rebellious older Druid sibling for now. For now…)

The Ancunin's arrived to Baldur's Gate to work for a highly regarded law firm. This place was the cat's meow even though life was definitely different than it was in Evereska, as they were nobles there. Here, while they are still very wealthy, aren't exactly bumping elbows with the Baldurian nobles. (yet)

Even though they were still forming these connections, they were pretty popular within the elven communities in the city. This unfortunately was how Cazador was alerted to their presence and began his “hunt”. Really, they were just in the wrong place at the wrong time. Astarion had a target on his back for a long time before he died.

Astarion becomes a magistrate through these connections his parents have been making. They absolutely pull strings for him and we’re able to land him a very nice, high-paying job even if Astarion was a little under qualified for the position. Everyone was happy not only because of his job, but that given his upper class clientele he can easily work his way into becoming the Baldurian noble his parents were hoping for. Even if he was corrupt and not the best of people.

The story goes on and as you all know Astarion dies in his mid/late 30's due to the Gur attack. I have more headcanons regarding elf age here, which also talks about how elves dying due to murder is extremely rare in elven communities, so Analelle and Lithuryn just thought it literally could never happen. As for age, I can't describe it all here (it's all in the post I linked), but no Astarion was far from being a "child" biologically, he did however lack the life experience of someone who would have made it to 100 years old.

When they find that Astarion’s grave was defaced and his body missing, they were completely outraged. They were angrily contacting every single high noble of Baldur’s Gate and were on a wild emotionally-charged manhunt to find whoever did this. Cazador knew about this (duh) and started up his plan on how to deal with it. He purposely picks the people that don’t have many connections, but he clearly underestimated how involved the Ancunin family was. It was, at that point, easier to have the town turn against them than kill them and cause a big stink.

This all happened throughout the course of... a week or so. They were getting threatened every day, lost their jobs quickly, and their old noble connections turned against them. Unsure of how Cazador would do this but I can imagine he is really really good at it. They had to leave Baldur's Gate out of fear, never really knowing what happened to Astarion and generally being confused about the whole thing. This is also why Astarion never just. ran into them when he was prowling the streets and even if he had memory of them he wouldn't know where they went, and also why his grave stone was so unkept.

I can’t decide if they picked up their pieces back at Evereska and lived a modest life there, trying not to be noticed, or if they now live away from civilization in order to stay safe. It’s sad but unfortunately that’s just the way it goes with vampires :”)

As for eyes, I headcanon Astarion’s eyes to be blue with gold flecks (like his father’s) because I headcanon him to be a moon elf along with his mom. As much as I adore golden eyes him being a moon elf just makes so much sense! I might change my opinion at random because I’m so indecisive.

Anyway, I hope my incoherent rambles make sense. If i forgot something important lore-wise and it doesn’t fit in with these headcanons… let me know, but if anything this can be an AU. I spent so much time thinking abt it lol.

#the ancunin family #astarion ancunin #analelle ancunin #lithuryn ancunin #bg3 #baldurs gate 3 #bg3 headcanons #astarion’s family #bg3 astarion #my art #‘salen avae’ is elvish for ‘my joy’ btw ^^

[atlasxspeaks]

“Do you hate me or something!” Spider has never been for frustrated in his life than right now, staring up the worst foster sibling he had ever know. Ao’nung wasn’t just a jerk who barged into his room at random hours or who hogged the bathroom for so long in the morning only to joke that they could share the shower when Spider bangs on the door. He’s a jerk who can’t stand to see Spider happy.

“You decked Lo’ak for no goddamn reason!” Spider is too angry to realize that shoving Ao’nung, whose a fuller foot taller than him, will do nothing. The boy takes the hit, though, before grabbing him by his wrists.

“He’s my only fucking friend and now he barley want to hang out because of you. Why do you always do this!” In a ten months Spider had been in Awa’ulta, he’d made a few close friends, all of which ran away or distance themselves once Ao’nung got a glimpse of them. Roxto and Tsireya were the only people he can even hang out with without Ao’nung poking fun at them and causing a fight.

The Sully kids were new and needed friends just like him, and they were kinda weird just like him. He likes Kiri, Lo’ak, and Neteyam. Even Tuk was fun to be around. And they didn’t care about his oxygen tank or the fact that he never wears short sleeves regardless of how hot it gets. And now Ao’nung had gone and fucked it by picking on Lo’ak for his vitiligo.

“Say something! Do you hate me?”

“Not at all. I’m actually quite in love with you, really.”

Of all the fucking things he could have said, that was not one of them. Spider blinks for a second, stunned into silence. That is before stomping down hard on the other boy’s foot.

“ARGH!” Ao’nung is now on the ground, holding his foot and Spider can’t bring himself to be sympathetic.

“What the fuck Spider!!”

“If you fucking love me, leave my friends alone and act like a normal person. I’m not your property! I can have friend and still be whatever it is you want me to be to you.”

Spider isn’t 100% certain Ao’nung actually likes him romantically, but there have been moments between them that make him question it. Like the night he’d had woken Spider as an Eywa-less hour to see a meteor shower, something Spider had wanted to see after years old living in smog-filled cities. They’d stayed on the roof for hours after just talking, and there was a moment when their faces were so close that he noticed the green flakes in Ao’nung’s blue eyes. Regardless, if Ao’nung wanted him, he’d have to learn to get over himself.

“I think you broke my foot man,” Ao’nung groans.

“Be glad I’m not wearing my boots. Now, you’re gonna apologize to Lo’ak, and you’re going to mean it,” Spider kneels down on the ground next to Ao’nung and prods at his foot. Living with Ronal and Tsireya had increased his medical knowledge tenfold so he could already tell while bruised, Ao’nung’s foot was definitely not broken. Spider wasn’t that strong.

“Urgh do I have to?” Spider just pinches his calf in reply and the boy caves. “Argh ok ok!” Ao’nung bats his hand away and then grabs it, interlacing their fingers.

“For you, I’ll apologize and mean it. Lo’ak’s a pretty good guy, I just don’t like how close you both are.”

Spider rolls his eyes skyward and prays to Eywa for strength.

“If you took you head out your ass you’d see that I’m not the person you should be worried about with Lo’ak,” Spider doesn't hold back his smirk at Ao’nung’s startled look.

“Who!?”

“Apologize and I’ll tell you,” Spider teases pulling away from the boy to help him up. Ao’nung, even an opportunist, puts his arm around Spider’s shoulders to lean on while hopping, completely milking his injury. Spider rolls his eyes and lets him have it.

——

Inspired by @nashichiyo All x Miles "Spider" Socorro (Prompt) on AO3.

#spider socorro #ao’nung #avatar way of water

[prismatic-bell]

ok so this is less a zionism question and more one related to judaism as a whole, but: the hebrew calendar is currently in the year 5784, yeah? but of course, that doesn't necessarily mean jewish history is necessarily over five thousand years old- jesus's birth precedes christianity in its current form by at least a couple of centuries.

but here's the thing- one post, whose actual content i don't recall, happened to mention that jewish history is three thousand years old. This is where my question gets specific enough so that you'd be able to answer it in a tumblr ask.

you see, the author of one of my favourite books of all time, Sun Tzu, is rumored to have served under Hu Lu of the Wu kingdom, which would put his life at about 500-400 b.c.e. Did judaism exist during that time? could Sun Tsu have credibly met a rabbi in his lifetime (ignoring the Huge distance between the levant and china, of course)?

(also, i know like. Very Little about the history of that area so sorry if my question is stupid or offensive in some way. was the Temple already built there and stuff? were there already people keeping kosher? that sort of stuff)

So let’s start here: that post is incorrect. It’s closer to 3500 years, and the reason it’s not more than that is because before that we were still Canaanites. (Torah claims we defeated the Canaanites. The truth is more like “we were a small sect of Canaanites who out-babied all the other Canaanites.”)

As for whether Sun Tzu could have met a rabbi…no, but not because we weren’t around then. Sun Tzu’s life falls smack in the middle of the return to Jerusalem; Judea had an extremely small population at this point (the whole country is estimated at no more than 30,000 people, with only a single city—Jerusalem), but it did exist as a Jewish nation under Persian rule. We were very much around. But rabbinic Judaism—which is the modern form of Judaism, and what people usually mean when they say “Judaism”—didn’t exist until after the fall of the Temple in 70CE led to the end of blood sacrifice, and the beginnings of the concept of what we today call “rabbis” didn’t exist until the mid-100s BCE. We do have some men older than that who we call “rabbi” sometimes in modern discussion, but this isn’t any kind of official title—it’s more a mark of respect for their great wisdom and learning (like having an honorary doctorate degree). Far more commonly, these men are called the sages, or were kings.

That isn’t to say there’s no chance of Sun Tzu having met influential figures in Judaism, however. Torah was first being written down right around the time he lived, and it so happens that a lot of Jews were in Babylon at the time. Depending on how far he traveled (if he did), he could absolutely have met some of the Jewish figures codifying Torah and the Mishnah, and since some of our earliest fragments of Torah are written on papyrus rather than parchment, it’s even possible he read portions of it. This is doubly true because Israel-Judea is a linchpin between three separate continents: Europe, Africa, and Asia-by-way-of-the-south (nobody was crossing the Alps in 400BCE). That’s why our particular patch has been so fought over throughout history—for most of history, he who controlled Jerusalem controlled international trade. Could some of our writings have been included in a trade headed east? Absolutely. It wouldn’t even be that weird for a few stray copies to have not survived—keeping in mind how many more forms of media and record we have today than we’ve had throughout history, and how much easier it is to make those records, it is still estimated that over 99% of all media and records made in human history are permanently lost. Yeah, totally, Sun Tzu could’ve been like “are there wise men in these western countries? Bring me their writings” and read them and gone “huh, neat, I’ll have to think about that” and then because his scrolls got eaten by bugs and he didn’t use MLA format nobody would ever know. It’s extremely likely that’s happened with many writings from many places throughout history. And yes—it’s equally possible that a few stray Jews became merchants or great travelers and made their way to China and we don’t know because their publicity agents sucked. That is, unfortunately, the case with most of history. We find half a dozen puzzle pieces from a picture we know must contain at least five thousand pieces and we’ve got to reconstruct what it looked like and hope a seventh piece turns up somewhere. So is it likely Sun Tzu met Jews? Not at all. Is it impossible? Absolutely not.

Now as for what Jews were doing at the time…first, I’m going to say the idea that ancient Jews all did exactly as Torah said to do all the time is a lovely fairy tale. I think those of us who did most of our study of the ancient world in sixth grade during our Egypt phases tend to forget that then as now, people were people everywhere you went, and “the [insert ancient race here] people believed ________” is a convenient oversimplification. There would have been varying degrees of observance just like there are today, and I suspect that’s even more true in the peasant class; you’re not making your kids go hungry so you can sacrifice an expensive calf. But this WAS the period when we started getting a unified “this is what we are supposed to do, here, we wrote it down for you” practice, so here are some examples:

1) this is the period when the Jewish pantheon—yes, that was a thing—got collapsed into a single god, the one we now call the One G-d, Adonai. (Yes, the one with the Y-name, no, I’m not saying it.) This is why in some portions of Torah G-d is referred to as Elohim—El was originally another god. The “im” ending is a plural.

2) the rules of Temple sacrifice were formally codified. This isn’t to say it was a free-for-all before this time, but your options were…squishier, so to speak.

3) THE RULES OF KASHRUUUUUUUUUT this is when all of that stuff got written down and formalized. Before this things like not eating pork would have existed, but they would have been more of a cultural taboo than a religious law. This probably reflects why some parts of kashrut, or kosher, laws are so weird in Torah. Like—it tells you some birds are kosher and some aren’t, but it’s super vague on which is which. That makes a lot more sense if “everybody knew” what was and wasn’t taboo. Sort of like how if you open a cookbook and see a recipe asking for two eggs you automatically look for a chicken, not a goose.

4) a lot of laws just didn’t exist yet, or didn’t exist in their modern form. For example, the law against mixing meat and dairy at this point applied only to mammals, and it referred only to how it was cooked. You couldn’t cook an animal in its own mother’s milk. If the ancient Judeans had had ancient chicken alfredo, that would’ve been fine. The rabbis of Talmud (by that point they were actual rabbis) expanded this law due to a superseding law whose name I can’t remember at the moment but the idea of that law is “don’t do anything that could look like you’re breaking Jewish law even if you’re not.” Since you can’t necessarily tell what a meat is without tasting it, or what kind of milk a dairy product has come from without tasting it, the expanded law says “just don’t eat meat and dairy together at all, it looks bad.” Other laws that exist now but didn’t then include the creation of an eruv and all laws surrounding Chanukkah, which celebrates events that didn’t occur until the 300s.

So TL; dr: yes, in theory Sun Tzu could have met Jews, or at least read our earliest writings; the Temple existed (although at that precise moment in time it was very small and not at all grand); and the laws of Judaism-as-we-know-it were just being formalized after a thousand years of oral tradition, so we were doing some stuff and not other stuff.

#you ask nina answers #Nina blogs Judaism

[soft-for-them]

Dead dial - Leon Kennedy x plus size reader

Summary: You're a nursing student who lives in Raccoon City who frequently talks to an old friend, Leon Kennedy, over the phone. Just as he's about to move to the same city as you the living dead start to roam the streets. (There is some descriptions of zombie related gore.)

Comments and reblogs are much appreciated and help more people read my works.

A/N: Replaying Resident Evil games. Might not be 100% canon, I'm not really into the RE law. Also this will get a part two if people like it enough. Not proof read because I'm tired.

“You know this probably is a bad idea, Leon.”

Balancing the phone receiver between your ear and shoulder you try not to pull in the old spiral cord too much, the old in phone wall in your outdated flat is probably as old as you.

Standing in your small kitchen, the kitchen island digging into your soft flesh as your lean into it so the phone cord does not snap, you look out the old creaky wooden window past the fire escape to the dim yellow bulb street lights and rain soaked grey buildings.

Sirens loud and ear piercing can be heard, followed by the flashing of the obnoxious red and blue lights of multiple cop cars. You’ve never really trusted the police in this city, funny considering the man on the end of the phone is about to become one.

“(Y/n).” Leon says with an exhausted sigh. You can imagine his rubbing his hand through his hair whilst saying it.

“There’s something going on here-“ you step closer to the widow the phone line going straight as you look outside like an nosey old person would, “-the hospitals have been so hectic lately.”

You should know, you’re a second year nursing student, it’s the whole reason you moved to Raccoon city in the first place. (It certainly wasn’t the damp filled flats and lovely raining weather that brought you here.)

For school you work partly in the city’s hospital and for weeks now the ER has been flooded with people, you don’t know why, but many either have been sent home or have suddenly died. There’s even a rumour that patients have been taken as test subjects by Doctor Bard, though you’ve been too busy dealing with the rise of ‘cannibals’ to even care. All the nursing students have been worried, hell everyone working at the hospital has been worried, but the city’s government and press have been keeping the rising casualties hush hush.

“I know…” Leon begins his words long and worried, “Was it bad today?”

He knows your answer regardless, for the last month you conversations on the phone have been less about happy things such as seeing a fluffy dog on a walk or eating a tasty pastry and more on just about how you feel like you’re an overworked underpaid nurse already with how much you’ve been helping at the hospital whilst also studying and working a part time job.

“They say us going to the hospital is for educational purposes, at first it was but now we just go to be extra hands. They need it. I saw a doctor collapse today she was so over worked… and well at least all this overtime is going towards my grade.”

“(Y/n).” Leon echoes your name so quietly to stop you from rambling, he has known you long enough to know when your anxious rambling begin.

“Haha-“ you nervously chuckle as more sirens blare on, this time from ambulances rushing down the narrow roads lined with parked cars and thin pavements, “-I’m going to get an A with all the work I’m doing.”

“(Y/n).” his voice is louder and filled with concern.

“I hand to hold man down today whilst he screamed… he was screaming Leon-“ tears start to bubble up in your tired eyes, them threatening to drip down your face like the rain drop on your windowsill, “-I- I-“

“(Y/n)… listen to me, ok.”

“I’m listening.” You sniff as you lean back on the kitchen counter.

“You’re ok, Sundays almost here and then you can have day off, I can call if you like.”

Leon hopes you will for his relationship isn’t going well and ever since you moved away he hasn’t had a proper friend to talk to about such mundane and normal things. He likes hearing your voice even if lately you’ve been sounding worn out and a bit sad.

“I- I have work Saturday and I’ll sleep through Sunday, I- well- I don’t want to miss a call, but it’s hardly a day off Leon.”

“Ring in sick, go to that café you want to go to- what is it call- Lauren’s?”

“Lorenzo’s coffee and cake.”

“Yeah, that. You said they have a cream cake and imported coffee beans.” He remembers you talking about it on a past phone call, “Or you said that you wanted to go to that pop up art exhibit-“

“- The classics one –“

“-Yes, you said there is a Van Gogh there.”

He recalls you staying that a private collector was exciting their art collection which just so happened to have a Van Gogh sketch in it. You were so excited when you told he almost asked you to go with him to it, totally forgetting you now live in to different places and not in the same apartment complex like you did before.

“I ends Friday.” You glumly say.

“Then call in sick Friday and Saturday.”

Surly your boss would believe you more if you’d come down with say a cold on the Friday rather than suddenly getting on the Saturday, that’s what Leon thinks as he says the idea to you.

“I guess it does make it more believable to but-“

“-but?”

“…I don’t want to let anyone down Leon. This city is going to shit and I don’t want to be the asshole who fucks everything up because I don’t turn up to work or class…”

“You work in a supermarket.” His voice is filled with a fun confusion, like he’s amused and shocked at your words, as he ponders how not turning up at your cashier job will affect the city.

“So? Three shops have already closed down this month, the customers have doubled because people have to eat and- and-“

“(Y/N), you’re overthinking again. They can handle a day without you.”

“They can?”

“I can’t handle a missed phone call from you, think about it. A day off and a long phone call with me or no day off and a missed phone call because you’re too exhausted to wake up?”

“You know I’d take the phone call regardless.”

“Take the days off and call me tomorrow, it’s getting late and we both need some rest.”

It’s your cue to say goodbye, which is already drawn out and filled with cheesy jokes from Leon that make you laugh. You always did say that going to bed on a happy note makes the next day a better experience and Leon remembers it, so he always tries to cheer you up before either one of you hangs up.

“Night Leon.”

“Goodnight (Y/n).”

“Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

You didn’t take the days off but you did stay up late long enough to speak to Leon. He was having girlfriend troubles and you talked to the sun came up.

You were on your way to a lecture but a mass email was sent out telling everyone to stay home, or arrive at the hospital to help out, you chose the former opting rather to go home and go back to sleep.

Maybe you’ll go to the hospital to help out later on.

Apparently half of the students were already at the university when the email was sent out and apparently a lot of teachers were too. Many people have been sending messages through the many university group chats and message boards to stay away from the school. On person said that the city was going t be evacuated.

The sirens have been going off for days now, public transport has been limited that morning for some odd reason, you had waited at you bus stop for a half hour before getting a text from a friend telling you about the email and walking back home.

Even now you hurry as if someone is following you.

It feels like for the last week the city has become smaller and smaller, like a video game with a map yet to unlock. More and more people have become ill and it seems the Umbrella Corporation is being shoved in your face, their advertisements playing every commercial break along with warnings to stay inside unless you need to go out to work, school, the shops or hospital.

You have no clue what’s going on but you’re glad Leon is starting work here, even if he’s a cop.

You hope that Leon will get to the city quickly. You see, it all started with a call from him last night of him crying and saying his girlfriend dumped him and ever since that call it has seemed to get worse for you both. No longer was he going to have that nice shared flat with her in Raccoon city and from what you heard he was drunk, whilst you were up all night the sound of sirens and screams keeping you up.

Last night you stayed up with him until he fell asleep and even then you couldn’t sleep. Even this morning, you were worried sick about him driving down to Raccoon hungover, so you left him a voice message.

“Hey, Leon. I’m just about to head out to class, but um just know I’m here for you if you need me, oh and drink some water and take some paracetamol... Yeah, anyway I was thinking that well if you want to you could crash here if that apartment situation is still – you know- fuck, it’s too early to think and talk coherently… Um, yeah, the offer’s there if you want, you know where the spare key is hidden, speak to you soon. Take care Leon. Bye.”

And even now as you rush home avoiding everyone out on the streets, which is odd because there hardy seems to be anyone at all, well apart from some people asleep on benches like they were drunk and apartment buildings filled with shouts of people angry and annoyed (which you don’t realise is the sounds of zombies roaming around.)

You hurry up your pace to avoid a crowded looking street that looks to have a car crash and an onslaught of on lookers on it. You don’t take one look at the reanimated corpse who stumbles out the car and bites an onlooker, you just carry on rushing back to your flat, a bad feeling taking over you.

Passing burning buildings not yet entirely engulfed in flames but getting there and all the cars normally parked on the sides of the road gone from their owners trying to escape the city you finally get your apartment complex, the big double doors barricaded shut, a cabinet pushed against the fragile glass.

You wonder up to the door to see if someone is near the metal letterboxes or if the janitor’s closet is open with the janitor taking a break. Leaning your head on the glass you look around but no one is there to help you get inside.

“Hel-“ you begin to speak, your hands clutching the straps to your backpack but you stop yourself, the odd feeling of dread making your stomach do back flips.

Stepping backwards you hear a blood curdling scream.

You whip around to see a woman coved in blood crying and crawling out of the spinning doors of the fancier apartment complex just a bit down the street, her voice screaming a croaky ‘help’ to no one in particular.

“Don’t be a coward (y/n), you’re a nursing student, go help her!” the voice in your mind urges you.

Freezing still in front of the barricaded glass doors you look on to the speck that is the screaming woman, your hands clutching at you backpack straps so much that that the plastic fabric irritates your skin.

White doctor daps step backwards and not forwards, the tarmac scuffing your shoes.

You’re too scared to help the woman.

A loud moan like growl reverberates the ground, you look to your left at the glass doors to see a person, no, a dead man walking. He tries to walk to the door the furniture blocking the door making him slump over, only his hands touch the brittle glass.

The noise of gargling blood, the sight of his glassy dead eyes, the absence of a left arm, it makes you panic. You desperately look around for anything, anyone, any opening to escape all the while the dead get closer and closer.

Finally you spot the side alley, well it’s technically a whole road that leads to another street but with all the rubbish and filth only police cars and rubbish trucks drive down it. Apparently your block of flats used to look over a nice patch of grass that was a park but a couple years before you moved in they had built more buildings grey and dull blocking out the sun light.

Passed the rubbish bins you see the fire escape, the same fire escape that leads up to your window.

You look one more look at the dead man banging his head on the cracking glass, then one more look at the now quiet woman slumped on the ground, back to one look at the dark alleyway, you know what you have to do.

You bolt.

Dodging black bags of gooey trash and a hoard of skittering rats you clamber up the frail rusted frame of the fire escape. You take two steps at a time up the stairs each step rattling and swaying the old structure. You do not look back as trampled footsteps echo out in the street nor do you dare look into the passing windows, some covered in bloodied handprints.

Soon enough you get to your window, your flat on the fifth floor a welcomed sight to see.

The old wooden windows are slowly rotting away and the locks are permanently broken. You’re thankful that you hadn’t bothered locking the make do lock you drilled and secured in the window, the blocky hinged lock looking locked deterring any burglars from coming in.

Leon had said that he’d happily fix the window for you when he was settled in the city but considering what is happening you don’t care all that much for the lock, only that your friend is ok.

With a couple of rattles and a whole load of upper arm strength you slide the window up. There is just about enough space to fit in, though you’re going to have to suck in your tummy to do so and you’re going to have to shove your backpack in first.

You do just that, the backpack falling off the counter onto the floor with a thud, then you squeeze yourself through, your hips hurting as you force yourself in, your ass landing on the draining board next to the sink.

“Fuck.” You mutter as you bang your body on the hard surface, your feet hitting the ground as you push off the counter.

As soon as you are stable you lock the window the fastest you’ve ever done, closing the blinds along with it, doing that partly so no one can see you inside but also partly so you don’t have to see the outside world.

You’re finally home but you’re scared as hell.

Automatically you go to your rotary phone hanging on the wall.

You pick up the receiver, your fingers automatically dialling Leon’s home phone.

There is no ringing or waiting sound.

The phone line is dead.

A/N: If you want a part two please send in an ask rather than commenting for another part, this is just because asks are an easier way for me to track requests. Comments are still welcomed and requests are open!

#leon kennedy #leon kennedy x reader #resident evil #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 2 remake #plus size reader #x plus size reader #chubby reader #x chubby reader

[potentialguybodyswaps]

Body Exchange Program Part 1:

It all started with an app service called the Body Exchange Program, or B.E.P. For short

The concept of the app was to make a way for people to experience different types of lives, and it did just that. By swapping 2 peoples body’s

Of course it charged a small fee tho, however nothing too extravagant, just 100 dollars, pretty cheep compared to flying or driving somewhere else in the world for a vacation…

I was your typical skater boi, skinny as fuck, 4pack abs, but faint, really only had them cause I’d be too high to remember to eat, oh did a mention a stoner haha? Vaped, even had a bunch of different colored wristbands I’d wear all the time.

Growing up was kinda boring in my small town, nothing really to do besides skate around town and get High with my friends, which I was perfectly fine with, until I discovered I could have more

When the internet first discovered this app, the world went crazy, and I could see why, a lot of out of pocket swaps that you really wouldn’t think were Consensual like 50 year old bears swapping with 20 year old twinks started happening, really strange when those same duos decided to change from the temporary option to permanent, which both accounts would have to go into there settings and select.

My story starts shortly after I made my account and Input all the typical information you would as if goin on a dating website, with a couple extreme questions for your account, like dick size, kinks, ideal body swap

Account summary:

Tanner:

Age: 18

height: 5’10

weight: 135

Location: Kansas

Penis size: 5.5 inches

Kinks: body swaps (duh?)

Ideal Bodyswap: city boy, college, fit

Interests: smoking pot and skateboarding with friends

End summary.

The next day, when I woke up a received a notification at like 2 AM from someone that was a 100% match… not hard when you have such a short requirement list, wanting to do a 72 hour switch for the weekend

It was from some guy named Kyle with a summary of his account

Kyle:

Age: 21

Height 6’2

Weight: 195

Location:Florida State

Penis size: 8 inches

Kinks: anal, Asian chicks, Bodyswaps

Ideal Bodyswap: country/small town, stoners , people with fun lives

Interests: working out, fucking, drinking

Not seeing a picture or anything I decided to just press accept… I mean after all Kyle fit all my Criteria, bear minimal I could hope for is he isn’t ugly or fat, but since he’s interested in working out, and fucking, he’s gotta be some sort of catch, and boy was I right

The moment I pressed accept a 15 second timer started warning me to prepare myself, so I sat down… but that still didn’t prepare me for what was waiting on the other side

I snapped back to consciousness to me suddenly flexing my muscles in front of a mirror

“Wow I’m a walking cliche” I said outloud, of course a gym rat would be wearing a wife beater and checking himself out in the mirror lol. but I can understand why, I look fucking great. I said to myself while continuing to flex, normally I wouldn’t cause a bag of bones like me had nothing to flex, but now that I do…. Well… you know what they say, when I’m Rome

At that point I started spouting off random shit just to hear myself talked, I found my new deeper voice amusing

After a short time of making poses and just making faces in the mirror taking in my new alpha jock boy look, I receive a messaged from my old account

Tanner(really Kyle): hey bro, thanks for swapping with me, you’re kinda a bit scrawnier than I expected but at 135, idk what I should have expected haha. Anyways like I said thanks, I kinda just want to take a break from the way I party all the time, kinda hard to get and smoke weed around there without getting busted by cops or ratted out on by some of the basic bitches there…

Kyle (really tanner) it’s all good man, ya I really just wanted to get that college experience for a bit, go to some parties myself haha, I’ll be sure to keep up that reputation you clearly have haha. And ya, I know I’m scrawny, hence why I wanted to swap with someone fit, anything I should know about?

Tanner: ya, when you go to a party and the bitches try to get with you, try not to get hard untill it’s time to lay it down, otherwise my dick kinda hurts from being restrained in my pants, and the bulge is very noticeable too when it happens… guess I’m also curious what having a average dick is like, weird that I can’t swing it anymore

Kyle: thanks for the tip

I immediately closed out the app and proceeded to tear my shorts down at the speed of which you’d think someone was about to get assaulted, and they/it was about to get assaulted by my hand

“Jesus Christ” I said shaking to the left and right, I can actively smack myself with my dick, that’s so cool bro…

I started going though his texts, with my hand slowly stroking my new huge rod, untill I found a recent text from some chick that invited me to a party, scrolling up though it I saw her nudes she had sent Kyle before

My semi grew into a full on hard on and at that point I had to use all 8 inches of my glory, right?

After I busted a nut I left the mess on me and sent her a picture of it saying “can’t wait to see you”

When I showed up to the party I was immediately greeted with a budlight platinum, and was surrounded by friends/other party goers who new me

After having 6 beers, shit talkin with the new homies and trying not to blow my cover, that I’m not really Kyle, I finally saw the chick I was texting earlier and once we made eye contact, she made a jerkin motion with her head to the stairs, which she then went up.

Feelin a hardon starting to come, I quickly let my friends know I had to go, and rushed up the stairs, once I broke out of the group I could hear one shout “ya right, your going to fuck Jessica aren’t you!?” I turn around walking backwards and yell “fuck ya bro” as I corrected myself and bolted up the stairs

Once I found what room she was in, she was already naked, bent over, hands tied to the bed post with a ball gag in her mouth, she clearly knew what this guy liked, and not wanting to cause suspicion, I went with it

Climbing onto the bed I dropped my pants and spit onto my dick, sliding it into her ass, i came here to fuck, and fucking the dog shit out of her is what I was gonna do.

After that night I knew I couldn’t give this life up. Drunkenly checking the settings of the app I saw it, the make permanent switch

I clicked it and it sent me a message sayin waiting for the other swapper to agree

No way in hell was he gonna agree to keep my twinky body and lose almost 3 inches… “FUCK how can I make this permanent” I thought to myself

Rereading our messages it hit me, I’m signed in as him, all I have to do is sign into my account and accept, I mean it’s like 3 A.M, no way is he up/received this yet

So that’s what I do, moment I agreed to make permanent, my dick got rock hard at the fact that this is how ima always be now, college city boy, big dick alpha jock, could I have even asked for a better combo!

Next morning I got a message from Kyle from his account, he must have signed into his account since I signed him out of mine

Kyle: aye bro you ready to swap back yet? I kinda got caught smoking pot at the park in your body and got arrested, your other stoner friends bailed me out bro…

Tanner: dam that sucks bro, too bad it’s not a me problem tho

Kyle, how is it not a you problem? I kinda fucked up and I’m sorry bro

Tanner:cause, it’s your body now, the swap is permanent, check the settings

Kyle: …..

Kyle: wtf bro this isn’t what I asked for, I just wanted to smoke some pot and maybe not have such painful erections when my jeans can barely hold my dick for a bit

Tanner: good then bro, glad your happy you got what you wanted, I’m happy too, this body is fucking rad my guy, I don’t know why you’d give it up, I typed gaslighting the fuck out of him

Kyle: idk how you did it, but I know I didn’t agree to a permanent swap, my default setting is temporary and I don’t accept random permanent requests… nor would I send one

Tanner: oh but you did ;)

Kyle: just wait till I contact support, I hope they put you in the body of a fat old man for punishment. Rot in hell asshole

Edit: sorry for another fucking mini Novel basically lol

I’d like to give @tfstation a special thank you for letting me use one of his old story concepts (the concept of BEP, not the actual story, I wrote that) anyways lemme know what y’all think!!!!

[simplynotcapable]

i’ve had someone counter my “aegon loves his brother” argument with a reminder about aegon arranging the whore when aemond is thirteen, and i am SO GLAD you brought this up and let me explain why i think this proves my point even more

first, as a preface: aemond was, inarguably, assaulted. i’ve seen people who theorize he was forced, i’ve seen people who think aegon convinced him, i’ve seen people argue that he probably just went along to look cool to his big brother. that’s irrelevant. he was a thirteen year old child, the whore was a grown woman, it was arranged by his older brother who should have been protecting him. he was a child. this was assault. aegon is 100% in the wrong here, what he did to his brother is horrific and twisted.

now, moving on: i do not think aegon did this to aemond with any intention of malice. i do not think he considers what he did wrong, i do not think he saw it as a prank (not in the same way the pink dread was, anyway) or a cruelty.

i think it’s more proof that aegon has a twisted relationship with love and so, in trying to show his love, it comes out cruel.

now, aemond loses his eye at ten in the book. in the show, it’s a little more ambiguous? we don’t have numbers really, so it’s difficult to say. but if we’re going off leo ashton’s age and the appearances of the characters, aemond is around 12-13 when he loses his eye.

you could argue the brothel happened BEFORE driftmark, but based off aegon and aemond’s interactions at the funeral and the prostitute’s lack of reaction to aemond’s missing eye, i would definitely say it happened afterwards.

which means, when aegon takes aemond to the brothel, he has just freshly lost his eye.

aegon takes his freshly mutilated baby brother into the depths of the city and buys him a night with a whore, though aemond is a child and (we can assume from the severity of his reaction when seeing her again) was not fucking on board with this plan at all. he says “time to get it wet”, which can easily be read as a mocking “lol ur a virgin” type insult.

that is not how i see it, and i do not think that’s how aegon sees it (unless we ever see him address this i doubt we’ll ever know, so granted this is also mostly my interpretation of his character)

aegon turned to debauchery at a very young age to escape his world: the pressure from his mother, the fear of rhaenyra, the lack of control over his own life, his absent father. his coping mechanism for everything bad in his life is pumping himself full of alcohol and engaging in risky sexual behaviors.

aemond just had his eye torn out by boys that he and aegon have been raised to believe are bastards whose mother will have them killed. they watched their mother go apeshit, and they watched their father not punish luke. rhaenyra called for aemond to be tortured. aemond is never going to get his eye back and recovering from losing an eye is HELL.

and so aegon sees all these terrible things and offers aemond a coping mechanism. his coping mechnism. “this terrible thing happened to you, and i avoid terrible things with this, so here. here, you can use this, too. here, it doesn’t take it away but you forget it for awhile. here, here, here, look, see, isn’t this better than letting yourself feel it?”

now, none of this is to say it didn’t BECOME one of aegon’s intentional cruelties once they got there. i’m sure if aemond let himself be visibly uncomfortable or tried to argue, aegon very quickly fell back into bullying asshole mode—maybe even worse than usual because he feels aemond is slighting him. but i don’t think any of it was initially rooted in a desire to hurt aemond or humiliate him in any way.

aegon was a little boy who grew up too quickly in some ways and never grew up at all in others, and he tried to drag aemond down that same path because he truly, genuinely sees nothing wrong with the choices he’s made and who he’s become. he started having sex and drinking at a young age, why shouldn’t aemond do the same? it makes him feel better, so why wouldn’t it help aemond?

aegon loves his brother. i think he did this BECAUSE he loves his brother.

i just also think that aegon’s idea of love is so warped that the consequences of him trying to show it are almost always disastrous, and he doesn’t seem to think of how his actions will endanger those around him.

case in point: his little brother being deeply affected/traumatized by an assault that he is not likely to ever truly get over—but aemond’s feelings about this entire thing and how i genuinely believe it’s the partial cause of his later proclivities is an entirely separate conversation.

#house of the dragon #hotd #anti team green #anti team black #team green #team black #aegon ii targaryen #aemond targaryen #the green brothers

[holyghostbelle]

Covenant: one

spawn!astarion x cazador's neice! tav

The fire had been violent, tearing and eating everything in its path,It gorged itself on your room, stuffing its fiery belly with your gowns and then for dessert it had enough room for your parents, and so you find your self in the cold palace, where sunlight is scarce and blood runs darker. But now Cazador can use you to play his game. Marrying you off to a powerful Nobel for his own evil bidding it's a pity that you lack charm in the act of seduction, if only there was someone to teach you. The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

based of an idea written by @thechaoticdruid

PLEASE READ: CONTENT WARNING: Im unsure of how graphic the content of this fic is going to get, but considering i'm writing about Cazador I assume the fit will get pretty violent also considering it is D&D so... If you’re not an adult, please leave. If you’re not okay with violence, this probably isn’t something you should read. if your incredibly squeamish with descriptions of violence and gore please leave.

Chapter one.

You had never flirted around with the idea of death.

Well properly, There had been no adventuring in dark dungeons, fighting in wars or even a bar fight. You had sat pretty and read in the family library, books of mere fairy tales like the sleepy dragon under wyrm's crossing,the druid wolf that gobbled up the young girl in the red cloak and vampires.Only rumours around baldur's gate until the missing posters had started piling up over notice boards all over the lower city,They had become more of a awaiting nightmare and you recall how your father had recounted the days walking home from the Tavern had been safe and now only 100 years later stumbling home drunk on ale would result in a fate far worse than death. Families had never recovered, not properly, not ever. Fore missing posters would remain littered all over the city.

And now you could understand why, flickering embers, crumbling white bricks now stained with black soot. The white marble floor covered in ash and black wooden beams broken from the ceiling,You were orphaned, left all alone.You stepped over broken glass in your riding boots. You wail. Knees Buckling and buried in dirt of your parents grave and home,their ashes now belonging to the air. Never to be seen again.

There was no evidence of ill intent from what started the fire, maybe a maid had slipped with a glass of whiskey, perhaps the sun had shone so brightly that day, resulting in a letter going up in flames from its purchase just beneath the azure stained glass windows. Maybe your mother had been prancing around with a flaming arrow just outside the house and heroically gone to save her beloved. The flaming fist’s had marked the fire as an accident and the death of your parents as an unfortunate incident. No bodies to bury. And now no money, no vault key or vault pass to be retrieved from the home. The fire had been violent, tearing and eating everything in its path, it gobbled up hungrily and grew and grew. Feasting upon wallpaper, jewels ,books and your beloved fairy tales. It gorged itself on your room, stuffing its fiery belly with your gowns and then for dessert it had enough room for your parents.

So you find yourself in the cold comfort of Szarr Palace, and as clean as the oak floors are kept .The smell of blood and vermin had not tired itself from the dark red curtains that covered the large windows painted white, there was no light filtering through out the halls of Szarr Palace unlike what you had known. Your uncle had welcomed you in with open arms, his long nails scratching at your bare arms in cruel demise as he pulled you in for a short hug, your mother and him had been close he had told you, showing you the family portrait, your mothers warmth encompassing the canvas.

“How old are you, girl?” Cazador sneers down at you, his ruby eyes grazing across your untouched face.

“I've just turned Twenty, Uncle” You reply, gentle eyes burning into the dark red carpet.

“Nearly an adult and you're not betrothed? Your father hadn't promised you to anyone?”He interrogates. Your eyes glassy as you gaze up at the sneering man who dominates the space above you, his hands clasped behind his back as he leans over you.

You shake your head. His eyes inspecting your features they run over the expanse of your cheeks and your hair, his pale hands grapes at your chin, your eyes widening as he pushes your head up at him to get a better look. “Yes you'll do well, pity you're so plain and meek” he scoffs in disdain, sharp nails catching at you neck as he lets his grip on you go, his hand flicks to the side of him.

“Take her to the west wing and prepare the bath, let's let our new dweller get settled in” he smiles at you, but his eyes do not smile back.

You notice a bead of blood trail from the nick he had left in the gold framed mirror moments later. Dalyria stifles at the door of the bathroom, nose flared and eyes wide. You wipe the blood with your handkerchief. As you wrestle with your corset.

“Im so sorry do you mind” you turn to her and she approaches wearily as you smile.

“Of course my lady.”

“Oh you don't have to call me that, please” you blush as your corset falls to the floor in front of you clanging on the marble floor.

“I'll take your handkerchief miss, get it clean for you” she smiles sweetly and you nod as you undress alone and retreat into your bath, you hear the door close behind her and your eyes flicker to the ceiling, wet fingers gripping on the ledge of the ceramic bath ,you pull yourself under the hot water and scream.

Dusk falls and you have found yourself wandering down the expanse halls at night with a candelabra to stare at the only image of your mother you had left,the door opens quietly and you hear hushed whispers and a pad of footprints lead up to the stairs, there's a giggle from someone. You pull yourself back into the curtains that hang from the door frame, eyes squinting in the dark as a white haired man tumbles up the stairs quietly, hand hand gripping another he turns and suddenly his face goes placid. Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

Was there another guest staying at Szarr? And then there's a horrible crashing noise and a large thump. You spot the white haired man dragging an unsightly body, neck bent backwards , you blow your candle out quickly as you feel eyes upon you. You look and spot his gaze but he continues on as if he had never seen you,he carries the body further down the hallway and you stumble back to your room in horror you don't sleep that night mind plagued with the fear he will come back to catch you.

You had never flirted around with death, but it had grabbed your shoulder so tightly and promised it would be back one date to greet you as an old friend, you hoped it would return soon and collect its debt.

#astarion x tav #astarion #astarion ancunin #bg3 #bg3 fic #spawn!astarion #cazador szarr

[fromriches-tosin]

Blurb time!! Today I’m thinking about ReiJean Valentine’s Day scenarios, and the first one I came up with is 100% canon, hear me out:

(feat. Aruani)

Jean and Armin have no idea what Valentine's Day is, and both Annie and Reiner honestly forgot something like that even exists. That’s what happens when you spend the best part of your teenage years killing people or being locked in a crystal in some freaky basement. Anyway, the four of them are having a day off, so they’re just strolling around the city they found themselves in, looking for a good place to have dinner. 

It’s getting late, and for some reason every restaurant they come across is full. They’re about to head back home, defeated and starving, but Armin spots one cozy looking place they haven’t checked out yet. To their luck, there is exactly one free table left. They sit down among giggling ladies and smugly smiling men, and breathe in the heavy scent of roses and melting wax. Jean scrunches up his nose at a couple kissing loudly on his left, Annie covers her nose to fight off the invading aromas. It’s less than ideal, but they’re really hungry.

Finally, a freckled waiter approaches them with the menu.

“Happy Valentine's Day!” he greets them with a smile just a tad too big to Jean liking. “Today every couple gets a fifty percent discount on their order.”

“A what day?” Jean kicks Reiner in the ankle under the table, demanding answers.

“Uh,” Reiner says.

“A day for couples to celebrate their love,” Annie explains in a dry voice.

“Oh, that’s… That’s great.” Armin shyly reaches for Annie’s hand. He intertwines their fingers in a rare public display of affection. “Right, Annie?”

“Yes. Great.” She lowers her gaze, blushing just oh-so slightly. 

“Perfect! Please choose your dishes.” The waiter beams, turning to Jean and Reiner. “How about you, gentlemen? Have you decided already?”

Jean looks at the prices in the menu, looks at Armin and Annie’s hands on the table, looks at the prices in the menu again, looks at Reiner… 

“Well, isn’t that fantastic! Right, Reibear?” He puts his arm around Braun, pulling him closer. “Such a beautiful, romantic occasion to share with our closest friends. I’m glad you’re here with me tonight.”

“You–You are?” Reiner asks, his voice a little muffled.

“Oh, do I understand correctly that you’ll be also sharing the order?” the waiter asks, and Jean ruffles Braun’s hair.

“I don’t see how we could not! We’re so in love. I have absolutely no words to explain how much and why. Literally nothing that could describe the depth of our feelings comes to my mind right now. The flame of our love is burning so bright though, I’m sure you can feel it burn your skin.”

Armin is quite pale in front of him, and Annie keeps drinking water to stop herself from snorting out loud. Reiner is eerily quiet, so for a moment Jean and the waiter are just grinning at each other as if competing to see who gives up first.

“Very well, my good sir,” the waiter finally says, and Jean can relax his facial muscles. 

“Jean, you didn’t have to,” Reiner whispers once the man walks away with their order. “We have enough money to cover regular meals.”

“I know we have the money, but now we can spend it on booze to celebrate our relationship!” Jean pats Reiner’s back. “Don’t worry, handsome, I’ll treat you right.”

Annie almost spits out the water at the sight of Reiner’s blank face. Armin just sighs and pours her some more.

“Why is it even called Valentine’s Day?” he asks matter-of-factly. “Where does this tradition come from?”

“There was a saint called Valentine,” Reiner answers and helps himself to some water, too. “The patron of epilepsy and beekeepers, I think.”

Armin furrows his brows.

“I don’t see the correlation.” 

“He was martyred on the fourteenth of February. That’s all I know,” Annie says. “It’s an old tradition, you would have to read about it.”

Armin’s eyes start shining.

“There are books about it?”

“So, let me get this straight.” Jean’s hand moves from Reiner’s muscled back all the way to his knee where it’s resting when the waiter comes back with their bottle of wine. They exchange the same theatrical smiles. The game is still on. “Some dude died, so that we could sit here today and cuddle over dinner?”

“That’s… That’s not exactly how martyrdom in religion works,” Annie says slowly, and Jean waves his hand in the air.

“Nevermind. Let’s make a toast!” Jean raises his glass. “To the lovely couples in attendance. I’m glad we’re still alive and here together. Because… Oh yeah, the last time the four of us were on our own… You tried to kill us.” He glares at Annie before turning to Reiner who now has a strangely dreamy look on his face. “And you, boy wonder, you almost gave me a fucking heart attack.”

“You made such a funny face back then.” Reiner has the audacity to chuckle, and Jean narrows his eyes in a warning.

They eat and drink, and this time it’s Braun’s hand resting on Jean’s thigh. It’s warm and heavy, and Jean really doesn’t mind it when Reiner’s thumb starts caressing the material of his pants. It’s good that Reiner caught up with the plan. Especially since the waiter is still observing them every chance he gets. Reiner’s glassy eyes and the blush tainting his cheeks sell the story way better than Jean’s words. 

“Can we please get another bottle of wine?” Jean asks the waiter when he shows up to take their empty plates away.

“Of course! Alcohol is not included in our Valentine’s Day offer, but there is one more thing I forgot to mention!” The man smirks, looking Jean straight in the eyes. Before he even opens his mouth to continue, Jean knows he’ll be presented with a challenge. “We have a free chocolate cake for anyone who gets engaged tonight.”

“Engaged?” 

Armin and Annie’s faces turn red, and they immediately let go of each other’s hands. They look so embarrassed, Jean almost wants to give them a hug.

“You can see the cake right there.” The waiter points in the direction of the counter. “It’s a gift from us to anyone who will decide to celebrate such an important moment here.”

The man walks away again, but not before shooting Jean one last smug look. Jean’s hand moves to Braun’s arm.

“Reiner–”

“Jean, no,” Armin pleads.

“Reiner, look at that cake.”

“I can see the cake, yes.”

“It’s so big.”

“That’s what you’ll be saying later.” Braun coughs. “Very big indeed, yes.”

“It’s free chocolate.” 

“Jean, no,” Armin repeats.

“Jean, yes,” Annie murmurs into her wine.

“Okay, I’ve decided.” Jean takes a deep breath. “Reiner, get down on one knee.”

“I–Wait, what?” Reiner’s eyes turn as big as saucers. “You want me to do what?”

“That bastard is challenging me. I’ll not stand for it. Also, I really want that cake. So, we’re going to get it.”

“Jean, I can’t, it’s not appropriate, I–”

“Reiner. Your knee. The floor. Now.”

Jean can feel Armin stare at him in horror, can feel Annie’s shoulders tremble from poorly concealed laughter. Braun gets down on one knee as requested and looks up at him with puppy eyes. Normally they would make Jean’s heart melt, but today he’s too determined to let them do that. 

“Jean, would you do me the honor–”

“Louder.”

“Light of my life–”

“LOUDER.”

“You saved me so many times, and I’d love to dedicate my heart to you. Please, marry me!” Reiner says quickly, and Jean grins.

“Of course, you beautiful bastard. I thought you would never ask.”

He gets up from his chair and drags Reiner into a kiss. Maybe, just maybe he’s taking things a little too far. Maybe. But he’ll give Braun the biggest piece of the cake to compensate him for the trouble. And he makes sure the kiss turns out great. Reiner is also doing his part, one of his hands cupping Jean’s cheek, the other squeezing his ass. Some lady in the background lets out a scandalized gasp, and Jean wraps his arms around Reiner’s neck, deepening the kiss. They both taste of wine, and Jean finds himself getting drunk.

Braun is a surprisingly good kisser…

They get the cake. It’s pretty okay, but Jean had better. But it’s the taste of satisfaction, the taste of victory that matters the most. Just before they leave the restaurant, he stops Reiner in his tracks.

“You have some chocolate in the corner of your mouth.” Jean wipes it off with his thumb and, to complete the performance, he licks it off as well. Reiner is looking at him as if Jean hung the damn moon and stars. 

They’re almost back at the hotel when Jean realizes Reiner has disappeared in the crowd.

“Hey, where did that oaf go? Don’t tell me he got lost again.” He looks around, telling himself he’s not panicking. It’s just a big new city. Full of strangers and dark alleys. Reiner will be fine on his own, won’t he?

“He said he’s going to a jewelry store. He wanted to buy a ring,” Armin replies.

“A ring?” Jean furrows his brows. “He doesn’t wear rings.”

“Not for him. For you.” Armin rolls his eyes with a playful smile.

Jean needs a moment for this information to sink in.

“Don’t tell me he thought that was for real.”

“Of course he thought that was for real. That’s why I was trying to stop you. Don’t you remember how many times he proposed to Historia just because she was being nice to him?”

Annie grabs Jean’s tie, dragging him down to her eye level. Which means Jean is almost bent in half. 

“Break his heart, and I’ll break your face,” she hisses, and Jean chuckles nervously in response.

He then straightens his back, fixes his tie and… starts running in the direction of the closest jewelry store. Shit shit shit.

#reijean #reiner x jean #veecanons #aruani

[imagine-all-the-people]

Sometimes I hear people say “the desert is so brown and ugly, how can you stand living there?” I guess sometimes it’s true, I mean certain times of year bring a different view because of the weather or other circumstances, if there’s been drought or flooding or fire etc… and maybe it’s not as pleasing to the eye during those extremes. But it is beautiful.

The desert is my favorite place, but I also find beauty in big cities, lush forests, corn fields, beaches, mountains and yes.. even snow 😬. It’s safe to say, even if a place, climate or geological isn’t my favorite, I can still appreciate something about it. I wish everyone would be more open to and appreciate new experiences and different places.

This short vid is from a hike I took the other morning, (6:30am) you have to start early because it reaches 100°f by 9am now. This was only a two mile hike along the sweetwater preserve which is very close to my house. It has a steady incline in the beginning with only a couple of switchbacks which is perfect for my old-lady ass lol, and then it’s pretty flat and smooth sailing on the backside. It’s been very hot here with over 40 days of triple digit temps, so yes.. the desert is looking pretty dry and brown. It doesn’t always look this way.. and if you look really closely there are signs of life all around.. with little green leaves and fruits and flowering buds hanging on for dear life. I love it! But I’m looking forward to cooler more comfortable temps and a beautiful desert in bloom.

I’ve been here since December of last year, and being more active and happier in general.. (back in my happy place), I’ve actually lost about 15lbs! Slow and steady wins the race lol.. very slow… I feel great, emotionally and physically.. and I look forward to this next phase of my life. Older and wiser 😂 but mostly.. just happier and content. ✨

“True contentment is not having everything, but in being satisfied with everything you have.”

Oscar Wilde

#my life #me #hiking #things i love #Arizona #Tucson #lucky me #places i love #my home #sweetwater trail #sweetwater preserve #truth #quotes